Logically Speaking

I wrote something earlier today but it wasn't what I wanted to say.

I need to talk about my year. It's nearly the end of 2015 and time to reflect. It hit me the other day and I posted something on facebook. It was met with kind words of encouragement and I appreciated that. But the truth is, this year was hard.

There were a lot of really great moments. I met some wonderful people but there was a lot of change. And change, while inevitable for growth, is hard.

I started the year in the arms of My Fella. I knew then that it would be a good year and I knew he would be a part of it.

I felt that something was changing for me at work too but I wasn't sure what it was yet. I felt good about where I was, where my team was. I was proud of my store and while stressed, I thoroughly enjoyed the experiences I was having.

I wasn't enjoying the city I was in. I began to like being where My Fella was more. By February we were tossing the idea around of me moving in with him but I felt it was a long time coming.

It wasn't that long. By early Spring I was telling my boss that I might be moving. By early Summer, I was.

I've written about my move before but for some reason it's now becoming very....real. I don't regret my choices but I'm experiencing things I didn't expect to because of them.

I'm lonely. I miss my friends and having them near me. I miss my coworkers and the relationships we had. I miss the ongoing challenges of running a store and helping other people learn and grow. I miss being important, necessary, appreciated.

This summer was the first time I hadn't worked in eight years. I threw barbecues and a 4th of July party. I went to the Farmer's Market and explored this new city. I read books, I wrote, I learned how to be me again.

But now it's almost winter and I know who I am. I am someone being consumed by their feelings.

I am angry and sad and irritated and frustrated. I know that I will be ok again but that's not what I feel now. Logic doesn't fucking matter right now.

I keep thinking about all the things I've gone through. Sometimes just the last week, sometimes the last year, sometimes just the last hour. I can't stop thinking. It's part of this fucking bullshit mental illness, and it makes me mad. I hate this. I don't feel like myself and I so desperately don't want to be anyone else.

I went through a lot this year. I made some big changes in my life. BIG changes. I did things I honestly wasn't sure I'd ever do. Sometimes I can't believe it was me that did them.

I look in the mirror and think, "Who the hell is that?" I wonder where I went or who I will be next. I feel lost sometimes, unsure of what kind of person I am. Am I annoying? Do I come across as fake? Do people think I'm disgusting?

Again, logically I know I'm loved. I know how lucky I am to have friends and family to show me that.  I don't want to wonder what others think of me but I do. Not because I would change necessarily, but because I can't stand the thought of someone not liking me. Logically, that's ridiculous. But, you know, fuck logic right now.

My mind is not the way I wish it was. I feel everything, think about everything so much.

My friend died the same day I started a new job and got a car. My emotions that day went up and down so quickly my stomach was in my throat. I think I'm still reeling. I never really decompressed from that. I didn't think I needed to because I'm "strong". Naively, I thought that because I'd suffered loss before that I would be fine. I'm fucking not fine. He shouldn't have died and left his lovely wife and his friends and....and me. I had only known him a few months but he was one of those people you feel you've always known and I miss seeing him.

Loss is never the same. Each period of grief or mourning needs to be acknowledged and experienced. I believe only then you can learn to live with it. You never get over it. Time doesn't heal it. It just makes it a little easier to live with. And living with it now, is not easy.

It reminds me of other losses I've experienced. I think about my mom all the time, even more this time of year and now she's even more in my thoughts. I think about Chrissy and her son, how he is experiencing yet another holiday without her.

I feel each sad note in every sad song and I'm not even listening for them. I feel every irritated car honk and hurried hand gesture of fellow drivers on the road. I feel tired. I think about my family and other families and anyone I might know that's been through a loss and I feel for them.

It's too much. It's overwhelming. I try to decompress or focus on other things and it helps for a little while until I feel guilty for feeling better. Guilty because I don't really feel like smiling or feeling better and I'm just doing it because enough time has passed and it's expected. Guilty because sometimes I don't feel like fighting against the consumption of my feelings. I feel like letting them win and just crying or screaming.

But I can't. Because I care what others think about me. Even though I know that my friends and family would be right there crying or screaming along with me, my mind won't let me let go. It's easier to just succumb to this crazy mental bullshit but I don't want to do that either.

It makes me feel very confused and that makes me frustrated because unfortunately, I really don't like it when I'm not in control of my own thoughts.

It makes me a little freaked out about what next year might bring. It makes me feel a little crazy. It makes me wonder what could possibly come next which only adds to the crazy.

I spent most of the year this way. It ebbed and flowed.

Looking back, I think I had more ups than downs and that's good. I know it is. Logically.

People Are Strange

People fascinate me.

There are so many different ways to live this life and I'm consistently intrigued by others' choices.

This time of year is so weird. It's stressful and nostalgic and kind of lonely and sad but also hopeful and warm.

I've always sort of not been a fan of this time of year. I remember thinking last year that Christmas was less of a holiday and more of a day off from work. Being out of the store and away from a steady stream of customers helps it feel more Christmas-y for me this year. Which sort of contradicts my earlier statement of finding people fascinating cause mostly this time of year they're just asshats.

Why is that? Yes it's a stressful, kind of lonely and sad time of year but...not for everyone. It's just not kind to put your shitty feelings onto someone else and yet people do it ALL THE TIME because it's just...the way things are.

Learning that life sucks, that people can be mean, that not everyone thinks before they speak or that the world isn't as big as I think it is...not easy lessons to learn. Even in my late 30s, I'm surprised at how people treat one another.

I honestly don't understand why someone would intentionally be a dick to another person. I don't understand racism or bigotry or sexism or a lot of other isms. I understand difference of opinion. I understand different levels of education, demography, history, self defense...but I don't understand cruelty.

Perhaps that's why stories of serial killers or murderers fascinate me. Not on a 'I've got a shrine of Bundy and write letters to bad guys in prison' level of course, but on a 'what the fuck made this guy like this' kind of level.

There's a line from a favorite movie that goes, "Don't lie to me. I can smell a lie like a fart in a car." I feel that way sometimes. Don't lie. Don't be fake and don't bullshit me. I can tell and I will acknowledge your bullshit, take note of it and never forget it.

Those kind of people intrigue me too. Is the 'fake' behavior coming from a place of insecurity? I get that. I tend to be super nice because I'm insecure. My sarcasm and sometimes snark doesn't come out until I know you. It's usually paired with the word 'fuck' because I'm comfortable then.

I once had someone tell me that 'No one could really be that nice.' She told me I wasn't real and that I looked for things wrong in people so that I could comfort them. I remember thinking how hurt I was by her comment. But years later I looked back and wondered if maybe she had a bit of a point. Perhaps my insecurity caused me to grasp at other people's sadness, to try and fix them so I could feel better.

It's a trick, for lack of a better word, to help yourself when you feel shitty. Helping someone else, helps me feel good. When that comment was said to me, I definitely wasn't in a good place. I was trying like hell to stay mentally afloat and I was totally overcompensating by being 'nice' to everyone. I was trying to make myself feel better.

I realized eventually that I could only help myself and be there for others. I can't fix anyone. Sometimes I wish I could but I know I can't. Another one of those lessons.

So I accept you holiday asshats, cranky comments and all. A part of me wishes I could make you feel less stressed, sad or lonely but that's kinda on you. If you wanna talk about it though, I can listen.


Also, don't go killing anyone ok? It's Christmas for fuck's sake.

Christmas Fat

Soooo. Turns out I'm still fat. I mean, numbers can lie a little and clothes can stretch but pictures? Nope. No, they are the truth tellers.

I got all fancied up in pretty clothes yesterday and pictures were taken. Taking them with my girlfriends I smiled and giggled and posed the way I learned is the most flattering and then I saw the pictures and smiling became a bit of a struggle.

My Fella told me I was beautiful. He said it without words as I was struggling into pantyhose before we left, and when I sat next to him in the car and he put his hand on my thigh. He said it in the way he looked at me and held my hand. He said it simply with, "You're so beautiful."  And in the moment, I did feel beautiful. I even knew it a little.

But then...god what is it about seeing yourself in pictures that just destroys you? I felt like I was looking at a parody of myself. It looked like someone had pushed 'enhance' sixty times like that guy from Super Troopers. Ugh.

I know that attempting to diet right now would be foolish. I mean, cookies, cakes, pies, chocolates, big 'ol spreads of food...I'm not going to not eat those things. BUT I think that I'll give that New Year's Resolution thing a try this year.

I gotta try something. I don't want to be the freak anymore and though I know that people that love me would be quick to correct me from that description, I'd have to assure them that's how I felt. At least right now as I remember the fact that somehow I've created cankles. For fuck's sake. Cankles?

And now it's public. I've not been one to shy away from the fact that I weigh more than I should and now that I've described yet again the fact, maybe I'll hold myself more responsible.

I hope so. I hope that feeling of 'it's too late get a crane and fucking give up' goes away. I will get my ankles back goddammit.

11/26/06

My mom died two days from today. This year that day is Thanksgiving.

I haven't really liked this time of year for nearly a decade. Has it really been that long since I sat in the ICU waiting room?

I think it rained that day but I can't remember. It's a safe guess. I remember one day it was sunny, just before, and we all thought that would be the day she'd go-since it seemed...peaceful that day.

I smoked a lot of cigarettes while I was waiting. It's strange the things that stick out. I remember being outside and the wind just howling but I wasn't cold. I sat on the concrete walls surrounding the hospital until I went numb on the outside too. Just waiting.

I was on the phone a lot. I called family members, friends, providing constant updates on how I was, how she was, how dad was...estimating how much time was left.  I saw people I hadn't seen in years. I barely remember talking with them.

I was in the bathroom, staring at my reflection and frowning when my uncle knocked. "Its happening."

I ran to her room and struggled with the required paper gown and gloves outside her door. I remember thinking, what did it matter and I tried to just go in but someone (a nurse?) stopped me, made me put them on.

I knew she was gone as soon as I walked in. I couldn't feel her anymore. My uncle was at the foot of the bed, crying quietly. He didn't stay in the room long. My father left shortly after that but I stayed. I took her hand, stroked it gently. I think I was crying too but I don't know. I was relieved. I was glad her suffering was finally over, even if it meant I was in agony. And I was. Part of me died with her.

I  looked up, saw the hospital tiles in the ceiling and thought how often she'd had the same view. I listened to the machines hum, her heartbeats quieted. The monitors were off but everything was still there, a looming presence in the stillness of death.

I told her I loved her, that we were going to be ok. I told her I was so sorry she'd had to go through this. I don't know how long I stood there holding her hand.

I went back to the waiting room and began making phone calls while my dad talked with the doctor about what to do next. Everyone I called knew it was coming so telling them was almost easy.  I wrote a letter to the people that I'd become acquainted with in the waiting room. Other people that came and went, slept and worried.  I wished them peace and said thanks for being there. I remember leaving it on the table next to the newspaper my dad had been reading when they told us.

In the parking garage my dad awkwardly told me about a printer he had for me in the car. I remember my uncle putting it in the truck before I got in but I can't remember why.  It was strange that I wasn't going home with dad. We hadn't lived together for nearly ten years but now we were really living alone.

I rode home with my uncle in silence. I don't remember what happened when I got home. I probably slept or cried. I can't remember if there was anyone with me or if I stayed by myself. I became numb until the funeral.

Everyone told me I looked like her. They told me I was beautiful, that she'd be so proud. They said how much they missed her, how much she'd meant to them. They cried. I saw my father cry for the first time. I held his hand and walked with him down the aisle to the front pew. I couldn't find her urn at first, there were so many flowers. And when I did I couldn't stop staring. Such as small vessel.

I know people spoke about her, talking about how wonderful she'd been but I couldn't hear them. I felt like I'd done all of it before. Six months earlier my grandmother had died. Front pew, crying, stories of her...it was so familiar and overwhelming. I couldn't focus on anything. I don't even know how I got there.

And then it was over and I had to figure out how to live without my mom. Maybe for the first time, I allowed myself to feel grief and sadness. I mourned. I remembered.

Each year since has been a little different. The first year dad and I tried to have a Thanksgiving celebration with my uncle. After that we decided it was just food on a day and we could do that any time. We could share our thanks with each other any day of the year.

It's never actually been on Thanksgiving until this year. I can hear my dad telling a well wishing nurse "What do I have to be thankful for?" while we waited...and how hard it was to remember.

Some days I listen to music she used to like and sing along, picturing her singing in the kitchen while she did the dishes. Or I see her face smiling at me from behind a book. I see her comforting a scared child or helping them understand a math problem in class. I make her banana bread and let my house smell like home again. I can hear her bracelets clinking together as she moved, smell her perfume and see her thin hair glowing in the sun. I remember her voice and her laugh and the sound of her tears. I remember everything.

And I'm thankful I can.

Ick

In May I left everything I knew.

My job. My friends. The city I'd grown up in. My independence. I packed up all of my belongings and my cats and headed south to begin a life with The Fella.

Since then I have filed for and been rejected for unemployment. I have filled out numerous applications and sent out what feels like a billion resumes and received only a few canned 'sorry you're not the right fit' responses. I have been built up and hopeful about two job opportunities and then been let down and disappointed, slammed back down to square one. I have had my old landlords bill me for nearly a month's rent with the threat of small claims court. I have had credit card collection agencies call me every day and have had to ask family to help me with finances because I just had no other choice.

I have felt my freedom drip away from me, taking with it my confidence and self esteem. I have felt friendships change and shift as they do and felt the pain in letting go of people I'm familiar with. I have no circle of people that I can be around consistently because of various reasons-their schedules, mine...I have been lonely.

My cat was diagnosed with cancer. It hit me like I never imagined it could and even now as she lays on my shoulder while I type, I know our time is even more limited and it fills me with sadness.

I have gained weight and felt my body become more angry with me for being sedentary and yet I lack the motivation to move. I have felt myself feel more ugly and reminiscent of days long ago when I didn't know who I was. I have stared at my closet and felt myself grow angry at the clothes hanging there because I have no reason to wear them. That doesn't matter much since I have one pair of jeans, one good bra left and I live in my pajamas.

Dad always says that if you can't change something, change the way you feel about it. That's exactly what I'm struggling with. I'm trying like hell to be thankful for all that I do have. There are so many others that have it worse than  do and things are always changing...

I  really try not to focus on the things that feel awful. That feeling of loss of who I used to be. I have tried to grieve my old life and embrace the new life ahead of me but it seems so much harder these days. I don't dislike where I am, in fact I know it's exactly where I should be. But I'm lonely and feel extremely dependent and worthless and terrifically insignificant. I don't want to and I recognize these are not good feelings to have but I can't seem to shake it. It feels too hard right now. I can't even cry anymore. I'm pretty sure the Prozac killed my tear ducts.

This is the part where I usually list all the things I'm feeling positive about and I just don't care today. I'm all kinds of apathetic and pathetic and just general... ick. I'm pretty sure most of this post doesn't make any sense and I don't care about that either.

Just everything fuck off ok? I can't even hide under my blankets because I'll feel guilty for not doing anything. I can't even be depressed the right way. I've had people tell me I'm too hard on myself and they're probably right but who cares? Probably I'm supposed to but I can't right now. I just CAN'T.

I feel like screaming and crying and running and giving up and fighting and all of these things at the same time. I can't quiet my mind and just seem to be ok and I don't know why.

"You've had a lot of changes over the last few months, give yourself a break." 
"Maybe it's the time of year? I know it isn't easy for you around the holidays..." 
"Everything's going to be all right."

320

Awesome. I'm now two pounds heavier than when I first started paying attention and freaked out. Two pounds doesn't sound like much but it is when you're already over 300 pounds.

In bed last night, I started thinking about the fat on my body. I tried visualizing it melting away like a weird special effect. I tried picturing my face without the double chin and big cheeks. I told myself to look up The Surgery to see how much it would cost. I don't even care which one. Lap band, stapled stomach, whatever. Just make me stop being fat because I clearly can't do it for myself.

I was going to go on a sugar fast. I had all the intention. I had a partner to help me and support me and a friend that was going to do it with me. I refrained from buying sweet things during the grocery shopping and even switched to regular cream instead of flavored.

And then life kicked me. And I gave up. That's the truth really.  I could say it was because Halloween was too close and it was pointless. I could say it was because I was depressed and sweet things make me happy. And it was these things. But it was also that I don't care enough. I wish I did, but I don't. I just get mad about the fat and sad about the fat and then go eat a cookie.

I start to care about the fat when I'm struggling to feel comfortable in my clothes, or getting into the car, or going up and down the stairs. I care about the fat when I look at myself in the mirror or I weigh myself or I don't feel like being naked because I feel gross.

It's probably not the fat I should be caring about. If I didn't, maybe I could let it go. I can't let anything go. That's part of the problem. I hold onto things and they turn to food because I like food. And food on the plate is never left and ice cream and sweets are for celebrating and pancakes or eggs benedict or waffles drenched in syrup are delicious for breakfast.

I don't know how to not eat. I keep thinking about Fat Bastard. Hell, sometimes I feel like him. "I eat because I'm unhappy and I'm unhappy because I eat. It's a vicious circle."  I'm sure Mike Myers didn't intend for that line to hit me so hard with it's truth. While I'm nowhere near eating a baby, I so feel the Bastard on this.

I guess I can try again. Maybe a little harder this time. But then, there's Thanksgiving and Christmas and so much good food and baking and I think I've mentioned how much I like sweet things. I don't like this time of year particularly, but I'm going to try to since this year I'll be with The Fella and that's gotta be different, better, than previous years.

But how do I not indulge? It's not so easy as just saying I won't. I might as well don a kilt and start talking about baby back ribs.* (I recognize that these comparisons are completely lost on anyone that hasn't seen the Austin Powers movie with the character Fat Bastard but that's why we have the Google).  

I tried baking with fake sweet things-splenda and the like- and fuck that. It's not the same. I need to learn moderation not substitution. In all honesty it helps to be broke. I'm not eating out nearly as much as I used to and when I go grocery shopping I don't like to buy a lot of things The Fella can't eat because I don't want him to think that I'm a glutton.

Pretty sure those two extra pounds came from Halloween candy, delicious pms cake and french toast breakfasts. But it doesn't really matter where they came from because here they are, hanging out in a chin or my ass. I don't even know which because I stopped looking at myself.

I am the one that is in charge of my body. So. Do I chose to be splurge and enjoy good things often or do I chose to be responsible and moderate my yummy thing intake?

I've gotta do something because I'm not happy in this body of mine. It's affecting me in other ways-mentally-and that in turn is affecting people around me. I've stopped the self deprecation (at least in front of other people) because that's just not cool and it makes me look like a dick. I saw a pic of myself and thought, ok, at least I'm smiling. On the outside. Inside I'm screaming about the roll of muffin over my waist band or that when I bend over I feel angry because I can't do it easily.

Something has to change and it changes with me but I just don't know how much I care.

Trying

I miss mom. All of a sudden I just really wanted to hear her voice and remembering I couldn't washed over me. She could always make me feel better, even when I didn't know I needed to. I have to wonder though if I would share with her all the things I'm struggling with. It would have made her sad and I hated seeing her that way.

It was suggested that I try and make a list of positive things, things that make me happy and I've been sitting here for 15 minutes staring at the cursor blink. It''s hard to find it when you don't feel it.

The other night when I was on the way home from the party I wrote in my ever present notebook. I wrote fast and in the dark and then forgot about it until last night.

Everybody thinks it gets easier when you get older. They're so wrong. It's not just about bills and work and being responsible. It's not staying out late drinking and talking through your problems instead of breaking up every five minutes. Time moves faster than you ever knew it could. People die and you're expected to understand and not just fall down and cry. You are expected to be strong. To smile, nod and act like everything doesn't suck. 

Why is it not ok to feel like shit? I don't like feeling this way, I don't want to feel this way. For some reason, I feel like I can't feel this way.

I usually can pull myself out of these things. I can find good stuff, happy stuff but the challenge seems too difficult right now and that scares me. I have too much time on my hands to think about everything. I have X ghosts haunting me, fucking with my reality. I have memories of mom bubbling up and mixing with the rain. My fingers can't fly fast enough on the keyboard to get it out and I don't even know how to begin.


But I'll try.


The sound of rain on the car's roof, against the window, on the skylights, or a tent's dome while camping in the woods
Fresh coffee and cream
Sweet cakes, chocolates, jam filled scones, anything a bakery might conjure
Stacks of books borrowed from the library
Books purchased from a bookstore with the receipt still tucked into the novel on top
Finding something that reminds me of mom or grandma
Conquering a challenge
Eating breakfast out
Leaf littered streets
Windstorms
Hearing The Fella snore, or laugh with his friends, or talk to the cats
Texting with friends
The color red
Being at the ocean, in the forest, at the base of a mountain
When a book grabs you with the first sentence
Driving
Listening to a new song and feeling it
Smelling pine trees
Gnomes
Clicking with someone new
Meowing with my cats
Trees
New episodes of a good show
Cloud watching
Pumpkins on a store front


I guess that's a good start. A lot of these came quickly, some I had to remind myself of by pausing and looking at my surroundings. I suppose that's sort of how this works. If you can't remember why you're happy, stop and look around a bit. Chances are, you're surrounded.

This doesn't quite feel like what I wanted to write about but I'm trying.

Be Nice

I don't know how to be nice to myself.

I guess I could say I've tried. I tell myself nice things once in awhile but that doesn't seem to make a difference.

I don't hate myself. Not anymore. I only know I don't because I used to. I'd get so angry and sad at who I'd become that it would send me into a dark depression. I have flare ups, but it's not like it was.

I know I'm a good person. Kind, funny, friendly...I have good attributes and I know that. I know that despite the fact that I am larger than average, I'm still somewhat attractive. I have begun to believe others when they compliment me.

But I'm still not really...cool with myself.

I talk a lot in my sleep. I laugh, cry, moan and scream in my sleep. It's rare that I don't make some sort of noise in the night. Because I don't sleep alone, and The Fella sleeps light, he tells me what I say sometimes.

My favorite recollections are of when I'm talking in 'manager voice'. These conversations usually happen when I've spent time talking about my old job or my challenge to find a new one. Makes sense but it's still kinda interesting to realize that has such a strong hold of me still.

The worst stories are like the one from this morning. The Fella asked if I'd slept alright and I could tell from his tone I'd said something weird in my sleep. My first thought was that I'd talked about an ex or something. It was worse.

"You said, 'If I keep eating ice cream, I'll never fit behind the wheel and I'll just have to roll everywhere.' "

He said it without a trace of humor and I just instantly...felt bad. Bad that I said it out loud and that he heard it. Bad that I felt it was kind of true. Bad that I said things like that about myself, without even being conscious of it. It's in there deep...this dislike. This habit of being unkind to myself.

I don't know how to be nice to myself.

I have ghosts of the past that haunt me with hard memories. I have things happen in my life that trigger those ghosts and make them active, taking flight in my mind, haunting me aggressively. I can be frightened from those harsh words at any given time and in the moment, brush them off to move forward. But they often visit later, in my dreams, never really gone. I don't know how to let them go.

When I was in therapy, I realized that a lot of those ghosts were results from interactions with people in my life that I'd previously just brushed off. That was just 'who they were' instead of realizing that even if that was true, it didn't have to be who they were to me. I could create boundaries and not let the hurt in. But that was hard. Really hard in most cases and I struggled. Still do. I have had a lot of things said to me over the years, in critical moments that have molded who I am, how I feel about myself. I wish that wasn't true but there it is. I don't know how to heal from that. Or even if I can.

The hardest part about this is that I know I'm not very nice to myself and I've been working on it for a long time. I used to be one of those people that self deprecated all the time but did it amusingly so that it didn't seem mean. Or I'd declare 'it's just the truth' with a shrug and then change the subject. I don't make fun of myself anymore. At least not consciously.

Clearly that self loathing is still hanging out inside and I'm not sure how to let it go. I admire people that have a good understanding of themselves and who like who they are. I strive for that. I admire confidence and charisma. I want to have it but...I don't know how to be nice to myself.

Partying with Anxiety

The Invite

A Halloween house party where all his friends from back home will be and his brother's band is playing. What if someone gets drunk and stupid? Or violent and stupid? Or drunk and violent? The possibilities of uncomfortable situations are endless. What if his friends don't like me? What if I can't find a costume that I feel comfortable in? Are we going to have to stay over there with people I don't know?

The Costume

Will it fit right? Will I look like I'm trying too hard to be cute? Oh god, my boobs look huge in this dress. Do I look slutty? Is that my ass hanging out? Oh my god, the tights are loose. Loose tights look like pajamas. I look ridiculous. Seriously, is that my ass? I have to put on makeup. I hate makeup. Does that look bad? Ugh, why is my lipstick so flaky? Why am I already sweating? My hair is so frizzy. Why won't my bangs cooperate? Oh my god, is that a pit stain? Are these shoes going to make my feet hurt? Should I carry my purse with me or leave it in the car? Is the cape too much? What about this necklace? Oh my god this makeup is so old. I probably shouldn't be using it anymore. What happens when you use old makeup? Am I going to get a weird eye disease from this stupid eye shadow? Why do I bother when I wear glasses anyway? God, everyone's going to think I look stupid and fat.

The First 45 Minutes

It's loud. I smell pot and sweat and cigarettes and booze and people. There's a dog, oh thank god. I scritch the dog's head and talk to it in cute puppy voice for a moment. It's a Pug dressed as R2D2. Maybe this place won't be so bad. Holy shit, are those people in black face? Oh my god. What is happening? Oh and there's a scary clown. And another one. And another one. Awesome. It's dark too, despite the orange lights, black lights, rotating disco lights. I meet the host, he's nice. He owns the Pug. I have no idea who anyone is. Standing awkwardly with the black face people and a girl dressed in a Spiderman onesie. No one is talking. I see a punch bowl and investigate. Scary Clown Girl tells me it's 'lethal'. I pour half a cup and take a sip. It's horrible so I drink it fast. Woo. Immediately I'm too warm and we go outside. Maybe someone will share their pot with me.

Outside

I say hi to the girl that loaned me the costume and she exclaims how adorable I am. I'm just grateful it fit and I didn't have to scramble to find something else. I take some relief in standing next to people I know. I tell her she smells like pot and the girl next to her asks if I smoke. I nod and the joint is passed. I inhale and cough like a rookie. The conversation changes as the joint gets passed around to others near us. I notice a girl next to me dressed in an intricate corset and have to compliment her. The pot is taking the edge off. She's talking to the Spiderman onesie chick when I ask to see the whole outfit. She is super friendly but then... Was I rude to Spiderman Onesie for interrupting? Should I apologize? I'm nervous now so I get overly nice and when I say I'm sorry she doesn't care. It's a party and people talk and interrupt and share stories and they don't know that I'm super conscious of being nice to everyone so they'll like me and not talk about me or judge me or think that I'm ugly, stupid or annoying.

Spiderman Onesie turns back to the group of girls and I swear I hear the word 'bitch' when I walk by. Was that directed at me? Was I too nice? Maybe I should have just stayed quiet.

I get introduced to people that are friends with The Fella. A Scary Clown hugs me and another guy offers me shrooms. He asks me if I have anxiety and tells me they're great for that. How does he know I have anxiety? Is it that obvious? Oh god, am I acting weird? I say no to the shrooms and he gives me some anyway. Time to go back in.

The Band

The Fella's brother is in a punk band but tonight they're doing covers. I recognize one song out of the eight. I watch everyone else bobbing their heads to the beat, screaming out lyrics and I stay in the back of the crowd, moving once in awhile to let other people, confident people, past me to the front. I feel the music through my feet and into my chest, blooming there, massaging my insides. I let myself move a little, bob my own head and then I stop. Everyone is looking at me aren't they? They know I don't know the words. They can tell I don't fit in. The band finishes their set and the crowd disperses. I'm headed back outside to try and regain my hearing when a guy does the 'oh excuse me' bump me in the hallway thing and it's over before I can even utter a 'that's ok'. Did he just do that on purpose? Because I'm so big I take up the whole hallway? He was making fun of me right? Because he couldn't get past me?

Outside Again

The Girl in the Corset is talking to The Fella, his brother and the Scary Clown that Hugged Me. We banter. A guy in a baseball jersey comes up to the perimeter of our small group and tells us our conversation is boring before he moves off. The pot and the weird punch from earlier have made things a little easier but I have no idea what we're talking about. The Girl in the Corset is talking about something that involves a sacrifice and suddenly I'm feeling weird about things. She tells me I'm innocent. Wait. Am I acting childish? Do I seem naive? Did she notice I don't know what she's talking about? She's looking at me strangely. She must think I'm an idiot but the pot is making it hard to care anymore and I like that.

Coming Home

We say goodbye to The Fella's brother, his girlfriend, Scary Clown that Hugged Me and the Girl in the Corset. When we get to the car I remove my cape and toss it in the trunk, put on a sweatshirt. I don't have to care about if I'm cute anymore. I don't have to wonder if I'm being too nice or not nice enough. I'm with The Fella and I'm safe.

I play the party over in my head on the way home. I hear the girl mutter 'bitch' and wonder again if it was towards me. I feel the guy bump me in the hall and wonder if he really was trying to cop a feel like The Fella thought or if I was just too wide for the hallway. I see the guy hand me shrooms, tell me to take them when I'm feeling anxious and wonder again if it's that obvious to strangers. I see Spiderman Onesie move away from the conversation and look annoyed when I apologize for interrupting her.

I watch The Fella maneuver through traffic, his face holding a small smile.  His friends were so happy to see him. Throughout the night people were coming up and hugging him, asking him how he was. It's even more obvious to me that he's a good guy and that I'm a lucky girl. He knew I was nervous about the party and never left my side. He introduced me to people and made sure I was part of conversations. He knew that later, as I was talking about the night, saying things like, "I think he mentioned anxiety because he had it, not because it seemed like you did." and "Not everyone knows about neo-paganism...I like that you ask questions instead of pretending that you know all about something." was the right thing to say. He took all the anxiety that had built throughout the evening and made it melt away. I settled back into my seat and watched him drive.  It started raining and we rode in silence, listening to the drops hit the roof. I felt calm, a little sleepy from the mystery punch and the pot, but relaxed. And proud. I went to a party where I didn't know anyone, where anything could happen and in a costume that I wasn't sure about. I conquered a little bit of The Worry that lives inside me. At least for a little while and I'm so glad I did.

One day, one party, one conversation, one costume at a time.

Queen

"....I see a little silhouetto of a man, scaramouch scaramouch will you do the fandango? Thunderbolt and lightning, very very frightening me. Gallileo...."

Pause.

"Gallileo?"

He was staring at me with an amused look on his face but he didn't come in on the high part.

"Please tell me you know that song."

I know it's Bohemian Rhapsody, from Wayne's World."

"Ok. But you know it's Queen right? Please tell me you know Queen."

"Doesn't Queen do all those rock jock songs?

"Um. No,not really. Freddy was like the complete anti-jock. Do you seriously not know Queen? I bet you would if you heard their songs....We Will Rock You and We Are the Champions are good fucking songs, that's why they play them at sporting events. Well, and they're easy to sing along to. What about (singing) I want to ride my bicycle? I want to riiiide my bike?"

"That's Queen?"

"Yup. And, (singing again) fat bottomed girls you make the rocking world go round."

He shakes his head. "That doesn't seem like a song that Queen would sing."

"I know. Just go with it. Under Pressure? Don't Stop Me Now? You know that one, it's from that scene in the pub from Shaun of the Dead, 'Kill the Queen!'"

He's smiling at me, "Nope."

I stare at him mouth agape. "I can't believe you don't know Queen. I think we might have to break up."

He laughs. I laugh too and then, "OR, whenever I drive, we'll listen to Queen's greatest hits and get you educated."

"Ok. When you drive."

Guess who got their license?

Significant Perspective

I had an interview at a place I was excited about working. It took a month to get the interview but I felt it was worth the wait. When I got there and got over the initial interview jitters, I relaxed and started to feel like the questions were easy.  I showed confidence without being a dick and when I left the interview, I left hopeful and with my head high.  Despite the closing statement of, "We'll let you know by the end of the week." I never heard from them again.

I went through a ridiculous roller coaster of emotion. I was hopeful for the first week-they must just be busy. I mean, obviously they're short staffed right? The second week I felt I wasn't good enough-otherwise they'd call, right? The third week I got angry. You can't take five minutes to call and say, I'm sorry we went with someone else?

My cat was diagnosed with cancer. I've written about this before and I can't right now but needless to say I'm affected by the news. I give her whatever she wants and treasure every moment I still have. It's all I can do and I know it and I've finally come to terms with that I think. For now. It could change.

I took my driving test and failed. I fucked up backing around the corner and a few other small things, but it was the corner that got me. I was embarrassed and disappointed and frustrated. It felt like another setback in whatever I was trying to do with myself and I cried as soon as the instructor wasn't around.

Today while in the shower I started thinking about these things that had happened recently and the emotion behind them. I started thinking about how there are far worse problems that people are suffering from in this life. That's true but...it doesn't mean my problems are insignificant.

I've struggled with accepting myself for many many years. I have learned how to identify my struggles. I have learned how to feel about them and how to work through it. But I still have trouble allowing myself to feel them. For some reason, I don't think that my situations or problems are significant and I get angry at myself for feeling them sometimes. I compare them to parents mourning their children lost in a senseless shooting or to someone battling cancer. I tell myself I'm being ridiculous because it's 'just a cat' or 'just a driving test' or 'just an interview'.

I don't know that's true anymore. She is definitely not just a cat. And I worked hard to pass that test. It was a disappointment to fail. I fucking nailed that interview-I was sure of it. And the feeling of frustration at the inconsideration of no follow up is justifiable.

If someone else had voiced these exact same issues to me, about themselves, I would have comforted them and been empathetic. I would say I understood, and hugged them or gotten angry with them, whatever they needed. I wouldn't for one moment think they were being ridiculous. And I was lucky to have friends that did exactly that.

I've had people tell me that I need to not be so hard on myself, or to give myself a break and I'm trying.

She's my cat and I love her and it's ok to feel sad that she's not going to be around as long as I thought she would.

I am going to practice and practice and then practice again until I get that backing around the corner bullshit perfect. I will pass the test and if I don't....I'll try again.

I will let go of the interview and the outcome or lack thereof. I am hurt, frustrated, and maybe a little mad still. But I'm not going to dwell on it. I'll keep looking for what is right for me until I find it.

Looking for work is hard. Losing a pet is hard. Failing is hard. It's ok to acknowledge these things and work through the pain or frustration they bring. It's ok to feel sad and mad and sad again. It's ok to be human. I've got to just work on allowing myself to remember that.

Rough Patch

Been on the verge of tears for days now. At first I thought it was my lady time and then I figured it was just depression rearing it's ugly head. Maybe it's both. I don't know. All I do know is that everything seems a lot more difficult to deal with then it normally does.

Every time I look at my cat I feel tears well up. I don't want to do that, I want to be able to enjoy her. It's like as soon as I knew she didn't have much time left she got worse. Every bit of mucus on her nose is more red with blood. Every sneeze is followed by another. Every cough her whole body shakes. She's so sick and I know it and yet she still climbs in my lap and lets me pet her and love her and I can't let her go yet.

I fucking KNOW about cats. It was my job for nearly a decade. I taught others about cats. Why did I suddenly go stupid about what to do? I already miss her.

I'm lucky. I have had her with me for a long time. I know that. I know that I'm lucky to have a friend that will help end her suffering when it's time to make that decision. I know that I'm lucky she will be here with me and not have to endure a scary encounter before she's gone. But I don't feel lucky. I feel betrayed which is ridiculous. Nature does what it needs to do and I knew she wasn't going to be around forever but why does she have to go now?

She's my girl and there isn't anything I can do.

Every shit thing that is happening right now seems intensified because I'm raw with emotion about my cat. I write that and I know some people will never understand that feeling and others know exactly what it means.

I'm struggling. I wish I was as strong as everyone thinks I am. I don't feel strong. I feel...pointless.

I know it will be better and you can tell me that it will pass and that time is healing and blah blah blah I'll be ok but I don't fucking FEEL OK RIGHT NOW and I so desperately wish to.

I've got to try. I don't want to give up. I just don't want to fight anymore. It's exhausting and I deserve to have good things happen. I try and I AM trying and sometimes it seems like it doesn't matter which doesn't make me want to keep trying. But I do.

For others. For my Fella and my Dad and my friends that love me and my family that loves me...and my cat.

ABC

A is for Apathy
B is for Boredom
C is for I don't Care
D is for Dream
E is for Elephants
F is for Fuck this
G is for Grownup
H is for too much Hair
I is for I know who I am
J is for Just kidding
K is for Kind
L is for Love
M is for Making it work
N is for Never mind
O is for Opals and gems
P is for Pencils and pens
Q is for Quiet sounds deafening
R is for Right hands waving
S is for Signs that I'll make it
T is for Truth
U is for Under my breath I say it
V is for Very much
W is for Welcome
X is for the Xs that haunt
Y is for You don't like plums
Z is for Zed

The letters all spell
Words in my head
Tired and broken and
Bringing the
End.

Default State

I was watching some video on the internet about the Game of Thrones characters and it made me smile. It was only two minutes and as soon as it ended I just felt my whole face fall back into nothing.

I'm sad.

I found out my eldest cat has cancer and may not live to the end of the year. I have had her for 15 years and every day she's more a part of me. I'll have to wrap my head around her not being here, purring on my shoulder. I can't do that yet.

I'm worried.

I still don't have a job. I don't have any income and last night The Fella had to pay a bill for me. I hated it. I'm tired of not being able to pay for things myself. Looking for a job is so disheartening and I'm trying so hard to just stay positive and keep looking and some days, most days lately, that's hard to do.

I'm anxious.

I love driving. I was so afraid of it for so long and now that I've finally found the courage to get out there and try it, I've found I'm pretty good at it. I could still work on parking a bit but I feel comfortable and that's kind of neat. I'm anxious because I still need my license. I need to make an appointment and give it a shot. The idea of a test makes me nervous. Any time my performance might be judged is nerve wracking for me. I'm anxious because it's another expense.


I know I haven't been as affectionate as I usually am. I haven't been as smiley or laughing or fun. I feel like I'm cranky and not saying the right things ever and can't think clearly and that it's just better if I'm not around anyone.  I feel like I'm pushing people away at the same time I'm clinging to them to stay. I feel blah, a little dead inside. I'm on autopilot.

I don't care about a whole lot. I just want to sit with my cat and treasure her. I want to drive and go places at the same time I want to read all day. I want to cook new things and bake treats at the same time I want to go out for dinner. I'm all over the place.

I don't know what I am right now and that makes me worried, anxious.....sad.

Bitch Blog

Feeling kind of cranky this morning. I usually try to focus on the positive but right now? Fuck it. I'm pissy. I'm going to write about all the things that are currently annoying me. It's going to be stupid, and not at all important but hopefully it will make me feel better.

I'm so tired of fighting off a cat when I'm trying to eat. I sit at the dining room table with my coffee and my breakfast and have cats mewing at me, jumping up on the table and staring at me with longing. The Fella and I have made changes in our cooking and eating habits to accommodate the cats for godsakes.  Can't leave anything unattended and if you don't immediately put your dish in the dishwasher after you're done, there will be a cat in the sink to lick it, mark my words. Forget about leaving butter-even shitty unsalted butter-on the counter because it will be licked by a cat. Today while making pancakes, one of them jumped up next to the stove and tried to lick the spatula. I swear to god they will eat us if we die first.

Waking up with a headache is becoming a thing of normalcy and I'm over it. I'm pretty sure it's from eye strain, though how it could be when my eyes have been closed for 6-8 hours, I have no idea. Headaches make me even more cranky and irritable by intensifying things like cats on counters and waning patience. It also makes all noises like annoying neighbor dogs barking and commercials on Pandora seem way louder than they are. The sun is brighter too and that only makes me wish for rain and darkness. It makes watching tv and reading my book painful and that sucks because I don't have anything else to fucking do.

I'm bored. I'm broke. I'm lonely for human interaction. I'm right at the edge of change, toes peeking over the side, body leaning out and yet I can't fall.

I want to drive and go places and I'm not quite there yet and I know it but it still pisses me off because clearly I'm a person that wants instant gratification. I know how unrealistic that is in the grand scheme of things but I still want it.

Kim Davis. Donald Trump. Kanye West. Anything Kardashian. Fat shaming. Racism. Bigotry. Assholes. Game of Thrones spoilers. Ghost cat pee smell. Radio commercials. TV commercials. Unsalted butter. Unanswered text messages. Almost empty containers. Crooked pictures.

Some of these things piss me off more than others. I mean, unsalted butter? Seriously what's the point?

But I also know I'm going to get over this. I'm going to be fine. It will shift again to smiley days. But fuck today and all it's headachey, impatient, unsalted Trumpiness.

Ugh, Society

I have a lot of opinions.

I like to voice them.

But I know how to do it without being a dick. This is why I would never succeed in politics.

I tried tuning things out for awhile. Once the whole Kim Davis thing happened, I was like, ok I'm done. Not even necessarily because of her opinion-though I strongly disagree-but because of the media attention it was receiving. It was frickin' everywhere and outdone only by Trump.

I tried to be uber positive and encouraged others to do the same with happy memes and good vibes. I saw a lot of other people on board but then...it was gone. Like when Dory and Marlin realize it's an angler fish and not just a pretty light, the good feeling was gone.

And then a kid got arrested for building a clock and the internet went apeshit.  There were a few good points brought up about how the situation was handled and I found myself getting all riled up before stepping back. I tried to focus on the feeling of pride I had when I saw people responding predominantly in kind. People like the president were saying, "hey kid, you're awesome." But it could't stop there of course because other people have opinions too.

Why can't we all just be happy? Why does it always have to be an argument? What the shit world? When did you become so pissy?

I think this is something that happens as you get older. You start to realize that the world can be cruel. You realize that life is indeed, not fair and terrible things are happening.

I sometimes wonder if all of this...ugly...was always there and it only seems more prevalent because of social media. When people record racial attacks instead of stepping in and trying to stop it or jump to conclusions about a science project...are we, as a society, that hungry for attention?

There are a lot of things I don't understand about people. Yet I'm still fascinated by them. I wonder what they will do next and brace myself for it. It could be a riot in the middle of the city because another black man was killed or a parade celebrating diversity.

The world may be unfair sometimes, but it's our world. We have to decide what we want to do with it.  My opinion? Just try to not be a dick.

Arachnaphobia

A spider the size of a kraken just scurried across the carpet. Normally, I let the little fellas do their thing (unless they're in the shower-then all bets are off) but this guy I could have ridden.

I called to the Fella for backup.
"Turn on the overhead light."

He spotted the creature right away and turned to me with a look of intensity. "Get the vacuum."

I hauled ass to the living room, thankful we'd been too lazy to put the vacuum away upstairs earlier. I grabbed it and came back to the doorway to find him staring at the floor in the place where Shelob had been when I left.

"Now plug it in and hand me the hose."

I nodded, did as he asked. "Don't take your eye off that bastard."
"Oh no," he said, "I've got him. He's not going anywhere." Pause. "He IS big huh? Better hand me the extension."

He fit the vacuum hose, aimed, and nodded to me, "Ok. Turn it on." I went to turn it off when he stopped me with a wave of his hand, "Give it a minute."

We stood there, vacuuming one spot in the carpet until the Fella announced he could see Aragog was trapped and no longer plotting little evil spider plots behind my bookcase.

It's giant freaky carcass was almost sad, laying there among the cat hair and dust bunnies. Almost.

I felt a little like the girl on the table when there's a mouse, calling the Fella in to 'save' me. Especially when I kissed him and told him he was my hero. To which he replied, "Well it's not like I bare knuckle wrestled him or anything."

But I was able to rationalize my spider death guilt by convincing myself there's no way he hadn't had a good life. I mean, he must have eaten well. Probably was on his way to the neighbor's to eat their 7 year old when he came across my path.

No , the eight legged fiend in a better place now, no doubt partying it up in some weird arachnid heaven with other giant beasts of fright that left this world in a vortex of wind. By the way, The Fella not only emptied the vacuum in to the garbage but then took the garbage out to the garage. He's a keeper that one.

I know now I can safely return to my Stephen King book and not be scared by some creature....wait....

Shut up.

Door Poems

I'm one of those people that has magnet poetry on their fridge. Recently our fridge died and I had to de-magnet before they hauled it away and brought in the new one. I knew there was no way I'd be able to remember any of the little poems that had surfaced, so I grabbed my phone and took a couple pictures. It made me think about when I moved them the first time-what a pain in the ass. No cell phone available for picture taking. I copied all that shit by hand and hoped I didn't miss any of the brilliance friends had created over the years. I found the old poetry-put together and then taken down from my first apartment door in 2001. Bear with me, there's several pages of little pieces of poem. I copied them from the door onto the page, exactly how they were displayed. Just as it was on that door over a decade ago, so it is here.

From 2001:

Passionate breath
will embrace your
mystery

Drool
Pant
Sweat
Lather
Need
all the
Juice
he has

Men
They are repulsive
he loved me
not together
have to ask
how could he?
only a boy

barely
did the
love recall
next vision

feel through
their early
symphony

vanish
like these
sad stars

purple place
blue moment
red snow
pink milk
white delirious
green diamond
peach jealousy

odd tv man

hurry, ask if I will

manipulated
by you
I
cry rain

have him need my time

sun fall
beneath to shadows

a
warm
blue
tiny
moon goddess

shall he
throw me or
keep my virtue

please hear willingly
listen even to the murmurs

you're always better
lightly seduced
please respect

when you stare
at my size
with lying eyes
I cry

suddenly
girl gone mad
smooth frantic

felt
bitter
and
black
as
death

we
surrender dark
I lust for light
I worship it's power
I chant at the storm

drop from
the sky
blessed

tongue like a knife
sweet skin under
my whispers
luscious ache
is
true love?

she is who
I am
Her

I have a garden
and petals

never
use
roses

handsome sausage in a predestined friend

rusting compassion

urge eternity

Dear love,
I'm here
tell the wife

Always
screaming
shaking
pounding

with monogamy
thine still stroke

elaborated gift
from you
blows.

say with a delicate moan

read
ENORMOUS
language

boil
your
head

empty remember

one thousand breaths

turn those hours

was she like a child?

see? still weak

from
two
to
one

have romance
sensual trust

drive me fast

But, she's forever

watch the forest

want my life

open road
may trudge
fall
after me

bewitch cupid

think mostly in here

soar
like
music

sun spray

fiddle
with
smelly feet

Be here

Don't iron

not true

mad spirit

smooth wish

would flood with lies less

so
be
it

come
off the
picture

he comes to me when he's falling
because he knows I'll hold him up


There are a lot of little snippets that perfectly reflect my feelings during that time of my life. Some of the words are sad, some are desperate for companionship, some are silly.

I don't have nearly as much for the more recent group of door poems. Over a decade later my poetry is more lived then told through magnets. I still get inspired sometimes though...

From 2015:
*Again, all poems have been relayed exactly as they were displayed. (And you know that's the truth, cause it rhymed)

from
the
thousand
pound
sad
eat
less

only head sweat

a cold day
in spring

could
never
smooth
time

manipulate iron and earth for blood

did my
mothers weak breath
rob me

from milk
to honey

two finger read

warm spray

sudden light for the garden
shadow about to surrender

a cold day
in spring

why even worship

red
moon
gone
beneath
kindred
blue
star

arm
her essential
ache

we
soar
they
rust

my
enormous
moment

chocolate puppy sausage meat

winter is coming

dream
through
night
mad
by
morning

please play

smeary drool

live
delirious
drunk
frantic
easy
luscious
gentle
raw
fast
open
but
like
life

boiling stare of compassion

I
always
mist
the music

will ask father winter

you
must
run
and
vanish

those who begin behind triumph

wind symphony of death

repulsive skin suit

sordid
tongue

blue as your peach
but shine pink and white

dark knife apparatus

wonder
show

rain like wind
no flood

TV void

a
smooth
delicate
whisper

being in love

one
bed
together
dance

let
none
think
mean

good can take great power

scream to elaborate

urge
want
ask
listen
tell
sing
speak
yell
question
communicate

green
purple
fluff

when
beauty sleeps with
bittersweet
eternity

have
lazy
need

why
talk
language
at all

There's a new fridge now. Clean surface, waiting for creativity to strike. I hope I can find the right words.

Weather

I've always lived in the Pacific Northwest. Rain is not unfamiliar to me. Fall is desperate to begin and it's been damp and gray the last few days. My favorite kind of weather.

The kind of weather that means books in my chair with a blanket and a cat. It means fires and cuddling and sweaters and lovely orange brown and yellow things. It means hot tea on cold mornings and seeing your breath in the air.

Today the sun is playing peek a boo. It beams brightly one moment, full and warm on my skin. The next moment it dashes behind a cloud, turning the sky gray. As I walk around the garden this morning, I find myself waiting for those bursts of sun. I pick up branches from the wet lawn, remnants from the storm last weekend and wipe my brow with the back of my hand. It feels good out here. I feel good.

I go back inside for a second cup of coffee and see my book on the counter. I want to read it but more than that, I want to keep feeling good and the subject is a little dark. I realize I'm hungry and start to create breakfast. Eggs with cheese and tomatoes, toast. It smells like cinnamon in the kitchen from the sprinkling on my coffee. I sing softly to myself as I scramble the eggs. I dance with the cats circling my ankles, content and at ease

The morning sun streams from the window across the table, painting my plate.  I smile, amused by the article I'm reading between bites of toast. I don't know that I miss the rain so much right now. I feel light, hopeful. I feel like the sun is dodging the clouds to spread it's warmth instead of hiding behind them. I feel happy.




I want to drown in this feeling. I think of everything and everyone that makes me feel happy. I take a moment and silently express my gratitude. I contemplate writing about what makes me feel this way and anxiety tells me no one will care. I write about the sun instead-a representation of my feelings. But it's still in there. This need to tell those I care for that I do and my fingers start to fly. It's easy to write when it's about something you are passionate about. I remember this is my blog and my thoughts and that I promised I'd always tell you how I feel about things and I begin.

My dad. He's always the first thing that comes to mind when I'm feeling grateful. He's funny, old enough to be wise, and loves me for who I am. We genuinely like each other as people and I wish I could hang out with him more often. It scares me so much to think about something happening to him-it always has. Since I was old enough to remember, I knew he was going to die. "Daddy might not come home this year", was a phrase I heard often. I'm not trying to be morbid, that's just how it was. His job was dangerous, he may not live to come home in the fall. When he did come home it made it even more of a celebration. Needless to say I kind of hung onto that feeling of dread and while I couldn't possibly be more prepared for it, I'll never be ready for him to be gone. BUT. I know that if it were to happen unexpectedly, I could take a bit of solace in knowing that he loves me and I love him. That, despite anxiety's evil reminder, is what makes me happy. Loving someone is beautiful, but knowing they know? Exquisite.

The girls. I have two very close girl friends, best friends, that know me better than I know myself. I can call or text them any time and I know that they will always respond. They know what I'm talking about with even the fewest words. They've watched me stumble, grow and thrive, just as I have them. Even now as the three of us live separate lives, we're probably the closest we've ever been. They are my sisters, my heart.

My Fella. I truly couldn't have found a better person for me. He is incredibly smart, thoughtful and kind. He is honest and sensitive and supportive. He's a good man that cares about his family and works hard.  And he's nice to waitresses. My grandma once told me that she married my grandpa because he wasn't just nice to her, he was nice to the waitress. My Fella is one of the good ones. I'm lucky to have him.

I'm writing all of this on a computer that I own in a room that is in a house that I live in that has windows that look out over a yard full of green.  I am grateful.

Across the yard I can see my neighbor standing on his deck. He's dancing a little bit with his cell phone in one hand, a joint in the other. My music is on but my windows are closed so it's not mine he hears. I think he sees me seeing him because he stops and looks at his phone. I look away, hoping he's not embarrassed. Dance my friend!

I'm suddenly reminded of a moment shared with someone else and the happiness wanes a bit. I start to remember the argument and I can feel my brow furrow from the memory.  I fight against it, struggle to find the warmth and happiness that began my afternoon. It's still there, a couple paragraphs up. I reread them and sing along to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" because I have to.

I feel the bad memory slip away as I focus more on the present. I reach inside myself for the warmth of the sun and find it, hidden behind a cloud of old pain. I coax it out with the music and a smile, hold it close to me.

It's now brilliant with sun inside and out. The warmth is painting my skin, breeze cool in my hair. I stand still for a moment, again silent with gratitude. My favorite kind of weather.

Metaphor

I have this pain in my elbow that's pretty much always there. But tonight, I noticed it felt fine. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time it hurt.

I straighten my arm slowly, just to be sure. Maybe a small twinge because I was kinda looking for it, but then...nothing. No pain.

I move it back and forth a couple times and then pick up a pen to write. I feel like a phantom limb has been replaced, whole again as the words flow. Paragraphs are pushing to be released and I oblige. Hours pass without my notice. I am in my element. I am me.

I know it won't last. Eventually I'll feel a dull ache begin in my arm, at first just that small twinge again. I will ignore it, keep writing if it worsens. It will feel like ice is crawling down my arm and I'll flex my fingers between lines to get some the kinks out.  The pain will become undeniably present and eventually turn my hand numb. My elbow will scream and I will have to put the pen down.

I will need to learn to live with it again.

This is what my depression is like. It is an ache that is always present, but one that ebbs and flows. Some days I'm writing prose and smiling, happy in my creative moment. Some days I'm crying from a hidden story.

But not today.  Today there is no pain.

I can write.

Hormonal Rant

This month's PMS bout is brought to you by the letters F and U.

I'm frustrated. I look every day for jobs and I've found a few that interest me but no response to my queries. Or I need a degree to pursue them. Or they're too far away-the bus system isn't all that awesome so I'm learning to drive but not there yet and so I'm stuck.

Need a job, need a car, need a job to afford a car, need the car to get to the job.

My boobs hurt like crazy this time around too. Seriously, going down the stairs is torture.

I can't ingest enough carbohydrates. I made banana bread this morning and then pancakes and I'm contemplating a toast sandwich for lunch.

EVERYTHING is annoying. The cats meowing, my plants not growing fast enough, children playing outside. I want to watch crime tv and root for the bad guy because fuck it. I have a permanent furrow to my brow and feel like if I were to actually speak to anyone I'd only be able to communicate with grunts and growls.

It's the job thing that's got me really down. I want money. I want to be able to go to lunch with my friends or buy a book if I want it. I want to be able to splurge and buy a new bra. Especially now when my boobs are screaming.

I thought I had something lined up but I put in the application almost two weeks ago and now I'm feeling discouraged by the lack of response. If I wanted to work at Best Buy or be a nurse I'd be able to jump on in but both of those options are unappealing for very different reasons. I know I'm lucky to even be able to take the time to be particular. I understand that while I might want to complete my Walking Dead collection, my immediate needs like having a home and groceries are being met. I'm not a total dick. But soon I will have bills piling up and I'll have to ask for help. I really hate that.

I thought I'd found something today and started filling out the application. I got all the way to the end before I saw a degree was needed. Instead of just clicking on to the next possibility, I started getting pissed at myself for not pursuing more of an education. I could hear friends and family telling me to go back to school because, "you're so smart!" or "you're so much better than retail/waiting tables" and it made me want to punch something.

I'm reading a book written by a friend. Someone I know has written, completed and published an actual book. I'm fiercely proud and jealous of her success. How can I do that? Where would I even start? What could I possibly publish that people would want to read? This blog doesn't count....does it? I doubt it.

I've been wanting to write something for a week and this is what comes out. Me bitching about PMS. I'm typing this at the dining room table, dodging the cats as they take turns walking across the keyboard half listening to motown. I just pulled the banana bread out of the oven and it smells like mom's kitchen throughout the house. It make me sad because that's part of this hormone bullshit too.

I feel like screaming and if it wouldn't make the neighbor dogs bark insanely I probably would but that would only annoy me. The cat that went awol a few days ago is still on lockdown and desperate to go outside. She spidermans the screen and the sound of her claws ticking up the door drives me insane.

I hate this.

Inside the Dream

The girl had long hair. It was once thick and full, but now lay stringy and greasy down her back. Her clothes were plain, hospital issued. Her eyes were wide with fear. Always.

She liked to be alone in the room. They couldn't touch her there. Her bed had become her safe place. The sheets were stained from night sweats and urine. She didn't like to leave the bed often.

Her knees were to her chest, arms locked around them when she started rocking. She was crying but hadn't noticed. Someone came into the room and stood above her, said her name. She didn't hear them.

When I saw her my breath caught. I stood outside her room and watched her through the window, silently crying. I hadn't wanted to come. This place was haunting. I remember wanting to leave the moment I stepped inside.

I talked to someone that held a chart in her hands while we walked down the aisle away from her room. She seemed important, knowing. Someone that knew how the girl in the room had gotten that way. But she had no answers for me.

How did she get like that? Has she always been that way? What happened to her?

The woman with the chart only shook her head at me with sad eyes before walking away.  I was alone outside the room again, looking in at the girl through the window. Through the looking glass.

She'd moved to the other side of the bed, into the corner. Her hair hid her face, swaying gently as she rocked. I saw her soiled clothing and sheets and could bear it no longer. I tried the door and was surprised to find it unlocked. Why hadn't she tried to leave?

The girl kept her head down, oblivious to my entering. It felt like miles between us as I walked toward the bed. I grew sadder as I approached, but stronger. I had to help her.

I stood next to her and smelled the sorrow on her skin. She still hadn't looked at me and I hesitated a moment before reaching out to touch her shoulder.  I spoke to her gently, "Dear girl...let me help you..."

She stopped rocking, slowly raised her head.  Her face was mine.

Chrissy

I was talking about death the other day, but it wasn't a sad thing. Just discussing it. It occurred to me that for being as young as I am, I've known a lot of death.

My grandparents, both sets, my mother. Coworkers and acquaintances and friends. It's Chrissy's death that haunts me.

She saved my life. Every time I write that or say it aloud, I start to cry because I miss her so.

I was on the back porch, my hand clutched around a bottle of pills. I don't even remember how I got them but there they were. I was sitting on a rock wall, my back to the gate when she came in. I wasn't thinking about anything except the sweet relief I was sure awaited me. I heard her say my name but it didn't register. I didn't even look up until she took the bottle.

She was crying when I looked up at her and I was surprised to feel I was too. I let the tears fall, watched hers fall as she asked me, "Why?"

I didn't know. I still don't. But she made me stop and try and figure it out.

I started therapy soon after that and she drove me to nearly every appointment. She'd wait for me and was willing to talk or listen on the ride home-whichever I needed. Sometimes we'd just listen to music. She sat with me when all I could do was cry and she'd laugh with me when I found something to smile about. She threw me a surprise party that I knew about and invited friends I hadn't seen in years just to remind me I was loved.

She fucking saved me.

She died too young. People often say that when someone leaves but she really did. She was only 34.

I remember the day I got the phone call. I was at work and it was the day after Valentine's Day. My best friend was on the line and when she said it, at first I thought she was joking. How could our friend possibly be dead?

Me and Chrissy had drifted over the years. She did some things, I said some things, we both had regrets. I'd heard she wasn't doing particularly well but you never think...

When it sunk in that she was really gone, l died too. An overwhelming mix of guilt and sadness washed over me and I couldn't do anything but cry.

I went to the viewing, something I'd never done before. It was surreal.

There were people I'd grown up with and hadn't seen in years, sitting in chairs clutching kleenex.  We said hello to each other in somber tones and awkward hugs. I saw her son, so young, and felt my heart break. I wanted to go to him, tell him I knew what it was like to lose your mom but I didn't. I couldn't. She was his mom and my friend. How could I know what it was like?

I remember there was music playing. Her cousin had been in charge of picking what to play and when I recognized it was New Kids on the Block, I had to smile. She would have loved the cheesiness of it. Her mother sat in the front row, occasionally going to the casket at the front of the room to stand quietly.

I had quit smoking but went outside anyway. It was raining. Or was it? I can't remember. I felt so awful. The guilt I had of not reaching out to her was reflected in other's faces. I wanted to talk about it, but how do you say you're sorry to someone that's not there anymore?

I wasn't going to look at her. I hadn't seen her in so long and I just wanted to remember how she used to be. Smiling and flirty, a phone or a cigarette in her hand. If I closed my eyes I could still see her reach into her pocket for chapstick and hear her laugh. It was so hard to believe she was gone. I had to look.

I didn't tell my friends I was getting up I just walked to the front of the room and approached the casket.

She was an odd color. Her skin was a yellowy beige and her hands looked old folded on her chest. She was wearing an Adidas sweatshirt, a favorite staple in her wardrobe, and matching shoes. She didn't look like she was sleeping.

I didn't cry at first. I just stood there, staring. I don't know how much time passed before I started talking to her.  I told her I was sorry. I told her she was loved, that I'd never stopped loving her and that just because I hadn't been there lately, it didn't mean I hadn't cared. I told her I was sorry she had been sad and sick and angry. I told her I was sorry I couldn't save her the way she'd saved me.

I wanted to touch her but couldn't. I just looked at her. "Why?"

I know I'm here because of her. I am able to live because of her. She helped me in a way I never would have been able to return. I only wish I'd had the opportunity to try.

In the Dark

I feel stuck. I feel like life is just out of reach and I'm standing here, hands outstretched, just falling short of whatever it's supposed to be for me.

I have headaches and I cry and I eat or don't eat and I can feel sadness seeping in. I tell myself that I'm ok, that everything is fine, that I'm going to get through this but I don't know it.

I look around the house and notice dirt on the floor but walk past it. I see dust on shelves and think, I should clean, but I don't do it.

I peruse my bookshelves, longing for something to jump out at me and get angry because I can't buy anything new.

I look at job sites and scroll through offers, barely seeing the words because the thought of having an interview, getting a new job, starting over, scares me.

I don't know what I'm doing and sometimes, despite the love and happiness I have with my fella, I can't help thinking I was a bit foolish. How could I just up and move my everything without a plan?

The stupid part about all of this is that logically I know that if I'd just get up and try I'd feel better. I was fucking FINE just two days ago. I was strong and helped someone else feel better. But now, it's almost as though my body and mind have soaked in every sadness that there is and it's literally painful. My head aches and my eyes hurt.

I want to be alone but then when I am, I can't wait to have someone near me. I can't sleep except when I do and then it's hard and full of strange dreams.

I feel so lost and yet I know exactly where I am because I've been here before. How long before I'm out of the dark?

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

I need to break up with my former employer.

I don't mean that we were dating-ew-but I need to focus on moving forward instead of hoping I can still reach back.

I loved my job. Not every day because work, but I really did. I loved helping people learn and grow into themselves. I helped them see things differently and in turn, help others. I loved seeing that look of sudden understanding in their eyes or hearing them pass along a bit of wisdom I might have shared. It made me feel good and after a while,  I got pretty good at being a manager. The biggest part of that success was knowing that it wasn't about managing at all, but about leading.

I had respect for the company I worked for. I still do. I admired the owners and their ethics and was proud to tell people what I did for a living.

It became who I was.

I didn't know that until I wasn't there anymore and it hit me about a month or so after I got here. Maybe a little sooner-about the time that a long vacation would have ended if I'd been on vacation and not starting my life over.

When I left, I had hope that I'd be able to join the company again. I thought it would be perfect. A bit of home in a new place. But that fell through and suddenly I was filing for unemployment and searching job sites. I clung to the hope that something would come along that was just right for me and I could continue to be happy while making some income.

Not yet.

It's been over two months now since I left. I don't think they're going to call one day with a miracle offer of the perfect job. I need to accept that I left the company and move forward to other things.

It scares me shitless. I am thisclose to 40 and I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I don't just want a job, I want something I can be proud to say I do. I recognize how lucky I am that I have this time to find it. I am grateful that I have people in my life that support me as I find my way but...

Breaking up is hard to do. I miss my staff and the challenges that customers could bring. I miss the laughing and the crying too. I miss watching people learn.

So what do I do now? Look for a job that's not just a job. Continue learning how to drive and enjoying my new city.  And mourn. It's ok to miss my old job. I just can't dwell on what used to be. Gotta work on living in the now.

Haunted

I haven't been in a lot of relationships and really, none of them were good. I didn't always know that while in them but you know hindsight-she's a hag.

My relationships haunt me. Sometimes I'll have a memory flit through my mind and feel like it's going to happen all over again.

The first boy that ever french kissed me was a 'bad boy' and extremely exciting. I was talking about him in class to a friend one day when the girl in front of me turned around. She asked me what his name was and shook her head. He was dating her cousin. He wasn't my boyfriend after all, he was someone else's.

My first boyfriend broke up with me shortly after I didn't put out during a healthy make out session. Less than a month later he was dating my best friend. Before we broke up though, he made sure to comment that I have hair on my lip and he could feel it when he kissed me, forever making me self conscious about it.

I fell for a guy when I was 18 and when you're 18, you fall HARD. He left for the military shortly after we met but when he came back we rekindled and he was perfect. Except that he absolutely wasn't. He was cheating with someone near his military base and then cheated again with a girl at a random party when he was home and then tried lying when I caught him.

We broke up and then later he asked for forgiveness and support during a hard time. I agreed and fell in love again because I wanted to. He bought me a locket and took me to a fancy dinner for my birthday. After the food and before dessert, he disappeared for 45 minutes, leaving me alone at the top of the Space Needle with a waitress that had sympathetic eyes. I was just contemplating finding a pay phone to call and have my dad pick me up when he came back as though nothing was wrong. When prodded why he was gone so long, he just smiled and shrugged. I still don't know where he went.

He cheated once more before I finally stopped trying.

I developed feelings for a couple guys online after that. It was much easier that way. They were far from me and couldn't see me. I was going through a dark period of my life, a familiar pattern, where I didn't like myself much. I was safe behind the screen, typing. I wouldn't get hurt that way.

I was wrong.

I liked him as a friend first, then quickly much more. He lived far away but not too far and he visited. We clicked instantly but he was there to take my roommate out. She told me he was 'too nice' and to go for it. I had no idea how and so we remained friends that eventually drifted apart.  

Years later we started talking again. We sent each other letters and talked on the phone. It wasn't long before I learned two things. He had gotten married and I was in love with him.

This was a weird thing for me. I knew it wasn't right, but I knew my feelings were true. He confessed he felt the same and then it was truly just torture.  After many months of hoping he'd leave her and knowing he wouldn't, I eventually let him go. He came to me after divorce was initiated. By her.  He told me after we'd spent a weekend together that he didn't feel the same as me. He broke me.

I had been friends with one guy since high school. We never dated, never even flirted. Our friends were dating each other so we were in the same circle. It wasn't until we were 21 and running into each other at the local pub all the time that we started to become more than friends. He had too many beers one night and confessed he'd thought of me every day since graduation. He had come back (from basic training) to look for me he said. And I melted. I allowed myself to believe that he might be the one I'd been waiting for. We spent months together, going out to eat, taking road trips to the ocean, watching tv or just sleeping next to each other in bed. We touched and flirted and then touched more. One night things came very close to forever severing the friend line and yet something held us back. In the morning he took me to work and then drove away with a wave and a smile. I never saw him again. He's now a Facebook friend I never talk to.


The first guy I slept with treated me like shit. He told me constantly that he didn't like me in 'that way' though his actions screamed otherwise. He told me he didn't want to be with me because of my appearance, because I wasn't sexually experienced for him, and because I didn't drive. All of the things that I struggled with about myself he pinpointed and highlighted as undesirable. I didn't know this at the time-I just agreed that those parts of me were awful. I felt ugly when I was with him. He openly flirted with other women when I was around and then he'd come home with me, cuddle up next to me on the couch, sleep next to me and with me, kiss me... I thought I only had to wait for him to realize that we were supposed to be together. This went on for years.

I fell into a deep depression. My mother was sick, I was terrifically unhappy in my job, I was in love with a man that said one thing and did another so I was confused and hurting too. I broke down one day and he left. He told me he didn't want to deal with me anymore and just...left me. I will never forget it. I was at the lowest part of my life at that point and he disappeared. Eventually I grew strong again but it took a long time. Years.

I was in a good place when I met the next man I lived with. He took care of me. He took me to concerts and plays and to the ocean. I enjoyed being around him and he made me laugh. We lived together for two years and not once shared intimacy. I wanted to. I tried talking about it with him and there was always an excuse. I thought maybe at one point he might be gay. I didn't even care, I just wanted to know. I walked into our bedroom once and caught him on the computer, masturbating. I'm no prude but he closed the laptop immediately and acted as though it hadn't happened. We were a couple and I didn't understand why he could perform a solo act but not with me.

Not too much longer an opportunity came that allowed me to break things off with him. It wasn't because I didn't like him or even love him because I did. But I felt like the invisible girl. He wasn't touching me or spending time with me like he used to. It was clear we weren't supposed to be a couple anymore.

So I was on my own again. Time passed and eventually I met the man that I would later identify as a sociopath. He was angry all the time. He hated people and couldn't find joy in anything, even if it was right in front of him. He was cruel to himself, he spoke cruelly of others and judged people instantly. He and I took a walk once and he stopped in front of a building. He looked me up and down, then did the same to our reflection. "Yeah, I think this will work." He was concerned with what others thought of our appearance together. I made a comment once about how I'd like to be healthier. Later that day a girl was in front of us and I remarked how her weight seemed a good goal to reach for. The young lady wasn't stick thin, she was healthy and I meant it only in conjunction with the comment I'd made earlier. "I'd probably want to fuck you more if you looked like that, " was his reply.

It took more than a year for me to realize that these kinds of comments were not complimentary. Seems silly now when I'm writing it but when you're in the midst of a relationship, you don't always see what you should. Thanksgiving with him was my moment of clarity and on the bus home I knew I didn't want to see him again. That I couldn't. If I stayed much longer, I'd lose myself completely and I'd come too far and been through too much.

I ended things before Christmas.

I am haunted by these men. I believe that each situation provided a learning experience and I can appreciate it now, looking back. But not without hurt.

Talking with dad the other day, he mentioned that he liked My Fella. He's never said that about any of the others. He told me it was because My Fella is a man who treats me well. It really is as simple as that.

I'm not stupid and even in the best moments with the men from my past, something told me they weren't right. There was always something and it's now, when there is nothing but total and complete honesty  do I know what it means to truly be in love.

I still cringe a little when I notice hair on my lip. If I walk into his office and The Fella turns his computer off suddenly, I might wonder for just a moment. When I'm feeling down, I worry that it will become an annoyance and he'll decide he doesn't want to deal with me anymore. I am haunted.

But I know it's right. I have no doubt that he loves me completely. That he accepts me and supports me is also true and I know I'm lucky. I just didn't know relationships could be like this because I'd never had someone care for me in the way I needed. In the way I cared for them.

The Last Rose In The Garden

 last rose in the garden

peach pink and perfect

breath on summer nights

salty

briny

unclean undertone

 last rose in the garden

near bloom and wasted

death on summer nights