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