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.
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Monday, October 26, 2015
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.
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.
Sunday, October 25, 2015
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.
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.
Thursday, October 22, 2015
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?
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?
Friday, October 9, 2015
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.
Thursday, October 1, 2015
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.
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.
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