Killer

She was working again. I frowned on the inside a little bit. I was already cranky and this woman's vibe was never exactly...pleasant.

She was the only one working the front and this morning she was dusting the conveyor belt of Register 3. I had no choice, I was going in her line.

There was no smile on her face, but there was pride. She looked tired too. She always did. And angry at something that had happened hours ago. I'd seen her before, my day just beginning as hers was ending. She was an older woman in a red jumper and black Velcro shoes. Even her clothes were cranky.

I watched her go behind the counter and carefully put her duster away, ignoring my presence as long as she could. I could feel myself getting more cranky and I made a decision.

Working in customer service is hard and not everyone is nice. In order to not take that personally I had to learn there's only one thing I can do when someone is exceptionally grumpy or rude. I kill them. With kindness. In 30+ years, I've gotten pretty good at it. I take great pride in getting even the most cantankerous cashier to smile. It challenges me and ultimately, it puts me in a better mood too.

I needed to do that again. Right now. With an exhausted grocery store clerk, coming off the graveyard shift. I needed to kill her.

"Good morning!" I grinned. I knew it wouldn't work, she always ignored me when I said it the first time.

A moment later, I tried again. "Hi! Good morning!"

This time she looked up and her mouth moved into a pressed thin line. "Good morning." Not even a fake lilt of cheerfulness to her tone. She sounded like she was reading from a script.

She said her next line in monotone. "How are you today?" She didn't even look at the items as they moved across the register. Her hands are on autopilot. Her face is towards me but she's not looking at me, her eyes are bored.

"I'm great," I lie, still smiling. You're not going to win this.  I glance at her name tag and note she has an unusual name. "How are you?"

"Fine. Thank you." I can tell she's used to this being the end of Grocery Store Interaction with Random Customer but today...things are different.

It's nearly time for her to announce my total.  My transaction won't take much longer. I make my move as the last yogurt cup beeps.

"How do you pronounce your name?"

She pauses, thrown from her routine. She looks at me for a moment, then at her name tag as though surprised to find it there. She meets my eyes and swallows, says her name strongly. The same pride I saw when she was cleaning her station comes through in her voice and my view of her begins to take shape.

I tell her it's a lovely name and her face lights up. Suddenly, she's lovely too. "Thank you."

She instructs me on how to use the debit card I use every day and money is exchanged for goods. I ask her politely, "Do you like working the graveyard shift?"

Her face still holds some of the warmth that came when she was asked about her name and she smiles- a real smile- one that touches her eyes. She tells me she does like it; It works with her husband's schedule.

I nod, smiling back at her."That makes all the difference doesn't it?"

I take my bag and head towards the door. I feel a little lighter than when I first walked in. I've decided to try and do this more often with more people.  I'm thinking about all the opportunities I might have in my day to kill when she calls after me, suddenly off script.

"Have a nice day!" she says and the tone is warm now, and friendly. I wave back with a "You too" and then I'm out the door into the winter morning a little not surprised it ended this way.

I smile to myself as I start the car.  Still got it Killer.

Revisit

"Don't panic!!! I'm in the hospital...."

Ten years. It had been ten years since I'd seen it. It looked the same from the outside. A big building, new with lots of steel and concrete. Typical downtown.

The parking garage wasn't free anymore and this time I was driving into it. I'd mixed it up with the parking garage at the other hospital where you could park on the roof and walk over a skybridge right to the elevators. That hospital had parts of it that were still the original building and brick wall could still be visible in some corners. It was the kind of hospital that you expected to see nuns floating down the hallway.

But this one, the one she died in...It was newer. More expensive equipment to save you from death, except when nothing could. And instead of the roof, I was going farther underground as I looked for a parking space to wedge into. The air feels so heavy in a parking garage. It pushes down on you as soon as you open the car door.

"C is for Camel."  The floors of the garage were identified with animals. I glanced at the tacky silhouette of a camel on the wall and realized with a smirk that it looked like the cigarette mascot.

There's a smell to a parking garage that is unpleasant but familiar. It smells like...cars and dust and darkness. The elevators are not better and we rode up in silence.

The lobby is suddenly before us and there's a Starbucks in it. The aquariums I'd stared at for hours on long nights were gone, replaced by ridiculously expensive glass sculptures. It felt like an airport.

There is no directory. Instead there is a round desk where two bored looking girls in scrubs are sitting. They point me in the right direction and I head down the hallway.

I'm not alone. The Fella came with, and I could feel him next to me, but it was as though I was walking down that corridor all by myself. I was instantly that almost 30 year old in an old green sweatshirt, clutching coffee and reeking of nervous cigarettes. I was going upstairs to the ICU.

The elevator doors opened and the first thing I saw was the artwork. It's awful. Pastel colors thrown onto canvas in an attempt to appear abstract. They were motel pictures. Garage sale leftovers. And the same as they were ten years ago.

I knew where the nurse's desk was, and wasn't surprised to find it empty. Some things never change. A nurse came around the corner and asked me if I was his daughter. I nodded and she took me in to see him.

I was so focused on making sure that he was ok, that we find out what was wrong so we can fix it that I didn't let myself remember where I was. Not completely anyway. As I struggled to put the face mask on I remembered the gowns we had to wear before. Ugly yellow paper things that did nothing except rustle annoyingly. "Just precautionary."

The masks weren't much better. Tight and pinching under my eyes. My glasses kept getting caught on the top.

When I saw him he looked the same. His hair is long right now, too long in my opinion and rivals his beard in grayness. He was watching golf and was wearing his half smile. He looked wonderfully...fine.

We talked for a bit and he told me what happened. I listened. We discussed his lack of a newspaper and desperate thirst. A doctor came in and asked him questions but looked at me for the answers.

It wasn't long before I had to get out of the room and walk about, take that damn mask off. The air was wretchedly dry and I couldn't breathe. It was loud. The beeps of the machines and the sounds of others moaning in pain or distress came in from neighboring rooms. There seems to be no way anyone can rest.

I walked by the waiting room I'd called home ten years ago. I stood at the window I had so many times before and smelled the burnt coffee in the pot on the counter. It all came back. Seeing loved ones bent over beds or in the hallway brushing their tears away. Trying to read, sleep, watch tv, anything to not go back in there and watch her die.

But the smell is what invades me now. Hospitals always have a certain scent but the ICU is different. It smells like fear and sadness and waiting and hoping and death.

Downstairs with a Starbucks in my hand, I found a chair to call people. That's what you do in a hospital waiting room. I looked around at all the people that were there. Most of them had their face in their phones with looks of concern. I swear I could feel their pain, it was so familiar.

When I returned to his room, he was asleep. Seeing him curled up on his side, that ridiculous hair splayed around his head softly sleeping made my heart swell and then break.

He's not infallible. Despite years of him telling me otherwise, he will die someday. He could have died this time. He's all I have left and he's in the same fucking hospital that she died in. He told me he didn't want to come here. I vowed I would never return and yet...here we both are.

I know he's been sedated but I still close the door quietly. I place the uncomfortable face mask back on and step from the airlock into his room. He doesn't stir as I stand there, feeling our roles of adult and child shift. It takes me a moment to realize what's so unsettling...he's not snoring. I smile a bit at that-I do believe it's the first time I've ever heard him sleep without rattling the windows-and I walk towards him to say goodbye.

He doesn't hear, but I tell him that I love him and kiss his forehead. I close the door quietly and leave the room without looking back.

The nurse finds me and fills me in, tells me to go home. She assures me things are fine and tells me to call anytime for updates. She's kind.

The Fella pays the parking fee and then I'm driving home. I start to breathe better as the freeway opens up. I hear the nurse telling me he's going to be ok and begin to believe it. I start thinking about what I can and cannot do for him going forward.

Music is on the radio and I feel myself releasing tension as home gets closer.
He's going to be ok.
I didn't panic.





   

Detachment

Please just see me

Notice that I'm here

Recognize my feelings

Feel my weighted stare

Please just see me

Say hello some time

Initiate contact

Get to know I'm kind

Please just see me

Understand a bit

I will always listen

But I won't put up with shit

Please just see me

Watch the hate inside me grow

While you continue to ignore me

I'm putting on a show

Please just see me

Smiling through a bitten tongue

I didn't know it would be like this

Who knew you'd be that one

Please just see me

Watch me walk away 

Notice how I don't care anymore

I don't need to stay

Please just see me 

Angry but strong

Better off without you

Knowing you were wrong

Please just see me 

Free from your insanity

Finally letting go

Better places bound for me

Serenity in Co-dependency

I've been learning some new words lately.

Co-dependency is one of them. Once I understood the word, I had to work on accepting it. But accepting what you always kind of knew but denied about yourself is never an easy path to walk down.

As soon as I asked and someone told me that being co-dependent meant constantly seeking approval from someone... a cold pit formed in my stomach because that's exactly what I do. I looked into it a bit further and learned that a co-dependent is defined as "a person whose thinking and behavior is organized around another person or their behaviors." Wow. That little nugget sure slapped me with some realism. I was suddenly forced to accept all kinds of things that I didn't want to.

As I pondered this word and it's meaning, I came to understand a few things. I've been co-dependent with a lot of people in my life, specifically in romantic relationships.

In past relationships that were almost right, but not quite, I would try to change who I was. I would accept that the things they said were 'not that bad' just to keep things almost right. Looking back, I kind of knew it wasn't healthy to be in a relationships like that. But I shoved it way down deep and that little dark place can be ignored if you try hard enough.

With former bosses or teachers or others that I was supposed to look up to, I've also developed co-dependency. I have always wanted to be perfect, even when rationally I knew that was ridiculous because no one is. I have always tried to do my best and practically pleaded for someone to notice. I realized this need was something that stemmed, at least in part, to the environment I grew up in.

A lot of what I did wasn't good enough. I would clean my room without prompting and be so proud. I'd ask my parents to come look at the new layout of a freshly rearranged bedroom and instead of praise, the flaws would be pointed out. If there were expectations laid out and I didn't meet them, I was reminded regularly. If I did meet them, I hadn't done it soon enough. I accepted this and allowed this way of thinking to lead me in my decision making and goals attempted throughout my adulthood.

I have had men that I was 'in love' with tell me I was fat, ugly, boring...and I accepted it. Instead of believing those things weren't true, I tried to not be what they perceived and when I couldn't change my weight or my appearance or my personality, I saw myself as a failure and unworthy of their 'love'.

Admitting all of this to myself is...hard.  Recognizing that literally decades of my life were spent with this deep need to please others is also really hard.  I am finally beginning to understand how that led to who I am. When you spend your whole life not giving a shit about yourself and someone tells you, no no...you ARE important, well it's a bit staggering. Even if they've said it to you multiple times over the years, you don't hear it, can't hear it, until you're ready to. And when you are ready, when you're able to hear the compliments and kindness...it's so loud.


It's distracting. You feel great because you start to see what others have all along. You start to let go of the negativity that has weighed you down for years and years. But with that relief and light acceptance, comes guilt. It might feel selfish. It might feel wrong and false because it's so new. Beginning to believe in yourself, building boundaries to protect yourself, learning to accept and truly love yourself is fucking hard.

I'd heard of the Serenity prayer before. I roughly knew the words. But when you read them and begin to apply them, or start saying them to yourself regularly, to the point where you actually start to believe them...things start changing.

Serenity to accept the things I cannot change.

This one is hard. Really hard. I've spent a lifetime trying to change things or people. I didn't realize that's what I was doing but when I was able to step back and look...that's exactly what I was doing. I'd always thought that 'changing someone' meant that I wanted to change the person's clothes or beliefs or other 'on the surface' things.  I wanted them to be better people. I wanted to believe they could change into what I wanted them to be, what I thought was best for them, and eventually, ultimately for me. I have always wanted to accept others just as they are, but I couldn't accept that sometimes that who they are, wasn't right for me. So I tried to change them. I cannot do that. Not with people, or circumstances. Things are the way they are. I can certainly give tools, share ideas, discuss differences...but it is up to an individual to make the change. They have to want to make a change and accepting that I can't make it for them is a new feeling. Accepting that I've done everything I can and that sometimes, most times, it isn't enough is hard too.

Courage to change the things I can.

But I'm not helpless. I can make changes in my own life. I can choose to not let someone else's behavior alter mine. I can choose to set a boundary that forces others to respect my feelings about things I never thought were worthy of note before. I can make choices for me and not be concerned with how others may feel about those choices. If I truly believe I've done the right thing, then why would I ever feel fear? It's a new concept for me. Believing I've made the right decisions for myself, believing IN myself. It's not easy and I've found it does in fact, take courage. To look inside yourself, to admit things about yourself...To begin to make changes that better who I am and how I live. I'm not afraid.

Wisdom to know the difference.

It sometimes takes me awhile to realize what I need to do for myself. Sometimes I am nearly completely broken before I figure it out. I might think about all possible outcomes, play every scenario in my mind, causing an overwhelming amount of confusion and chaos. Sometimes I discuss it with those I trust, or I write it down for no one to read. Sometimes I get lost along the way and am forced to just wait for a little while. But I get there. In fact, I'm still getting there. Wisdom isn't something you get all at once.

In My Mind

I have a tightness in my chest that I've never felt before. It terrifies me but I know it's not going to last. It's just life.

I have a million things to think about and I don't want anything to be on my mind.

I've been so exhausted. And raw. Like a newly made scratch. Red and puffy and angry and not quite bleeding. Raw.

I feel like I might be a little crazy and I can't be sure but I think I'm doing it to myself. I go through my day but I'm on autopilot and that doesn't work that well at work.

I feel like if you looked at me, you'd know. I fear you'd ask me that dreaded question, "Are you ok?" Because I'd feel like I have to say I was when I'm not and then I'd have to walk away or I'd cry.

I can't seem to relax. My mind is going one way and then back another. In between racing thoughts, I make mistakes at work. I cry when someone is kind to me and I wake screaming from nightmares.

I feel...indescribable.

Home Alone

It's been a long time since I've been alone in the house.

It's kind of weird. I didn't realize how different it is without The Fella here. I might be reading or watching something he hates while he's in his Nerditorium doing nerdy things, but that's not the same. You can feel when someone is home, even if they aren't in the room with you.

It's been a long time since I've been alone in the house.

I went upstairs a little while ago to get a sweatshirt and walking through the house I could really hear the quiet. I could also hear the neighbor's dog barking and the TV downstairs and the hum of appliances that you don't really hear unless you are trying to, but the quiet was the loudest.

I zippped up the sweatshirt and stood at the top of the stairs. Looking down into the living room, I felt a sensation come over me like no other. At first, for just a second, I thought (maybe hoped a little) that it was a spirit. I shrugged that off as an overreaction to my coworker telling me all about the latest Ghost Adventures episode at work today and started downstairs.

I saw the familiar shape of the desk at the bottom, knew exactly how much room to give it so I didn't catch my hip on the corner. I sat down in my chair and pulled the blanket up over my knees. I leaned back and muted the TV so I could listen to the quiet.

It's been a long time since I've been alone in the house.

It took a long time for me to feel comfortable here. It felt like I was living in The Fella's house.  I moved in and he'd been living here for two weeks so his imprint, his...presence was already here.

Tonight, one year and almost 5 months exactly later, alone in the house I feel it. It's our house.

The Fella has never done anything to make me feel otherwise. He's always encouraged a reflection of both of us and he really doesn't seem to mind when I do things like buy towels for the bathroom that no one will ever use. So it wasn't because of anything he did or didn't do.

Something about that moment on the stairs tonight, looking down into the living room and seeing the skeleton dressed in armor next to a cat toy brought it all together for me. I'm not sure why but in that moment, it finally became our house.

Maybe I've finally accepted that I deserve it to be.

Emotional Waters

Lots of emotions today. 

Driving by that crumpled bicycle this morning rattled me. The flashing blue and red lights were so bright in my eyes, I could do nothing but look. The site soon blurred as tears built. 

A 'thank you' came from someone unexpected. And it was genuine. Only two words, but they came with a smile and honest appreciation-things I needed today. 

Three conversations with people I'm lucky to know. Three separate conversations where I'm reminded that not only are they important to me, but I am to them. 

Three more times tears pricked my eyes. 

My mind is just flooding. I can't focus on tv, on this blog, on a book, or on my thoughts. 

I jump from the accident this morning, to the kind words from a coworker, to a text chain filled with concern about a completely different matter, to my mom and how much I miss her right now. How very much. 

Then they jump to my grateful heart, full of love for family and friends. To the upcoming party, to having new neighbors, to planning a trip to the grocery store and that weird pain in my finger. 

I fucking hate this. I just wanted to sit in my chair and NOT think tonight and instead I'm drowning in myself. But it won't stop just because I want it to.

So I have to let it. 

I have to take each thought-every flooding wave- and process it. I have to accept any feelings that get stirred and allow them to flow through-slowly, carefully- so I can begin again. So I can move on to the next thought. The next wave. 

I have to breathe. And focus. I have to work at staying strong, at remembering the little things as the waves hit. Because I will not drown.  

Perfect leaf. 

Good coffee.

Cat face nudges.

Mild Autumn evenings.

Cookies.

Good book.

Calm waters after a storm.

 

Right Here, Right Now

I don't like right now.

In the middle of now my heart feels sad and unshed tears burn. I watch tv and try to think of anything but what rolls in my mind. I can't focus. Except when I'm focusing on something so intensely that a headache develops. I drink coffee and not enough water. I'm not hungry unless I'm eating.

I desperately try to shift my thinking towards happier things, but it doesn't work. It comes out in my dreams. Any anxiety I've denied while awake pours out through mumbled sentences in an unconscious fog. I'm so tired but I'm not sleeping.

There's a glimmer of what can only be hope deep inside me and even though it's small-I can still see it so I know. It will be better later.

Walk in the Woods

I went to the park after work today.  I drove right by my street and down the hill and into peace. 

I needed to be with trees and birdsong and evening frog croaks and...myself. 

There were several signs cautioning me to not leave valuables in my car so I grabbed my purse and shoved my keys in my jacket pocket. It was a little cold, but I dressed warmly today. The chill on my cheeks had been there already from the tears. 

I didn't have a great day. Not every day is great and that's ok, but this one rattled me a bit. I let it. 

The tree canopy above me was gold and green. The trunks were black, smeared with moss patches. It smelled good. Like crushed leaves and wood and October. 

There were others on the path and it annoyed me. I wanted to be alone. I tried to ignore them but inevitably I'd look up at the last second to catch them smiling, nodding a hello. I didn't want to be smiled at. I was sad. I was letting myself be sad. 

I watched the ducks move through an algae filled pond. In the wood railing surrounding it, among the hearts and the initials + someone else's initials, a word had been carved.  "Patience." 

I walked away, swallowing tears again. Patience. I need to be patient with myself. 

I'm still learning to accept my feelings. 

I'm still learning to listen to myself too. I went to the park after work today. By myself. I made the decision to not go home right away and to go to a place I knew made me feel calm. I recognized that was what I needed, where I could go to find it, and then I did it. I accepted it. 

  

While walking among the trees, I was taking pictures. Branches against the sky that looked like arms reaching. Green, gold, orange and red leaves decorating the ground and crossing my path. I suddenly knew I had to find the perfect leaf. I began walking with my head down, searching for the perfect leaf to show itself to me. 

As I searched, my mind wandered back to troublesome thoughts. The leaves all started to look brown and dirty, blending together.  I was kicking them instead of gliding through. I started thinking it was ridiculous to find one leaf to photograph.  

I was about to give up when I saw it and stopped.   

I reached for my phone and then shoved it back into my pocket, started walking again. I got just far enough to decide it was ok to go back and take the picture. For me to decide I'd found it. I took my phone back out of my pocket and crouched down, getting close to the leaf.  Yellow and curled slightly on one side, it rested against the side of my path. The sun was hitting just the edge of an upturned corner, giving the leaf a warm glow. Sometimes I'll take two or three shots to find the right angle but this time, one was all I needed. I turned off the camera on my phone and took a deep breath, let it out slowly. 

Patience. 

I stood up from the leaf and put my hands back in my pockets, cold. A couple was walking towards me. I looked up and met their smile with a nod. 

She smiled back, "Beautiful isn't it?" 

"Yes, it is."  

Ten Cents a Day

The first time I remember seeing a homeless person I was little, maybe 5 or so. I was downtown with my parents and it was cold. Holiday season. We were at the Pike Place Market. I can see the cobblestone roads and hear the fish mongers shout. I can smell the salt in the air mingling with my father's ever present cigarette and I can feel the warmth from winter coat.  

I was ahead of them, stepping on sidewalk cracks. A dirty broken shoe caught my eye and I looked up to see a bearded man sitting on the ground. His clothing was soiled and he smelled a bit. I stopped in front of him, taking in his meager belongings while my parents caught up. He had a plaid blanket, also filthy, balled up under him. His beard was long and gray, stained yellow around his mouth from smoking. He smiled at me, showing me his teeth, or what was left. He held out his hand and looked down at a cup near his feet. Inside of it I saw money and though I was young, I knew he needed some-that he was asking.

I turned and saw my father nearing. I went to him quickly, looked up at his face. "Daddy, can we give that man some money?"

I didn't even really understand why he needed it I don't think. I certainly wasn't old enough to internally debate if this man was seeking aid under false pretenses or if he was really in need. I only knew that someone needed help. I knew that by giving him money that would help. I didn't really understand money either, and that most people have to work hard to keep theirs.

My dad's face turned to a scowl I recognized from football games that weren't going well or bad days. He reached in his pocket and grabbed his change. I heard the coins crash into his strong hand and felt a rush of happiness. We were going to help the man!

Instead of putting the money in the man's cup or outstretched hand, my father threw it at him. Hard. Pennies and dimes reflected the light as they fell like water all around him.  My dad grabbed my arm and walked me down the sidewalk, muttering about how the "stupid son of a bitch needs a job". I glanced back, not understanding his anger. I saw the man searching the sidewalk for the coins my father had thrown. My mother was quiet. Her laugh carrying down the street only moments ago-gone.

I was too young to understand, but I remember.

I see homeless people every day. I don't want them to fade into the background, but they do.

I've always been a city girl. Seeing people on the street clutching a cardboard sign isn't shocking to me.

But it should be.

When I was in South Seattle, walking to work in a not so great neighborhood, I saw more than just people standing on the corner with a sign. I saw outright violence. I saw intimidation and theft and invasion. I saw property destruction and drug use and mental instability. It became frightening and there were days where I literally lost track of how many times I called the police. It made me angry and eventually, numb.

The little girl that felt so much for the man on the sidewalk now scowled at strangers and carried mace and spiked keychains. I grew hard and intolerant and I never gave money anymore. For every one person that legitimately needed help, there were five that were there daily with the same story. It became easy to call the police. To let someone else handle it and go on about my day. It became...normal.

I moved to a new city-the one I'm in now-and haven't looked back. I've been here about a year and a half and I've settled in. I work downtown in a big office building across from a Starbucks.

Every morning I drive past a park dotted with people sleeping under colorful blankets. Walking down the sidewalk, I pass doorways with people in them. The corners of the streets are decorated with shopping carts stuffed with belongings.

 Standing in line at the aforementioned Starbucks, a woman comes in and tells the barista that she should know about the invasion that's scheduled next week. She clutches at her hair and then wanders back out the door, muttering about how 'we should all know'.

In my office, looking out the window over the parking lot I see a man dressed in reasonably nice clothing remove his shoes and arrange them artistically on the sidewalk. He spends time sitting in an empty parking space while my coworkers debate whether to call the police. I voice that I feel he's harmless and others disagree. I continue to watch. He leaves his shoes and moves to the wall of the building, desperately trying to hang his coat on an invisible hook. He's in another world.

I leave the window and head back to my office. I'm reminded suddenly and just in time, that this man that is being discussed, is a person. He's a man that for whatever reason, isn't himself and I want to help. I do a bit of research and send out a few emails, looking for information on what I can actually do.

It's surprisingly easy.

I can donate to a shelter. I can give money or my time or material items like the blankets in the park. But perhaps more than all of that- I can care. I can care enough to not look away.

I can keep faith that others feel the same and are helping when they can.  I know they're out there. Just the other day, while sitting at a red light, I watched a woman hand a stranger a bag of food. He looked up at her and from my car 300 feet away, I saw the gratitude in his face. It gave me hope.

I may not always be able to give money, but if I can, I will gently give it. I won't pretend that it's normal to have people mentally unstable and drug addled and sick and so very much in need dotting the landscape. These are people. Someone loved them, perhaps loves them still. They deserve to be loved. They deserve to be acknowledged. They deserve to be helped.

Your Right

I want to buy flowers for the people that work at Planned Parenthood.

This morning I drove passed and there were two elderly gentlemen standing in front of the building. Behind them, secured to the fence was a poster that screamed, "Don't kill babies!"

The men themselves were holding picket signs with blown up photographs of extremely graphic material, meant I'm sure to bring fear or disgust to those that passed them.

There were no women present.

They also had a large truck, the side printed with propaganda about how awful abortion is combined with religious phrases.

Two older men, standing with their Starbucks and their opinions.

Several thoughts came flooding through. The first was about the folks working inside the building. How someone just going to work could potentially face something so uncomfortable. I wondered if they were angry or frustrated with the men. Are they harassed as they walk in to start their day or do the men just stand there, silently judging?

I thought about the men too. Why? Just....why? Does it help them feel good about themselves? Do they truly believe they are helping to educate others by having ugly pictures on sticks? Have they done the research that shows the benefits of Planned Parenthood or is it just 'wrong' ? Do they have daughters? Wives? Have they thought about how their actions affect them?

I am not against people having opinions. Not at all. I appreciate that we have the freedom to voice them and these two men were not being nasty or shouting at cars or doing anything unruly. They were just standing there, sipping their coffee. It seemed almost like a social event rather than a protest.

But what I don't understand is why they feel what they're doing would be beneficial to anyone. I suppose it could be to bring awareness, but they're doing it with fear and buzzwords. If you truly believe that abortion is wrong and you feel that strongly about it, why not help spread awareness of other alternatives instead of parading around with pictures of aborted fetuses?

Why can't we help each other learn instead of teaching each other to hate or be fearful?

Lately it seems like there is far more anger, hatred, and just...ugliness in the world. Perhaps it's always been there but now it's more easily seen. We are repeatedly shown that it's okay to express and act with anger, hatred and ugliness. It's even encouraged or celebrated. It's your right after all.

Just like the men in front of Planned Parenthood. It's their right to stand there and socialize while holding horrifying photographs and cups of coffee. But when does the act become less important than the right to perform it? It may be your right to spew forth angry, ugly words - but is it the right thing to do?

Why don't more people ask that question?

Awareness

I was supposed to walk in a charity event today. It was supposed to be this great thing I could do to help bring awareness to people suffering from suicidal thoughts or to lend support to those that had lost someone from suicide. But I overslept and when I woke up, I felt like someone had run over my head with a mucus truck. I didn't want to go anywhere.

Instead, I stayed home and sipped coffee in my chair, read my book. I practiced self care by doing something that makes me feel relaxed and at peace.  I blew my nose and sneezed a few times too and began to feel better.

The clock showed that I'd missed the event but I still wanted to go out. I decided to go to Barnes and Noble-another sanctuary where I've found peace. This time I was alone, which was different, but not bad. The drive was a little annoying and I caught myself identifying with that term 'road rage' before I turned up the music and got lost in some pop anthem.

At B&N there's the inevitable Starbucks and along with that, a case full of goodies. I splurged and bought a piece of peanut butter cheesecake-'to go' so I could shove it in my face later in the privacy of my own home. I took my coffee and sat at a window seat, listening to the people around me.

"Oh my gosh, they have Bernie Botts' Every Flavored Beans! Look honey, from Harry Potter."

He met her enthusiasm with a steely response. "We've talked about this. I told you I haven't read it. I can't read everything."

She deflated a little but not completely as she tried to explain, "They're in the story and they really are every flavor. You could get blueberry or ear wax. Or peach cobbler. Or even vomit!"

I smiled a little to myself, listening. She was obviously a fan of the books and/or movies. Her companion wasn't listening anymore though. He was thumbing through a magazine lazily. "Uh-huh. Vomit."

The girl's smile fell and she placed the jelly beans back. They called their coffee order and they left. I watched them go to their car together a little sad.

Two people sat across from me, a 'hippie' type woman, which I'm slowly learning is just the look of this area I live in, and a slightly older gentleman in a cap and plaid shirt. She was going on and on about her dog and how she'd rescued a cat that had the same name as her recently passed away grandfather...she sounded a lot like a customer I may have helped when I worked in a retail pet shop.

Eventually he told her how much he appreciated talking with her and she asked for his card and a simple conversation seemingly turned into an interview. They said their goodbyes and then awkwardly left at the same time.

Outside the bookstore a bit of construction was going on. Just enough so that you notice the tape and cones but not enough for it to be in your way.

Another couple came in and sat down. I didn't turn towards them, but I heard her.

"...a helmet with straps. Like a bicycle helmet. He just put it on."
Her companion answered, "I can't see anything."

She grew annoyed, "He's right outside the door, how can you not? Anyway, he's wearing a helmet. With straps on it and he just put it on to go up to the roof but he didn't fasten the straps so it's not going to do any good. He's an idiot."

"You mean a hard hat."

"I mean a helmet. Dammit, like a bicycle helmet."

From him, a calm observation. "I've never heard of a construction worker wearing a hard hat with straps."

I could feel the tension building in her from three tables away.

She exploded, "I don't care if you've never heard of it. It's what he was wearing."

That was when I got up to leave. I glanced over at the couple and felt a twinge of discomfort for the man. Was she always like that? What made her so incredibly angry about something so trivial?

I wandered into the bargain section, trying to shake off the unpleasantness.

I was a few aisles in when I saw them. Three giant books in red, green and yellow dust jackets. The Wizard of Oz. All 15 novels, not abridged or shortened in anyway-complete and beautiful and under $30.  I grabbed them and practically ran to the counter. I've been looking for this collection and trying to decide if I wanted to get all separate stories or just get the main books....this treasure was for me to find and I left Barnes and Noble peaceful again.

I headed home with my cheesecake and my books and realized it was lunch time. Traffic allowed me to make a left when it normally doesn't and I ended up in Taco Time's drive-thru. Another splurge as fast food and I aren't really friends. I waited patiently for my turn at the window and as I did, the cheesecake stared at me. My stomach started churning a bit and I began to have second thoughts.

Do I really need that? No. Is it going to actually taste good? Maybe for a second but then you'll feel sick. Aren't you currently in line for food you shouldn't really have anyway? Sigh. Yes.

So I made a decision and when the girl reached through the window to return my debit card, "I know this is a little random, but I have this piece of cheesecake and I don't want it and...well, would you like to have it? It's peanut butter chocolate."

Her face broke out into a grin, "Um, I'm not really sure if we can take things from the window...but, um, hang on, let me ask my manager."

I heard a "YES!!!" from inside the restaurant and the girl came back smiling, "I guess we can take it."

I handed her the treat and took my food before another employee poked their head out, "Don't leave yet, ok? The manager wants to see you."

I joked with them a little, "Uh-oh. Hope I don't get fired." We shared a laugh.

The manager came forward then, a young woman in black, the only thing to distinguish her from her team really and put her head out the window of the drive-thru. "Oh my gosh, thank you so much! I am so excited to eat that! Thank you, really! That was so nice!"

Her appreciation flowed through the window, into my car and into me. It felt good. "I'm so glad you're excited! It makes me happy to see you guys happy!" It was only a piece of cheesecake but the whole crew was smiling and it made me wish I'd brought enough for everyone.

I drove home singing along to the radio and got one more grin from a bumper sticker before I turned down my street.  

The day didn't start how I'd planned but things usually has a way of working itself out. I didn't walk with a group of people to bring awareness to suicide prevention, but I went into the world and listened to it. I let it lead me and responded. I hopefully made someone's day a bit brighter and I practiced self care.

For me, all of those things are excellent ways to help with suicide prevention, so in a way I guess I did bring awareness, even if it was just to me. It's been a long time since I was on a dark path, but the pain was real  and it took a long time to shed that skin. I have scars. Doing kind things for others, or observing joy, being able to accept anger or discomfort are things that I haven't always been able to do.

Feels so powerful and yet, so...light at the same time. I like it.

This Morning

Theme from Harry Potter...6:03 am. I swipe the screen, stop the music. Time to get up.

Into the bathroom, the cat follows. She leaps on the counter, purrs at me, bumps me affectionately as nature finishes it's call.

My phone has come into the bathroom with me, I don't even notice anymore when it's in my hand. It's too much a part of me. It's too late now. Social media. Scroll, scroll, scroll.

Time to get into the shower. Why can't I ever remember which way to turn for the water to be hot? My hair is so long. 1-2-3-4-5 pumps of shampoo. 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8 pumps of conditioner. Loofa, body wash, facial scrub. Seems like I've been in here forever.

Rake back the shower curtain and the cat's still on the counter. She meows at me, watches me towel dry. Hair in a terrycloth turban, it's time to get dressed.

Clothes in a basket at the foot of my bed, in the closet, on the floor. Clean but unfolded, waiting to be worn. Too hot for that, that doesn't fit right, I don't really like that one, I wore something like that yesterday...eventually an outfit is chosen.

Before clothes: deodorant, lotion on the legs, baby powder, lotion on the arms, toothpaste on the teeth. Towels hung, body naked in front of the mirror. Hair dripping. More conditioner sprayed in, comb through.

Dressed now, phone in hand again, down the stairs. Fill the water bottle, pack a lunch, pet the cats. Good morning. Kiss the fella, grab my purse and keys, out the door.

Garage door up, engine turned. What kind of music today? Kind of quiet, contemplative? Pop, hip hop, classic rock? Undecided, so a compilation. Back out the driveway and into the street. Push the button, check to see the door is closing.

Sun is bright orange, hot already. 7:03 am. Down the street to the corner where I turn right towards coffee. Grande latte and good morning. Thank you, have a nice day.

Onto the freeway as coffee smell fills the car. Music swells the speakers, fingers tapping on the wheel. My exit isn't far and today I'm the only one on it.

Until I see her. She walks without hesitation in front of my car, her two fawns following cautiously. I turn the music down, drink in the moment. The doe is so confident, so sure that no harm will come to her. Her babies take their time going over the guardrail and I wait until they do before I continue. There's a car coming up behind me and I see them slow and then stop to watch the family of deer scamper into the brush.

At the stoplight I turn the music back up. I like this song. Sip coffee with a smile as my heart swells with love for nature and all creatures great and small. I feel peaceful.

Past the Italian place and the gas station and the street with the weird name. Past the homeless people in the park and Planned Parenthood. 1-2-3 stoplights that are always green in the morning. Right turn into the lot, park the car. Beep.  Walk to the office door, digging for work key, then in the lock, juggling coffee, lunch bag, purse, patience. I'm in and up the stairs.

Good morning coworker. Plans for the weekend? Happy Friday. And then I'm in my chair. Computer on, light on, coffee on the desk. Purse on the shelf, lunch bag in the kitchen. Clock in, fingers on the keyboard, email.

It begins.

Spinning, Jumping, Running

I've always been jumpy. My dad used to seemingly just appear in the kitchen while I poured milk on my cereal. He was so quiet. I always heard mom-her bracelets. And later, her cough. But dad was the definition of stealth.

When I was managing a retail store, the staff took great delight in hiding behind corners and jumping out at me. They didn't have to. Sometimes they'd get me just by walking into my office.

I just thought I was like this. I didn't know it was a pretty clear sign of an anxiety disorder. That shit all starts from somewhere... probably from my childhood. Dad's gone for the summer, he might not come back because what he does is dangerous. Mommy can't have that or she'll get really sick...

I don't like it. I don't like the rush of terror that floods through me when something or someone  unexpectedly crosses my path. I have literally been startled by my own shadow. I'll see something out of the corner of my eye and feel threatened. The "something" could be a person or a coat rack. It's just in my line of vision when it wasn't a moment ago and that freaks me out.

Being "on edge" is supposed to be alleviated through meditation, sleep, less stressful environments. All of which are incredibly difficult to achieve when you are in fact, feeling anxious. 

The mind spins.

Hard Knock Life

I just knew I wanted to write. I wasn't sure when I sat down this morning with my laptop and cup of coffee what I was going to say but here I am.

Sometimes it starts with just a sentence. Today was like that but the sentence was,"I just knew I wanted to write." Kinda leaves us at a standstill doesn't it?

I have a friend (Hi-I know you're reading this) that is kind enough to compliment me on my blog fairly regularly. She is the kind of person that will cancel her own plans to help a child. She's amazing. And I value her.

The other day, I was feeling kind of shitty. I was trying to understand a relationship better and needed to talk about it. I went to my friend, slumped into a chair across from her and just started talking.

She listened and related and encouraged me. She told me it wasn't me, that she understood. She calmed me down through a raging bout of paranoia. I hate that feeling and knowing I had someone to go to seriously helped.

I've been learning about myself a little more these days. I've started seeing a counselor and she's pretty neat. She has a cat in her office and she wears leggings underneath floral patterned shorts. She has a wicked eyebrow arch and a great way of relating things to me in a metaphorical way. I like her, I think she's helping.

But counseling is hard. It's kind of like taking a knife back over a healed wound. Makes me think about things that I'd successfully buried deep down years ago and face them head on. It challenges me. It affects me. And it brings up paranoid feelings and self doubt. I try to focus on the fact that the end result will be in my favor but...yeah, it's hard.

I have a sick relative. She's quite ill, even more than she was, and I just found out about it two days ago. She asked me to pray for her which felt a bit strange as I don't believe that's necessarily a successful way to approach things. I do however, respect that she does, so I'll do it. I'll do whatever I can.

In addition to her diagnosis, she shared that her daughter has become estranged. Her daughter reminds me a bit of me when I was her age. She's in school, angry no doubt about her mother's illness and is lashing out. I recognize that. I was pissed my mom was sick all the time. I hated that there were times no one could take care of her but me. It affected me. It looks like it's doing the same to her daughter. I reached out to her and we talked a bit, but I can't fix things for them and that's hard too.

I fear my relative will die and her daughter will be left with regrets. Until you lose someone, I don't know if you ever truly understand that you can't ever go back.

Maybe it's because I understand this that people call me kind. I don't have any regrets. Any that I may have had, have been solved to the best of my ability. It's a bit morbid, but if I was gone tomorrow, I'd go knowing that people knew I loved and cared for them. And it's because I make it a point to tell them.

It feels good to be complimented. It feels good to have acknowledgement of effort and success. It feels good when someone wishes me a good day or says good morning and makes an effort to include me in conversation.

I don't want to feel bad about needing these things, but I do a little. I'm working on that too.

I'm not sure exactly how to be ok when I don't receive positive feedback or assurance, but I'm trying. One thing that helps is for me to be kind to others. For me to give positive feedback, assurance and compliments. Treat others the way you wish to be treated, right? Funny. I think that saying originated from the bible.

Anyway, I don't know why it's  hard for some but I suppose there's not too much I can do about that. I can learn how to interact and exist around those kinds of folks though. I can learn to not let it turn into paranoia, because my friend is right. It's not me.

I can't change situations, people...but I can change the way I feel about them. The way I react. That too, can be hard but it's not impossible.

The hope shows up in the little things.

Like yesterday morning. I stopped for a coffee before work and the barista and I started talking. Idle chit chat led to sharing a laugh and it ended up including the guy behind me in line. We joked about how things are often quite funny before 7 o'clock in the morning and then all went on about our day.

It's in the random passerby that returned my 'good morning' with a smile.

It's in that first sip of coffee, a picture of the moon in the morning sky, a text from your fella. It's having a friend to talk to when you're feeling anxiety building. It's knowing you have that friend to talk to.

I see life as a nice even line-work is good, relationships are good, health is good, etc. Normal, every day circumstances along the way might cause little bumps in the line for most people-reprimand from boss, fight with your person, a summer cold, etc.  For me, those same circumstances might drop my lifeline into a drastic angle.

I might start spinning, my mind flooding. When that even keel becomes jagged, I feel out of control a bit and so very frustrated that I can't change it.  Without support, without making kind gestures to others, without reminders that it's not me....it's just a part of my world...I'd be broken.

So I didn't know what I wanted to write about, just that I wanted to write but this is where I've ended up. Exploring who I am, who I'm becoming while I look back at who I was. It's hard, yeah. But, that's life.

By The Side of the Road

They're always there but it's easy to not see them. Sometimes they're small or engulfed in tacky plastic flowers. I've seen balloons and pinwheels and those candles they sell at the dollar store surrounding the base. When they're right at the off ramp, near the light that takes forever to change they seem to scream.

The roadside cross.

They used to make me feel sad. And if I'm being honest, a little perplexed. Why would someone chose to place a cross in such an ugly place? Why would you want a reminder of a tragedy? Why, each time you were on that road, would you want to see a shrine to your loss?

I would see those crosses, white against the black of the pavement and think about who they represented. I'd wonder how many died. If it was their fault. I'd hear the sirens, the crunch of metal, smell the smoke...

In the country, the crosses are nestled in brier, wooden and worn. They seem more peaceful but that might just be the quiet. The sounds of an accident can still echo across the fields but the cross stands alone, almost forgotten. Unseen.

When my friend died, it was on the highway. A tiny piece of the concrete jungle marks where he departed. I've driven past it, the last time being on the way to his funeral and I understand the roadside cross now.

I'm not a religious person, so a cross may not be the symbol I would choose to represent a loved one. But I get it. A cross represents faith and hope and love. Those are things we desperately need to be reminded of when we're grieving, mourning, or remembering a loss. Especially when it's so senseless...hope seems unattainable.

On the side of the road, a visual marker of the strength in remembering someone you cared for. A symbol of beauty in an ugly place, reminding all who see it that love exists and hope is eternal. The roadside cross.

Why wouldn't you want to see that?

Enough About Me

If someone says, "You're a nice person. People like you," I shrink inside, into myself and hear "No. That can't be true."  It's as though I physically can't accept a compliment.

My self esteem is non existent. My mouth says 'thank you' instead of something negative and sometimes, just briefly, I'll believe the compliment. The feeling leaves because I've turned the conversation to something else.  I make it leave.

Then I long for it again. So desperate to have acceptance, respect and

Let's talk about your weekend, your partner, your work, your feelings...anything but me.

Circles

I'm so sorry to unload on you but I need to tell someone that I'm almost done. The surface cracked a little today and emotions won. I let it happen, angry for succumbing at the same time accepting it.

I feel so fucking overwhelmed. I feel like I don't have anywhere to go, or anyone to talk to, or anywhere to hide or anywhere to get lost to. I feel like I'm walking in circles.

As I tell others that it's ok to feel the way they do. As I tell them to do whatever they need to feel ok. As I advise them to accept themselves, I tell myself to change.

I can't figure this out.

As I tell others that they are working through the healing process, and that what they feel is completely natural, I wonder why I'm sad.

As I offer my shoulder for others to cry on, my ear to listen, I get angry when tears fall from my own eyes.

I long for distraction but when it comes I ignore it. At work I want to be home. At home I want to be out. When I'm out I want to be at work. I don't know how to be right now.

I feel guilty. As though I don't deserve to feel this sad. I've experienced loss. I know what it's like.  I didn't know him that well. He was much closer to others. Why am I so upset?

I'm sick of the smell of lilies. Every time I walk through the door downstairs and a whiff of coffee greets me, I have this moment of, "Oh maybe he's..." when he never will be again. I'm tired of feeling. I'm tired.

I haven't done anything. I don't know what my role in all of this is. I'm not the one that people are coming to. I'm not making any arrangements. I'm just here, spinning in a circle wondering when things will start to feel better.

I feel ugly inside, using 'I' to begin each sentence. There are so many others that are feeling such sadness. How can it ever be about me?

I listened to the counselor tell us that we were all going to experience things differently and I thought, "No. I'll be ok." And here I am...not ok.

Letting Some Out

driving different
smelling the flowers from the top of the stairs
hiss of breaks
kleenex boxes everywhere

My emotions are raw. Like they've been tenderized. Memories and recent events pulverize me, ripping open healed scars. I hurt.

There's so much sadness in the air. It's heavy and thick and suffocating. People are hugging one another when they never have before. The general query, "How are you today?" has more meaning behind it.

Before I answer, I think about how honest I can be. What if the way I feel, affects them?

crying different
seeing people in lights I didn't know they had
eat the bread
desperate to hug my dad

I want to do kind things for everyone. On the surface that seems like it would be a nice, but it's just so I can feel better and then it makes me feel like maybe it's selfish.  I want to help. When I can help with even the smallest task, it helps me. It helps me feel like I've done something. Like I've accomplished something other than feeling...everything.

It's overwhelming and unreal and just so fucking unfair. I don't even know what to wear because all my clothes seem inappropriate somehow.

I asked for a hug today. I told someone I was ok and when they said 'Just ok?' I lied and said I was good. I zoned out at the computer screen today and read the same line in an email 6 times. I sat on the floor next to a dog and just rubbed it's ears because it let me and it felt comforting.

I called and made someone's day a little brighter with good news and I made someone else laugh. That's the kind of helping I need more of.

I miss everyone I've ever lost. I miss the people still here with me I haven't seen in awhile. I can't tell them enough how much they mean to me. I hate that tragedy is what reminds me of how special they are. And how many. Many people, many tragic events. I miss my cat. I want to call my mom. I want to be alone. I don't want to sit here by myself.

Grief washes over me and I have to keep telling myself to just let it. I have to battle that part of me that's screaming 'get over it and move on," because it's not about moving on. It's about moving forward and I know that but the voice still screams sometimes.

Playing in the ocean as a kid, the waves crashing over my head. My feet floating up for a moment away from the sand as the powerful water stirs me around. My head breaks the surface and I am wild with laughter and breath.

I'm underwater right now. My feet aren't quite touching the sand, though I know it's beneath me. I feel suspended, immersed and completely helpless. Out of breath and unable to laugh.


I know I'll reach the surface. I'll break back into the light and laugh but  until then... I guess I'll just ride the waves.

It's Just Food

You know that phrase or saying or whatever that says you should treat yourself the way you'd treat a friend?

I tried that today and it's harder than it sounds.

I ate pretty badly over the last weekend. I had a lot of sweet and bread-y things and I enjoyed them...all the way up until today when I gave in to yet another sweet thing.

These kinds of things aren't supposed to happen on Mondays.

Mondays are for starting over and taking things head on and making changes. Getting back on the wagon.

But not for me today. And I feel pretty shitty about it. I don't know how to have better eating habits and be strong and still allow myself to splurge and then be okay with it.

I have never felt more like an addict. I am literally craving the foods that I can't have. If I allow myself even the smallest of treats, I will fall into this insane high where I become thisclose to eating cans of frosting. If I give in to it, I'll feel sick and I know this.  But when you're in that state of mind it somehow doesn't matter. And I feel pretty pissy about it.

I feel very 'it's not fair' and whiny and frustrated and like I want to stomp my feet a little which is ridiculous. I've made myself this way.

I've had people say it's not just me. They mention genetics and society and yes, addiction. But I'm still me, I'm still responsible for buying the ice cream.

I was celebrating small triumphs. I was excited to walk past the bakery and not buy anything. I felt good buying fruits and vegetables and good cheeses. I started to look at processed foods as tokens from Satan instead of former lovers. And then I slipped. I had a piece of cake to 'celebrate'. My drug.

I want to scream. I am so mad at myself. I went to the store after work today and I had this moment in the car where I could actually feel my face frowning. I made a conscious effort to change my way of thinking and that's when I remembered that phrase.

Treat yourself the way you'd treat a friend. 

I tried it. "It's ok," I said to myself. "You can try again tomorrow. You don't have to justify your actions. You made a mistake but you can bounce back."

I tried to be understanding and kind to myself. I tried to forgive myself and move on.

Harder than it sounds.

Love Meaning

How do you feel about love these days?

I love Love. It's such a pure and comforting and fulfilling and true feeling. I believe in it. I feel good when I see it in others. I feel complete when it's returned. I feel whole.

I feel strongly that Love is rare. True love. I believe you can be mistaken in your understanding of what Love is.  I believe the meaning can change over time.

I feel love for my cats, and my books, and my Fella and the first rain of the summer, and my Dad and my v-neck black tshirt and warm cinnamon rolls but all in very different ways. I love the diversity.

I feel lucky about Love. People say it all the time but I truly mean it when I say I never thought I'd know Love. I was convinced that it just wasn't for me. I had been hurt so many times....I had been mistaken about my understanding. I needed to heal.

It wasn't until I finally felt like myself again that Love found me.


I love that when it's right, it doesn't give up. Instead it builds and grows and becomes....What you are. You feel complete and whole and lucky and very different about Love.

Algebra Teacher

I bought a book the other day called 642 Things to Write About. It's full of prompts for writing practices and I finally have some time to dive in. I grab my water, a good pen and head outside to sit in the warm air and listen to nature. On my laptop I turn on some classical music to mingle with the yard's music and within five minutes there is a murder.

Of crows.

There's a murder of crows in the trees and they evidently have something very important to discuss because they're loud as heck and a little distracting.

The egg salad I had for lunch is rolling around in my belly and why shouldn't it? I never eat egg salad. I've made probably 50 deviled eggs over the last two weekends and didn't eat one. But for some reason it seemed like a good idea and now my stomach is laughing at me. Also a little distracting.

My skin is itchy because I'm outside in the sun and I'm ignoring it because dammit, I don't get to do this very much. I'm a little sweaty too but that's also being ignored.

I open the book of 642 Things at random and flip the pages nonchalantly, skimming the ideas. I land on one that interests me because I know the situation it prompts. I suppose that's the point of these books. To help you remember all the things about yourself you already know.

"Write down everything you can remember about your algebra teacher." 

He was a dick. He had big bags under his eyes that were permanently fixed and he wore shore sleeved plaid shirts and khakis. He scowled most of the time. In between classes he'd stand in the hallway and tell people to move along like a middle aged Jedi but not nearly as cool. He used to call me 'squirrel cage' and I'm still not really sure what that meant. He failed me once and I was right back in his class the next year. He had a poster of Murphy's Law hung in the back of the classroom and he used an overhead projector to go over the previous day's assignment. If you wrote fast enough and didn't get caught, you never had homework. I was not fast enough and often got caught.

I remember one day I was one of the last to leave class after an hour long test. I walked to the back of the room where he sat looming behind a giant wooden desk, his feet propped up. He was grading papers and as I approached he peered at me over the top of his glasses. I handed him my test, nervous. I hated algebra, he knew it, and he didn't care. "How do you think you did?" He asked me.

I sighed. "I don't think I did very well actually."

He was quiet a moment, looking over my paper. He gave a small smile as he looked up at me,"No. You didn't. But because you used correct grammar--because you didn't say, "I didn't do good", I'm passing you with a C-."

I stared at him, stunned. Another teacher came into the room and he shooed me out to the hall where my friends were waiting. I was almost out the door when I heard him call after me, "Hey, Squirrel Cage! Next time, study."

Mr. Swanson.

He wasn't really a dick. I thought he was a dick because all teachers are dicks when you're in high school. He was a good teacher. He pushed. Do I remember anything about algebra? Not a damn thing. BUT I remember him and maybe that's what means the most.

Expletive

I'm fucking cranky.

I'm in the kind of mood that needs the word 'fucking' to properly accentuate it.

My cat sprayed my books. Not all of them, just the ones I really liked which could be any of them because I love them ALL. Fucking cat. I love him but I'm mad at him right now. The only reason he's not been skinned for a hat is because I was able to salvage all of them. They are currently drying from a thorough scrubbing with enzymatic cleaner but they're gonna make it. Ever spent the evening cleaning books? Sniffing pages and soaking them with cleaner and hoping later when the book dries that it's not all warped and ruined? It's not as fun as it sounds.

I'm also fucking sarcastic.

My  lady bits are being weird. They're going against the Pill and it's annoying and that's a big part of why I'm cranky because I'm fucking crampy too.

I ate a brownie and I'm going to blame that on the lady bits acting up. It has nothing to do with my emotions being tied to my eating habits. Stress eater? Nah.

See above.

Ugh. I was feeling SO good. I mean, since this change of eating thing has started, I've lost 15 pounds. That's amazing. I even ate a piece of cake and it was glorious and I didn't freak out.

Then some stuff happened and then a little more stuff and then I cried a LOT and then I wrote things that can't go on the internet and I still didn't gain weight and I should be super happy about that. That should be enough to not need to use the f bomb as a particularly colorful adverb.

But it's not.


I've been inside my head a lot lately. I find myself singing along to the radio while I'm driving without even knowing what the song is. I'm on autopilot which might just happen with driving routines, but it's weird.

I've tried retail therapy. It helps a little. I find that just walking into a Target can make me smile. Roaming the aisles is nice until the people become too much, or the price for ceramic dog cookie jars becomes a little too ridiculous and I need to leave.

I've worked in my garden a bit. It helps a little. I'll walk through the yard and pinch off dead things here, pull a weed there. The grass feels good on my feet until I come across a dead thing the cats have left in the yard. Fucking cats.

Dammit, why my books??? I'm having a serious whiny moment of "Why me?? It's not faiiiiiir!"

I'll be fine.

In the grand scheme of things, is it that big a deal? Maybe not the grand scheme but yeah. Kind of is. But I'm drinking a glass of wine so it's becoming less so.

I wish that I could allow myself to feel things more. Seems funny to say that but I mean that I wish I could just accept my feelings, acknowledge them and then just move on. Instead they seem to linger like a really bad fart. Fucking feelings.

I'm hungry now too and I've been avoiding the kitchen because of the whole brownie thing from earlier. I know I should eat, but the guilt is strong. And my stomach is pissy about the chocolate.

I'm done with today. I'm done with cranky and being hungry and pissy. I'm done with hating my cat-he's just doing what he thinks he needs to do and doesn't understand my love of books. However, if I ever find out that cats can understand shit like that, and he's been doing it on purpose? I'll kill him. I'm done with brownie guilt too and leftover stuff and things from earlier and I'm totally done with feelings.

Fucking day.

Grumpy Old Man

I went to the store at lunch today. I parked and grabbed my bag, headed through the parking lot. Standing at the front door was an elderly man holding a clipboard.

I sighed inwardly, "Please don't talk to me. I just want to get my parsnip chips and get out."

Someone else was talking to him as I passed and I kept my eyes averted. "Please, please don't see me..."

"Are you a registered voter ma'am?"

Dammit.

I hesitated for a split second, debating if I was far enough away to pretend I hadn't heard him. But then I thought, "Don't be rude. He's just doing his thing. You could at least acknowledge the guy. Lots of people have probably walked right past him today without even a glance."

I stopped just in front of the door and turned, "I'm sorry, were you speaking to me?"

I noticed then how hard he looked. His hair was white, a red baseball cap crammed onto his head. He was wearing simple old man clothes, nothing extraordinary. It was the scowl he wore that made him so unattractive.  "Yeah. You a registered voter?" His voice was hard too. Angry. I'd seen it in people before.

I smiled, put on the retail/waitress face, "Actually I am but I just-"

"Yeah ok. Whatever. That's fine." He cut me off and turned away to the next pedestrian, dismissing me.

I don't know why but I tried again. I thought maybe if I could explain...If I could tell him that I was registered but I'd flaked on registering in the new county when I moved.  I thought if he understood that about me that he wouldn't be so harsh.

"No, I mean-"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he grunted, still not looking at me.

I turned and without thinking about it, I said, "Well, don't ask people if you don't want to know."

I went inside the store and passed a woman near the entrance who had overheard me. She smiled. "Right? He was pretty grumpy."

I smiled back and we commiserated the way that strangers in grocery stores do and then I went to find my chips.

When I left, I glanced over to where he'd been standing and saw his clipboard and bag.

I looked for him. I felt like...I don't know...maybe if I smiled at him...  I mean, he probably had been ignored all day. He might be going through any number of things personally or maybe he didn't really want anyone to talk to him either. I just felt compelled to connect with him somehow. To let him know I'd seen him.

But that didn't happen. I got back in my car and drove back to work singing an old Paula Abdul song at the top of my lungs. I didn't think about him at all until just now.

The other day I was talking to a coworker and I learned she wrote too. It got me thinking about how I hadn't been writing much lately. Tonight I planned to let myself be inspired. I had decided to try and write tonight and when I opened this page to begin, I saw it.

My blog is called I'll Tell You How I Really Feel About That because I tend to not hesitate in sharing my opinion. I am tactful but I have a pretty strong sense of right and wrong and I'm not afraid to discuss it. I am also a believer in sharing my feelings. That whole 'heart on you sleeve' thing? I am that heart. And under my title, under the section that says 'About you' I'd long ago chosen one sentence for strangers on the blogosphere to sum all of that up.

"Don't ask unless you want to know."

Thoughts and Acceptance

I have a lot of Thoughts.

Some of them can't be shared here-this is the internet after all-and that sucks a bit because those are the ones I want to get out the most.

I've been hand writing them instead. It helps.

I'm sitting outside on my deck listening to the birds and the waterfall pond thingy and trying to be peaceful, but the Thoughts are yelling.

This new way of eating/lifestyle change is probably immensely boring for anyone else. I feel like it consumes everything I do and that includes conversation with others.

"Want to have some of this?"
"Are there carbs or sugar in it?"
"Yeah..."  Or more often, "Umm, I don't know?" In which case I usually grab the item, scan the ingredient panel and sigh.
"Can't eat it."

I can't help it. This is me now I guess.

I flip over packages for literally everything and look at the carb content. If the carbs are low, I check the sugar. If the sugar is low, I look for sugar alcohol because those fuckers are usually going to mean a night on the toilet. Then I check again because maybe the sugar free whatever is suddenly worth it.

It's not. Nothing sugar free is good for you. It's full of chemicals that freak out your digestive track and leave a weird taste in your mouth. I know this and yet I eat it anyway.

Nothing with sugar is good for you. Or carbohydrates. The carbs turn to sugar and the sugar gets in your blood and your pancreas wigs out and starts yelling about insulin and then your kidneys get all stressed....

I can't enjoy food like I used to. The Thoughts are there to say things like, "Do you want diabetes? You remember your mom died from that, right?"

I've been trying so hard this last month. I went cold turkey on everything delicious. I lowered my glucose, blood pressure and weight. Can you tell by looking at me? No. So I tell you because my self esteem sucks and I need the fucking acknowledgement.

I can't help it. This is me now I guess.

The scale says I've lost weight. I touch my chin and it feels like there might be less of one. I turn to back out of a parking space and it doesn't feel like I'm going to pull something. I don't hurt as much in general and I'm sleeping better.

I know that things are changing but it doesn't feel the way I want it to look.

The Thoughts tell me that even if I was a healthy weight I'd still be mentally fucked up. They're right. That shit was here first. "You'll still have abandonment issues even if you can cross your legs comfortably," they remind me.

Sometimes the Thoughts play with PMS and then things get really interesting. I swear to god my life is reading food labels and work and dealing with emotional bullshit.

My body goes through the gauntlet of premenstrual symptoms. One day, I'm raging pissed at anything. Another day I cry at Criminal Minds. Yet another day I battle cravings of all things delicious. And there's 'bloat day'. And 'my clothes suck and nothing fits day'. And 'why do the cats hate me day?

I am rationally irrational. I mean, it makes sense. I understand what is happening to my body and I accept the insanity.

I can't help it. This is me now I guess.


It's probably intensely boring for anyone else.

Left Turn

I was making a left hand turn. I had my blinker on, the light was green and I got halfway to the crosswalk when I saw her.

Long brown hair hung limp down her back. She wore gray and large glasses. She carried a bag and she walked with purpose. I stopped and so did she.

Her face turned to me and she was clearly irritated. "Go," she mouthed and I did.

She was me a year ago. Maybe a few differences-I usually wear black-but I remember that feeling of utter annoyance when a car was turning into the crosswalk I was halfway through.

I've had a several close calls while a pedestrian, so now, as a driver, I'm especially careful and courteous. But she didn't know that. To her I was just another asshole in too much of a hurry to let her cross the street.

The tables have turned.

I checked the rearview mirror after I'd passed, she made it safely across with no middle finger salute to my back-another difference between us-and we went our separate ways.

I couldn't help thinking that if our paths had met while we were both walking, or shopping in the same aisle in the grocery store, would she have smiled instead of scowled? Would she have stepped aside and gestured for me to move ahead with my cart or would she have walked by without a glance?

Are angry drivers angry walkers? While I'm not necessarily angry, I do find myself annoyed a bit when I'm stuck behind a slow truck in the fast lane. Same when I'm walking and someone is oblivious to my presence and they're meandering, completely unaware I'd like to pass them.

I'd like to think that if I was in a crosswalk and a car was making a left, I might be a little more understanding now. Then again, maybe I'd flip them off.

Just a Bit of Ramble

My friend got a tattoo. It's pretty and big. I kind of want one too now. Well, another one. Don't know of what yet so the skin stays undesigned.

I sent a text earlier to someone and they didn't respond. I felt myself getting all butt hurt about it and then let it go. They'll respond when they can.

I'm planning two BBQs already this summer and it's April. I've got tentative plans to drive to the peninsula and tentative plans to go to Seattle soon after that. I have weekend plans for 3 out of the 4 weekends in May. My birthday is the first weekend in June and I have no clue what or if I'm doing anything. The Fella says he has "a few ideas" so I'm excited to see what that's all about.

I found another carcass in the yard today. The cats are indeed mighty hunters. Just wish they'd complete the circle of life and eat the dang things.

I hate the downstairs bathroom. It has the ugliest wallpaper. A friend pointed out that it looks like old man pajama bottoms and now that's all I see. I can't think of anything that's not nautical themed to help decorate the sad little space so currently there's a just a bunch of skulls in there. Not like serial killer scary skulls. Pictures of skulls and Crystal Head Vodka bottles with food coloring left over from Halloween. It was neat for a little while but now I'm over it.

Why is that even important? To have a theme for a room I mean. Especially when it's essentially just a poop closet.

Anyway.

I've successfully gotten The Fella addicted to The Walking Dead and he's jonesing for another episode of Season 5. I've loved watching it again and we're at a pretty crucial part of the story so...enough rambling. Time to get my zombie on.

322, from 327 after 318

The first time I wrote about my weight and put my number out there for people to see, I was like, "I'm me, and I might be big and I should probably change some shit but I'm really still in love with ice cream so...."

And then I just started to feel like shit. I was tired and cranky and felt depressed and didn't want to do anything. I thought maybe it was because I wasn't working, and then I was working so I thought maybe it was because I was stressed from the new job. Then I thought maybe it was the weather. Anything but the possibility that my eating habits would have anything to do with my health.

I went to the doctor. I was weighed in at 327. 3.2.7. That's so much. I mean, it's a LOT. And then I felt like shit in a different way.

I felt mad. Gross. I was embarrassed. I knew I had to change.

So I did. I stopped, cold turkey, eating my beloved ice cream. And bread, cake, cookies, candy, anything with carbs...and I started to feel a little better.

Three weeks passed and I went back to the doctor for a check in. I was weighed in at 322. Three weeks and five pounds. I felt like a failure. Mad. Gross. I was embarrassed. I knew I was changing but it wasn't enough. Then  she told me about my blood test results.

It's a strong possibility that I have diabetes. I fucking gave myself the wretched disease that killed my mother. I KNEW better. Mom had juvenile diabetes-childhood onset and not dietary, but I still knew the risks. I was raised knowing all about diabetes because grandma had it too. I was surrounded by women affected by their diets.  I knew eating candy for breakfast wasn't good for you...and I still ate whatever I wanted, feeling invincible I guess.

Ugh, so stupid.

I mean I REALLY should have known. I ate loaves of bread and triangles of brie cheese for god sakes.  I ate whole pizzas, pints of ice cream and could polish off a box of doughnuts in two days. One if I was especially depressed. I ate huge portions and always cleaned my plate. Dinner wasn't complete without a big pile of potatoes/rice/pasta and bread on the side. I ate terribly and for a very long time. And I knew it was terrible. I just didn't stop.

Then she told me about my thyroid. Turns out it's messing with my metabolism and that too makes it challenging to lose weight. "You're fighting an uphill battle and still seeing improvement. I'm proud of you."

It helped immensely to hear that. I let myself feel the words on my drive home before I cried. I wasn't crying because I felt defeated anymore though. I cried because this is hard. It's literally changing your life. It's not just changing what you eat but how you shop, cook, and for me, how I celebrate or take comfort.

Gone are the days of Friday night with a pizza and a pint of Half-Baked. Gone are the Sunday mornings of pancakes or eggs benedict. No more stopping by the store on the way home and buying bags of candy to 'have on hand' only to devour in a day. I just can't do it anymore.

I won't.

I want to be proud of me too. I want to like myself and feel good and not just look good. I want to be able to put clothes on without scrutinizing every single angle, looking for bulges and rolls. I want to be able to be comfortable in my skin. And I want to get rid of the ominous threat of diabetes.

I already know this is hard. It's going to be that way for a long time and I get that. I will have to not only work on changing my lifestyle involving food, but in how I think. This is going to take time and I can't expect immediate results, no matter how badly I expect or want them. I will have to keep trying and when I feel like giving up-don't. I will have to forgive myself a little.

I will try. I will succeed. I will change. I will live. I will.

Kinda Neat

I'm drinking tea. There is classical music playing from a tab next to this one. A frog has taken up residence in our pond outside. I've named him of course. Kermit. There is a book next to me that I've been wanting to read for awhile. Instead, I surfed the internet-remember when people used to say that? I looked at low carb recipes and watched videos and read articles and silly quotes and I thought about writing a blog. So...here I am.

I feel like the screen should look like Homer Simpson's in that Halloween episode where they spoofed The Shining. 'Feelin' fine'. Because I actually am.

I don't feel like it might change any time real soon either which is sort of refreshing and different. I'm trying to type this with a very insistent tuxedo climbing all over me by the way. Also not apt to change real soon.

I'm feeling more confident in my job. I have a lot to learn, always will no matter what the job is. But I have support and encouragement from coworkers and I'm creating a successful routine.

I've started a new way of eating. I have given up sweets altogether. No cakes, candies, cookies, or chocolate. I don't eat ice cream or pasta, bread, rice, or anything else that's delicious. And I'm doing ok. The first week I had a few bouts of nausea but I'm ok today and I was able to resist some really pretty doughnuts this morning. I try to celebrate the little triumphs with non edible rewards. I've bought a lot of books lately.

Me and The Fella are amazing. He's such a good person and we love each other, support each other and complete each other. And dad approves of him which is pretty much the first time that's ever happened so...plus!

Dad is good. We don't talk as much as we used to. I used to call him when I was walking to work in the morning. Now I drive The Fella into work. Sometimes in comfortable silence, sometimes with a cd he's 'getting used to'. Dad usually gets his phone calls on Saturday mornings now. We share a coffee and a chat and it's nice. He always says to tell The Fella hello.

I took a mini road trip. Well, I drove for an hour to see The Fella's Parents. The Fella enjoyed not having to drive or count shots of whiskey with his dad and I got to get in some driving long distance practice. I'm gearing up to see The Girls. One is almost 2 hours away, one is 1 hour away. Different directions, different traffic situations, different girls.  I miss them.

I'm doing grown up things. I'm enjoying childish moments. I'm living.

Kinda neat.

Get Back To Where You Once Belonged

I went to the doctor today. Just a well check thing, to establish a relationship with a new health care physician.

I'm not fans of such things. But I went. And I drove there myself, realizing later- it was the first time I'd gone to the doctor by myself.

I walked into a warm office and immediately noticed they had a cat. A beautiful Siamese with the bluest eyes I've ever seen. It gazed at me sleepily and then curled back into a furry  ball.

I was nervous. The first visit is always the most awkward. You're sharing all your physical and sometimes mental weaknesses with a stranger. I tried to take comfort in knowing it was  the right thing for me to do.

The room I ended up in was canary yellow. It had a pedestal sink, a scale like the one I have at home and a poster of a naked woman. I felt myself begin to ease while I waited for the doctor.

She came in smiling and introduced herself. We talked about why I was there, what I wanted to do...she listened. She gave suggestions and while she acknowledged my weight, instead of telling me it was the root of all my problems, she gave me suggestions-helpful suggestions-on how to improve. She listened to my history and made a few more suggestions. She smiled encouragingly, not condescendingly.

I felt better. I felt heard.

I have some changes to make. I felt that was going to be the case but for the first time since I was diagnosed with depression, I felt like I might actually get some help. She wasn't quick to shove a new pill down my throat. She made some suggestions about changes I can make to my lifestyle that make sense.

But they're going to be hard. I may be slightly miserable for a few weeks as my body and mind adjust.

I'm so tired of feeling...not good. So I will try. I came home and told the Fella about the changes I wanted to make and he hugged me, told me he would support me all the way. I'm very lucky to have him in my life, in my corner.

I was so nervous about this appointment and now it feels like it may be the beginning of yet another chapter for me. The chapter where I start to get back to where I used to be. Inside and outside.

Loss

Loss: the fact or process of losing something or someone....


I didn't know him but he still felt like family. His name sounded like a character from a book. Everyone said he was a good kid. He was walking home in the dark rain when the car hit him. He was 18. The driver, 16.

I was at work so I was professional. I was there to help which is when I feel the strongest. I looked up information for grief counselors and words jumped off the page into my memories. Words like 'grief', 'depression', 'death', and 'loss'.... I pushed past them. I was working.

I called people on the phone that I rarely speak to. Everyone's voice was different. So much sadness in their voices, in our hearts, and in the halls as people walked by-trying to figure out what to do.

The day progressed and it became the day after. It was a Friday and everyone feels a little better on Fridays. There were exchanges of, "How are you"s that meant more than usual, but it was ok.

And then, all of a sudden, it wasn't.

I was just sitting there, working on a project when I felt what I can only describe as a wave of emotion move through me. I was intensely sad for his family, friends, coworkers...I understood where they were a little because I'd been there too. Simultaneously, I was overwhelmed with gratitude.

I am surrounded, every day, by wonderful people that love and support me. I am incredibly lucky and I don't take it for granted. I don't forget but sometimes, when someone is suddenly gone...you remember.

I thought I was ok then but this morning there is still a sadness lingering inside. I am incredibly impacted by loss. Any time I'm even slightly connected, I am sent into a vortex of remembrance. I recall every person I've known that's not here anymore. I instantly relive the pain I experienced at the time and feel an overwhelming need to help the people currently suffering. I know I can't do much-everyone needs to process loss differently and in the best way they can for themselves-but I want to.

A list forms in my head of all I've lost. From the time I was 4 and my grandfather died on Christmas, to the most recent loss of my beloved cat...I relive them all. But not always on the surface. If I could watch a sad movie, have a big cry and feel better, that's what I'd do. Sometimes, I don't even recognize that I feel sad.

I felt compassion for this young man's circle of people, and I felt sadness for those affected but I just...kept working, you know? I did my job, I discussed the circumstances, I comforted others and offered my ear, shoulder and heart to those that might need it. I did what I could. But my subconscious wasn't through.

Everything came out in my dreams. I woke this morning, terrified that all I loved was gone. My Fella, my Dad, my cats, my friends, my family, my job, my books....everything. It took way too long to wipe the dream away.

I guess this is my way of dealing with loss. But it doesn't feel healthy. I don't like that the list looms-even now. I don't like the feeling of helplessness that comes along with loss.

I went downstairs after waking from that dream this morning and found the Fella. He held me as I breathed through some tears. I went and cleaned the kitchen next, made some coffee. I found both of my cats and pet them, told them I loved them even as they squirmed from a hug. I sat down and I started writing this. To understand myself a little better. To try and get through the loss. To do whatever I have to do to shake that dream, the list.

Searc

Outside the Lines

I feel overwhelmed with life fairly often. Usually about once a month I fall into a deep self-actualizing pool. I look at myself, how I'm living, what kinds of things I should change to improve myself. I take inventory of aches and pains, decide which are important enough to seek medical help. I stare at my body and frown a lot. 

I'm still so unhappy in my skin most of the time. I really really wish I could be one of those 'plus sized' girls that is proud of herself and doesn't pay attention to shit that others say. I haven't even had anyone say something nasty to me about my weight for years. 

But inside my head, I'm berating and mean to myself. I make myself see the back and front and sides, and profile and chins and fucking ankles that are cankles now....and I hate it. 

I know it's not good for me and I do nothing about it which makes me think there's something deeper I need to address but I don't really want to because, well, eating cake for dinner is way more fun. 

So find something else to be mean to myself about. 

I used to dwell on not driving or not working but those things have been checked off the 'list' of thoughts that come at me. I honestly thought that once I had those things accomplished I'd feel....better.

Instead, I think about my book that's been on hold since my cat died. And then I think about my cat. And then I think about my coworker that helped me and then I think about work and it just goes on and on and on and sometimes, I just don't want to think. 

I try reading and that works for a little while but most of the time my brain is having a battle with itself and I want to wave the white flag. 

Why does everything have to feel like such a goddamn struggle? Is this the depression? The anxiety? The middle agedom? Is it hormones? Adjusting to change? 

I don't know. 

I've talked about  my feelings before to others. In response I often hear, 'Don't be so hard on yourself. You've been through a lot. Give yourself a break." and I so wish I could but honestly? I don't know how. 

I know I'm not perfect. But it pisses me off that I'm not. 

When I was in second grade, I would get upset when I colored outside the lines. Evidently so much so that the teacher felt she should mention it to my mother. I don't remember this but it absolutely is indicative of my personality. 

I started a new job in December. A new job doing something I've always been interested in and was very excited about, but knew very little. Within the first week of January I was pissed at myself for not being able to do all the things I'd never done before. I'm still working on being ok with myself when I make a mistake. 

It's a difficult struggle for me. 

Why? Why is it so hard for me to forgive myself? To love myself, always and all parts? Why is it such a tremendous challenge to accept a compliment? To just say 'thank you'? Why can't I be ok with coloring outside the lines?

Is this the depression? The anxiety? The middle agedom? Is it hormones? Adjusting to change? 

I don't know. I don't want to think about it anymore.