Fall

I fell at work today. Tried to step over something, foot got caught, down I went. I took a cubicle wall down too.

Instantly my co-workers were at my side, helping me up and asking if I was ok.

I told them to laugh at me.

Throughout the day, as other co-workers arrived, people came by my office, asked me if I was all right. I was honest and told them my knees hurt a bit. That my palms stung. But I didn't care enough for my pride to affected.

By mid day I was limping and walking stiffly. I filled out an accident report. My day continued until it was over. As I was leaving, they told me to take care.

After I got home, the Fella asked if there was anything he could do. I shook my head no.

My back got tighter and my hatred for the stairs grew. I fell into my chair, done.

My mind started to replay the day as my body relaxed. The fall was prominently featured but I still felt oddly detached from the situation. I saw my body falling onto the floor, wobbly bits flying around unattractively. I felt my knees slam into the floor and pain radiate up both legs. I felt the weak cubicle wall break away from it's neighboring panel and I saw my hand reaching for anything to stop the rest of my body from folding.

And I heard concern. Immediately I was surrounded by concerned faces with kind tones in their voices.

 I couldn't say anything except, "Yes, I'm ok."

It wasn't because of the pain that words were lost. It was the compassion coming from my co-workers. I didn't realize how much I needed it.

I told them to laugh at me. Why? Why is it so difficult to let others be kind to me?

My first reaction was to deny that I was hurt. To not show my pain, my....weakness.

I've done that for a long time.  I've been afraid to speak my mind, share my feelings...to be true to me.
It hasn't always been like this but my confidence has been whittled to a sliver. Speaking my mind or sharing my feelings now seems like a weakness I can't afford.  I've become afraid to admit that I'm hurt.

Who Am I?

I think it's normal to forget who you are sometimes. I've already been there a couple times in my life and it seems that I'm currently again on a quest to figure myself out. Maybe it's a little different this time...maybe more of getting reacquainted but my sense of self is definitely not solid.

First, I have to be honest on the inside and admit that I haven't been ok for a little while. It isn't easy. It pisses me off. I'm almost 40 for god's sake. Shouldn't I know who I am by now? Why is my shit still so not together? Why is everything so hard and confusing and changing all the time? What the hell is wrong with me anyway?

And then, very quietly, a little voice reminds me. I'm always changing. Everyone is, all the time. So how can anyone know?

When I get lost in my head like this, that first voice is quite loud. I tend to cry and eat poorly. And generally my hormones are not helping things. Having pms when you're dealing with depression or anxiety is like pouring salt on wounds. It just heightens everything way the fuck up and makes you feel insane. Well, more insane.

My head was spinning with this mantra of Who Am I? when I realized even though I don't feel like I know...maybe I do at least a little.

I'm the one that you use for a job reference when we haven't worked together in ten years.

I'm the one that small kids smile shyly at in line at the grocery store or from the seat in front of me on an airplane or at the booth next to us in a restaurant.

I'm the one stray animals come to.

I'm the one that little old ladies ask for help to reach things on the top shelf.

I'm the one that chats up the barista/waitress/sales clerk and asks how her day is going.

I'm the one that compliments strangers on their clothes, hair, eyes.

I'm the one that you know you can talk to about anything.

I'm the one that knocks. Ok, no-that's a Breaking Bad line, but it made me a chuckle a little as I try to find more things about me that I already am.

I'm the one that buys flowers for no reason except that they were pretty.

I'm the one that will be honest with you. Straight forward, firm when necessary, but always honest.

I'm the one that will give without expecting something in return.

I'm the one that will try every single possible way to make it better before I work on letting it go.

I'm a hard worker.

I have a strong sense of right and wrong. I stand up for what I believe is right and I do it carefully-productively, not angrily.

I speak my mind. Again, carefully because the last thing I want is to hurt someone and have them feel for even a moment that pang of a harsh word.

I believe and see the good in people much sooner than bad. Sometimes, that's a detriment.


And it's partly why I am struggling now.

I've been fascinated with the psychological side of 'bad' people for years. Acts from these individuals are unfathomable to me, yet I am intensely curious to know the 'why' behind their dark behaviors. Why are they mean, unkind, hurtful or even evil? What happened to them? Did anything happen or were they simply a product of nature?

What makes someone manipulative or deceitful? Is it practiced and then perfected? Taught by another? Why do some choose to say hateful things or intentionally seek out others that are more vulnerable?

Why am I not that kind of person and instead am the type I listed above? It's fascinating and interesting to contemplate....when you're not in the middle of it.

That moment when you realize someone isn't as you thought they were is a huge smack in the face for someone like me. An empath, a sensitive soul...It's as though all thoughts of others are connected to this one individual that turned out differently. Suddenly, everyone is an asshole. Or has potential to be one when before they were just slightly annoying.

It's a wicked ride. It's exhausting and stressful and affects parts of me I didn't know could be affected. I eat poorly, I sleep worse, I cry, and it can make me forget who I am sometimes.

As long as I remember I'm not a bad person...maybe that's ok.

Clouded

Why is it so much easier to help someone else than it is to help yourself? 

Why do you tell yourself you're fine when you're not?

Why is it so hard to believe it when someone compliments you?

Why do you put everyone before yourself?

Why do you struggle to remember that you don't have to be perfect?

Because someone made you feel you had to be. You put everyone first because it makes them happy and no one gets mad and there is peace. You don't believe compliments because they aren't something you're used to. You tell yourself you're fine because you really want to be. And it's easier to help someone else simply because it's not you. 

Getting too focused on your own troubles brings insanity and a break feels inevitable. Sometimes you look for issues to discuss, just so they are not your own. Just so you can have a minute of peace. 

When even the smallest issue is enormous, it's easy to feel overwhelmed. Saying you're fine and smiling when you want to cry is a challenge like no other. It's not a feeling you can wish away or wait out. You are forced to make a decision about yourself and either you fight it or you succumb to it. 

I fight. I get back up and I try again. I cry and I scream and I desperately try to understand and when I feel like I can't take anymore, I push a bit more and fight a little longer. 

It makes me tired. 

It makes me feel like I need to say I'm sorry all the time. As though this fight inside was hurting someone else. As if having emotions and being sensitive...makes others feel uncomfortable. I feel like if I lose the fight, it makes me look weak, it's shows I'm imperfect, it's putting my own feelings before anyone else's and I should be sorry. I shouldn't let someone else fight my battles.

  

So I smile even if I feel like crying. And I ask how your weekend was and how your kids are and how that project is going and I always bring the subject back to you so that I don't have to think about 

Why it's so much easier to help someone else than it is to help myself. 

Why I tell myself I'm fine when I'm not.

Why it's hard to believe when someone compliments me.

Why I put everyone before myself.

Why I struggle to remember I don't have to be perfect.

Mermaid Tale

I had a crush on Prince Eric. Ursula was a personal hero and I thought Sebastian was strangely exotic with his accent and lip puckering. I understood Ariel and saw my own father in Triton. I watched The Little Mermaid on a tiny television that came off my dad's boat. My VHS copy had the "dirty picture" drawn into the cover.

In 1990 I was 13 and I watched that movie all. the. time. My friends and I watched it religiously. A boy touched my boob for the first time during that movie. Under a blanket, over the shirt and it might have been an accident but it still counted.

I knew all the songs and my friends and I sang along with an animated mermaid at top volume about thingamabobs and whozits. No shame in our lack of tone. Sometimes Mom would sing along with us. Her favorite was 'Kiss the Girl'. She always laughed at the part with the little tadpoles.

I saw Splash when I was 7 and two things happened. I began a lifelong crush on Tom Hanks and I became convinced mermaids were real. It seemed perfectly plausible that people could live in the Puget Sound breathing water and gliding through seaweed forests. I was an imaginative child.

When I got to visit dad while he was working, I'd stand near the edge of the dock and stare down into the inky water willing a beautiful fish person to surface.

Once, in my twenties, while experimenting with shrooms I did the same thing on a downtown pier. I almost jumped.


I re-watched the Disney classic recently and fell in love with all of it all over again. Price Eric was still dreamy, Ursula was still a badass and Sebastian's voice still made me pay attention. I still heard mom's voice singing along. This time though, I identified with Triton and felt empathy for Ariel. Poor kid. Being 16 is so hard.

Being almost 40 is hard too. But it helps to have something to believe in. I'm not religious and I don't really believe in mermaids anymore but I do believe in the magic that I feel when I'm near the ocean. I believe in the green leaves on giant oak trees and the pale purple of Spring lilacs. I believe there is something bigger than me that will never let me jump, no matter how tempting the water.

I wonder if it has a pretty tail.

Daddy's Little Girl

He told me I could write about when he got arrested. He said he figured everyone knew about it anyway, so what difference did it make? He's said before that he wants me to write his story but I'm not sure it would turn out the way he wants.

The relationship with my father is...interesting. Complicated. Wonderful and devastating. I honestly am not sure where to begin.

So maybe at the beginning?

The first thing I remember about my dad was that he wasn't there.

Every summer he would leave to go fishing in Alaska and in the fall when he returned, he'd work at the docks. I'd see him in the evening, usually while we ate at TV trays and guessed at the puzzles on Wheel of Fortune. He'd sit in his bathrobe, smoking and growling at Pat Sajak. Sometimes he'd read the newspaper and smoke. Or mend nets during Jeopardy and smoke. It's rare to see him without a Camel pinched between his fingers.  I'd watch his hands weave in and out of the fishing nets, the odd shaped needles clicking against the rope. He would be right in front of me, a formidable presence and still not be there.

When I was old enough to understand, it was explained to me that what daddy did was very dangerous. It was never a secret that he might die. I grew up anticipating he would die while fishing the Alaskan waters at the same time he would assure me nothing bad was ever going to happen to him.

That just wasn't true.

I was about 3 when I remember waking to the familiar sound of his voice murmuring with my mom's. I was in the hallway when he ran passed me to the bathroom, "Where's the damn mouthwash?" He drank half the bottle before there was a knock on the door. I watched police take him away. Later I found out he'd hit someone with his car while driving drunk. The person was fine, in fact, Dad had tried to go back to apologize but the police started following him. He panicked, came home, and drank the mouthwash in a fruitless attempt to mask the smell of booze on his breath. Later, in court, the pedestrian walked by my father and spit on him. He wasn't in jail very long. To me it was just like he was away fishing anyway.

The next time he was in jail, I knew before he told me.

Mom had been dead for about a year and dad and I were working on being ok with ourselves and with each other. He and I weren't exactly friends for several years but it's amazing what shared grief can do. We had decided to visit his mother together in Alaska. I'd never been and it was a second home for him. It was the first time we'd ever gone anywhere together just the two of us.

The night before our flight, I called to confirm what time we were meeting in the morning. He didn't answer. I called the bar he was always in. They knew him, they knew me. The bartender that answered was cold when he was usually friendly. "No, he ain't here." I hung up mildly concerned. It wasn't usually hard to get a hold of him. We'd been even better at staying connected since Mom died and he always called me back right away if he missed my call. Some time went by and I tried again. Straight to voicemail. A cold feeling crawled across my skin. Something wasn't right. He's in jail.

I have no idea how I knew, I just did. I got on the internet and marveled at how easy it was to see if someone was in jail. Within moments I was looking at my own last name in a list of people arrested within the last 24 hours. Being right doesn't always feel good.

I called his brother that lived in Alaska and told him. He told me to call their mom, tell her we weren't going to be on tomorrow's flight, but not tell her why. So I did. I lied to my grandmother. And then I went and visited my dad in jail.

On the way I called and cancelled the plane tickets-non refundable. I sat next to a very good friend in her car, watching the county jail get closer as we traveled into the city and felt my insides swirl with anxiety, anger and fear.

The jail smelled. It was big and cold, gray. I immediately hated it. There were women in the waiting room that looked like the women from bad crime TV shows.  I waited with them, alternating between picking my cuticles and twirling my hair. They called my name, told me I could go in to see him and I got up, looked back at my friend. Her eyes held sympathy.

It wasn't like a bad crime show passed the doors. There were windows divided with thin partitions. A small space for each prisoner. No privacy. There was no one else there. A guard told me where to sit and I did. I waited.

When he came out in the jumpsuit, he looked small. He looked up at me and I saw surprise, shame and...pride flash across his face. He sat down on the other side of the glass and picked up the phone. I picked up mine. "Are you ok?"

He told me he was. I told him I cancelled the flight. He told me he didn't call because they took his phone and he didn't have my number memorized. I told him I called his mother but that I didn't tell him why we weren't coming. He told me he called a lawyer. I told him I talked to his brother.

And then, "What happened Dad?"

It took a little while for him to tell me.

Over several conversations through phone calls and visits, I learned that he'd been selling cocaine for a long time. And to a lot of people. He told me he'd crossed state lines and that there were people bigger than him that the cops wanted to know about, that he refused to snitch. He told me it was to pay bills. He told me it was to help me. He told me how he got caught.

A 'friend' was looking to score. She was an informant and when she found out dad and I were planning a trip, she tipped off the DEA. They swarmed the bar he was always in and arrested him with guns drawn and S.W.A.T on standby. They took him away in the back of a car, his life forever changed. The informant was never revealed.

I went to court only one time. The first time. I sat on an uncomfortable bench, surrounded by uncomfortable people, waiting to hear uncomfortable things. I tried to read, waiting for my father's name to be called but it was no use. My mind was reeling.

When he came out in his gray suit, he looked small. He didn't look at me, instead he looked at the judge. I listened to him tell his side of things, repeating the story I'd heard. I couldn't stop staring at the back of his head. His hair was thinning. I hadn't seen him without his trademark fisherman's cap in so long...I hadn't known. His voice caught and my attention was refreshed.

"My daughter is in the audience Judge. I ain't proud of what I did," he paused. "I'm just glad my wife isn't around to see this."

That was when I started crying. The tears fell silently at first but I had to step outside for a moment to breathe again. For as long as I live, I will remember that moment.

He was in jail for a few months and then he was on house arrest. He lost his right to vote, own a gun, and was banned from the bar he'd been arrested in. He was mandated to attend AA meetings regularly but only went to a few before deciding he didn't need 'that shit'. A friend signed his name for him so he was still on record. After the ankle bracelet was removed he found another bar. They know him, they know me. He stopped selling drugs. He ran out of money. Eventually I paid for us to visit my grandmother in Alaska.  To my knowledge she never knew why the original trip had been postponed.

Our relationship changed again. I realized he was fallible. He and I talked a lot, got to know each other as adults instead of father and daughter. We never talked about the arrest until I asked him if I could write about it years later.

"I don't care. I figure everyone knows about it anyway so what difference would it make?"

Bad List

I've had a lot of things happen in my life that weren't good. Sometimes it feels like they play over in my head like end credits of a movie and my mind starts flooding with every tragic moment.

I see my experiences as a list of things that have helped shape me. I write it now not to be reminded of every painful situation but to try and remove them from my mind. For the credits to fade into black. t

1. The first thing I remember is my grandfather dying when I was four. It was Christmas Eve and the holiday was never the same after that. He had a brain tumor and I remember a big red X on his bald head, marking where the surgery had been to remove it-too late. I also remember seeing the white sheet pulled over his body. He was in a hospital bed in the middle of the living room, the Christmas tree lights casting an oddly comforting glow. I wanted to look under the sheet but no one let me.  I remember my grandmother crying, my mother and father holding each other and lots of emergency technicians milling about. White coated doctors and nurses from the hospice and EMTs. I wandered under their feet, lost in the intense sad chaos that my family was in, too young to fully understand. I had nightmares for years about giants stealing me in the middle of the night.

2. I was incredibly fearful of sirens and had nightmares that haunted me for years in my young childhood. I believe it was in part from being there that Christmas.

3. At a young age-perhaps about 6, the neighbor boy played doctor with me. My father was enraged and we moved soon after. Not because of the boy, because we were kicked out of our rental house. I pretended it was because of the boy.  We'd been under the porch where it was dark and smelled like dirt. It was more of a 'show me yours and I'll show you mine' kind of thing until he touched me. When my parents went to kiss me good night I recoiled and they eventually got me to tell them what had happened. My father went to the boy's father and I don't know what happened, but I heard him yelling from under my covers in my bedroom. I was terrified that what I'd done was the source of his rage.

4. My dog and my cat were run over and killed shortly after moving in to the new house. Both of them were named Muffin. I had other pets-a dog and two cats. The dog adopted my mother and after I moved out and my parents were evicted, they left the cats behind.

5. The house I grew up in had black mold on the walls.  The mold climbed from the floor to the middle of the walls in some places and I tried to cover it with posters. There were only two wall heaters for the whole house, windows that were falling off the hinges, holes in the floor where the wood had rotted through and no insulation. I was cold a lot. We were broken into several times-it wasn't a good neighborhood. There was one instance when we came in through the front door while the robber was running out the back. He stole my mother's jewelry and broke a box my grandfather had made. She cried for days.  Once we came home to find a snake in the middle of the living room.

6. I lived on an alley that I walked up and down countless times. Two girls lived along the alley, one on each end. They were cruel to me, calling me names and telling me things like, "You'd be pretty if you weren't so fat." I didn't know that wasn't right. They would tell me that my dolls were alive but that they only moved when I wasn't in the room because they didn't like me.

7. In fifth and sixth grade I learned about drugs and alcohol, specifically the DARE program. I was enthusiastic and excited to participate in the war on drugs. I made flyers about the dangers of smoking and drinking and put them in people's mailboxes. I went to both of my parents individually and expressed concern about the other's habits. Both parent said the same thing, "Ok honey, I'll talk to them"  but did nothing different. I grew up surrounded by alcohol and drugs.

8. When I was 15 I had what I can only describe as a panic attack while staying overnight at a friend's house. In a moment, I remembered every painful moment I had blocked from younger years involving the sons of my parents' friends. I didn't talk about it for another seven years and that was only after I was found clutching a bottle of pills.

9. My mother would get drunk and fall or run into things. She broke her leg, foot, toe several times. She was diabetic and didn't take care of herself. One summer evening she took me on a "treat run". A spontaneous trip to get ice cream. She'd been drinking and we hit a parked car. While we were out trying to find the owner, someone stole my ice cream from the car's open window.

10. The people working at the liquor store knew our name because of her shopping frequency. I can still remember the way the store smelled, see the bottles on the shelves.

11. My father would often call from the bar and my mother would tell him not to drive. She'd hang up and be angry or cry.  A little later we would hear his Cadillac rumble up the driveway. She was fine then.

12. When I was very little the police followed my father home because he'd hit a pedestrian while driving drunk. I remember him frantically drinking mouthwash to kill the smell of booze before they arrested him. I was three.

13. He passed out in his chair once with a little cigarette and nearly lit himself on fire. He still does it. This last Christmas I bought him a new bathrobe. He said it was good timing since he'd burned so many holes in the old one.

14. My grandfather was in town for a visit and dad took him out. They came home drunk and grandpa fell. They all laughed at me when I cried. That was the last time I saw him-he died a few months later. I didn't go to the funeral because I was mad that the last memory I had of him was his mocking laughter.

15. The neighbor kid was mentally challenged and he used to chase me, naked, demanding I look at him. When I told my mom I didn't want to go to their house anymore, she told me he was 'special' and didn't understand. She made me go anyway.

16. Every boy I have ever dated cheated or dumped me for a friend until I was in my early 30s. Every. Single. One.

17. I failed driver's education in high school. My parents refused to pay for another course.  My dad told me they had bought me a car but were returning it because I failed.

18. My father would come home drunk and try to box with me, or he'd fight with me verbally. He treated me like one of his cronies-guys that he surrounded himself with.  My mother's reaction was always,"now now, that's enough." She didn't try to stop it.

19. My friends loved my mom because she let us smoke and cuss. They were afraid of my father and would often ask if he'd be there before deciding on if they'd come over.

20. The mother of the sons that hurt me committed suicide and I was forced to go to the viewing. She was short and wearing cowboy boots and very dead. I can still see her face.

21. I have been in no less than 10 car accidents and maybe more than that. I lost track. I was never driving the car.

22. My grandmother threw me in the deep end of the community pool one summer so I'd learn how to swim. I nearly drowned. I remember the lifeguard taking me into the locker room and sitting me on the bench, helping me regain my composure. She kept looking at me to make sure I was ok.

23. Same grandmother told me I was going to lose weight and stop sucking my thumb or Jesus wouldn't love me anymore.

24. The guy I lost my virginity to told me he could never be with me because I was too fat, I didn't drive and I didn't have enough sexual experience to ever please him.

25. I lived with a man for two years that wouldn't touch me. It wasn't until years later he told me he "never liked me that way".

26. I fell head over heels for a guy that literally disappeared from my life one morning after he kissed me goodbye. I never talked to him again. Eventually a friend told me he'd gotten married.

27. My mom was in and out of the hospital for the latter part of her life-about a decade of mine. Heart attacks, strokes, near diabetic comas, broken bones from falling or running into things. Many many nights spent in the ER or ICU. Eventually she was put in a rehab place that I visited dutifully every Sunday for over a year. It was a wretched place that caused her intense depression. She was miserable there and every time I visited it became more clear that she was giving up.

28. I stayed with her one weekend and she fell. She had asked me to go to the store and buy her a jug of wine. And I did. And she drank it. And she fell. It was a pattern. The EMTs recognized her and addressed her by name.

29. She died in the fall of 2006.

30. My grandmother died that same year. She died first, in August. I had to go to the service alone, Mom couldn't travel. I went to my grandmother's house and watched in horror as my aunts and uncles went through her things.

31. My father would visit my mother at the rehab place drunk. Or show up at the hospital that way too. Except the last time. Then he was just angry.

32. Dad sold drugs. A lot and for a long time. He was being watched by the DEA and when they suspected he was leaving town (we were going to visit family in Alaska) they swooped in and arrested him. I had to call his mother, my grandmother, and tell her we wouldn't be coming but not why.

33. I saw him in prison, in court, and later with an ankle bracelet. He was ordered mandatory AA meetings and refused, instead getting a friend to sign off for him.

34. In my mid twenties I had the closest thing to a breakdown I can imagine. I sat with a bottle of pills and some very dark thoughts before a friend found me and took me to see my doctor. I started a very difficult journey.

There's more. I count that moment after the pills as my half way point and that was nearly 20 years ago. Since then a million other things have happened to make this list but that's enough for now. 

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Change.

That word was playing over and over in my mind on my drive home today. I started thinking about all the songs or sayings that use it.

A change is gonna come.
Times, they are a -changin'.
A change will do you good
Change your mind, and the rest will follow
Be the change you wish to see in the world
Everything changes...

Why doesn't anyone ever talk about how hard change is?

I swear to god, high school was just four years of algebra, fast food and drama. It would have been cool to have a teacher say, "Once you get out of here, shit gets real."

And there's so much shit.

I feel like I'm always changing, trying to figure out the figurative shit.

And tonight my goal was to write about all of it. Or at least a big piece of it. Heh. A big 'ol piece of shit. But instead, something changed.

I was sitting with my laptop open, reading the closed captions on TV of No. 45's speech to Congress because I can't stand the sound of his voice when the doorbell rang. The Fella was expecting friends so I wasn't surprised. They came in and we discussed politics like people for a little while.

While we talked about how things have, well... changed lately, my eyes kept drifting to the blinking cursor of this blog. I've wanted to write for a while now and I've started a couple of times but I always get stuck. It's not as though my mind is quiet. In fact, sometimes it's screaming. But I can't find the right words to describe my current changes.

I used to write stories. I had a whole series about a brontosaurus named Belinda. I wrote really weird and dark poetry when my hair and clothes were black. I used to write pages of things that pissed me off  or letters I've never sent. Today I wrote a list of 20 of my favorite books.

When I was in 5th grade, at the suggestion of my teacher and encouragement from my mom, I joined a creative writing class. Every afternoon while the other kids went out for last recess, I sat in the school library with 3 other kids. We wrote sentences together and compared ideas. The librarian's name was Mrs. Hinkley and she had kind eyes, even when she challenged me.

"Why did you decide to write, 'she fell ill' instead of 'she got sick'?" Mrs. Hinkley asked me, pointing to a sentence I'd carefully constructed. I remember looking up at her a little scared that I'd done something wrong. She was kind, but she was a grown up and I was ten. She reminded me a little of my grandma which intimidated the heck out of me and made me want to hug her. I thought there couldn't be a better job in this world than to work in the library. I desperately wanted to impress her.

"Um. Well....I saw it in a book and thought it sounded better. More...um...like it really is. When you get sick, it feels like you're falling into it."

I could feel the other kids staring at me and knew my cheeks were turning pink. Gah, why did I say that? I waited for Mrs. Hinkley to respond, my stomach a ball of nerves.

She looked down at me over her glasses and those kind eyes were smiling. She placed her hand on my shoulder, "You're in the right place."

Five words and I felt like I could write anything. That might be why I thought the goth poetry was good. Maybe it was. It doesn't matter. At the time it was what I needed to write, more importantly, it was how I needed to write.

Time may change me, but I can't trace time.

I know that even if I can't find the right words immediately, they'll come.

Usually on the winds of change.

Probably More Than Ten

I've been cranky all day. I kind of wanted to stay that way because sometimes it's just easier and fuck it. I said I was sorry for being a dick and The Fella told me it was ok to be in a bad mood, that I didn't always have to be happy. He's pretty great that way and it made me feel better for a minute- but it didn't pull me out of it. I started scrolling Facebook which isn't really a good idea, like ever but especially not if you're cranky. Posts with Trump's face and headlines of death and destruction mixed with animals that need homes and then randomly coming across a carnival for KKK members...Well, it wasn't making my shitty mood any better that's for sure.

I decided to write. I could practically hear my Biggest Fan telling me, "Um. You haven't written in awhile. What's up with that shit?"

I went and got the laptop, curled up in my chair. I came to this page and frowned at it. I had no idea what to write about.

The Fella's Bro has been making lots of lists lately. His lists have been Top Tens, mostly music or movie related. As I read his latest, "Top Ten Skaters that Influenced Me and Made Me Wanna Skate" (it's zero by the way) I decided to challenge myself to leave the Land of Cranky by creating a list of my own... I'm not into skateboarding either so I'm gonna try and rid myself of this bullshit attitude by listing ten good things that happened to me today.

Top Ten Good Things That Happened to Me Today-(Kind of in order but not really)

1. First sip of coffee
2. Good morning kiss
3. Not having to hit the brakes on the freeway until my exit
4. Laughed with co-workers
5. Got a hug
6. Gave a hug
7. The Fella made dinner
8. A friend understood me without me having to say hardly anything
9. Kitty mews
10. DVR trash

It took me awhile to find a tenth one, I'll be honest. It wasn't a bad day. It really wasn't. Nothing happened. I just...felt cranky. I even checked the calendar but nope-it's not the lady bits. I really wish I could just say 'fuck it' but I find it so hard to allow myself to have a bad day.

I feel like I need to find a reason almost always but the truth is, I don't need one. The Fella is right. I don't always have to be happy. There are times in my life, whole days even, that I can be upset, sad, frustrated, pissed off, annoyed, and all those other 'unpleasant' emotions that I normally try to avoid.

I'm emotional. Passionate. Sometimes intense, and I don't think anyone would deny my heart hangs out on my sleeve all drippy and exposed pretty much always. But I rarely get cranky. Hardly ever. And often I'll apologize for being an asshole when no one thinks I am.

That's just dumb.

Maybe I'll try not saying I'm sorry for having feelings. Maybe instead, I'll work on accepting and embracing them. Maybe I'll let myself get all lost in the Land of Cranky and just hang out there for awhile instead of desperately trying to escape it. Maybe I'll even let myself get pissed and instead of crying, I'll scream and yell because it's ok to do that too.

I wonder what my Top Ten would look like that day...

Anyway, I'm less cranky now. The Top Ten Good Things list helped but I can't think of a way to end this writing and the lure of DVR trash is actually pretty strong now. I think I'll let my brain rot a little, forgive myself for being a human and then go to bed.

Wanna make somethin' of it?

Justifying Bad TV

I never watched Celebrity Apprentice because of Trump.

I watched out of curiosity. The first season I tuned in had La Toya Jackson, Meat Loaf and Gary Busey on it. I mean, I kind of had to watch.

I find people fascinating but generally not of 'reality' tv people. I'm not a Housewives of Some Big City fan and I don't watch any of the Survivor-type shows. I used to watch American Idol but I could only tell you a handful of the winner's names.

No, I like the shows that are most about the before and after. I LOVED Trading Spaces with the neighbors decorating neighbors' houses.  I like Treehouse Masters with the host that's punny and the after shots of gorgeous tree houses. I also like the make-up/costume creation show Face Off and the classic Top Chef to watch people make amazing things out of food. I like to see how the competitors can take similar ingredients or materials and interpret them with their own unique style. Project Runway is another favorite for that reason. Also, Tim Gunn is a fantastic human.

Celebrity Apprentice's premise is basically not-as-popular-as-they-used-to-be celebrities making money for charity. They have tasks assigned to them that usually involve marketing or promoting of a brand and whichever team impresses the executives the most wins. It's dumb. But it's surprisingly intriguing and for me it's not because it's fascinating watching celebrities, it's fascinating watching them be people.

The whole season La Toya didn't try to read anyone's aura, Meat Loaf looked more like your middle aged neighbor than a rock star and Gary is clearly just a man who suffered a brain injury.

But because they are celebrities, they know how to be a famous and on camera so it's rare to get a peek behind the veil.  When someone gets mad or emotional about the task, that's when the true personality usually comes out. It's not the most watchable when the 'drama' starts or the name calling gets colorful. It's all about the moment you catch a glimpse of who these people really are.

My favorite 'whoa, you're a dick' celebrity moment was with Lou Ferrigno. He was the HULK for crying out loud, beloved by many. I couldn't wait to see what kind of person he was.

As the show aired, I learned one of the charities he works with is National Center for Lost and Exploited Children and I was intrigued. But then I watched him be the first to throw someone under the bus and play the 'deaf card' to get out of an uncomfortable task. He was bossy and rude and I was so disappointed! Dennis Rodham had more class than the Hulk.

The show went off the air for awhile. Trump focused on making America great and I decided I could never watch again. I truly find Trump's existence terrifying and the ugliness of him fully outweighed my morbid curiosity of celebrities.

But the show is back now and this time-no Trump. Instead, the new host is Arnold Schwarzenegger, or 'the Governor'. His catch phrase replaced Trump's 'You're fired!' with 'You've been terminated.'  I laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants because it's just so frivolous.

But who cares? How is it worse than watching 22 men run into each other while they chase pigskin on AstroTurf? Or watching dragons and scantily clad blondes battle for a chair made of pointy things?

Besides, I like seeing my old idols like Boy George say things like, "I'm a very creative person," in his beautiful accent. Or to learn that Snooki is nothing like the person that I remember seeing from Jersey Shore ads. (And only ads because that's where I draw the line). She's actually a bit insecure and soft spoken until she drops the f-bomb. Also, La Toya is a badass.

Shows like this remind me that we're ALL just people. Some of us have lifestyles that wreak havoc on our bodies or our minds. Some of us grow up with privilege and money others only dream of. Some of us have to work our asses off to get anywhere. But we are all capable of showing emotion and making mistakes and feeling vulnerable and saying things we shouldn't.

We are all human and it's something to celebrate.

Now That the Ball has Dropped

I don't do the new year/new me thing anymore.

I called them 'goals' instead of resolutions for awhile.

I did that whole jar of 'good things' once. But honestly it didn't really matter.

Any day can be a day to start over. New Year's Day is just one that everyone can agree on.

I suppose it lends that whole feeling of 'new beginning' like the first warm day in Spring...but if you're not ready, you're not.

I know there are things I'd like to do for myself, things I'd like to try to accomplish. I have ideas and hopes and goals to strive for, but the biggest resolution I have for myself is to not feel like shit if I don't meet them in 365 days.

I want to be healthy again. I have gone back and forth, up and down with taking care of myself. I have learned how to eat better, to make better dietary choices, and also that food and my emotions are closely tied together.

I know what I'm capable of. I know how I feel when I'm eating healthier and moving about more. I know how it feels to lose a bit of weight and even if I can't see it in the mirror, I know what it looks like. I deserve that.

I know now that my relationship with food is connected to a lot of other things and now that I do, I can work on them. I can change it. I don't want to be a new me...I like me. I just want to be the best me I can.

I want to travel. I want to see Colorado and spend time with the Fella's friends there. I want to visit Japan because it's one of his favorite places. I want to show him some of my favorite places too, and find new places together. I want to see Diagon Alley and Hogwarts castle-even if they are in California. I still want to see Vegas and the French Quarter but not to party. To feel their culture and take a ridiculous amount of photos.

I want to finish putting my book together. Even if it's just to have for myself, to go nowhere beyond my own shelf, I want it.

I want to tackle my fear of the dentist. I want to go and get anything fixed that needs to be and then move on.

I want to become a strong part of my work place. I want to be significant in the growth of the company and it's interrelationships. I want to help build a bridge between admin and store front become one that is built on mutual respect and shared success.

I want to take the carpets out of our house. I want the beauty of hard wood that is currently hiding to be our new surface.

I want my growth to continue to strengthen me. I want to be at a place inside myself where I no longer care what others think. I want confidence to prevail instead of waver.

I want to buy a hot tub.

I want to celebrate my 40th birthday in a freaking fantastic way. I have no idea how yet, but I want it to be the one I remember the most.

I want to create an album with my favorite photos. To go alongside my book.

I want a car that I chose and bought and is mine to take care of.

I want to never be afraid to try something new.

I want to be brave enough to say no.

I want to be strong enough to say thank you.

I want to stop saying 'I'm sorry'.

Healthy boundaries. Honest communication. Detachment with love. Letting go. True to me. Me first. Me.

This might be hard--as I type those words a hiss of 'that's selfish' echoes in my head before I shake it clear. No it isn't.

I want to do things for me this year. And the years going forward.

It's time.

I'm ready.

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.