A Change in Perspective

Days turn into nights that turn into other days.  Quickly it all becomes a blur, I get lost in all the movement, lose focus, lose purpose.  Then there are moments, like today at the park that my perspective shifts.  I saw him differently today, even if only for a few moments.

Every day I wake to this child, I fall asleep to this child and everything in between is centered around this child, one way or another.  It is safe to say, and also sad to say that sometimes I do not really see him for who he is but rather just another task on my list of to-do’s:  wake him up, feed him, medicate him, bathe him, dress him, bring him to school, pick him up from after-school care, feed him, educate him, discipline him, ready him for bed, medicate him, tuck him in.  I can definitely get lost in the motions, lose sight of the reason behind those motions.

Today I looked at him with fresh eyes.  I saw how his face lights up when he thinks he did something funny.  I saw happiness in him as he laughed, at my expense however, to the thing he found funny.  I watched him after that, and marveled at his resilience.  After everything he’s been through, he is still just a small boy that finds so much joy in climbing a tree.  I watched him up there, no easy feat to get where he was, and saw the pride of accomplishment emanating from him.  I saw him glow when he alerted a passerby to his whereabouts and her face contorted into shock and I chuckled when she glowered at me with disapproval.  I later listened to his passionate rant about finding cigarette butts on the playground, because whoever left them there was breaking the rules.  You see, our park is a “tobacco free zone” per city ordinance.  There’s a big sign announcing this as you enter.  He could not fathom why they would break the rules.  “They can be ARRESTED!!” he proclaims, loudly.  And I smile at this personality quirk of his, this need of knowing and following rules because it only applies to rules that make sense to him.  Then I thought back to earlier in the day, when he asked me to join him for lunch.  I remembered the longing in his eyes and the excitement he could not contain when he saw me waiting for him by the cafeteria.  And the immediate concern he showed when he realized I had a bandage on my arm.  Waiting in the lunch service line, I was showered with hugs and kisses and while eating in our own special booth, I received cuddles- in front of his peers.

I know these moments of clarity are fleeting, that sometimes one can’t help but get swallowed up in the chaos of the days.  But I realized today, the most important to-do on that task list is to love him.  And I do.  And I think he knows that.  Or at least, I hope he does.

I Thought You Might Be Wondering...

Yesterday I was full of angst.  I was idling, wasting time waiting to go to work when I recognized the dread.  I do not want to go there; I do not want to be there.  There is no redeeming value for me, no qualities about my job that I find rewarding or endearing.  I go because of the paycheck.  Upon recognizing this fact, I felt discouraged.  You see, I do not give a damn about money.  It really holds no value for me aside from the necessity of it to survive in this society.  I consider it a necessary evil.  As much as I would like to move to a commune somewhere and live off the land, unfortunately I am too familiar with this way of life, this hustle and bustle and I’m not sure I would do well with that kind of transition.  Plus, I know nothing of gardening; it’s all I can do to keep a spider plant alive.  And forget about carpentry, I would end up sleeping in a ragtag lean to.  I’m not sure what kind of value I would bring to a commune, so it’s really only a fantasy of an idea.  With that being understood, I now must find a way to better adapt to this capitalistic way of life.  If money is a must, then I must find a way to earn a suitable amount in a way that stirs my soul and challenges my mind.  One thing is for sure; spending most of my day staring at a blank wall and smiling on cue isn’t getting it done.  But what will?  And how can I best make that transition?  Those are the thoughts rattling around in my brain today, just in case you were wondering…

Point... BREAK

I was once vibrant and malleable, so full of light and love and laughter.  Nothing could bring me down.  I could bend with the stress, I could adapt to the changes presented.  However, now my light is barely visible and I am stretched and bent as far my being will allow.  I have hardened after years of unrelenting pressure.  And now, I stand before you, cracking under the weight of my world.  This is my breaking point.  I feel I could shatter at any moment, explode from within, sending shards of me billowing out in a cloud, raining down onto the ground where I once stood.  But then it will be too late, I will be beyond repair.  Something needs to give now… before that something is me.

Waiting

Waiting.  I’m always waiting on something.  Or at least it seems that way.  Waiting to earn residency, waiting for my son to “get better”, waiting on a girl, waiting on a job, waiting, waiting, waiting.  I'm tired of waiting.  I want to start living.  I want life to begin.  I’m tired of living in a constant state of transition.  That’s what it is.  Angst over the transition I’m in and have been in for YEARS.  I’ve been living in this location now longer than I’ve lived anywhere in the past five years but it’s not my permanent home, which I think exacerbates this feeling.  The longer I stay in transition, the longer I’ll feel this way.

Wait for it… There.  Then wait…. And  there.  This is my day, my week, my life.  I’m constantly just waiting for something else to happen.  Waiting for it to be time to pick up the boy, waiting for the next time I can talk to my girl, waiting to go into work and once I’m there, waiting till I can leave again.  And there’s waiting on bigger things, like when I was unemployed for four months, I was waiting on a job.  Now I have a job, I wait for the paychecks.  I wait for the next schedule to come out to see if I’ll have enough hours in the coming week to make all of my obligations.  I wait for residency so I can return to school.  I wait… and wait… and wait… and I’m still here, which from the looks of things, is nowhere.  A single mom, divorced with no career and no place of my own to call home.  Kind of sounds like a pity party, but it’s just a statement of fact.  There are aspects of my life I am happy about and with, and I like the path I’m on, it’s a good one.  But it’s just that-a path- where I’m waiting for life to get better. I know this is the way to get it done; to find a life partner, learn a trade and begin a career, buy a home, have more babies, etc… but… really?  At this point, I feel like this isn’t McDonald’s cuz I’m NOT lovin it and it’s not BK either, cuz I can’t have it my way.  I get it that to appreciate the sweeter things in life, you need to taste the bitter but I’ve had about all the bitter I can handle.  Why does it all have to be a waiting game?  Why can’t I have just a little instant gratification?

Ruler of my World

So sleepy.  So tired.  Always.  Anxiety rules my world, my body, my life.  It infiltrates every moment, influencing every decision, every action, every thought.  It overpowers me, takes control and panic abounds.  Can’t breathe.  Can’t think.  Chest pain.  Muscle vibration.  Shakes.  **Can’t. Stop. Shaking.**  Hyperventilation begins.  Dizzy.  Disoriented.  Scared. The terror of it all.  Morbid thoughts.  Want it to stop.  NEED it to stop.  **Can’t. Stop. Shaking. **  Panic.  Fear.  I’m pacing.  I’m crying.  I’m pulling at my hair.  Tapping on my head.  I curl up into a ball.  Rock myself in a fetal position.  Concentrate on breathing.  Slow.  Easy.  Tears stop.  Now the decline.  Feel myself coming down.  Exhaustion remains.  It’s all that remains.  So wiped, so defeated.  A mix of other emotions begins to swirl. Embarrassed.  Ashamed.  Infuriated.  This is not ok.  This is not good.  Someone help me.

Excuse Me... Sir?

It is not uncommon for me to hear this phrase several times per day.  In some settings, I can (almost) understand it.  For example, my work uniform is largely unflattering to my figure.  I’m forced to wear an over-sized, blue polo shirt that hides my chest.  I spend most of my time at work behind the customer service counter, so one is generally unable to see I am wearing women’s pants, pants worn snug enough to notice the lack of a “bulge” caused by external genitalia.  So I get it, at quick glance, my appearance can be misleading.  However, my features and mannerisms are not masculine and my voice is certainly not, as it takes on even a higher pitched quality when being professional.  In all honesty, the only characteristic about me that IS masculine, is my haircut.  And this is enough to confuse the masses.

Outside of work, my attire is more revealing, less obscuring of certain swells.  Yesterday, I made an excursion to a festival in Central Florida.  Florida being what it is, the weather was mostly sunny and a balmy 88 degrees.  I chose to wear plaid shorts (albeit men’s shorts, because I don’t feel my ass needs to eat my clothing as I parade around in public) and a small camisole top that definitely accentuated my natural assets.  In short, I had cleavage and plenty of it.  Also, I have almost no visceral fat (fat on my body is found mainly in my thighs, another driving factor in deciding to wear men’s shorts) so my C cup tits are prominently displayed above my (nearly) washboard abs.  However, more times than not, when addressed by strangers, I was referred to as “sir.”  Really?  Are you that unobservant, that ridiculously ignorant, that you make judgments based on one quality, one physical characteristic even when countless others, in plain and obvious sight, are contradictory?

I am both amused and clearly bothered by this consistent slip of the tongue; so I thought about it some, and I thought about it some more.  Daily, in every meeting, every situation, we are bombarded by input.  Our minds are fantastic in their ability to take it all in and file it away into relevant/necessary and irrelevant/unnecessary folders.  When we walk up to someone, we do see all of them.  We see their hair style and color, their eye color, their skin color, whether or not they’re wearing makeup, body type, the style, fit and color of clothing, and even the scenery around them.  All of this input is then used to gauge the situation, gauge the person and make decisions and judgments accordingly.  Well, not all of the input is always used.  It seems, many times, we can hyper-focus on one bit of information and use that to formulate our reaction, without considering all of the facts.  It concerns me that as technology develops, humanity, in general, seems to lose the ability to think.  We are relying more and more on our devices and less and less on our intellect.  Common sense is quickly becoming a thing of the past.  It all makes me frightened for my son, and the world he will live in one day… A day where I’ll probably be playing Angry Birds in my nursing home and the orderly will come in and say to me “Ok sir, it’s time for your nap…”

King of the Mountain

The shitshow that is my life has no easy fix.  There is no magic wand to wave over a pumpkin, transforming it into my chariot.  I’m not going to come home one day to find my dilapidated house replaced with a mansion. I have no delusions of grandeur.  There is no fairytale “happily ever after,” life requires work.  I know the only way out of this mess is to fight, scratch and claw my way back out of this hole. But this hole, dug by countless poor choices and mistakes, has only grown deeper and steeper as the years have passed.  At times, the light above is just a faint glimmer, the dark walls emanate their sadness, permeating my essence, poisoning my spirit.  There have been moments I feel I’m making progress, to at least stand on level ground, but I always lose my footing, fall flat on my ass and find myself right back where I started, only a little more bruised, a little more hurt, and with a little more despair with each slip.  Yet each time, I pull myself back to my feet, brush the dust and dirt off my knees and shoulders, and begin the climb again.  With renewed determination and vigor, I fight the fight, in absolute refusal to be bested by anything life throws at me.

The casualties of my battles have been a loss of blood, sweat and many, many tears; broken hearts, broken dreams and broken homes.  But where there are casualties, there are also victories and my victories have been plentiful.  While I am currently still in my hole, my victories have provided me the tools I need to build myself a ladder, to finally rise and conquer.   The light from above is bright and warm.  There will be more failures, more setbacks, but with perseverance, I know I will come out on top.  My proverbial hole will become a mountain, and I will be king.