Communication or Comprehension?

 I have an ambivalence. I am of the mind to give zero fucks about what anyone thinks but I am also completely irritated when I am misunderstood and misrepresented. I am not sure how both of these things can exist simultaneously, yet here we are. 

An epiphany of sorts occurred to me the other day. I read words so simple yet so profound and they have been circulating in my mind since. 

A long, long time ago I noticed the trend that it was breakdowns in communication that lead to the strife in my life. I have strived since to improve my communication, attempt to perfect my communication as to avoid the pain and heartache associated with unmet, unspoken expectations. Even within the last year I was still searching for a counselor to help me, to reveal to me my barriers and teach me how to express myself. Because it always falls back to me. I speak, I share, I tell, I advocate. Over and over and over again. Years go by and my needs remain unmet. So I leave. And then I'm a liar. I'm a cheater. And any love I've professed or shown over the last {insert number here} years has been a lie. 

But it's not been my communication that has been the problem. My counselor says that I communicate very well. I express my needs and my boundaries clearly. I realized it's their COMPREHENSION that has been the problem. If the recipient of my communication does not comprehend my words, then I am just speaking into the void. Words are wind. It's no wonder I'm frustrated. 

Comprehension is the key to success, not communication. Communication is a necessary and viable tool, one arguably cannot achieve comprehension without it. But without comprehension, any attempts at communication are moot.

So then I asked myself, "Self, are you being unclear in your communication?" How is it all of these attempts at communication, at relaying necessary information have failed. Well, maybe not all, but surely enough to create and sustain a problem. 

By no means do I wish to portray that I am perfect in my communication. There are still times I hold back. There are situations in which I shutdown, become mute and any forceful attempts at verbalization result in a stutter. But I am truthful and I am able to convey my feelings and my needs. 

What I've learned though, over many, MANY experiences, is that some women have a narrative in which all things must exist. If things do not fit into this narrative, they are either twisted and contorted or ignored all together. Because for humanity, it is easier to believe we are a victim than to accept failure; to accept and acknowledge our shortcomings. 

The parts of me that are irritated by the mischaracterizations and the misrepresentation want to go to war, they want to defend my character, my truth, THE TRUTH. But the parts of me that have evolved realize such actions will only fuel the narrative. There are hundreds or thousands of versions of me out there in the world, each one existing only in the mind of anyone that's met me. And those versions are none of my business. So this is when I let the zero fucks parts of me take control. 

Say what you want. Present to the world whatever version of me you need to help yourself sleep at night. It does not have any bearing to the validity of the real me, nor does it detract from my current happiness. 

People will believe what they want to believe. Who am I to interfere?

Life on the Borderline: The Explosion

I suppose it was always going to come to this, always going to end in this fashion and I had been just delaying the inevitable.  Maybe, on some deeper level, I knew this and that is why I waited so long.  (Procrastination is a dirty, little habit of mine.)  There was never going to be an amicable parting of ways, an agreement and calmness to the detangling of our shared lives. The moment I stated my unhappiness, it activated a chemical bomb.  A chemical reaction was initiated that could not be stopped, nor reversed.  When the situation reached its boiling point... BOOM!!!

There is no other way when sparring with emotional dysregulation.  I can't even be mad at her for the things she's said and done during her eruption, because in a sense, she cannot control it.  She CANNOT regulate her emotions; she's incapable. She blasted into a manic state, spiraling up and out of control.  I can, however, and did, protect myself and my son from her unbridled outbursts.  For everyone's safety, most importantly hers and her daughters, I had to create space. I was the trigger for her, being near me caused the temperature to rise, the two of us residing under the same roof caused this explosion.  It was the toxicity that flowed and brewed and stirred within each of us and around us; one triggering the other.  She had to go.  Away from here, away from me she could come back down from her manic state. She was unstable and unsafe and still had a little one to consider.  She needed to return to baseline to be there for her daughter during this period of change too, to be safe for both of them.

I am not claiming my actions were solely altruistic, they were not.  I made her leave because I needed the safety of her absence, my son needed that safety too.  There is a storm that revolves around her, like a cyclone or whirlwind; a tornado.  Wherever she is, chaos ensues and endures.  Since she's left, the storm clouds are receding, the sun is poking through, and the dust is settling in the new calmness.  This is where I'll build a life...far away from the Borderline.

Life on the Borderline: End Times

I wanted to be the person that can withstand the troubled seas during the storm, be the anchor that held my partner steady during the worst of her battles with her personal demons.  I wanted a happy ending, one that included her and our beautiful, little family.  But.  That is not how this story ends.  It turns out, I am not a superhero and there are limits to the trauma I can withstand and endure.

I feel for her. I really do.  I cannot imagine the pain and anguish that burdens her mind on a daily basis.  What she feels when she experiences emotion is in extremes, overwhelming to her senses.  But it's her complete disconnect from reality that breaks me.  Her perception is not based in reality, in the world in which we all live.  The sleights she feels, powerfully real to her, just do not exist.  Each day I need to defend and explain and apologize for things that were never meant, never said, or never done.  And it's all futile in the end because she is incapable of seeing things outside her perception.  She has already determined the facts and nothing I could ever say or do could possibly sway her mind.

I have insidiously poisoned myself over the last 18 months, all with the same result of bashing my head against a brick wall repeatedly.  But rather than a bruised and broken skull and a bloody mess to mop up, I have a bruised heart, broken psyche, and an immensely tangled living situation to unravel.

There's a gaping emptiness engulfing me. I do not the feel warmth of another human being touching me, I do not see softness in the eyes that are supposed love me.  There is just coldness.  There is anger and hurt and betrayal.  There is the sensation of drowning... in sadness.  There is grief in unrequited love. I have come to realize that my self-esteem, my self-worth have been on a steady spiral into nothingness.  I have grown to believe that I have lost my zest, my appeal, my attractiveness to others.  I am losing myself in her crisis.  This is life on the borderline.  Life with a Borderline.

To save myself, my sanity, my liveliness.... This is me walking away.

Life on the Borderline

I didn't realize it immediately.  It's not like they wear name tags or announce their diagnosis like alcoholics upon introduction.  It's not like most even know it themselves.  

I fell in love.  She was fun and fresh and intoxicating in her vitality.  She had career goals, life goals and was actively working to pursue them.  She was a devoted mother to her beautiful toddler, family oriented, and loving.

I feel duped.  I feel deceived.  Smoke. Mirrors.

Today she is lost inside her own world.  Her personal demons have taken over, clearly in the driver's seat.  She is too anxious to work, too depressed to clean or cook or eat or even wake some days.  Her only coping technique? getting high.

Today I have no voice.  My life is no longer my own, my wants and needs irrelevant.  I exist solely to serve her. I provide the home, the utilities, the entertainment features, the food, and the means of transportation.  I provide, she takes.

We have been living amidst her crisis for a year now.  Hers are the only feelings that matter, her problems the only concerns to consider.  I am invisible except to provide.  When I fail to provide any given whim, I disappear completely.  Until a provision is needed again.

Manipulation is the only tactic she knows to fulfill needs.  Primary go-to: withhold and/or threaten most treasured, most valued need of subject. I have gone without genuine love and affection this year.  She dangles that carrot out in front of this horse and I will walk to my death to receive the sweetness.

It is killing me. Living with a Borderline is torturous. Physically, my body aches all over.  My nerves are frayed, one in particular misfires when stressed, causing debilitating pain on the left side of my face and head.  Bring me to my knees in tears pain.  The tension carried in my shoulders prevents full range of rotation in my neck and provides constant pain.  The abdominal pain has reached levels of intensity worthy of an emergency hospital visit and many thousands of dollars spent in diagnostic tests and procedures over the months, all results "normal."  Muscles hidden deep in the pelvis, muscles most do not know even exist, are now so tense it is nearly impossible to defecate, impossible to fully empty my bladder, and impossible to sit comfortably, as these muscles are squeezing my anus and urethra closed, and pulling my coccyx out of place.

Loving her is making me sick.  It is robbing me of my light, my love, my laughter.  She doesn't even notice.  This is by far the most toxic, the most unfulfilling relationship I've had. Yet, here I am.

I complain. I cry. Yet, I remain.  Forever the hopeless romantic or just the twisted masochist?

New Year's Reflection

 My heart aches.  A weight of unlimited and undefined measurement engulfs my body, pressing me, squeezing me, holding me down, from the outside, from the world, but also from within.  It feels as if lead is sludging through my vessels, a slow and crippling pace while cement is drying, hardening all around me.  This year has been tough.  The whole planet has struggled, life has changed dramatically for everyone in one way or another, and for too many, life has ended.  I have struggled.  My demons remain, finding ways to test my resolve.  My most recent tests have involved allowing others to face their demons without trying to fix everything for them.  One of the hardest things I've had to do is watch people I love so dearly be so miserable, struggle so immensely, with hurdles looming so large that some, at times, no longer wish to continue in this life.  And I can't do a single thing about it.  I cannot help them.  I can encourage them to help themselves.  I can listen; I can provide phone numbers to hotlines, counselors, resources; I can take them to appointments and suggest healthier coping techniques but I can't fix it for them. I cannot make them do things they do not wish to do, they do not feel is helpful or important or necessary or possible.

Another major difficulty for me is to advocate for myself, to ensure my needs are being met, and to walk away from people and situations that just aren't getting it done.  My well to help others seems infinite but my well of strength to stop slighting myself to accommodate others appears to not yet be drilled.  I have thus far been incapable of saying "no more."  I write this as I contemplate saying such a thing, of performing such an act.  This act, these words will break my heart, crush it into millions and billions of pieces.  The pain I feel even thinking about it is real, it is raw, and cuts me deep.  But it would still be less than continuing to accept that my love is not reciprocated.  My commitment is not equaled.  My broken heart will heal, but my resentment will only continue to grow if I let me be disregarded and not considered.

My big lesson of 2020 is to learn that I cannot not save anyone but myself.  I am worthy and must insist I be treated as such.  That's my 2021. 

Starbucks Ruminations

A person's reality is formed by their experiences in life.  A person abused as a child learns distrust and fear of others. A narrative forms in their mind, a belief system that they are not worthy of respect and love from others and that others will undoubtedly hurt them and let them down, leave them. All input passes through the lens of this narrative becoming distorted. A person lives in the reality they create in their mind and truly believes the distortions their lens has produced. These distortions are then projected as truth out into the world because it is the only truth they can comprehend. Kindness, love, compassion are viewed as scams and lies. Differences are viewed as validation of the narrative. Adults have the ability to change their narrative, change the lens. It really is a choice. A person can make a choice to learn new thought patterns. A person can make a choice to accept they are flawed and accept responsibility for their behaviors triggered by their distortions. A person can seek resources to help them be a better version of themselves. They just have to want it enough to make the first step. And keep taking steps every day. Day after day. Change is work. Constant hard work. Even though their narrative creates a painful and lonely existence, it's still a comfortable existence because they know it, they don't need to do anything to achieve it, it just is. It's all they've ever known.

This is why there is a mental health crisis. It's easier to keep status quo than it is to effect change. We live our lives in a connected state, with limitless access to people supporting our narratives. Healthy or not, a person can find "facts" or quotes or even stylish memes to support their distorted perception. A person may see a quote about not falling in love with a certain someone because this certain someone wants them to seek treatment for their mental illness and therefore must not truly love the real them, and think "this makes sense" because it validates the distorted narrative of they are not worthy of love.

If a person suffers from a mental illness, is aware they are afflicted and they are aware their illness negatively affects those around them, their loved ones, but refuses to seek treatment, how long should those loved ones subject themselves directly to this illness? Is wanting someone to be truly happy, wanting someone to find peace and solace within themselves mean you do not love them for their true self? When does supporting someone become enabling someone? Is understanding a person's motivations providing justification for their hurtful behaviors? How does one continue to withstand the consequences of a loved one's behaviors while maintaining their own good mental health for which they work very hard to achieve?

Judgmental Rant

There’s no love greater than a mother’s love for her child.  I don’t care how you much you love your husband or your wife or your stepchild there is something special, something unique in carrying a life inside of your body and then caring for this new tiny, helpless person that you made.  The bond that develops is indescribable and unmatched in any other human attachment.  I know this to be true because I’ve experienced these bonds myself. I’ve had a wife and I’ve had stepchildren and I’ve given birth.  Nothing compares. If you have not experienced this then you cannot relate to me as you do not understand my perspective in regards to my child.  Therefore, your judgment is unwarranted and misplaced.

He was three years old when I began pressing the doctor for answers.  My partner and I had split a year previous and had no contact with each other.  He had a list of signs and symptoms that just weren’t being relieved by traditional methods.  We were referred to specialists who then referred us to other, more specialized specialists.  For the next two years I offered up my only son, my baby, to a plentitude of tests and needle sticks and procedures to try to determine the cause of his distress.  Two years I spent in the dark, alone, knowing something was wrong but getting no answers.  He was five years old when the brutality of life slapped me across the face with such a force that the bruise has yet to fade.  If you have never sat in a doctor’s office alone and had your entire world crumble around you with the delivery of a terminal diagnosis for your child; if you’ve never had to process and accept that no matter what you do, you will likely outlive your child as he has a diminished chance of even making to adulthood, then you cannot relate to me as you do not understand my perspective in regards to my child.  And again, your judgment is unwarranted and misplaced.

Two years after receiving that terrifying and crushing diagnosis, we were given another:  my son is on the autism spectrum; he has Asperger’s Syndrome.  He is a brilliant child, yet socially inept.  He has sensory issues and intense anxiety that cripple his ability to function successfully in a classroom setting.  Other kids see him as odd, different and naturally exclude him.  They can’t relate to him and he can’t relate to them.  His inability to perceive and understand social cues creates a plethora of misunderstandings and miscommunications with adults and peers.  His emotional maturity- his ability to understand and process his own emotions is stifled and delayed which leads to inappropriate conduct during these miscommunications.  He is in a constant state of fight or flight.  He has to work twice as hard as the next person just to get to the same place.  Every day, every moment is a struggle and he is weighted by the hand he was dealt.  I am his mother and it is my job to understand his struggle, understand his perspective and advocate for him to those who do not.  It is me, and only me, in the school office day after day, year after year, through countless meetings and conferences explaining and defending and apologizing and fighting for his rights.  If you have never had to face the reality that every day of your child’s predicted shortened life will be an intense battle with the world around him, then you cannot relate to me as you do not understand my perspective in regards to my child.  And again, your judgment is unwarranted and misplaced.

The persona you see in public-at work, at school, at play, is a façade.  It is the mask I wear to make it through each day.  Please do not presume you know me because you have lived with me or have spent considerable time with him.  You do not know us.  You have not been on this journey with us and you have no relatable experience with which empathize.  I do not want your pity, nor do I need your judgment.  I have done the best job I could given my own flaws, shortcomings and talents with the obstacles and hurdles I have faced.  And I continue to do my best to create the greatest quality of life I can for my son.

To anyone listening: Your unsolicited parenting advice, either to my face or to my peers behind my back is inappropriate and offensive.  Just because you can form an ignorant opinion doesn’t mean you should share it.  Mind your own business.

Passenger Speaks for Me

With regret, I'm willing to bet, and say the older you get
It gets harder to forgive and harder to forget.
It gets under your shirt like a dagger at work
The first cut is the deepest, but the rest still flippin' hurt
You build your heart of plastic, get cynical and sarcastic
And end up in the corner on your own.
So what's the point in getting your hopes up
When all you're ever getting is choked up?
Ever the chase to taste the kiss of bliss
That made your heart tingle
How much greener the grass is
With those rose tinted glasses
But the butterflies, they flutter by
And leave us on our asses.
'Cause I love to feel love but I can't stand the rejection
I hide behind my jokes as a form of protection
I thought I was close, but under further inspection
It seems I've been running in the wrong direction.
There's fish in the sea for me to make a selection
I'd jump in if it wasn't for my ear infection
'Cause all I want to do is try to make a connection
But it seems I've been running in the wrong direction.

Well I would swim but the river is so wide
And I'm scared I won't make it to the other side
Well God knows I've failed but He knows that I've tried.
I long for something that's safe and warm
But all I have is all that is gone
I'm as helpless and as hopeless as a feather on the Clyde.

 Cuz she left a hole in my heart
A hole in a promise
A hole on the side of my bed
Oh but now that she's gone
Well life carries on
And I miss her like a hole in the head.
Well sometimes you can't change
And you can't choose
And sometimes it seems you gain
Less than you lose.
Now we've got holes in our hearts
Yeah, we've get holes in our lives
Well we've got holes
We've got holes
But we carry on

Well, I've got no-one's word and nobody's promise,
Not a lot to show but this book full of sonnets.
My liver may be fucked, but my heart is honest,
And my word is true like the sky is blue.
Well, if you can't get what you love,
You learn to love the things you've got.
If you can't be what you want,
You learn to be the things you're not.
If you can't get what you need,
You learn to need the things that stop you dreaming.

Got a Polaroid picture in my wallet
I'm not gonna tear it, no, I'm not gonna spoil it
It's an unspoken heartbreak
A heartbroken handshake
I take with me where I go
Three words on the tip of my tongue
Not to be spoke nor sung
Or whispered to anyone
Till I scream 'em at the top of my lungs again
And though the sand may be washed by the sea
And the old will be lost in the new
Well four will not wait for three
For three never waited for two
And though you will not wait for me
I'll wait for you

Staring at the bottom of your glass
Hoping one day you'll make a dream last
But dreams come slow and they go so fast
You see her when you close your eyes
Maybe one day you'll understand why
Everything you touch surely dies.
Staring at the ceiling in the dark
Same old empty feeling in your heart
'Cause love comes slow and it goes so fast
Well you see her when you fall asleep
But never to touch and never to keep
'Cause you loved her too much and you dive too deep.
Only know you love her when you let her go
And you let her go

Don't you cry for the lost
Smile for the living
Get what you need and give what you're given
Life's for the living so live it
Or you're better of dead

(**disclaimer: I copied and pasted all lyrics; none of these words are mine.  I did change the pronouns in one song because I didn't like the gender.**)

A Change is in the Air

Here I sit on the edge of a precipice, staring off into the dangerous unknown. Before me a rope bridge extends out into a foggy horizon, its destination unseen.  Behind me lay the path my journey has blazed; laden with mountains and valleys, jagged cliffs and dark, dank caves.  Back there is the comfortable complacency in which I exist.  Out there is possibility and hope.  The gravity of my choice to direct my path over this bridge weighs heavy on this eve of change.  One misstep and it all goes to shit.  I can’t let that happen; I can’t return to this subpar existence.  Once I step out onto that bridge there is no turning back.  I will delicately balance all of my responsibilities and obligations on my shoulders; place one foot surely in front of the other and forge my way through the fog.  I do not know what awaits me over there but I believe it is a life worth living.  I’m confident there are mountains and valleys still but they will be majestic peaks surrounded by spacious valleys bursting with color; with the brightest green grass and the most vibrant flowers filling the air with the sweet, sweet scent of happiness.  That is my future over there, my son’s future; it’s high time I get to steppin’.

An Honest Look

Honesty.  How much is necessary?  How much is healthy?  Does every thought, feeling and action need to be disclosed to everyone in order for you to be considered a truthful person? 

I consider myself to be a truthful person.  If you ask me a question, I will answer truthfully.  I will tell you what I feel is relevant, pertinent and appropriate to the situation, at that time.  But does that make me a liar?  If you ask me what’s wrong, I may answer with I don’t feel well; an accurate and honest statement.  I may even offer that my tummy is quite upset.  I’ve made an honest revelation to your question with a supporting explanation.  Is that sufficient?  Or should I include that the vomiting and explosive diarrhea I’ve had for the past hour is the real reason I don’t feel well?  Is that information necessary for my statement to be truthful?  If I don’t share that information, one could say I’m withholding information which is also considered lying.  Did I, in fact, lie to you by keeping personal details as to why I’m not feeling well to myself?  Is full disclosure necessary? 

If the argument is no, not in every situation; then who is it that decides which situations are appropriate?  Is there a person out there or an unwritten code of conduct that decides which of my thoughts, my feelings and my actions I must disclose in order for the title of “truthful” to be bestowed upon me?

If you ask me a question and my answer is honest and truthful in that moment; am I now no longer able to change my mind?  If I do change my mind, does that mean I have now lied to you?  If you ask me at 8 am if I want to catch a movie later and I answer yes; when you ask again at 8 pm and my answer is no, did I lie 12 hours previous or have my thoughts, feelings and intentions just changed?  Is the reason they changed required to be divulged for honesty to happen?  If my reason is because I’m tired now, do I need to list the reasons that caused me to be tired in their entirety?  When is it enough?  How much honesty is enough and necessary?

I had a partner once divulge a truth to me.  She felt she was doing the right thing because she was being honest with me about her thoughts and feelings.  I felt her truthful divulgence was hurtful.  I felt she could have told me her truth about how she was feeling without this particular detail.  Is complete and full disclosure necessary, or healthy, even in committed intimate relationships?  Her truth was that when she masturbates, she imagines herself with other people.  Was it absolutely necessary I know this information or could she have just told me she’s feeling unsatisfied with our relationship; that she has needs I am no longer meeting?  That truth would have been hard enough to process, was the supporting detail necessary as well?

Do we expect too much? Is full disclosure even possible?  Is it possible to share every thought, every emotion and every action?  And again, is it necessary?  Is there no such thing as a private thought?  Can you still have private thoughts and be considered honest?  I just don’t know anymore…

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.

But why?

I posed a question to myself recently.  Why do we as people, put more faith in the validity of our negative feelings than we do our positive ones?  It is perfectly accepted in society to make a snap judgment about someone, provided it is in a negative light.  No one questions me I when I describe my first impression and the general feeling I get from the Student Support Specialist at my son’s school.  That dude gives me the creeps.  He’s kind of an impish looking man with poor posture and a bad haircut.  He seems to have a very submissive or timid personality as well.  From the moment I met him, I did not like him.  All of my family and friends have been supportive and in agreement about my judgment of this man, yet none have met him.  This isn’t the first time I’ve felt a negative vibe from someone based my opinion of them on the feeling; in fact it’s happened more than I can count.  I tend to be a person guided by emotion more than reason.  However, there have been far fewer instances in my life where I have met someone and felt an overwhelming positive emotion towards them.  But if I were to approach my family or my friends to say I met a person who makes my heart soar and they give me all of those mushy gushy feelings of love and lust and like, I would be met with eye rolls and skepticism.  The validity of my feelings would be doubted, questioned and disregarded.  I would get the “again?”  I would be laughed at, ridiculed and dismissed.  Why?  Why do we trust and accept our negative emotions more than our positive ones?  Why is it perfectly suitable to write someone off as a perverted creep without knowing a damn thing about them but it is not okay to place a person in high regard with no further knowledge of them?  Do we really need extensive time to decide if we have positive feelings, but negative feelings can be instantaneous?  Are positive and negative emotions really all that different?  I don’t think so; there is a very thin line between love and hate.

Then I started to ponder another related question.  If I am arguing that positive emotions can be as instant and valid as negative emotions, then is love at first sight possible?  It’s definitely happened to me where I’ve met someone and within a very short amount of time they have had a greater impact on my life than people I have known and interacted with on a daily basis for years.  But is that love?  Love is a tricky word.  I believe it is one of the most overused words in the English language, but still carries quite a punch.  We love a lot of things.  Obviously we love people, in a variety of ways.  We love our things, our personal possessions.  We love how things are, our environment.  And every time we use the word, it can carry a different connotation.

When I held my son in my arms for the first time, yes, I would absolutely consider that to be love at first sight.  I loved that child with everything I had and everything I was, but was it like the love I fee for him now?  Absolutely not.  I loved him without knowing him then, I loved him because of the impact he just had on my life and the connection I felt with him.  I love him now, for all those reasons and because I know him inside and out.  I know that child and I love the person he is now and he is becoming.  Romantic love is a bit trickier than motherly love, but I think it conceptually works the same way.  Upon meeting someone, there can be a connection that goes beyond lust.  Lust is just a physical attraction, but there can be something else there that draws you to that person.  A lot of times this feeling gets called “love” because we lack another word for it.  Is it in fact love?  I don’t know.  It could be the start of love.  It could be love in its infancy.  Or it could just an unexplained strong emotional attachment.

So, do I believe in love at first sight?  Yes, I think I do.  I believe that there are special people out there with whom we can click so quickly and so powerfully, there just isn’t another word to describe that feeling.  Here’s where I think we as people get confused, though.  We consider “love at first sight” to be synonymous with “happily ever after”, but really they are unrelated.  (Although, how romantic would that be, to get both?  That is the fantasy shoved down our throats by Hollywood; it’s easy to see where we would get confused.)  So, I figured, we don’t need time to determine how we feel towards someone, necessarily, we need time to determine compatibility.  The sad truth is we can love someone with whom we are not compatible, that is a lesson I’ve learned many times over.

Opposites Attract?

I was always under the impression that this saying was true because… well… after all, it is a long accepted cliché.  Who am I to argue?  But is it true?  Do opposites really attract?  And if so, is it wise to appease this attraction?

So I thought about it, in great depth.  I woke up one morning feeling inspired, feeling clarity of mind I hadn’t felt in some time.  All of these thoughts and feelings and ideas came spewing forth as I strained my fingers to keep up with my mind in writing it all down.  And when I was done writing, I was still reflecting.  I saw things previously unseen to me.  I saw similarities where I had only seen differences.  I saw that the answer is complicated in its simplicity.  I reflected on a situation where two people go about things quite opposite from each other but are driven by the same qualities.  They are polar opposites in the expression of their personalities but strikingly similar in their motives.  And yet, they are drawn to each other.  But is it the obvious differences that attract them to each other or is it the underlying similarities?

This has been my experience in my dating/relationship travels.  I am a jock, a homebody, an attention whore introvert (that’s my own personal classification) who is socially inept in group settings.  Many of my partners have been artists, traveling gypsies, social butterflies, and independent.  We’ve possessed extremely opposite qualities.  So what was the connection?  Where was the attraction?  The attraction was in the power.  Powerful people-people with drive, pride, passion, and determination are all attracted to power.  Break it down, strip us of all expressions of personality and look at the personality itself.  Both parties: Determined.  Passionate.  Driven.  Proud.  Strong.

We were the same as much as were different.  Each of us brought an element to the other that broadened our horizons, challenged our comfort zones and allowed us to experience things we normally would not have tried.  We were fundamentally the same and complementary expressively.  The relationships didn’t work out, but I believe it was this dynamic that brought us together in the first place, and kept us together for as long as it lasted.  I was their rock, their grounding force and they broke my out of my shell, set me free.

So do opposites attract?  Maybe.  But I think it’s more the similarities that attract and the complementary opposites that make the relationship, at least for me.  Everything in life is about finding balance between the extremes.  Why would what we look for in a life partner be any different?  We are only one piece of the equation.  Our partner is the other.  For the relationship to work, we must balance each other out.

Adventures in Seniorland

For years now, my mother has been helping the little old lady down the street with odd tasks around the house and trips to town.  Recently, this spitfire elderly woman has realized I’m as much of a sucker as my mother is and now she has the two of us catering to her every whim.  I’m not complaining (too much), I mean she pays well enough.  But sometimes, I think I may be a little too willing to do anything for money.  She challenges my psyche at every turn.

First of all-I don’t like old people.  I’m sorry, that sounds mean but it’s the truth.  They are knocking on death’s doorstep, a living example of what I have to look forward as each year passes.  I grow greatly uncomfortable when faced with my own mortality.  I do NOT want to get old; lose mobility and muscle tone, sagging skin with wrinkles, failing organs and senses.  Ew.  (The discount sounds nice though.)  And I certainly do not want to die.  So just being in her presence makes me anxious.  I suck it up anyway, not only do I have a very hard time telling people “no”  but I desperately need the money she offers.

Trying to ignore her senior shuffle and bad wig (will I lose my hair?) is the least of my worries on this particular day.  You see, I tend to be a bit of a social-phobe.  When I head to a store- I go in, get what exactly what I went for, and leave.  In and out.  One and done.  Not her, we wander and look and analyze and back track.  We have a list, and do manage to get everything on it, but we also find a necessity for just about anything else that catches her eye.  “Oooh kiwi fruit! I love kiwi fruit but only when they have hair on them.  If they don’t have hair on them, the taste makes me want to barf” Repeat six times in two different stores. Speaking of one and done, I also go to one store.  Store hopping is not in my vocabulary.  The more stops on my trip, the more anxious I become.  A little side note to any who plan a road trip with me, this also applies.  I stop for gas and get right back on the road.  I apologize in advance if you’re a smoker or have a small bladder.  Better get a patch and some Depends, it’ll be a long trip for you.  But anyway, because of this little quirk of mine taking my neighbor shopping is intensely stressful for me.  She buys her produce at one store, the bulk of her groceries at another.  Then there’s the wholesale warehouse store stop and off to the liquor store we go too.  Let’s not forget about the bank; one must always stop at the bank, even if one has no business to do there.  All of this takes about three hours.  That’s three solid hours of intentionally causing myself anxiety and stress, just for a few bucks.  About halfway through is when I start to weigh the question “how desperate am I?  Is this really worth it?”   I spend most of the time talking myself out of my tree.

What do you imagine would happen when you spend three hours with a person that doesn’t leave the house or have really any social interaction but for this one weekly trip?  Yeah, she wants to talk.  How lovely for me.  I act more like a sounding board, listening to how drunk and awful her no good son is, or how fat and awful her unmarried daughter is or the latest drama with all those connected to her.   Mind you, I’ve have not met a single one of these people but feel it’s beneficial to me to learn their names and follow along.  She asks questions about my son and my mother, but isn’t terribly interested in the answers.  I suppose I should view this idle conversation as a welcome distraction to my anxieties, but it’s really not.  It is adding to them.  The sound of her granny voice, her thick German accent, the whining and complaining; it all wears on my nerves.  She’s an eighty something year old woman with a life full of regret.  She buried the love of her life years ago, and misses him intensely each and every day.  Her children are ungrateful, selfish users who eat her food and steal her money.  She goes on and on about how much she’s had over the years and how much she’s lost.  I do not want to be this person.  I do not want to look back on my life with such bitterness.  The outlook she paints is grim and depressing.  So when the conversation takes an unexpected turn on the ride home, it was all I could do to bite my tongue.  My nerves are frayed, my patience is shot and she says “Ya know, I’d vote democrat if their President wasn’t black.  So I don’t.  I know I’m prejudice and I shouldn’t be but I just don’t feel the country should have a black president.”  My eyes grow very wide and I hold my breath.  She continues her little rant about Obama as my teeth dig into my poor tongue.  I look up at the passing street sign, “26^th St” and start trying to focus on the simple math that will tell me how many more streets before we arrive at our destination of “57^th St.”  I remind myself that she’s from another era, another country too, but it doesn’t help much.  I have a very hard time excusing stupidity.  After unloading three stores worth of groceries and filling her water softener with salt, I gladly take my well earned money and run.  I’d like to say I wouldn’t do it again, but the answer to my question earlier is yes.  Yes, I am this desperate and yes, I need the money so it’s worth it.  So, I’m taking her to get her lottery tickets on Monday.  What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger, right?