Not that it matters because I'm the only one reading anyway.
I've been doing lots of writing, just not here. Journals? You wanna talk about JOURNALS? I've filled TONS of them. I've also been writing creatively- this is going much, much, slower. But it is loads more enjoyable and very satisfying. Thanks in part to writing (creatively) and journaling and meditating and yogaing and therapying, and living and lots of other INGS, my feelings are more good than bad. Still sad sometimes, still really fucking angry sometimes too. But happier than I've been since Ivan died. Still missing him, parts of my heart still raw from his loss.... but happy.
Sweet little Dash is gone now too. God, that was HARD. If Ivan was my dog soul mate, Dash was my best friend. Ugh. I chose to let him go in June. I could have waited. I could have let him get worse before I made the decision. But I didn't want that. Saying goodbye felt selfish at the time. I was tired, I was having a hard time keeping up with all his problems. And then the ointments I had to put in his eye started to make him pant and twitch with pain and I just couldn't do it anymore. I thought at the time, if I could just hold on and wait for a crisis it would be so much easier for me to make the decision. It wouldn't feel so hard.
I've since learned that isn't true. It always feels like you're making the wrong decision, that there might be something else to do, that with time it might get a little better, that you might have a little more time if you try one more thing and one more thing and one more thing. Then I met Tina. A tiny 3 pound chihuahua who's owner died and left her in need of a hospice home. She was 17, she had no teeth, she was probably deaf and mostly blind and eating food was potentially life threatening because she had a grade 5 out of 6 heart murmur. She was rickety and weird and her tongue stuck out and I fucking loved her. At first I think everyone (including me) thought it was a bad idea for me to take her because HELLO- she was a strong breeze away from death.
But something happened to me taking care of that dog.
Her very, very, very inevitable and unpreventable death made things oddly easy. If she was alive in the morning- great! If she died in her sleep- that was good too. She was warm and snuggled up and fed and clean and dry... oh yeah, she peed on me. A lot.
Anyway, my point in all of this is that about 6 weeks after I started hospice-fostering her.... she had a bad event. She vomited and turned blue and tried to die right in front of my face. And with oxygen and a little time she mostly recovered... but that became "the thing". The thing that made it too much. I could deal with the no teeth and the bad heart and the blindness and incontinence. But the risk of her suffocating to death alone or as I raced her to an emergency clinic became "the thing". The thing that made me say- ok quality of life is not a thing anymore. BUT IT WAS STILL HARD. Making the decision still sucked and hurt and felt wrong even though it was right. It felt selfish and too easy for me and THE END for her. If there was every going to be an easy euthanasia, this was it. But it wasn't. I said to my friend, "It's annoying that this decision is still so hard."
So what I learned is- the right thing can feel very, very bad. It can be emotionally and spiritually challenging. It can feel mean. It can break your heart. But it's still the right thing. In fact, I might argue that that's WHY it's the right thing. Because often there is an easy way out.... but easy, it seems, is very rarely the right thing to do.
Also? Easy/wrong can sometimes masquerade as the right/hard thing to do. And sometimes the context of someones actions must be considered before you weigh them as right or wrong. When it's kind of hard for you to do something, but you're doing it because it's easier than what you should have done... that's not really doing the right thing. Are you picking up what I'm throwing down?
But here's the thing, people- it's like, totally going to be OK. I mean, at first it sucks. You look at yourself as this awful monster, 100% to blame for everything that's happened. And you'll try to fix it too. You'll beg, you'll bargain. You'll promise to give up more of yourself to someone who has been lying to you for years. You plead with someone you will learn doesn't actually exists. You will try, until, with a little time and distance, you start to see what you have actually lost. And it is not what you thought. It is, in my experience, someone who doesn't care about you. You will suddenly remember that they have always (and I mean from the beginning) done things that you have asked (and sometimes begged them) not to. You will see that they make false claims against you, when they are the ones guilty of the crime. You will realize that the rock you thought you were clinging to, was really the rock weighing you down. That who this person claimed to be does not exist and the things they claimed to love were just pieces in a story they tried to sell to you, to everyone, to themselves.
And one day you will wake up and realize that you are more than ok. You are blooming and feeling better. You will realize that it's more than ok to be yourself. You learn that it's great. You do things you felt embarrassed to do before. You do things you didn't even know you liked doing. You laugh. You heal. You heal from the abandonment. And from things that you couldn't heal from because you were in a toxic relationship. Because lets be crystal clear: If someone can walk out on you.... if they can leave without warning, without bringing their concerns to the table and asking for change, if they can bring you presents one day and leave the next... you are not in a relationship with someone who is capable of carrying their 1/2 of a healthy relationship. And you learn that it wasn't them holding your head above the water. It was you all the time. You're stronger than you think and doing better than you think and you'll be so much more than OK in not that much time. You are not perfect. And you never, ever will be. But as long as you try, as long as you learn- that's ok. You don't ever have to change. You just have to grow. There is a difference, I think.
A year is nothing.
A blip.
Less than a blip.
It's literally nothing. But that's all it took.
Because in that blip I experienced loss that was harder than the abandonment. And that was surprising, but helpful. I experienced the truth of his heart. And that was surprising, but helpful. I brought new little fuzzies into my life. And that was really, REALLY surprising, but helpful. I went on vacation by myself and left the woods of Maine feeling like fucking Wonder Woman. I do things on my own. I do things with my pets, I do things with my family and friends. I do things without fear of judgment. My life is full. I don't need someone else to make me whole or happy. I find my happiness within myself, and in tiny little moments. When I stretch my leg a little higher in yoga. When I smell pine trees on a hike, when I listen to my dog snoring, when I watch Doctor Who, when I listen to Hamilton full blast while I clean my apartment. When I find a pretty, crystal, and old bottle or a cool plant. When I talk with old friends or help someone at work. When I get excited for an outing with my family. When I make the littles laugh, when the middles give me a kiss, when my biggest nephew asks to come for a sleepover. When I think about something precious that Dashy did, or silly that Ivan did. When I think about the time that Tina peed on my lap and it almost made me pee my pants. I have all I need.
Is this airing dirty laundry? I don't think so. I'm allowed to tell my story even if it includes someone doing something really, really shitty to me. It's one of the reasons why the #metoo movement is so powerful. Because so many people keep their stories hidden, and not just because it's hard for them, but because telling it might be hard for someone else.
Fuck.
That.
Shit.
This is part of my story and I will not hide. Feel free to look away if it doesn't suit you, but I'm not covering myself up for anyone anymore.
PLUS, like I said... no one is really reading this. :p
Saturday, December 9, 2017
Sunday, April 2, 2017
life does not stop happening
This abandonment, much like any tragedy as you experience it, makes time feel like it is standing still. You move though a thick, foggy air. Getting around takes more time, forming coherent sentences takes more work. Getting your lips to form a smile requires serious heavy lifting. It is as if the world has slowed it's turn, and you can't decide if it's doing it to help you (because maybe this slowness allows you extra time to look at things, to figure them out, to decide how to try to fix things or deal with them, at least) or is it harmful? You're already sort of vulnerable, and now you feel like you can't sprint away from something if you need to. No fight or flight here, because you're moving through jello.
But then something happens. You hear someone screaming with laugher. You hear someone talking about their vacation, you see someone smiling a real smile. It is jarring when you see or hear it. It doesn't sound right, it looks foreign to see a smile that lights up someone's eyes. "Oh yeah," you think, "I used to do that too."
And that's when you realize- it is not everything. Nothing else has slowed to tackle this crisis. Time and the rotation of the earth are at normal speed. They slow for no one.
In a way, it's comforting, I guess. The unimportance of my crisis- while ANNOYING- is actually nice. I am small. My pain is REAL and BIG, but it's ok. Because the world won't end from this. And that means there is still a world for me to move through, to exist in, outside of this pain. This fog/jello/foggy jello/whatever it is- has an end to it, because I can see and hear people on the other side of it.
I know I am on the right path, because through the foggy jello I see beacons of light. I hear familiar voices and hope to see and do things on the other side. Wading through, ever so slowly, allows me the time to decide exactly what it is I want to do when I get through it. What classes will I take, what hobbies will I prioritize, what places will I go? And suddenly those things make your smile more genuine, even in the midst of your jello tragedy. The people you will see and the things you will do motivate you to push a little faster. Like a train, it takes a lot of effort to get going at the beginning- but once you pick up speed you can maintain it, even through the fog/jello.
I recognize there will be faces missing on the other side of this jello (is everyone picturing purple jello? I feel that's most appropriate. But if you think red makes more sense, or orange- you just do you). Because one very important face has already left. Others will leave in solidarity, and some may leave because it is too challenging for them to handle a friendship with someone swim-walking through what is essentially crushed up horse bone with food coloring and sugar. It's messy, and it isn't pleasant. It's not for the faint of heart or the fair weathered among us. This is ok. Because you know the ones waiting on the other side are who you really want to see. The kind of people you need in your life because they won't run when the going gets tough. Not that it isn't still sad to see the others go. But the people who leave your life leave it for reasons as important (if not more) than the reasons others stay with you.
And it is telling as fuck. Let's not forget that.
Hindsight is 20/20 even if some of the things you learn when you can finally see it are terrifying. Monsters under the bed, indeed.
And something else I've learned? It isn't always just one layer of jello, or fog... or both... whatever. To further muddy the jello- life may toss you something else to juggle while you head back toward the land of the living. For some it might be the loss of a job, a foreclosure on a house. Maybe a close friend is suddenly battling through her own jello.
At first you think- "Oh no, this is it. I can't possible manage these at the same time." But you do. After a few days you realize "Oh, hey, I woke up again. I didn't die, so when I said I thought this was going to kill me.... I was wrong."
This is great! It motivates you because you know that while you're now slogging through foggy jello carrying a 700 pound gorilla (which is clearly going to slow you down a bit) you are still moving in the right direction. And when you get there, you're gonna be in bomb-ass shape because HELLO- this is a killer workout.
So my additional layer of jello (which I understand is weird, but can we agree that it's a nicer image than picturing me schlepping through literal shit? No one wants to picture that much poo. So really, I'm just looking out for you.) is Dash. I noticed a lump on his head and assumed it was related to a recent episode of clumsiness. He is an almost 11 year old French bulldog, so being clumsy is very common.
Unfortunately, cancer is also common in almost 11 year old French bulldogs and I'm really sad to say it is that latter of the two that explains the existence of this stupid bump on his head.
I saw the report and started shaking- it had lots of words you don't want on a report about your sweet pooch:
malignant
aggressive
sarcoma.
Shit.
So things aren't looking good for this little boy. He is currently (and will remain so for as long as there is anything I can do about it) blissfully ignorant of the fact that there is something very bad growing on his skull. The thing that will be what takes him away from me is here. And it will not take it's time. Without a lot of additional testing it's hard to say for sure- but the oncologist suspects 2-6 months at best before we start seeing symptoms. The symptoms we can expect to see will be painful and scary- seizures, difficulty breathing and pressure on his eye.
Shit.
I could do things. There are things I could do and maybe get 8 months instead of 6- but nothing will cure this, and anything I do could potentially make things worse. Side effects, pain, fear.... I don't want him to live through a month or 2 of that to live a month or 2 more. Quality of life at this point far outweighs quantity when I look at this from the perspective of - what is best for Dash? Not that there isn't part of me that wants to do literally everything I can. Empty my bank account, max out credit cards, rob a bank and let this dog live as long as possible.
But why?
He won't like living with a plate in his head and sutures from one end of his noggin to the other. He won't like being sedated and kept in a cage while he waits for radiation treatment. Chemo might slow the growth but it will also make him feel sick and not want to eat- and what's the point if once treatment is done he still has cancer that will take him away from the people he loves and the sniffs he loves to sniff and the foods he loves to eat? Better to just eat and snuggle and go fun places and be with his mem until he starts to show me signs that he's not enjoying those things anymore.
Things on the other side of Jello Lake will be different. But if I've learned anything, it's that different is ok. There will be people and things to mourn. But I can carry them in my heart while I keep going. I can celebrate and honor where I've come from but still move on. It doesn't mean I forget, it doesn't mean I don't care, it doesn't mean I can't look back. It just means I will do it while I move forward. A better person because of it. Sad when I want or need to be, but happier overall and with the understanding that I can handle WAY more than people think. Myself included.
I might not eat jello anymore, though.... I haven't decided.
But then something happens. You hear someone screaming with laugher. You hear someone talking about their vacation, you see someone smiling a real smile. It is jarring when you see or hear it. It doesn't sound right, it looks foreign to see a smile that lights up someone's eyes. "Oh yeah," you think, "I used to do that too."
And that's when you realize- it is not everything. Nothing else has slowed to tackle this crisis. Time and the rotation of the earth are at normal speed. They slow for no one.
In a way, it's comforting, I guess. The unimportance of my crisis- while ANNOYING- is actually nice. I am small. My pain is REAL and BIG, but it's ok. Because the world won't end from this. And that means there is still a world for me to move through, to exist in, outside of this pain. This fog/jello/foggy jello/whatever it is- has an end to it, because I can see and hear people on the other side of it.
I know I am on the right path, because through the foggy jello I see beacons of light. I hear familiar voices and hope to see and do things on the other side. Wading through, ever so slowly, allows me the time to decide exactly what it is I want to do when I get through it. What classes will I take, what hobbies will I prioritize, what places will I go? And suddenly those things make your smile more genuine, even in the midst of your jello tragedy. The people you will see and the things you will do motivate you to push a little faster. Like a train, it takes a lot of effort to get going at the beginning- but once you pick up speed you can maintain it, even through the fog/jello.
I recognize there will be faces missing on the other side of this jello (is everyone picturing purple jello? I feel that's most appropriate. But if you think red makes more sense, or orange- you just do you). Because one very important face has already left. Others will leave in solidarity, and some may leave because it is too challenging for them to handle a friendship with someone swim-walking through what is essentially crushed up horse bone with food coloring and sugar. It's messy, and it isn't pleasant. It's not for the faint of heart or the fair weathered among us. This is ok. Because you know the ones waiting on the other side are who you really want to see. The kind of people you need in your life because they won't run when the going gets tough. Not that it isn't still sad to see the others go. But the people who leave your life leave it for reasons as important (if not more) than the reasons others stay with you.
And it is telling as fuck. Let's not forget that.
Hindsight is 20/20 even if some of the things you learn when you can finally see it are terrifying. Monsters under the bed, indeed.
And something else I've learned? It isn't always just one layer of jello, or fog... or both... whatever. To further muddy the jello- life may toss you something else to juggle while you head back toward the land of the living. For some it might be the loss of a job, a foreclosure on a house. Maybe a close friend is suddenly battling through her own jello.
At first you think- "Oh no, this is it. I can't possible manage these at the same time." But you do. After a few days you realize "Oh, hey, I woke up again. I didn't die, so when I said I thought this was going to kill me.... I was wrong."
This is great! It motivates you because you know that while you're now slogging through foggy jello carrying a 700 pound gorilla (which is clearly going to slow you down a bit) you are still moving in the right direction. And when you get there, you're gonna be in bomb-ass shape because HELLO- this is a killer workout.
So my additional layer of jello (which I understand is weird, but can we agree that it's a nicer image than picturing me schlepping through literal shit? No one wants to picture that much poo. So really, I'm just looking out for you.) is Dash. I noticed a lump on his head and assumed it was related to a recent episode of clumsiness. He is an almost 11 year old French bulldog, so being clumsy is very common.
Unfortunately, cancer is also common in almost 11 year old French bulldogs and I'm really sad to say it is that latter of the two that explains the existence of this stupid bump on his head.
I saw the report and started shaking- it had lots of words you don't want on a report about your sweet pooch:
malignant
aggressive
sarcoma.
Shit.
So things aren't looking good for this little boy. He is currently (and will remain so for as long as there is anything I can do about it) blissfully ignorant of the fact that there is something very bad growing on his skull. The thing that will be what takes him away from me is here. And it will not take it's time. Without a lot of additional testing it's hard to say for sure- but the oncologist suspects 2-6 months at best before we start seeing symptoms. The symptoms we can expect to see will be painful and scary- seizures, difficulty breathing and pressure on his eye.
Shit.
I could do things. There are things I could do and maybe get 8 months instead of 6- but nothing will cure this, and anything I do could potentially make things worse. Side effects, pain, fear.... I don't want him to live through a month or 2 of that to live a month or 2 more. Quality of life at this point far outweighs quantity when I look at this from the perspective of - what is best for Dash? Not that there isn't part of me that wants to do literally everything I can. Empty my bank account, max out credit cards, rob a bank and let this dog live as long as possible.
But why?
He won't like living with a plate in his head and sutures from one end of his noggin to the other. He won't like being sedated and kept in a cage while he waits for radiation treatment. Chemo might slow the growth but it will also make him feel sick and not want to eat- and what's the point if once treatment is done he still has cancer that will take him away from the people he loves and the sniffs he loves to sniff and the foods he loves to eat? Better to just eat and snuggle and go fun places and be with his mem until he starts to show me signs that he's not enjoying those things anymore.
Things on the other side of Jello Lake will be different. But if I've learned anything, it's that different is ok. There will be people and things to mourn. But I can carry them in my heart while I keep going. I can celebrate and honor where I've come from but still move on. It doesn't mean I forget, it doesn't mean I don't care, it doesn't mean I can't look back. It just means I will do it while I move forward. A better person because of it. Sad when I want or need to be, but happier overall and with the understanding that I can handle WAY more than people think. Myself included.
I might not eat jello anymore, though.... I haven't decided.
Sunday, January 22, 2017
learning the lessons of Snape and Jareth
I'm not feeling so good right now.
Maybe it's post inauguration dread (though seeing the people march the next day was inspiring) mixing with the overwhelming heartache of this unfathomable situation. I've really struggled not to pick up my phone over the past few months to call and beg/demand/plead/ask/insist/ for a chance/answers/truth etc. You haven't had any second thoughts, you don't have anything you want to say, you don't ever want to see me- you're just going to go?
Maybe it's because I'm starting to pack, preparing for my 18th move, the move I didn't want to make until I died. And maybe it's because as I'm packing I'm finding anniversary cards, pictures, presents.... all professing love, all expressing happiness and contentment. What a nice life we have together.
Had.
Maybe it's because I find these things and my heart breaks all over and the questions come rushing in... and he's not there for me to ask. And even when he is, he won't answer. But how do I walk away without asking these questions, without the answers- good or bad? How will I ever get a full night sleep not knowing?
I've been told that this is more about him than it is about me- but WHAT ABOUT HIM? I don't get the answer to even the most basic questions- Who have you become? What changed so drastically that there was no room in your mind to even consider trying to fix it? When did this happen? Where did we go wrong? How can you do this?
Not EASY questions- but basic. Questions anyone in my situation would have, I think. But I don't get to ask. So I sit in this house that we bought together and look at the pictures and sort through the shit on my own.
And yes, I should turn my thoughts inward. Focus on myself. Work through my own issues. And I am.
Mostly.
But how on earth am I supposed to do this and not wonder?
How do I heal from this without closure?
3 years ago our dog died in an emergency room in the wee hours of the morning and we weren't there with him. He was so sweet, but so naughty and having him wasn't always easy but he was ours and we loved him. But the relationship wasn't perfect. He frustrated me and made me angry, I felt guilty for my role in his behavior issues. I felt guilty for thinking that he was a burden. I felt tired of all the extra work. But I loved him anyway. And when he died and I couldn't be there it just made all the emotions around that imperfect relationship worse. If only I hadn't done this, if only I had worked with a trainer, if I'd taken better care of him maybe he wouldn't have needed the operation... did he know I loved him? Did he think I had dumped him at that hospital and was never coming back? All the horrible questions in my head- that will NEVER be answered- just made his death that much harder to deal with.
There are so many parallels with this situation it is making me sick. November spawned a monster, indeed.
I find myself saying that things aren't fair (a lot) lately. It's funny because two of my favorites (who both died last year within a week of each other- FUCK YOU, 2016!) have lines about this very subject:
So fine. Life isn't fair. But does that mean I shouldn't ask? That I can't try?
It reminds me of everyone saying Trump won and we should just get over it. Why? Why should I just accept that this orange monster is president because of the wonkiness that is the electoral college... and AAAALSO Russian intervention? And also racism, and bigotry, and homophobia and the support of white. goddamn. supremacists. For fuck's sake. No, this is not like that one (ok 2) time(s) when Obama got elected and "We just dealt with it, so you need to deal with Trump.".... FIRST OF ALL- no you didn't. You called him a Muslim and said he wasn't born here and likened him to Hitler and blocked his attempts at legislation and questioned his legitimacy at every turn. And SECOND- even though you maybe didn't agree with his policies, and maybe you thought he was born in Kenya and maybe you think you're a little better than him because you're white (but you don't say that out loud so it doesn't count), you weren't afraid of him starting a nuclear war over a goddamn tweet. And THIRD- if you were just dealing with Obama against your better judgment? If he stood for all the things you're against and pulled your moral compass away from true north and you just quietly allowed that to happen without speaking your mind?
Shame. On. You.
I will not do that.
Do not go gentle into that good night, mother fuckers. I'm paraphrasing a bit here.
I'm also off topic.
My point is this- just because life isn't fair (I dare you not to say that like Snape), just because I'm not going to get what I want... that doesn't mean I have to sit back and just let it happen. I can ask for truth and transparency even if I might not get it. I can ask for equality even if the answer is no. And at the end of this marriage- I can ask why, how, when, where, who- even if I am met with silence. And though it is cold, cold comfort- in the end when all is said and done, at least I will walk away knowing I tried. Really tried.
And I will be ok. But what good is ok when the person you love doesn't want to be there with you?
Maybe it's post inauguration dread (though seeing the people march the next day was inspiring) mixing with the overwhelming heartache of this unfathomable situation. I've really struggled not to pick up my phone over the past few months to call and beg/demand/plead/ask/insist/ for a chance/answers/truth etc. You haven't had any second thoughts, you don't have anything you want to say, you don't ever want to see me- you're just going to go?
Maybe it's because I'm starting to pack, preparing for my 18th move, the move I didn't want to make until I died. And maybe it's because as I'm packing I'm finding anniversary cards, pictures, presents.... all professing love, all expressing happiness and contentment. What a nice life we have together.
Had.
Maybe it's because I find these things and my heart breaks all over and the questions come rushing in... and he's not there for me to ask. And even when he is, he won't answer. But how do I walk away without asking these questions, without the answers- good or bad? How will I ever get a full night sleep not knowing?
I've been told that this is more about him than it is about me- but WHAT ABOUT HIM? I don't get the answer to even the most basic questions- Who have you become? What changed so drastically that there was no room in your mind to even consider trying to fix it? When did this happen? Where did we go wrong? How can you do this?
Not EASY questions- but basic. Questions anyone in my situation would have, I think. But I don't get to ask. So I sit in this house that we bought together and look at the pictures and sort through the shit on my own.
And yes, I should turn my thoughts inward. Focus on myself. Work through my own issues. And I am.
Mostly.
But how on earth am I supposed to do this and not wonder?
How do I heal from this without closure?
3 years ago our dog died in an emergency room in the wee hours of the morning and we weren't there with him. He was so sweet, but so naughty and having him wasn't always easy but he was ours and we loved him. But the relationship wasn't perfect. He frustrated me and made me angry, I felt guilty for my role in his behavior issues. I felt guilty for thinking that he was a burden. I felt tired of all the extra work. But I loved him anyway. And when he died and I couldn't be there it just made all the emotions around that imperfect relationship worse. If only I hadn't done this, if only I had worked with a trainer, if I'd taken better care of him maybe he wouldn't have needed the operation... did he know I loved him? Did he think I had dumped him at that hospital and was never coming back? All the horrible questions in my head- that will NEVER be answered- just made his death that much harder to deal with.
There are so many parallels with this situation it is making me sick. November spawned a monster, indeed.
I find myself saying that things aren't fair (a lot) lately. It's funny because two of my favorites (who both died last year within a week of each other- FUCK YOU, 2016!) have lines about this very subject:
So fine. Life isn't fair. But does that mean I shouldn't ask? That I can't try?
It reminds me of everyone saying Trump won and we should just get over it. Why? Why should I just accept that this orange monster is president because of the wonkiness that is the electoral college... and AAAALSO Russian intervention? And also racism, and bigotry, and homophobia and the support of white. goddamn. supremacists. For fuck's sake. No, this is not like that one (ok 2) time(s) when Obama got elected and "We just dealt with it, so you need to deal with Trump.".... FIRST OF ALL- no you didn't. You called him a Muslim and said he wasn't born here and likened him to Hitler and blocked his attempts at legislation and questioned his legitimacy at every turn. And SECOND- even though you maybe didn't agree with his policies, and maybe you thought he was born in Kenya and maybe you think you're a little better than him because you're white (but you don't say that out loud so it doesn't count), you weren't afraid of him starting a nuclear war over a goddamn tweet. And THIRD- if you were just dealing with Obama against your better judgment? If he stood for all the things you're against and pulled your moral compass away from true north and you just quietly allowed that to happen without speaking your mind?
Shame. On. You.
I will not do that.
Do not go gentle into that good night, mother fuckers. I'm paraphrasing a bit here.
I'm also off topic.
My point is this- just because life isn't fair (I dare you not to say that like Snape), just because I'm not going to get what I want... that doesn't mean I have to sit back and just let it happen. I can ask for truth and transparency even if I might not get it. I can ask for equality even if the answer is no. And at the end of this marriage- I can ask why, how, when, where, who- even if I am met with silence. And though it is cold, cold comfort- in the end when all is said and done, at least I will walk away knowing I tried. Really tried.
And I will be ok. But what good is ok when the person you love doesn't want to be there with you?
Saturday, January 14, 2017
cracks, hermit crabs, bricks, holes.... it's a weird one is what i'm saying.
Today I bought a DVD player and a desk.
I realized that when the condo is sold and I am on my own I would have a computer with no desk, and DVDs with nothing to play them with. There are lots of things like that- a left hand with no wedding rings, a you without a me.... it's a lot to deal with. So many things to think about, some of them so massive they will take WHO KNOWS HOW LONG to answer or reconcile. So today I've opted for a few of the easier things to solve. A desk for my computer where I will write and edit pictures. A DVD player to watch my favorite movies that I hope are still allowed to be my favorite movies. Which brings me to one of those big things.
Who am I? And of the things that make me who I am... if some of those things are things we did/loved together... am I still allowed them? Can I still love Disney? Can I still quote Labyrinth and go to Morrissey concerts? Or do I have to stop doing those things and liking those things? Because I don't want to stop. I feel they're still part of me. They're still things I love and pretending or denying that feels like giving up. Or that I'm pushing things away that might be too hard to deal with. We are separating. We're separating from each other, we're separating our belongings... why can't I also separate our mutual love of some things? Because I loved them before, and even if they were introduced during the relationship- I didn't just love them because of him.
What about friends? Will they pick sides? Do I have to? If one of us "likes" something first, is the other one not allowed to? He doesn't want to see my family... but will I never get a hilarious text from his dad again? And how do I help my family, who feels as abandoned as I do in some ways? It's hard not to make this all about me. I feel like I'm in panic mode, grasping for help and struggling to take care of my shattered pieces lest something get swept away in this god awful shit storm. But there are other people, other sets of emotions, other hearts involved in this mess. It's so sad.
Dr. Who says "When something goes missing, you can always recreate it by the hole it left." It's true in life and in social media. Blank spots on walls where new pictures will have to be hung, conversations on Facebook where 1/2 of the conversation is now missing because I've been blocked. The years of my life that were part of who I am that are turning into part of who I was. But if I delete those parts, I will have holes.... and holes aren't good. Holes are spaces for your soul and your happiness to leak out of. Cracks though... the little spots that stay open where holes have been patched up, those are ok. "There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." I MEAN, WHO AM I TO QUESTION LEONARD COHEN?
I am moving forward, but I am taking with me the people and places and things that I love. You can start anew without starting over. You can build a new house with a few old, reliable bricks in the mix. You can paint with new colors and some old favorites. I'm like a hermit crab... and not just because I like to stay in and am a cancer... but because they sort of prove my point. When their shell gets too small, they find a bigger one... but they don't stop being a hermit crab. They still eat... whatever hermit crabs eat and go.... wherever the hell hermit crabs go... and like whatever it is they liked before they got their fancy new shell and.... you know what? I'm going to stop this analogy because I really don't need to be comparing myself to weird little sea creatures. But I stand by the sentiment.
EVEN HERMIT CRABS WITH ALGAE GROWING ON THEM WHO HIDE IN THEIR SHELLS WHEN THEY ARE SCARED AND ALSO SOMETIMES PINCH PEOPLE WHEN THEY ARE ANGRY MOVE FORWARD. And so will I.
I realized that when the condo is sold and I am on my own I would have a computer with no desk, and DVDs with nothing to play them with. There are lots of things like that- a left hand with no wedding rings, a you without a me.... it's a lot to deal with. So many things to think about, some of them so massive they will take WHO KNOWS HOW LONG to answer or reconcile. So today I've opted for a few of the easier things to solve. A desk for my computer where I will write and edit pictures. A DVD player to watch my favorite movies that I hope are still allowed to be my favorite movies. Which brings me to one of those big things.
Who am I? And of the things that make me who I am... if some of those things are things we did/loved together... am I still allowed them? Can I still love Disney? Can I still quote Labyrinth and go to Morrissey concerts? Or do I have to stop doing those things and liking those things? Because I don't want to stop. I feel they're still part of me. They're still things I love and pretending or denying that feels like giving up. Or that I'm pushing things away that might be too hard to deal with. We are separating. We're separating from each other, we're separating our belongings... why can't I also separate our mutual love of some things? Because I loved them before, and even if they were introduced during the relationship- I didn't just love them because of him.
What about friends? Will they pick sides? Do I have to? If one of us "likes" something first, is the other one not allowed to? He doesn't want to see my family... but will I never get a hilarious text from his dad again? And how do I help my family, who feels as abandoned as I do in some ways? It's hard not to make this all about me. I feel like I'm in panic mode, grasping for help and struggling to take care of my shattered pieces lest something get swept away in this god awful shit storm. But there are other people, other sets of emotions, other hearts involved in this mess. It's so sad.
Dr. Who says "When something goes missing, you can always recreate it by the hole it left." It's true in life and in social media. Blank spots on walls where new pictures will have to be hung, conversations on Facebook where 1/2 of the conversation is now missing because I've been blocked. The years of my life that were part of who I am that are turning into part of who I was. But if I delete those parts, I will have holes.... and holes aren't good. Holes are spaces for your soul and your happiness to leak out of. Cracks though... the little spots that stay open where holes have been patched up, those are ok. "There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." I MEAN, WHO AM I TO QUESTION LEONARD COHEN?
I am moving forward, but I am taking with me the people and places and things that I love. You can start anew without starting over. You can build a new house with a few old, reliable bricks in the mix. You can paint with new colors and some old favorites. I'm like a hermit crab... and not just because I like to stay in and am a cancer... but because they sort of prove my point. When their shell gets too small, they find a bigger one... but they don't stop being a hermit crab. They still eat... whatever hermit crabs eat and go.... wherever the hell hermit crabs go... and like whatever it is they liked before they got their fancy new shell and.... you know what? I'm going to stop this analogy because I really don't need to be comparing myself to weird little sea creatures. But I stand by the sentiment.
EVEN HERMIT CRABS WITH ALGAE GROWING ON THEM WHO HIDE IN THEIR SHELLS WHEN THEY ARE SCARED AND ALSO SOMETIMES PINCH PEOPLE WHEN THEY ARE ANGRY MOVE FORWARD. And so will I.
Wednesday, January 11, 2017
preserving the truth with jealous anxiety
Ok so GW and Obama were talking about the nation and shit... but I'm thinking a lot about truth right now.
Telling the truth, asking for the truth, the difference in what the truth is for different people. Living your truth... or not. Living your truth (to keep on theme of mentioning political peeps and quote VP Joe Biden) is "a big fucking deal".
Being honest with yourself and others is paramount. And you should protect and preserve yours with "jealous anxiety" (Thanks, George Washington!). Because if you aren't honest with yourself, it's gonna fuck some shit up. It's not good for you, it's not good for the people around you, and eventually the walls you've built on the foundation of this un-truth are going to come tumbling down. Because that foundation is going to crack. And people will get hurt. Things will be lost, lives will be upended, relationships will fail, friendships will die. It's not pretty.
I've been with someone who recently admitted that he hasn't been living his truth. It is heartbreaking. It's heartbreaking for me because I've been holding the hand of someone who wasn't really who I thought he was. He was going through life with me, supporting me, answering my questions, assuaging my fears, putting the face forward he thought he needed to. But underneath... it wasn't the truth. It wasn't his truth, it wasn't who he truly was/is. That rock I've been holding to just got swept away with the waves, the best friend I thought I had doesn't exist.
It's also heartbreaking because I know that couldn't have been easy. We all have to fake it a little in our every day life- smile at a customer who's being demanding, bite your tongue when your gram calls someone "oriental".... omg. But for your most intimate relationship to be a place where you feel you can't be yourself, your honest self-- that's horrible. The sting of abandonment, rejection and harsh words still pulses like the open wound that it is... but in a way it helps to understand the relief and the rush he has felt. It all still feels impossible, and like a death, but it's something new to chew on.
The other sad thing about it is that the courage to be honest could have prevented this. We could have changed together. Now that option isn't there, the path is covered over with trees and roots and grass and the only option is forward without each other.
And forward is good, and if the truth is we have to be apart, that's good too. It doesn't FEEL good, that's for gd sure. But truth, like life, isn't always easy. It isn't always what we want. Not what we want to do or say or hear. But it is. And it makes a better foundation to start slowly rebuilding on. One brick at a time. Doing my best to keep the anxiety on the outside. Working hard to make sure I'm leaving space for windows and doors and not walling myself off because I'm afraid to trust ever again. Asking for help with the tall bits, the heavy parts and... let's be honest... the math.
It is terrifying and sad to imagine building and moving on without Robert. But as much as he has been a part of me and a part of my life and a part of my family- I am still me. I am a whole person. I am broken, but all my pieces are there and just like my new house, I will put myself back together piece by piece. Taking the opportunity to inspect each bit, shine some of them up, replace parts that might not suit me anymore, but coming out whole on the other side. First I have to cross this flaming bridge of absolute horse shit. But, you know, that doesn't sound as pretty.
Moving forward, preserving and uncovering my truth with jealous mother effing anxiety. And also just some regular anxiety, because... hello... it's me we're talking about.
Telling the truth, asking for the truth, the difference in what the truth is for different people. Living your truth... or not. Living your truth (to keep on theme of mentioning political peeps and quote VP Joe Biden) is "a big fucking deal".
Being honest with yourself and others is paramount. And you should protect and preserve yours with "jealous anxiety" (Thanks, George Washington!). Because if you aren't honest with yourself, it's gonna fuck some shit up. It's not good for you, it's not good for the people around you, and eventually the walls you've built on the foundation of this un-truth are going to come tumbling down. Because that foundation is going to crack. And people will get hurt. Things will be lost, lives will be upended, relationships will fail, friendships will die. It's not pretty.
I've been with someone who recently admitted that he hasn't been living his truth. It is heartbreaking. It's heartbreaking for me because I've been holding the hand of someone who wasn't really who I thought he was. He was going through life with me, supporting me, answering my questions, assuaging my fears, putting the face forward he thought he needed to. But underneath... it wasn't the truth. It wasn't his truth, it wasn't who he truly was/is. That rock I've been holding to just got swept away with the waves, the best friend I thought I had doesn't exist.
It's also heartbreaking because I know that couldn't have been easy. We all have to fake it a little in our every day life- smile at a customer who's being demanding, bite your tongue when your gram calls someone "oriental".... omg. But for your most intimate relationship to be a place where you feel you can't be yourself, your honest self-- that's horrible. The sting of abandonment, rejection and harsh words still pulses like the open wound that it is... but in a way it helps to understand the relief and the rush he has felt. It all still feels impossible, and like a death, but it's something new to chew on.
The other sad thing about it is that the courage to be honest could have prevented this. We could have changed together. Now that option isn't there, the path is covered over with trees and roots and grass and the only option is forward without each other.
And forward is good, and if the truth is we have to be apart, that's good too. It doesn't FEEL good, that's for gd sure. But truth, like life, isn't always easy. It isn't always what we want. Not what we want to do or say or hear. But it is. And it makes a better foundation to start slowly rebuilding on. One brick at a time. Doing my best to keep the anxiety on the outside. Working hard to make sure I'm leaving space for windows and doors and not walling myself off because I'm afraid to trust ever again. Asking for help with the tall bits, the heavy parts and... let's be honest... the math.
It is terrifying and sad to imagine building and moving on without Robert. But as much as he has been a part of me and a part of my life and a part of my family- I am still me. I am a whole person. I am broken, but all my pieces are there and just like my new house, I will put myself back together piece by piece. Taking the opportunity to inspect each bit, shine some of them up, replace parts that might not suit me anymore, but coming out whole on the other side. First I have to cross this flaming bridge of absolute horse shit. But, you know, that doesn't sound as pretty.
Moving forward, preserving and uncovering my truth with jealous mother effing anxiety. And also just some regular anxiety, because... hello... it's me we're talking about.
Saturday, January 7, 2017
does this tinfoil hat make my butt look big?
It's hard for me not to assume the worst, even in the best of times.
Now? Is not the best of times.
So it's especially challenging not to read negativity in all the tea leaves of life right now. If someone doesn't like my picture or comment on something I post, it's hard not to read into it. Sure, it could just be that they weren't on social media when I posted it and it got buried in their feed. But it could also be a silent indication of their feelings toward me. Maybe they're angry, maybe they don't like me anymore, maybe I've done something to offend them.... who knows. It just feels impossible not to assume the worst of every perceived action/inaction at the moment.
This isn't necessarily a new thing for me, but again, I'm hyper aware right now. I've got an extra tall tinfoil hat and I'm picking up signals loud and clear. The problem is I can't tell where the signal is coming from... the call could be, as they say, COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE!!
And part of it is I'm amped up and anxious about other things, as you might imagine. So rather than focus on what's really got me in knots, I think my brain is opting for less important (but still stressful) things to fret about in a piss poor attempt at self preservation. Hey brain... LESS IS MORE.
Though, I can't really blame my brain too much. I think anyone would feel at least a little out of sorts going through this kind of crisis. And it's just made more difficult by the fact that I feel like everything I do is wrong. When someone you love basically tells you that you're unbearable you begin to question your entire life. You feel like the things you like are wrong, your feelings are wrong, your opinions are wrong... that the things you believed are lies, that your fears are real and even admitting that feels wrong! Maybe I shouldn't be talking about it. Maybe talking about it makes me awful, proves their point, maybe my anxiety validates their narrative.
Then again? Nobody's perfect. And the thing about narratives is just like signals, they can get a little warped. There's all kinds of shit out there gumming up the system, twisting the truth, erasing the parts of the story to make it easier to swallow. And I don't want to play the victim or the villain. I'm not perfect, I'm so sorry, and I am a work in progress. But that doesn't make me a bad person. If someone isn't honest, how do you learn from your mistakes? If you don't share how you're feeling, how will people know what you need? I'm not a mind reader, and I can't expect others to be mind readers either.
Hindsight is always 20/20. I'm trying to remind myself of that to keep me from beating myself up too much about things from the past. Things I've done, things I didn't pick up on, things that are only starting to make sense. But also as a reminder than someday in the future (when all's well), I will look back on this time and understand more why it happened.
For now I will try to tune out the negative channels the radio in my head loves to play. It isn't easy to get the positive stations to come in clearly, and even when I hear them it's not always easy to believe... but I'm trying. On this dark and stormy night, hunkered down with my old pooch and the whirring of snow blowers, I will listen for the faint little whispers of positivity. And when I hear it, I will do my best to chase away the negative voice that tries to drowned it out. I will also knit and eat toast. And that's okay too.
Tomorrow Everest.... or... at least a holiday party.
Now? Is not the best of times.
So it's especially challenging not to read negativity in all the tea leaves of life right now. If someone doesn't like my picture or comment on something I post, it's hard not to read into it. Sure, it could just be that they weren't on social media when I posted it and it got buried in their feed. But it could also be a silent indication of their feelings toward me. Maybe they're angry, maybe they don't like me anymore, maybe I've done something to offend them.... who knows. It just feels impossible not to assume the worst of every perceived action/inaction at the moment.
This isn't necessarily a new thing for me, but again, I'm hyper aware right now. I've got an extra tall tinfoil hat and I'm picking up signals loud and clear. The problem is I can't tell where the signal is coming from... the call could be, as they say, COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE!!
And part of it is I'm amped up and anxious about other things, as you might imagine. So rather than focus on what's really got me in knots, I think my brain is opting for less important (but still stressful) things to fret about in a piss poor attempt at self preservation. Hey brain... LESS IS MORE.
Though, I can't really blame my brain too much. I think anyone would feel at least a little out of sorts going through this kind of crisis. And it's just made more difficult by the fact that I feel like everything I do is wrong. When someone you love basically tells you that you're unbearable you begin to question your entire life. You feel like the things you like are wrong, your feelings are wrong, your opinions are wrong... that the things you believed are lies, that your fears are real and even admitting that feels wrong! Maybe I shouldn't be talking about it. Maybe talking about it makes me awful, proves their point, maybe my anxiety validates their narrative.
Then again? Nobody's perfect. And the thing about narratives is just like signals, they can get a little warped. There's all kinds of shit out there gumming up the system, twisting the truth, erasing the parts of the story to make it easier to swallow. And I don't want to play the victim or the villain. I'm not perfect, I'm so sorry, and I am a work in progress. But that doesn't make me a bad person. If someone isn't honest, how do you learn from your mistakes? If you don't share how you're feeling, how will people know what you need? I'm not a mind reader, and I can't expect others to be mind readers either.
Hindsight is always 20/20. I'm trying to remind myself of that to keep me from beating myself up too much about things from the past. Things I've done, things I didn't pick up on, things that are only starting to make sense. But also as a reminder than someday in the future (when all's well), I will look back on this time and understand more why it happened.
For now I will try to tune out the negative channels the radio in my head loves to play. It isn't easy to get the positive stations to come in clearly, and even when I hear them it's not always easy to believe... but I'm trying. On this dark and stormy night, hunkered down with my old pooch and the whirring of snow blowers, I will listen for the faint little whispers of positivity. And when I hear it, I will do my best to chase away the negative voice that tries to drowned it out. I will also knit and eat toast. And that's okay too.
Tomorrow Everest.... or... at least a holiday party.
Thursday, January 5, 2017
moving
I hate moving.
I don't mean moving my body (although... exercise hasn't exactly been my thing as of late either), I mean the act of moving from one home to the next. Packing, sorting, carrying, cleaning, unpacking, reorganizing.... the whole experience is one I find miserable.
In a way, it should feel good. I inevitably toss a lot when I move. I find myself distinctly unsentimental when faced with the prospect of having to carry a box of stuff that sure, might be nice to hang on to.... if only I didn't have to lug it around. But tossing stuff and lightening the load is therapeutic-almost zen- in away, even if you're mostly doing it for non-zen reasons. NAMASTE, BITCHES.
This particular move, though, is especially tough for a number a reasons.
I said when we moved here that I wanted to come out of this house for the last time in a coffin. I didn't ever want to have to pack, sort, carry, clean, unpack etc etc ever again. I wanted to die of old age in this place and be done with the moving process.
I love it here. Over the past 17 months this has become my safe space. The spot where I hide when things are too much. The comfortable place where I can be myself and leave my socks on the floor near the couch. Where I have my own bathroom where I can tink and then not flush the toilet if I don't feel like it.
It was a mile stone. After years of being together and renting or living with family, we finally got a place. We did it all ourselves. After struggling and saving and searching and almost and maybe and then finally. The perfect little place. Craft room. Record room. Dog pictures everywhere. Video game systems galore and plants to tend to. All our things under our own roof. But in this divorce, in this resolution of marriage, even my safe space is going away.
Honestly it's felt less safe with him gone. Empty and quiet and like I'm somehow an intruder. Like I'm just house sitting until the owners get back. Except the people coming here aren't coming back, they're coming for the first time. This might be their first home, or a downsize, or an upgrade- who knows. The point is, it already doesn't feel like mine.
But as hard as packing, sorting blah blah blah is- it also means a new beginning. This wasn't a beginning I was planning, it's not even a beginning I want (because the end it comes after is my worst nightmare), and beginnings are scary. The first steps into the unknown. Still... newness and beginnings as hard as they are can also be the start of wonderful things. Friendships or opportunities or adventure. And sure, my idea of adventure may not be as exciting as someone else's, and maybe I need to insulate my adventure with a night of watching Doctor Who or knitting... just something familiar and quiet and routine.... but adventure nonetheless.
I will be brave this year, and hopefully the next and the next and the next. I will bravely face my fears and demons, bravely own my faults and shortcomings, bravely strive for greatness, admit weakness and ask for help. Somewhere out there, there is peace and happiness for me. I will need to be brave to find it.
To quote from Doctor Who: "Let me be brave."
Even little Dash is ready to face the big, big world.
Forward.
I don't mean moving my body (although... exercise hasn't exactly been my thing as of late either), I mean the act of moving from one home to the next. Packing, sorting, carrying, cleaning, unpacking, reorganizing.... the whole experience is one I find miserable.
In a way, it should feel good. I inevitably toss a lot when I move. I find myself distinctly unsentimental when faced with the prospect of having to carry a box of stuff that sure, might be nice to hang on to.... if only I didn't have to lug it around. But tossing stuff and lightening the load is therapeutic-almost zen- in away, even if you're mostly doing it for non-zen reasons. NAMASTE, BITCHES.
This particular move, though, is especially tough for a number a reasons.
I said when we moved here that I wanted to come out of this house for the last time in a coffin. I didn't ever want to have to pack, sort, carry, clean, unpack etc etc ever again. I wanted to die of old age in this place and be done with the moving process.
I love it here. Over the past 17 months this has become my safe space. The spot where I hide when things are too much. The comfortable place where I can be myself and leave my socks on the floor near the couch. Where I have my own bathroom where I can tink and then not flush the toilet if I don't feel like it.
It was a mile stone. After years of being together and renting or living with family, we finally got a place. We did it all ourselves. After struggling and saving and searching and almost and maybe and then finally. The perfect little place. Craft room. Record room. Dog pictures everywhere. Video game systems galore and plants to tend to. All our things under our own roof. But in this divorce, in this resolution of marriage, even my safe space is going away.
Honestly it's felt less safe with him gone. Empty and quiet and like I'm somehow an intruder. Like I'm just house sitting until the owners get back. Except the people coming here aren't coming back, they're coming for the first time. This might be their first home, or a downsize, or an upgrade- who knows. The point is, it already doesn't feel like mine.
But as hard as packing, sorting blah blah blah is- it also means a new beginning. This wasn't a beginning I was planning, it's not even a beginning I want (because the end it comes after is my worst nightmare), and beginnings are scary. The first steps into the unknown. Still... newness and beginnings as hard as they are can also be the start of wonderful things. Friendships or opportunities or adventure. And sure, my idea of adventure may not be as exciting as someone else's, and maybe I need to insulate my adventure with a night of watching Doctor Who or knitting... just something familiar and quiet and routine.... but adventure nonetheless.
I will be brave this year, and hopefully the next and the next and the next. I will bravely face my fears and demons, bravely own my faults and shortcomings, bravely strive for greatness, admit weakness and ask for help. Somewhere out there, there is peace and happiness for me. I will need to be brave to find it.
To quote from Doctor Who: "Let me be brave."
Even little Dash is ready to face the big, big world.
Forward.
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