six

six months.

that's right. six. we've made it this far... it feels good.

but i'm scared.

the itch is there... not the seven year kind of "eff off monogamy" itch. the "holy shit! I'm scared that it's all gonna wither away and just disappear one day when i least expect it" kind of itch.

i try and try to be the person i was for him...the loving, caring, sweet girlfriend that he wants to marry. but somehow i fail. i get angry over everything. blaming him. accusing him... the list goes on.

how then shall i keep him? he says he's not going anywhere...that he wants to stay... that he wants to prove to my family and everyone else that he's here for good...

but still...that fear has crept in...

it's like when you watch a really scary movie and the scenes replay in your mind no matter what you do. you try to escape them, you distract yourself... you think happy fluffy thoughts and then WHAM!! you're sitting there scared and shaking, afraid to go to the bathroom alone or sleep with your back to the wall.

can he hold me tight enough for us to make it through this long scary night?

i sure hope so... i don't want walk this walk without him...

trust

How does one regain trust in another?

I hate being stuck here in this slow ass ER, trapped with my thoughts. No distractions or diversions in sight, so here I am pondering and toiling away.

Can I trust him the way I once did? Will I ever feel better about all this? Is he lying to me still?

We're so happy when we're not trying to deal with heated subjects and normal errand-like tasks. When we can be carefree and just have fun it's so amazing. He makes me laugh like no other, makes me smile bigger than I ever have, and makes me feel more alive than ever before.

But ten seconds later all that can change and I feel as though I'm losing my mind and everything attached to it. Lately I've felt so out of control I fear I'll never regain it. Here I'm caught in the middle of a war. In the trenches the armies fight. One for the man I love more than words can tell and the other for the person I was, for the longing to regain control and some sense of normalcy. On and on they fight, tearing me apart in the wake of the shrapnel and bullet frenzied environs.

 Most times I never even think of the opposing view. I just lay there in his arms and feel so amazingly alive and loved. If only we could stay there forever and never think of anyone or anything else again...

again again

why do I continue this? guy after guy. time after time. each time I tell myself "this one's gonna be different" "this will be the time I let go of this stupid fear." but no. each time is exactly the same. the players look a wee bit different, but they're mostly the same. it's me telling myself some lie, and some guy feeding me other lies. and then I either get scared and walk away, push him away, or I make some combination excuse and just let it all die. but as of late it seems that I pick situations that are destined to fail. that way if they do, for some crazy ass reason, choose me over whatever circumstance, then I'm validated as being fucking amazing, and I win. but I never "win," I just get what I knew I'd get in the first place. that way I remain in hiding and keep my tender heart neatly stowed away... but yet, all this causes me more unneccesary pain. causes lies and hurts, tears and regrets, blame and fear. thus the cycle perpetuates and repeats itself. over and over again.

i know exactly how much I deserve. my logical, analytical brain knows full well that I deserve a man who is willing to give me the world and lay down anything and everything just to be with me. I know that I deserve this and so much more. I say to the world "I won't settle...I know what I want, and I'll get it." but I settle. I choose men who are incapable of providing anything of the sort for me. who are just as emotionally fucked as I am. distant, withdrawn and too fearful to let their testicles descend long enough to give a shit about me for more than a week or six. but yet I chase them. I convince myself that they do care...and some of them I think do, but they aren't capable of following through with those feelings. all they are capable of is getting close to letting those feelings flow, and then getting scared, tucking up their balls, and running for the hills. without so much as a word of warning they're gone.

and then I sit here and ponder this and that. analyze and reanalyze. wondering what I could have, or should have done, or what I didn't do. how I failed. and so on. but really, all I did was what I always do. I lie to myself and tell myself that I can do it right this time. I won't fuck it up this time. this time it will be good.

no it won't. this time it's just like every other time. I got scared, and  pushed. just about the time he realized he liked me, he realized he wasn't capable of handling the responsibility that caring for me requires...

i'm getting a wee bit too old to keep doing this shit to myself. the failure. the blame. the overthinking everything. the latching on...

the return

Back to work...



A part of me feels as though I never left, and yet another part of me feels as though I haven't been here in years. Same old stuff. Some things have changed and far too many faces have changed in 6 weeks, but all in all the beast remains the same. Same cantankerous ungrateful patients, same grumbly coworkers, same everything. I missed it though. Boy did I miss it. I missed my friends and my work. Missed using my brain. Missed the ridiculousness of being awake all night, most every night.



I missed the completely inappropriate discussions with coworkers and the incredibly wise advice they offer...



While out on my medical adventure, I did a lot of thinking and some soul searching as well. Even a bit of dating. As of late I've been back in the dating world full force. And that's all the same too. Just learned a lot more...

used items

Used items are always cheap, but are rarely worth the bargain. For the money saved may well be paid in inconvenience.

out for the count

here I sit... BORED AS HELL.

I could and should be doing oh so many things. But no. I sit here thinking. I should be writing my paper. 4-6 pages due tomorrow at midnight. But I think I'll wait. I have more than 24 hours...

Ah procrastination. So evil, and so good. Guess that adrenaline rush I get at the last few hours before a deadline is pretty potent...and I like it.

Anyhoo. I had surgery last week. Ouch. I know the drill though. It's something I've done a time or 8 before. Off for 6 weeks. No work. No nothing right now. Just recoup.

WTF? Seriously? Me. The do 47 things in an hour. Leave the house at 6a don't get back til 2a kinda gal. Work work work. Work an extra. Work work work. Do this. Do that. Go here. Go there. GO GO GO! Nope. Can't. Not at all.

Drove 4 blocks yesterday and got tired and sore. Taking naps. Sleeping through the night. What?! Barf.

I am being a good little patient--FOR ONCE-- and taking it easy. But why is 'taking it easy' so damn hard?

I'm ready to feel like me. To be running around at decapitated chicken status again. To be tearing down the trail on my bike at full speed. Cranking out those pedals. Feeling the wind in my hair (through my helmet naturally). I want to be burnin' that candle at both ends.

Soon. Soon I shall. But for now I shall sit back and chill. For once in my life I'll allow it.

Another movie? Si.

the nice guy...

Yup...the nice guy. The charming, sweet, loving, well-mannered nice guy.



You know what they say: "Nice guys finish last."



Why do they say that? Well, it just might be true...



The nice guy. The damn nice guy. The one I always fall for. Well it's a crock. Truth is: nice guys aren't nice at all. They just don't have the stones to be a man. They are pussies. They play this game with you and buttercup you, making you think they are genuine and they care for you. But really they are just too lily-livered to to be men and say what they really think or feel.



No. That might hurt your feelings. Awww...and then they'd cry. What the fuck ever. I'm sorry, but I am completely okay with hurting someone's feelings. The truth is the truth. And if it hurts, well damn that's part of life. In case no one ever told you.



I fucking hate nice guys. I think that the nice guy, who is too afraid to tell you anything so he leads you on, is more of an asshole than that guy who is just a plain old outright asshole. At least the guy who is an asshole is man enough to be...well A MAN.

the hurdle

It's been jumped. I jumped the hurdle. The 'Get Your Ass Back Out There' hurdle.

Dates :). First dates are the best. The flirting. The stories. The butterflies.

The art of the distraction. And hey, quite possibly the sexiest Army boy ever could have something to do with the distraction level >:). Gawd. I know. Army boys. Shit. Every girl has their something. Their kryptonite. Mine just so happens to be a combination of the Latino boys, and the military boys. Some women love firemen, some EMS, Cops, murses, whatever it is, there is that something that gets them everytime. Mine is military boys...preferably of the Latin variety. Lucky for me this is a military town...with more than a few of those oh so sexy Spanish-speaking-brown-eyed yummies.

Anyhoo... the move. Yup. Moving on. Someone new...well a couple someones (something from the norm {cam + Latin} and something a little different for a change). A girl's got a right to play the field a little, no? It's high time I get my ass out on the field and play it for all it's got :)

jack be nimble jack be quick...

The letting go. Letting go of what? Of the hope that it would "work out," that he'd change his mind...that it would get good again. It's done. It has been from the start.

Maybe on some level I knew this. I knew that somehow this would never work. Maybe that's why I wanted it so much. God I have never wanted any earthly thing so much. I wanted so much. But yet I was scared shitless. I'd never admit that, but I was. I thought for once I wasn't afraid, but I was more afraid than ever. How did I become such a damn pansy?

Guess I always was...'twas all an act.

So here I stand, poised to let him go. To walk away. To admit that it's done. To say I'm done. It's a good thing I know, but damn if it doesn't hurt like hell.

Makes me think...(what else is new?) I used to believe that if it was meant to be it would be. Nice thought. Comforts a hurting heart. But who knows...maybe some things work and some don't, and that's just the way it is. Maybe people are in your life for a season, and they exit. End. Sometimes they come back, but not usually...

Anyhoo I made a good step forward today. Someone new. Guess I'll be in limbo for a while yet. But I can handle the limbo...

girl like me...

Girl Like Me
Miranda Lambert


You don't need a girl like me
I've got bruises you can't see
And when the lights go outI won't be around
You don't need a girl like me

You can't have a heart like mine
But you can hold it for a while
And when the lights go outI won't be around
You can't have a heart like mine

There's a rule that goes unwritten
And I break it from time to time
If you're fool enough to listen
Then I'm fool enough to lie

That's the kind of girl I am
I take off before I land
And even though you think you can
You can't change the way I am

Cause the rule remains unwritten
I still break it from time to time
If you're fool enough to listen
Then I'm fool enough to lie

You can't change the way I am
You don't need a girl like me

mister UPS man...

Seriously?

So how is it that every single time I am waiting for a package to arrive the UPS man shows up the moment I step out of the shower? Yup that's right. I step out of the shower, water-soaked, just starting to towel off and... knock, knock, knock. I normally pick up the pace of my towelling. Scurrying to dry the water enough to throw my jeans on. But this never works. Never. I end up with damp legs trying feverishly to pull the jeans on. Of course they stick. I pull and pull. Jump around. Nothing. No avail. Of course the soundtrack to my jumping and wrestling my jeans on is the UPS man giving one last go-round to his knocking.

He leaves. And leaves my usual note: your package is at the office.

Of course it is. Damn the UPS man. Maybe next time I will just appease him. Maybe I will just saunter to the door in nothing but a bra and panties. I will surely make it to the door on time then. But that will bring a whole other can of worms to the table...

Guess I will just let him take my packages to the office like he always does...

But I must admit the look that would be painted all over his countenance when he saw a girl with dripping wet hair, in nothing but a bra and panties. Heehee :)

too much in your own head

That's what he said. I never worry about you until you get too far into your own head...

Struck a chord. A thick heavy E chord. Ya know? The fatty on your guitar, the one that digs deep into your fingers as you depress, trying desperately to make something similar to music. You press. It hurts and you press harder still. Your feeble finger trying with all it's umph to make a good clean crisp noise. But it waivers. Your finger's strength fails and the sound is more of a rattling, gurgling annoyance. That's how I felt. That's what I feel now. I am trying to make music out of an old guitar. Out of tune. And my fingers are blistered to near oblivion. But still I press that thick string. That tightly wound steel that was made to make music.

Here I am way too far into my own head. Entirely too much these days. You see there are layers and layers of muck and mire I am trying to sort through. I am trying to find the solid ground... This last season of my life has brought so many changes. The rollercoaster of evisceration all began with my getting the boot from my beloved pastors. And sitting there in the aftermath of the cataclysm, I looked at what I was. Who I was. I saw who I really was underneath all I had pretended to be for so long. I had--and for the most part am still having-- one megalith of a question of faith. Trying to find the intersection of my faith and my reality...but this is another 47,000 blogs...one day, one day I will type it all out...but anyhoo...

Next stop folks: THE BLACK HOLE.

What the hell is the Black Hole? The black hole is where you find yourself when you feel free enough to live your life on your terms, and you do so only to feel as though you've made some enormous mistakes. Wondering so many times "where the fuck am I?! How did I get here? What am I doing? I should stop. Go back? No, not turning back...but then what? What now?!"

This my friends is me being too much in my own head. Pondering. Contemplating. Questioning. Answering. Only to question once more. Just figuring it all out. So I say. Guess it's just my way. My way of gathering my thoughts. Straightening them out, and starching them. Creasing them just right. Folding them perfectly. Making sure I no one sees the stains. What stains? Emotions. I hide in my thoughts. I think it through. I ponder every last drop out of it. It's avoidance. I avoid feeling it by thinking. Is this just another gift from dear ole Dad? Maybe... And that gets the thinking turbines turning all over again...

And then I remind myself to be patient. After all, twenty-something years of auto-protect cannot be turned off in 30 days. Approximately 30 days ago is when I started this Dad business. Trying to identify and sort out all the Daddy issues I have. But I know I've merely scratched the surface. Like the storm shutters at the flea market. Old and dirty. Layers of paint and dirt. Paint weather-worn and cracked. In places showing colors underneath, and other places tiny glimpses of the wood. In order to get to the wood-- the parts that make the shutters shutters--you have to take off years and years of paint. The very thing that protected the wood from years and years of storms, is making it an eyesore now. So let us begin. Stripping off the paint. Chemicals. Wire brushes. And finally sand paper...

the webs we weave...

At this moment I'm feeling strange. I just poured my heart out to someone... Someone I've been hesitant to get close to. I won't go into details, but I could get very close to him if you know what I mean. And this would be bad. Very bad...

He whines and moans because I won't let him into my life. But I have very strict boundaries. I know that things go crazy without our planning.

Life is so motherfucking complicated.

I would so love the world to be black or white. This or that. One or the other. But no. The world and life is gray. All gray. There are some things that exist in black and white. But for the most part gray. Or black with white polka dots, or black with white polka dots. Hey! That's more interesting than gray.

Ugh... oh well. Guess the polka dots sure make it an interesting ride eh? And make for good stories...or half stories...or something...

ER errrr entertaining...

The ER is a never-ending wheel of entertaining, perplexing and hair-raising adventures...

The tales us members of this ER cult can tell.

The man who shaved his leg--hair, skin, and some bone--with a chain saw.

The man whose wife bit his testicle just a tad bit too hard during a rough midnight romp, and nearly lost the family jewels.

The man who arrived to the ER mid-afternoon stating he had some "things" in his rectum. And upon X-Ray examination a full-sized shampoo bottle, a compact mirror, a lotion bottle, and several other toiletries were found. Apparently a wild one night stand left him with more than a few lasting memories.

Of course in 7 years of work in the ER that is only a mere sprinkling of the tales I can tell. But tonight I must laugh at the silliness of people and the things they do...and say.

Over the radio a few hours ago we get a patch for a Police Clearance. Turns out a girl with a history of Autism (not sure how it can be history when that is not something you recover from...but anywhooo...) was assaulting her boyfriend and injured herself. The police were called and she went to jail...

Just now: A patient was struck with a bowl. Yes bowl. Not sure whether a cereal bowl. A mixing bowl. A drug paraphernalia (pipe) bowl. Who knows. But a bowl nevertheless. At four in the morning, he was tragically struck with a bowl. Right in his shin! Call the trauma surgeon! STAT!

And twenty two minutes ago a man waltzed into Triage, and filled out his form to be seen by the doctor. Dammit Jim! He's got vomiting and "craps!" Oh no! Not the craps! --tell me why he can conjure up the word vomiting, but not diarrhea? Maybe too difficult to spell? Or craps sounded more complex? Painful? Tragic? Nope. Not really. More asinine. Just spelled out in five letters just how much he did not need to be in the EMERGENCY ROOM at four AM on a Sunday morning.

Ahh the perpetual battle between the people working the night away for the true emergencies, ending up treating the man who forgot to wash the dye off his hair and scalp 20 hours prior, and lo and behold! his scalp itches. At 2 AM no less...

At least it makes for ridiculous stories to fill the annals of asininity.

the happiness factor

The happiness factor...

Happy. Such a simple word. So often unused. How many people are genuinely happy? Truly, honestly happy? For the longest time I went around claiming happiness, but all the while I was more dead inside than anything. I remember countless times when people would tell me to smile more. "Val you have such a pretty smile, I wish you weren't so serious all the time." So many people told me this over the years. I wondered all the time how I could just smile. Smile for no reason? Like some crazy ass fiend who had no clue about anything so they just smiled? Or like some over-botoxed hag whose face was stuck in a smile? But I get it now.

I get it. Recently I have been really analyzing my childhood and my feelings about some of my experiences. I realized that I held to the hurts and disappointments even though I told myself that I was fine and I had let go of it all. That it was in the past. Blah blah. But in reality I hadn't let go of a single hurt. The wounds would have long since healed and been nearly forgotten had I not held them open. I held the chains of my father's addiction so tightly that I was the one doing the damage. I kept this hurt so close and so tightly that I caused it to injure me over and over again.

I now know why I was so serious. It takes a lot of energy to fake life. To walk around making everyone believe that you are full of life, and that you are really living your life. When the secret reality is I was dying inside. I held myself so closely to my family--and the supposed responsibility that lies within keeping the secrets of addiction--that I was causing myself to atrophy. To remain in the town I hate living in, working in the job I don't want to do anymore, just surviving day to day. When I am a 26 year old woman who should be living her life to the fullest. I should be going out and meeting new people. I should be moving wherever I so choose. Living the nomadic life I dream of. Wherever the wind blows...wherever my next whim takes me. That is where I should be. Not settling for a mediocre life. Not wearing this stupid "everything's okay" mask.

So that is what I have done. I let go. That was the scariest part. The letting go. Like bungee jumping, the hardest part is the letting go. And ya know what? Once I looked at the wounds, they didn't seem so bad. I have examined my wounds, and cleaned them. And now--FINALLY-- they are healing. It hurt, and still does, but I feel better than ever. More whole than ever. I feel alive for the first time in my life. REALLY ALIVE.

All kinds of crazy things have gone on in my world lately. I have been hurt like never before, but in the midst of it all I have an overwhelming sense of peace and security. I know that I am good, no matter what. That what I have traversed thus far has been quite a climb, and so will the rest of my life. But I am happy. I truly choose to be happy.

I have learned several important lessons. One that sticks out the most is: I don't need anyone to make me happy. No one can alter my state of happiness, good or bad. If I am truly, honestly happy no actions can make me less happy, or even bolster my happiness. People aren't placed in your life to change your outlook, to make you this or that. They are not mood enhancers. They are there to make you a better person, and hopefully you do the same for them.

I'm done with this low living, pretending to be this and telling myself that I am that bullshit. I now living my life on my terms. Living MY LIFE! And it will be a grand one. No matter where it takes me, or who the main characters are, my life story will be a great one. I'm ready for it. It's time for a new chapter. The quill in hand, I'm ready.

Wanna read some more? It's gonna get good from here on out!

the meaning of friendship

I was asked today if I knew the meaning of friendship...



I thought I did, but apparently I do not know how to find true friends...or lasting friendships for that matter.



Inevitably I find myself, time after time, in parasitic relationships. Again and again I enter into friendships and/or dating relationships where I care and give more than the other person. I have very few friends, and even fewer people in my life who are true friends. People that would be there for me no matter what. That I could call at 3am just needing to talk, and they would listen. And let's not even mention how many of my "friends" would actually come to help me out if I needed help.



I wonder what the hell my problem is. Why is it that every damn time I pick someone to be my friend, or more than friends, I pick the people that are incapable of being true friends. And when in dating relationships why is it the guy that is emotionally unavailable that I decide to fall for.

healing is hurting

The healing.



The hurting.



Both are necessary...and most times they are inextricably linked. It hurts and it must heal, but hurting is an indication of healing...



Working in healthcare I am no stranger to the fact that when a wound heals it will hurt. Sometimes the healing process is markedly more painful than the injury. The injurious pain felt was immediate and sharp. While the healing gives a dull ache with momentary stings that won't quit. Moment by moment you are reminded of your wound, and reminded of the healing that has begun but is no where near complete.



I have recently become aware of this being true for emotional injuries as well. The layers of hurts we gather over the years can fester and become an overwhelming infection if not dealt with. I had hurt for so long I became numb to it, I ignored the wound and denied the twinges of pain so many times that I led myself to believe the lie that I was fine...

Until one day. One day I acted horribly to someone I cared a great deal about. I was still hurting from something he did. And while I told him--and myself for that matter--that I would forgive him and continue on as his friend, I just could not be nice to him. I found myself being this heinous bitch to him over and over again, for no reason. One particular day after an outing with him I found myself in tears wondering what the hell was wrong with me. How was it that I cared for him so much, and wanted to spend time with him, yet I still could not shake this desire to be angry at him? Why couldn't I just let it go and move on?

I was punishing him for things he did not do. He was being made to pay penance for a sin he didn't commit. While he hurt me, he did not deserve my radioactive bitchiness. I was angry yes. But not with him. Turns out I was projecting the feelings from the ghosts of past hurts and disappointments on him.

The human psyche is a perplexing thing. How is it that we can lie to ourselves? We know the truth...we know what really happened. And yet we tell ourselves we are fine and "move on." Only to further entrap ourselves in the cycle of hurting. Never truly healing or really moving on. It's a protective mechanism. That's it. We must protect ourselves to carry on. We want to ensure no further pain ensues so we dodge all things that appear even remotely like that which caused our original pain. Even so much as to hide from the very thing that will help us.

Like the four-year old with the skinned knee. Screaming and crying. Wincing in pain. His mother tells him the wound must be cleaned before it is bandaged. He cries and screams, knowing full well the pain the warm soapy water will bring. He has heard dozens of times before "we have to clean it so it can heal." But cleaning hurts. It burns and stings like hell. Then the throbbing sets in. Every second a reminder of your injury. Throb. Throb. STING! Throb. Throb. Throb. STING! STTTIIIINNNGGG! Throb.

But then after a bit of time passes you realize your wound is no longer hurting. You are barely aware the injury even existed. You have a scar. A permanent mark of the injury. But the pain dissipates, and even dissolves completely. The scar will even fade away...

burried hurts, and misguided lies

The pain our parents can dole out upon our lives can be lasting. At one point I thought that the issues with my relationship with my father had been dealt with.

I was wrong.

My childhood is split in two. The chasm of drug addiction forever changed my relationship with my father. Before his addictions gained the upper hand in his life he was a fun-loving playful soul. My father was my buddy. I was a true blue daddy's girl. Everything my daddy did, I wanted to do. Wherever he went, I wanted to tag along. On construction sites, to the lumberyard, the junkyard, around town running errands, anywhere and everywhere my daddy went I wanted to go.

Then he changed.

In what feels like an instant, my daddy became another man. The daddy I adored so very much was dead and gone, and in his place stood a shell of a man. A man so gripped by his addiction that he was blinded to all the hurt he was causing. He states nowadays that he purposefully worked himself out of my life and became distant to protect me. Unaware--even still-- of the damage that action caused me.

It hurt so much. Time and time again I would find myself so disappointed and heartbroken. My father's addiction controls him. He wants so desperately to be free, and he has been, but he just cannot break the chains his addictions hold over his life. Even thinking of this breaks my heart yet again. I can't stand the fact that the daddy I so loved as a little girl is dead and gone, and in his place is a broken, lifeless man. The saddest part of all is that my father will likely die without ever having lived. He will likely lose this fight. I want so badly to see that light in those ice blue eyes of his. Just once more. What I would give just to see his face light up with that infectious smile and his piercing baby blues twinkle.

How do you mourn the loss of someone who you see every day? The paradox that is the life of my father. He is alive and well. And yet all the while he is dead and gone. Buried deep within the confines of crack addiction is my daddy. Will he ever see the light of day again? I am not sure. But I refuse to give up hope. I know that he is capable of being clean. He just has to want it bad enough.

It is almost indescribable the hurt that I feel knowing that my daddy, the one I miss so dearly is here, just hidden away. That the one I spent my days with, the one I palled around with is missing. But yet a very similar man is ever-present in my life. This man looks exactly like my beloved daddy, only aged. He sounds like him, it's all the same man...only he is empty. His eyes no longer sparkle, they cry out with the anguish of a man so full of life caught in the death grip of addiction. He sits there in his room with crack rock after crack rock, day in and day out. Living the life of a dead man. He tells me he loves me more than I know. He loves me more than anything... But how do I believe this? How when I would ask him to come to my school functions, or see me sing at church...or just talk to me, and he chose to get high instead. I want to be angry about this. But while he lit that pipe and smoked it every time on his own volition, he is also controlled by it. It is there screaming in his ear ever louder, a near brute force twisting his arm, his will and ultimately controlling his entire life.

Heartbreaking.

I learned as a young girl to just turn off my feelings of hurt. And when it was really bad, I would just flip that feeling of hurt into fuel for anger. I got to where it hurt too much to hurt. I refused to be hurt, I just chose to either turn it off and bury it within, or get angry. It became so much of my daily life with my father that it translated into my relationships with others. I thought that this was a great solution. I was wrong. It was fine and dandy while I was in the situation. Because frankly it was a day to day thing. It was seemingly more worthwhile to just act as though it weren't happening rather than attempt to heal from hurts every single day. Especially when those hurts would not end, nor would my need for restitution be satiated. It was one of my many auto-protect mechanisms.

I am now discovering the many facets of my childhood need to protect my heart, and the seemingly brash and harsh ways I deal with those who hurt me. I am realizing that I need to allow people to be people. I cannot protect myself from further hurts. People do not live up to our expectations, they disappoint, upset and annoy us, and they break our hearts. But these are all the plot twists that create the great novels of our human existence.

I have realized that I attempt to force anyone who crosses me to pay for the hurts my father caused (and still causes). This is no one's debt to pay. My father could have apologized all the times he hurt me, but he didn't. And now the damage is done. I choose to forgive him. And now I need to allow myself to heal. So that is my mission right now. To fix me...

I am the fixer. The one who must fix it...whatever it is I must make an attempt to make it better. So here goes. No matter the multitude of tears and personal wrangling, and contemplation I will fix this. I will find the way to fix me. And thus fix my relationships both current and future.

The woman I want to be is not a harsh volatile person who causes people to tread with fear and trepidation around her. I want to be exactly the opposite of that. I want to be an approachable kind woman who instills a feeling of trust in all the souls she encounters.

Obviously I want this fix to be permanent. And I would love to be able to just flip a switch and be that woman...but healing and retraining yourself takes time. A dear friend (one of the most influential friends I have made, and one who wounded me deeply...a previous blog is written on this topic) who knows me more than I know myself at times, gave me some of the best words of encouragement: "Val you need to be patient with yourself. You cannot unlearn something you have done your entire life in one day. You worked hard to protect yourself in that way, and that is the way you know. " That is what I will tell myself. Continue on...press in and fix this. I will heal from this deep set wound from my childhood, and be the woman I long to be.

the "friend" zone

Well this has been an interesting adventure...



I have asked the questions, gotten some of the answers...and I feel a wealth of clarity, and a host of confusion. But all the while I feel much better about the situation. The "what are we?" is gone...we are friends. Friends that may well have gone WAY too far out of the friend zone for a spell. But friends nevertheless.



My pride is wounded for sure. I feel a strange naked vulnerability as I sit typing this. I have never before been so incredibly open and honest with my feelings. Never before have I laid my wants and desires on the line like that. I am not sure how I feel about this. Partly I feel regret. I feel that maybe he didn't deserve to know how I felt, or even for me to feel that way. And I also feel as though the fact that I laid it all on the line, and said what I had to say strengthened me. I suppose both sides of this coin are true. If it was all game with him maybe he didn't deserve for me to allow myself to fall for him. But nevertheless, when I find a man who isn't running game on me, I will be able to show my feelings. And that is a very good thing.



I am not saying he completely was running a game. But if he was...well he is the fucking master game-runner. The nice guy...who genuinely cares for you...is chivelrous to you...makes you feel like he wants to be with you...and then you cross the line and become WAY more than friends physically. But he still calls it friends who are enjoying eachother... Is it just me or is that a really warped view? YOU CANNOT HAVE SEX WITH YOUR FRIENDS! Sorry Charlie.

Live and learn... bolster your strength, and see the world through another viewpoint.

what i am...a rant

What I am...

What I am not...

Who I am...

Who I am not...

So many questions and so many answers... so much unsaid.

Gasp! I feel so incredibly bogged down with questions right now. The ones I should ask. The ones I want to ask. The ones I don't want to ask. The ones I have asked, but still feel as though they have not been satiated. My mind is in a flurry of thoughts, questions, propositions, wranglings. Hurt feelings, bruised heart, wounded pride.

Have I been duped? Led on? Tricked? Or maybe I have just been pushing for something that wasn't there. Maybe wanting something so much that I saw more than what was there in actuality. Hmmm...

Should I ask? Should I ask him these questions and more? Maybe I already know the answer? Who knows? Not I.

All I know is what I felt, what he says, what my gut says, and now what an all too informed friend says. Groan. DOUBLE GROAN!

Still I refuse to walk away. I won't bow out. Not this time. I actually care for once. He matters to me. And what happens between him and I matters to me.

On one hand I truly wish we had started this whole fiasco as just friends. Friendship can be built upon. But it is really difficult to rewind feelings, and once the sex line has been crossed it is even more difficult to go back behind that line. But the line was crossed. From the gate we crossed the line. And now I wonder. I wonder if maybe we really are just best friends who got too far ahead of themselves. But it doesn't feel as such. It feels as though we were always more than just friends.

I don't want to be his best friend. I want to be his everything. I want to be the one he thinks of when he is trying to sleep at night. I want to be the one whose kiss he remembers and smiles. I want to be the one he misses even three seconds after leaving my presence. I want to be his. Is this too much to ask for?

Is it too much for me to want to be adored? To want for someone to love me? It doesn't seem to be too much. But at times it feels like I am asking too much. That is what I long for. I deeply long for someone to yearn for me. For them to see me as their everything. I have never been in love, and that is my aim. I want love. I want to fall for someone and have them catch me. I want to be the one for someone.

I just don't know what to do here...

Let it flow is what I have been told...

Just let it flow...

We shall see. Oh goodness this is hard. So hard. It hurts...