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.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
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...
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...
Friday, April 3, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
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...
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...
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
a rock and a hard place
Well here I am once again...stuck in a place where I either swallow my pride or I make the hard choice on account of principle. Stuck. Wedged in between two choices that are equally shitty. Not a fun place to be
You know sometimes I truly wish I were one of those girls who was completely oblivious to the things around her. Sometimes life in the fog is so much more peaceful than life spent staring into the glaring sun...seeing full well what lies ahead. But it hurts. It is incredibly uncomfortable at times to see what lies ahead...to see the looming storm clouds over the mountain pass. Those clouds containing destruction and an unsettling that will have a ripple-affect all across the land, every square inch of the territory known to you. It will even effect the places you'd never even thought of. The storm clouds will leave lasting effects and you know this long before the first drop ever touches the ground.
This is where I have been for weeks and weeks now. Knowing a raging storm was lurking on the horizon...but all the while I refused to look it in the face. Like the farmer who has toiled and poured out his sweat, blood, and tears on his crop. Nurturing the little plants, removing weeds, watering, fertilizing, cultivating. He works day in and day out in order to ensure a good healthy crop. And then one day, he gets a whiff of rain. He sees the giant thunderheads in the distance. He shudders to think of the destruction those clouds hold. They hold millions of gallons of life-giving water, vital to his crop. But they also contain hail, wind and lightening...things that can destroy all his hard work.
Relationships are like this at times. The hard work of cultivating something so wonderful and life-giving is also wrought with the worry of it all being washed away with the storm clouds looming on the horizon. And unfortunately when one smells the rain, it is on the way. Maybe the truth the rain brings will wash away the weaker elements of the relationship, or maybe the relationship will be lost in the hard rains, blowing winds, and pummeling hail stones. The hardest part is you must wait for the storm to finish until you survey the damage.
The only choice there is, is to sit and wait it out. You can make preparations, and run for cover but no matter what the rain is going to fall. And fall hard and fast. You see the storm clouds, and before you know it you are getting pelted in the head with rock hard hail stones. Long before you can completely escape you are surrounded by a storm that can either breathe life into the crop you have worked so hard for, or it can cause all your hard work to be for nought. Wait and see.
Wait and see. Sit around with your thumb up your ass...thinking up all the various scenarios, and all the gruesome scenes that could possibly await you upon your survey of the damage. Not a pleasant waiting room. No soft music, no cushy chairs, no interesting people to chat it up with, no cool magazines to distract you. Just the thunderous roar of the rain pummelling your wheat fields. Drop after drop, lightening strike after lightening strike. You wait. And listen to the roaring of the rain, only drowned out at times by the roaring of your thoughts. Wait. Think. Wait. Think. At times you may feel as though it will never end. That this storm and your thoughts will rage on and on forever.
And then all of a sudden you gain strength...a steel reserve of sorts. Or maybe you just become numb to the pain and anguish of supposing what could happen. You put your aching bruised heart in a coma and sit in the pain-numbed stupor waiting to see what happens. You walk away from the window and decide to call the nail-biting agony quits. You wait and see...after all that is the only choice you have. You have no crystal ball, no fortune telling clairvoyance to guide you. Just time. Time must pass and allow the storm to rage on and nature to do what it will. Agonizingly maddening.
This is all a giant analogy obviously. But it is incredibly fitting for my current state of being. I am extraordinarily confused at this very moment. I have been deeply hurt by someone I was beginning to allow myself to fall for. I felt it....the gentle falling. With every kiss and every touch I felt my heart melting and me losing a bit of altitude. I felt as though I COULD fall for him and it would be safe to do so. But underneath it all I knew the answer to a question I had hoped with all my hoping energies that I was wrong about. Nope! I was right. Of course I was...since when is my intuition wrong? Since never. I was right. And now my heart is so hurt and bruised it feels numb. I am angry. I am hurt. I am feeling incredibly moronic. I feel regret. I feel so many emotions my emotion labeler is non-functioning right now. I cannot even detect all the emotions that are swirling around within.
I'm hurting.
Me being hurt is a dangerous place for whomever hurt me. Naturally I want so desperately to hurt him back and walk away. Disallowing him any chance at fixing it and making it better. Thus wounding him far deeper than he wounded me. But why? What would this do? It might satiate my need for savage revenge. It would satisfy my thirst for blood. But for how long? A mere moment. And then I would realize that I had wounded him--someone I care a great deal about, even though I'd rather not right now--and then I would be hurting myself even more. I would create a giant out of control hurt-fest that would not get me what I want. I would kill any and every chance of getting what I want out of what I have been working so hard for. What I have been laying my pride on the line for, and trusting for.
So many facets of this situation make me angry and hurt beyond words. I cannot believe I have gotten myself into this ridiculous situation. I cannot believe I am sitting here yet again wondering why the fuck I am not the one being chosen outright. I want to be the Queen of this Chess Game. But instead I am sitting here being a fucking pawn. I want to win this game. I want the prize. I want the King to be MINE dammit! I don't want to share. I don't want to "see what happens." I want to be the one who gets it all. I want to claim him as MINE. I don't want to share. And frankly I deserve be the one who gets it all. I am good enough. I am special enough. I am worth it.
What to do?
UUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!
For once I suppose I will remain with my head--and heart for that matter--on the chopping block. Laying in waiting...waiting to see if the guillotine will fall and bring my end. I want desperately to ensure my safety and run. I don't want to give him the chance to either fix it or annihilate me. I want to be in control and take his power away. But for once I refuse to be the quitter. I refuse to walk away. I refuse to be the coward under the guise of "making the hard choice." Because we all know that walking away--well running away--is a chicken shit move. And boys and girls I am no chicken. So here I sit. Bring it on. I will endure. And hopefully something good will happen.
Here's hoping.
Wish me luck.
You know sometimes I truly wish I were one of those girls who was completely oblivious to the things around her. Sometimes life in the fog is so much more peaceful than life spent staring into the glaring sun...seeing full well what lies ahead. But it hurts. It is incredibly uncomfortable at times to see what lies ahead...to see the looming storm clouds over the mountain pass. Those clouds containing destruction and an unsettling that will have a ripple-affect all across the land, every square inch of the territory known to you. It will even effect the places you'd never even thought of. The storm clouds will leave lasting effects and you know this long before the first drop ever touches the ground.
This is where I have been for weeks and weeks now. Knowing a raging storm was lurking on the horizon...but all the while I refused to look it in the face. Like the farmer who has toiled and poured out his sweat, blood, and tears on his crop. Nurturing the little plants, removing weeds, watering, fertilizing, cultivating. He works day in and day out in order to ensure a good healthy crop. And then one day, he gets a whiff of rain. He sees the giant thunderheads in the distance. He shudders to think of the destruction those clouds hold. They hold millions of gallons of life-giving water, vital to his crop. But they also contain hail, wind and lightening...things that can destroy all his hard work.
Relationships are like this at times. The hard work of cultivating something so wonderful and life-giving is also wrought with the worry of it all being washed away with the storm clouds looming on the horizon. And unfortunately when one smells the rain, it is on the way. Maybe the truth the rain brings will wash away the weaker elements of the relationship, or maybe the relationship will be lost in the hard rains, blowing winds, and pummeling hail stones. The hardest part is you must wait for the storm to finish until you survey the damage.
The only choice there is, is to sit and wait it out. You can make preparations, and run for cover but no matter what the rain is going to fall. And fall hard and fast. You see the storm clouds, and before you know it you are getting pelted in the head with rock hard hail stones. Long before you can completely escape you are surrounded by a storm that can either breathe life into the crop you have worked so hard for, or it can cause all your hard work to be for nought. Wait and see.
Wait and see. Sit around with your thumb up your ass...thinking up all the various scenarios, and all the gruesome scenes that could possibly await you upon your survey of the damage. Not a pleasant waiting room. No soft music, no cushy chairs, no interesting people to chat it up with, no cool magazines to distract you. Just the thunderous roar of the rain pummelling your wheat fields. Drop after drop, lightening strike after lightening strike. You wait. And listen to the roaring of the rain, only drowned out at times by the roaring of your thoughts. Wait. Think. Wait. Think. At times you may feel as though it will never end. That this storm and your thoughts will rage on and on forever.
And then all of a sudden you gain strength...a steel reserve of sorts. Or maybe you just become numb to the pain and anguish of supposing what could happen. You put your aching bruised heart in a coma and sit in the pain-numbed stupor waiting to see what happens. You walk away from the window and decide to call the nail-biting agony quits. You wait and see...after all that is the only choice you have. You have no crystal ball, no fortune telling clairvoyance to guide you. Just time. Time must pass and allow the storm to rage on and nature to do what it will. Agonizingly maddening.
This is all a giant analogy obviously. But it is incredibly fitting for my current state of being. I am extraordinarily confused at this very moment. I have been deeply hurt by someone I was beginning to allow myself to fall for. I felt it....the gentle falling. With every kiss and every touch I felt my heart melting and me losing a bit of altitude. I felt as though I COULD fall for him and it would be safe to do so. But underneath it all I knew the answer to a question I had hoped with all my hoping energies that I was wrong about. Nope! I was right. Of course I was...since when is my intuition wrong? Since never. I was right. And now my heart is so hurt and bruised it feels numb. I am angry. I am hurt. I am feeling incredibly moronic. I feel regret. I feel so many emotions my emotion labeler is non-functioning right now. I cannot even detect all the emotions that are swirling around within.
I'm hurting.
Me being hurt is a dangerous place for whomever hurt me. Naturally I want so desperately to hurt him back and walk away. Disallowing him any chance at fixing it and making it better. Thus wounding him far deeper than he wounded me. But why? What would this do? It might satiate my need for savage revenge. It would satisfy my thirst for blood. But for how long? A mere moment. And then I would realize that I had wounded him--someone I care a great deal about, even though I'd rather not right now--and then I would be hurting myself even more. I would create a giant out of control hurt-fest that would not get me what I want. I would kill any and every chance of getting what I want out of what I have been working so hard for. What I have been laying my pride on the line for, and trusting for.
So many facets of this situation make me angry and hurt beyond words. I cannot believe I have gotten myself into this ridiculous situation. I cannot believe I am sitting here yet again wondering why the fuck I am not the one being chosen outright. I want to be the Queen of this Chess Game. But instead I am sitting here being a fucking pawn. I want to win this game. I want the prize. I want the King to be MINE dammit! I don't want to share. I don't want to "see what happens." I want to be the one who gets it all. I want to claim him as MINE. I don't want to share. And frankly I deserve be the one who gets it all. I am good enough. I am special enough. I am worth it.
What to do?
UUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!
For once I suppose I will remain with my head--and heart for that matter--on the chopping block. Laying in waiting...waiting to see if the guillotine will fall and bring my end. I want desperately to ensure my safety and run. I don't want to give him the chance to either fix it or annihilate me. I want to be in control and take his power away. But for once I refuse to be the quitter. I refuse to walk away. I refuse to be the coward under the guise of "making the hard choice." Because we all know that walking away--well running away--is a chicken shit move. And boys and girls I am no chicken. So here I sit. Bring it on. I will endure. And hopefully something good will happen.
Here's hoping.
Wish me luck.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Susie...the homemaker
Ahh it grows...
The secret desire to be a housewife is growing...I fear it may take over my entirety soon. Well maybe not FEAR. It is a perplexing feeling...that of embracing the very thing you once ran from and denied to no end. Finally. FINALLY I am embracing the fact that all I want in this life is to be the woman that makes her man happy. To meet that man and fall madly and deeply in love with him, and build our life together.
For as long as I can remember love and marriage has been the thing that I feared the most...anyone mentioned it to me and my skin would begin to crawl. But why? Irrational fears and surmisings. I now realize where a lot of those came from, and I am working my way out from underneath the masks. I feel good...good that I am exposing the real me. My real wants and dreams for life.
Is it really so bad to long to be the wife and mother someone is out there dreaming of? Is it so awful to want to be the woman that nurtures and builds her husband up? Is it? Really? No it isn't...it is a good thing. I think the sexiest thing in the world is a man completely devoted to his wife. Who wears that band of precious metal on his left ring finger, proudly announcing to the world that he belongs to someone. The one he chose to give his name and his life to. And how wonderful is it to see a woman strong and gentle, holding her toddler and carrying the next soon to be born addition to a growing family? You've seen them. The young family at the park or the grocery store. Makes you smile doesn't it? It makes me smile too...and a wee bit of jealousy creeps in too, I must admit. That is what I want.
Marriage is a wonderful thing to want. For so long I felt that being in love and getting married was likened unto playing Russian roulette--one never knew if it would be something that would destroy their future and hopes and dreams, or something just to get your blood pumping only to leave you feeling neither here nor there...you're alive, but ARE you? You see the marriages I had as examples were just those sorts of marriages. But why should I write off love and my dreams of being a wife and mother on account of others' failures?
Seems rather preposterous doesn't it? This is the reason for my regained hope in attaining my dreams.
My dreams of an epic life still exist, they are just a little re-organized. Instead of traveling the world with my single friends, and having kick ass dinner parties with my single friends, it looks more like wonderful adventures with my future husband, and parties with other couples and their children. Summer barbecues with families from the neighborhood paired with the musical stylings of crying infants, arguing toddlers, and couples happily married and living their domestic dreams.
I think that is a much more attractive photograph myself. Love, babies, summer, fun...vs. Old maids who are obsessed with their chosen snobbery and the life they call "good" to boost their self worth.
For as long as I can remember I have had a bit of a love affair with the 50s. What do the 50s represent? Think about it...What do you picture?
I Love Lucy (Another story lurks here...I LOVE THAT SHOW! But it shall wait :))
The Cleavers
Potsy and the Fonz
The Honeymooners
Poodle Skirts, saddle shoes, and chevy's?
How about mom making a fantastic dinner and having it hot and ready for her loving husband when he arrives home from work. In those TV shows of yesterday the wife was always willing and ready to please her man. She woke up bright and early and prepared him and the family breakfast, met him at the door with a kiss in the morning, and met him again with a kiss in the evening. She sent him with a nutritious lunch...and maybe slipped in a little naughty note ;)
For some this scene brings a wave of nausea and women's lib antics come racing to mind. But for a lot of women this is what we long for.
I have had my feet firmly planted on both sides of that fence. Demanding fiercely my independence and carving out dreams of a prestigious career. And now I have jumped over the fence to the side of wanting to be the wife in those old time TV shows. Susie...the homemaker.
I have decided to embrace my affinity for baking and cooking and doing laundry and keeping my house tidy. I embrace the fact that I love children, and they love me--they flock to me. :) Wherever I am those little buggers find me, and we make each other smile. Kids are wonderful. Nowadays when my friends tease me and say I am a soccer mom, I don't cringe the way I used to...I get a bit of a smile on my face, and think about what it will be like when I really am a mom.
I'm ready for love.
I'm ready for marriage.
I'm ready to begin my life.
I'M READY!
The secret desire to be a housewife is growing...I fear it may take over my entirety soon. Well maybe not FEAR. It is a perplexing feeling...that of embracing the very thing you once ran from and denied to no end. Finally. FINALLY I am embracing the fact that all I want in this life is to be the woman that makes her man happy. To meet that man and fall madly and deeply in love with him, and build our life together.
For as long as I can remember love and marriage has been the thing that I feared the most...anyone mentioned it to me and my skin would begin to crawl. But why? Irrational fears and surmisings. I now realize where a lot of those came from, and I am working my way out from underneath the masks. I feel good...good that I am exposing the real me. My real wants and dreams for life.
Is it really so bad to long to be the wife and mother someone is out there dreaming of? Is it so awful to want to be the woman that nurtures and builds her husband up? Is it? Really? No it isn't...it is a good thing. I think the sexiest thing in the world is a man completely devoted to his wife. Who wears that band of precious metal on his left ring finger, proudly announcing to the world that he belongs to someone. The one he chose to give his name and his life to. And how wonderful is it to see a woman strong and gentle, holding her toddler and carrying the next soon to be born addition to a growing family? You've seen them. The young family at the park or the grocery store. Makes you smile doesn't it? It makes me smile too...and a wee bit of jealousy creeps in too, I must admit. That is what I want.
Marriage is a wonderful thing to want. For so long I felt that being in love and getting married was likened unto playing Russian roulette--one never knew if it would be something that would destroy their future and hopes and dreams, or something just to get your blood pumping only to leave you feeling neither here nor there...you're alive, but ARE you? You see the marriages I had as examples were just those sorts of marriages. But why should I write off love and my dreams of being a wife and mother on account of others' failures?
Seems rather preposterous doesn't it? This is the reason for my regained hope in attaining my dreams.
My dreams of an epic life still exist, they are just a little re-organized. Instead of traveling the world with my single friends, and having kick ass dinner parties with my single friends, it looks more like wonderful adventures with my future husband, and parties with other couples and their children. Summer barbecues with families from the neighborhood paired with the musical stylings of crying infants, arguing toddlers, and couples happily married and living their domestic dreams.
I think that is a much more attractive photograph myself. Love, babies, summer, fun...vs. Old maids who are obsessed with their chosen snobbery and the life they call "good" to boost their self worth.
For as long as I can remember I have had a bit of a love affair with the 50s. What do the 50s represent? Think about it...What do you picture?
I Love Lucy (Another story lurks here...I LOVE THAT SHOW! But it shall wait :))
The Cleavers
Potsy and the Fonz
The Honeymooners
Poodle Skirts, saddle shoes, and chevy's?
How about mom making a fantastic dinner and having it hot and ready for her loving husband when he arrives home from work. In those TV shows of yesterday the wife was always willing and ready to please her man. She woke up bright and early and prepared him and the family breakfast, met him at the door with a kiss in the morning, and met him again with a kiss in the evening. She sent him with a nutritious lunch...and maybe slipped in a little naughty note ;)
For some this scene brings a wave of nausea and women's lib antics come racing to mind. But for a lot of women this is what we long for.
I have had my feet firmly planted on both sides of that fence. Demanding fiercely my independence and carving out dreams of a prestigious career. And now I have jumped over the fence to the side of wanting to be the wife in those old time TV shows. Susie...the homemaker.
I have decided to embrace my affinity for baking and cooking and doing laundry and keeping my house tidy. I embrace the fact that I love children, and they love me--they flock to me. :) Wherever I am those little buggers find me, and we make each other smile. Kids are wonderful. Nowadays when my friends tease me and say I am a soccer mom, I don't cringe the way I used to...I get a bit of a smile on my face, and think about what it will be like when I really am a mom.
I'm ready for love.
I'm ready for marriage.
I'm ready to begin my life.
I'M READY!
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