I Surrender

"Success is not measured by what you accomplish, but by the opposition you have encountered, and the courage with which you have maintained the struggle against overwhelming odds." - Orison Swett Marden

This doesn't have much to do with anything.  LOOK AT THOSE LITTLE FLUFFS!! *LOOK AT THEM*

I’ve missed this. I’ve missed this a heck of a lot. Unfortunately, my schedule hasn’t permitted much room for creativity. I’ve been working 2 jobs since July. I work on the weekends at the airport. I thought I’d help us get ahead financially. What happened with that is just one thing after another that demands the extra money. So, I tell myself to calm down, pick up another debt tackling book (I hear Dave Ramsey’s methods have done wonders for people), and try again when I can now that I’m finally starting to find some form of a ‘groove’ in my life.

It’s not the 2 jobs so much as it is a lot of other things in life that manages to drain my soul dry. My commute is long and frustrating. I’m looking at a minimum of 1 hour no matter which method I choose to use traveling to and from work and home. I’ve been sticking to my bike as much as possible because that at least gives me a good amount of exercise during the week and serves as a stress outlet for my work environment. I think the main issue I have with that commute is that it just makes for a really long day. Now that I’m working 4 10’s instead of 8 hour M-F, my days feel even longer. The plus side is that I now have a day off, and I’ve been working 7 straight for months on end.

And I’m tired. So very tired. There’s a lot of factors that contribute to my lethargy. My work stress, my work load, my family, and also the fact that I feel as if I’ve never really had time to process just the events of the beginning of the year. I lost a baby; and I was elated beyond words at the thought of that baby. I moved in with The One, Micheal. Just a couple of months after that Micheal’s son, Kolby, came to stay with us for 9 weeks. And in the middle of that I was planning one killer surprise birthday party bash for Micheal.

Get it?! It was pun themed and karaoke. Two of his favorite things. 

On a side note, I have to give myself bragging rights. I spent months planning that party, putting together favor bags for guests to take home, coming up with ideas, etc. While he has considerably more time at home than me, I still managed to get it all together without him knowing. I am awesome. .  . or he’s just really good at pretending to be surprised. Touché, Sir. Touché.

With Kolby there for the summer, I had my first shot at being a step mom to a tween boy. He’s recently turned 12 and caught in that space between childlike and paving on into adult hood. I found I really suck at it. I’ve done youth support groups, but all of my work with children and teens has been with females. What on earth was I going to do with a boy?! Also, I was certainly the Debbie Downer. Father’s stance: Sure! You can watch tv and play video games while I’m at work. When I’m home, we can play them together until 12 AM in the morning. My Stance: Heck no! What have you done to better yourself or contribute to the greater good?! Go outside and learn something!!!

 I just wish I could have been around to provide some form of mentor or companionship. Heck, I wish I could have afforded to send him to a really cool learning camp during the day. But I can’t; so I was the voice of reason most of the time: well balanced meals, do some chores, I don’t care if you don’t like the look of that vegetable you’ll try it anyway, etc.

And I feel for that kid. His situation sucks. It sucks for everyone, really. I try not to think about it too much because there isn’t anything I can do about it. I can only hope something gives and that I’m doing what’s best for him. I felt like I was far more neurotic with him with us. I had to take far more care to what I wore around the apartment, locking doors while in bedroom, shower, etc. He’s at an age where I need to be cautious with those things. Not that I’m complaining, it’s just that it felt like an impossible adjustment while I was trying to process my loss.

Loss wasn’t my only experience. The other was abandonment. My adopted family decided to sell most of their possessions and buy a house in Hawaii. Of course, the biological son moved with them (the one who hasn’t had a job in decades or paid his way through life) and there wasn’t even a mention of ‘Sorry we’re moving so far’ – like no remorse whatsoever. I suppose I should have expected that, but I was also holding onto some shred of hope that my entire situation with them wasn’t the sham that I thought it was.

Abandonment: that awful feeling of being unloved, unwanted, not good enough. 

They would call me every so often after their move. I was working 7 days a week and they’d make me feel guilty for not reaching me right away and tell me about tiling their backyard. I was riding my bike home one evening, thinking about how I was going to find time to take my car into DEQ and register because I was overdue. I was worried about getting a ticket. I started to take note of the things around me: the smells, the shops, the types of buildings. I realized this was something that wasn’t seen in an affluent neighborhood. My adopted family wouldn’t allow anything like that to be anywhere near where they lived. None of the residents of an affluent neighborhood would. And I realized that tickets are really only given to the poor and I wouldn’t have to worry about my registration being overdue if I had still lived in the same neighborhood as my adopted family. That was when I realized this family wasn’t even on the same planet as me and I needed some space.

So I backed off. I changed my cell phone number and didn’t give it to adopted mother or brother. They kept calling Micheal’s phone. Then their calls increased to where they were calling several times a day. I wound up writing them an email asking them to stop and saying that I needed space to sort out how my relationships will be defined going forward. I give them credit for honoring my request. Yesterday, I received a Christmas card in the mail from adopted mother that was all about family. I had no reaction to it, really.

And there was a span of time where I questioned if I’m doing the right thing. My therapist has been telling me to get out of that situation for years and reiterated that I absolutely am doing the right thing. Before I establish regular contact again, I’m told it’s important for me to determine every single reason I’m angry with adopted mom. And that’s something I’ll need to process on my own, because that family isn’t the type to ever admit error. I have to put myself first here, so it will be a while before I’m ready for a full relationship with them again.

"Some of us think holding on makes us strong, but sometimes it is letting go" - Hermann Hesse

In the work front, I’m trying to get in with a clinic that’s an extension of the large hospital. This clinic is closer to my home and caters to underserved populations. Everything about it aligns with my own moral compass. It just seems like a win/win to me, so I keep trying to get them to take me on. I’ve interviewed several times for different positions. I’m not selected in the end, but they do keep having me back. In the beginning, I asked for honest feedback.  I half joked with them last time that I’d have to resort to subliminal messaging to get them to hire me. I think they thought I was literally joking. No. I wasn’t. I spammed them several times within a week. Part of it was following through with my words and the other part was my own frustration and disappointment that I’d been passed up again. The email itself is fairly amusing. I might post it here.

I was contacted by the clinic again last week. They’ll be having me back for another interview. I’m giving them to next week for word before I commence with spamming once again. The emails consist of some random photo of me and what that says about my character. I figure before this is all over, they will give me a job. Or a restraining order. Either way, I will feel as if my work has paid off.

Back to major life events: moving in with Micheal earlier this year. It was an adjustment to come home to someone else every day. He’s always the calm one while I flitter about worrying of some impending apocalyptic doom that’s entirely made up in my head. We learned some ground rules early on. And between my needing space to process and him wanting my presence when I get home, we’ve found an equilibrium. We’ve found a common ground on most things.  There was a day when I felt hungry before I jumped on my bike. As I neared the end of my 15 mile trek home from work I thought I could devour an entire village. We had pizza the night before, so I knew it was waiting for me.

1 slice. There was one damn slice of pizza.

That’s when Micheal learned that I require 2 slices or none at all. Of course, had I not been so hungry I don’t think I would have cared at all. And I laugh about it every time I tell that story because I was still hormonal due to HCG taking a million years to leave my system, under slept and dressed out.

I think what’s important is that we can laugh at ourselves at the end. There are days when I’m temperamental and there are days when he is. We can always come back to one another. That’s a habit we haven’t had to put much work into, and I think that’s because we both wasted too long not being together. There are times when I look at him still and think I’m dreaming; somehow this isn’t my reality. Just last night I thought to myself, “This must be what surrender feels like: perfect and genuine trust.” And when I had that thought, I realized I haven’t genuinely trusted a single person in a very long time. I guess that has to do with my own guards: waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the other person to turn on me, trying to outdraw someone and shoot first. Micheal sees the best in everyone and I see some of his behavior has rubbed off on me. And he deals with the aging and grump basset hound like a pro. He has my heart. I surrender.

There have been so many ups and downs this year that I can’t recall now because I’m too far removed. The gist of most of that is that my work environment is fairly toxic and I’ve found beauty in the smallest of things. Those are the things that help me push forward to another day to face the madness again.

The biggest event of this year was our engagement. I confess, he caught me by surprise and I didn’t see it coming. I had actually set this outing in motion. It just so happened that no one else could come with us with the exception of David and Mary (Micheal’s brother and brother’s fiancé). I’ve always loved the festive lights this time of year. That was probably my favorite part about Christmas when I was a little girl. Several years ago Micheal took me to Peacock Lane. This year he took me to Festival of Lights at The Grotto. It was raining, so he bought me an umbrella on the way. I had wanted to go for some time. In hindsight, he looked at me differently. As I went on and on about the lights, the music, how lovely it all was, he looked on at me and smiled.

Before leaving the lights, we were to stop for a picture together. He asked me to pick a spot. I chose the Christmas tree, which I thought would be perfect for holiday cards. We smiled for the camera while his brother and brother’s fiancé took photos. He then turned to me and said ‘that’s not all’ as he pulled out a small box. True to my character, I was overcome with emotion. I didn’t say yes or no right away. Instead I said, “Are you going to make me vomit?! I’m going to vomit” dozens of times. Of course, the answer was a big fat yes.

Look at that expression! It's genuine joy. As a friend said, "I can't tell if he's just proposed or given you a puppy". 

Since he had planned this out, we were fortunate to have photos. We went through them when we got home. In the first photo taken of us, he’s holding the ring behind my back. I was still clueless when that photo was taken. Everything about that night was perfect, right down to him calming me before we left when I got home right after work because I thought I’d make everyone have to wait on us. The ring is a testament to how much this guy understands me, because I know no one else could have possibly picked out something I love this much.

Just a week or two prior to this, I had finally finished a gift I’d been working on for Micheal. It took me the course of several months. Whether or not he remembers, he gave me the idea. It’s  a soundtrack of our love story, complete with break up songs since this is our third time at this. I picked out songs that told our story from my perspective, tweaking it until I had everything arranged to have the right blow. It wasn’t just the song or the lyrics, but also which version I thought was best. And then I fought with the dang thing even more when I couldn’t figure out how to actually get it onto CD because of some dumb error message I kept getting from the computer I was using. I gave him the files, he burned them onto discs, and then I made them pretty with things I had purchased on Amazon specifically for this gift. We joke that if we have a wedding we’ll make everyone listen to our soundtrack.

As the year comes to an end, I can look back with nothing but gratitude. Gratitude for the blessings and the hardships that resulted in my own growth. Gratitude for the tough decisions I had to make and the learning I still have yet to do. Gratitude for this wonderful human being that has come back into my life for good, one who has shown a patience and tenderness that has not been granted to me for many years. As he’s told me over and over again, he’s got me; he has my back. Indeed you do, Sir. I surrender. 

The Grotto was originally simply a refuge of peace to me. Now it has taken on another meaning. 

“I didn’t fall in love with you. I walked into love with you, with my eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way. I do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things we’d choose anyway. And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.” – Kiersten White, The Chaos of Stars

Conventions and Conciousness

"All boundaries are conventions, waiting to be transcended. One may transcend any convention, if one can first conceive of doing so. . . . .My life extends far beyond the limits of me.  - Cloud Atlas

A basic law of the universe is that energy cannot be created nor destroyed, it can only change form. The same law applies to our consciousness.

I’ve finally picked up Women Who Run With the Wolves the past couple of days and continued to read it. The author mentions a Japanese philosopher, Shotoku Taishi, who lived at the turn of the 6^th century. Among other things, he taught that one must do psychic work in both the inner and outer worlds; even more so, he taught tolerance for every creature, human, and emotion. Imagine that? She goes on to say, “Even raw and messy emotions are a form of light, crackling, bursting with energy.”

This makes more sense to me than anything I've heard up until now. 

This particular topic resonated with me this morning, mostly because I still feel an intense form of rage. It’s one of those unpleasant and taboo emotions that we’re often told we can’t feel. “Just get over it” is something I’ve heard more times than I care to count. PTSD doesn’t work that way. I sincerely wish I could just get over it and let it go, but that’s not really addressing the issue, is it?

I had an interesting conversation with the bartender at a wine bar recently. He suggested several books which I feel like I have to get immediately . . . but then I remember I’m still working through my beloved journey with the wolves and have a couple of Dean Radin’s works that I’ve set aside as well. One of the names he mentioned (I think it may have been a philosopher and not an author) was this: from birth, we spend the rest of our lives trying to heal ourselves. Why is that? My best guess is that we spend more time suppressing feelings (particularly the ‘bad’ ones) rather than expressing them, or finding an outlet to expel those emotions.

I think it's the permission part that I struggle with. It's a common theme with me, isn't it? 

So I’m feeling an intense rage right now. I can acknowledge that. Nothing spells out ‘rage’ more than a flurry of messages sent online that are rampant with grammatical errors. This was an exchange that took place between the friend from tango and I, because I’m still trying to wrap my head around why he’d badger me into admitting something I didn’t want to share. Perhaps I need to stop asking ‘why’ and simply accept that we’re all human and flawed to some degree.

Perhaps the Irish Lass needs to remind herself of this more often.

It’s not only the PTSD relapse, but other things taking place in my life that have compounded my current anger. I’m angry at a few people in my life at the moment.

My office environment feels toxic to me now. I sincerely don’t want to come into work (but I don’t really have a choice, do I?) because I don’t want to be subjected to such an insidious personality (DF) and a manager who sticks his head in the sand. For the record, I like him very much as a person. He’s just poor management material. It took me taking a sick day because I was simply not functional and sending him an e-mail again explaining the toxicity of my interactions with DF, my PTSD was triggered and that I had called the union to mediate a meeting for him to pay attention. Still, this was something he didn’t handle himself. He finally had our HR person handle the situation after over a year of complaints not only from me, but from others in the office, regarding DF's behavior. I’m furious that it had to come to this before anything was done about the atmosphere of the office in which I work 5 days a week. I'm sure only a few words spoken to her by someone of authority (because she appeared to take my own concerns with a grain of salt) would have remedied the situation fairly quickly. I currently spend most of my life at work and it’s the last place on earth I should be triggered because someone else needs to scream about her victimization. I’m tempted to include an excerpt from her ranting, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I’ll just say that it surmounts to a 12 page diatribe of someone in a victim contest crying wolf. That’s the best description I can give.

I don't like using this expression. It's an insult to the wolves. 

I have one friendship that I wasn’t sure about and when I spent a weekend with this friend after not seeing her for a couple of months, I ultimately decided that her presence in my life is not beneficial to me. I’ve grown tired of friendships that are clearly one sided and I was mentally exhausted by the end of the weekend. Part of that was due to me having to pay for 85% of everything that weekend and she knows full well that I’m struggling and, unlike her, I don’t live rent free with my parents who pay my bills. The other part was a consistent domination of conversation: if I brought up a topic she’d quickly interrupt me and rattle on and on and on; and the conversation would quickly turn to something that she was angry about: mostly people. If she didn’t talk over me to express anger over something, it was to tell me something along the lines of her speaking several languages or that she’s a descendant of the Romanovs. The last portion is her need to make herself seem so important to others . . . and also her love of drinking. This is not a person I care to have in my life. I’m trying to figure out a way to phase her out. While the mature thing is to have a conversation with her, I’m simply done with exerting energy of any form into this friendship and I’m done with explaining myself.

I no longer have the patience for this.

Another friendship began with an agreement to support one another through the difficult times. I had done my best to prop him up, particularly when my life was in a state of chaos. When he asked how I was doing and I honestly told him, he all but vanished from my life. It’s the feeling of abandonment that upsets me; it’s also the feeling of being used.

A good friend who has known me for many years, particularly through one of the harder times in my life as a young teenager, said something in one of our online exchanges that resonated with me. She said I was so used to having to take so much garbage from everyone else (because I had no choice in the matter) that I feel guilty when I ask, “What’s left for me?” I consider this friend to be a kindred spirit. In fact, as I define soul mates in a way that differs from the general consensus, I’d say she’s one of my soul mates. I think her observation was spot on. I feel undeserving most of the time which is probably why the slightest form of kindness almost always brings me to tears.

I think what's left for me is nature and the hound.

I made a promise to myself that this year would be better. I’m cutting off as much dead weight as I can. I’m still trying to find a new position. I’m still submitting applications and am now seriously considering looking outside of this organization. It’s a pity when I think about it, because all of this work-related nonsense was preventable. I’m cutting off ties with friends who use me for whatever resources they can take.

My energy is better spent making room for more genuine things in my life.

While I can’t cut off my emotions, I’m trying to find the best way to channel them. I don’t know if my best plan of attack right now is to dig deeper and see what other unresolved aspects of my life experience are surfacing on some subconscious level, or simply acknowledging that the anger is a real thing right now. 

I still have yet to find the 'hardest' thing in life. Unfortunately, I tend to take a match to things. 

Cracking

“You may think you know someone very well. But there’ll always be parts you can’t see. Sometimes she’ll look weak, but she is hiding her strength. Sometimes she’ll seem strong . . . and yet she is so fragile on the inside.” Kiro Yumi, Library Wars

I have had so very many stress factors lately, and most of them I can do something about – just not right this second; but I’m close and that’s a comforting feeling. In all aspects of my life, I make every attempt to be strong – to hold it in because I don’t want someone to know just how much their word or actions have hurt me. I’d say this has worked quite well for me overall – and then there are people who manage to see right through me. One of these is the beautiful gal who has been teaching me to dance tango.

She is extremely intuitive and I often feel like even though the rest of the world looks at me and thinks I’m fine, she often sees through that façade. It’s funny how the slightest form of kindness can make someone fall apart. She looked at me Friday and asked if I was okay. In that moment, I felt as if I were a shattered piece of glass that was about to crumble. I couldn’t muster an answer and then she asked if we could talk later. I spent at least the next hour or so hiding underneath my sweater at a milonga because I didn’t want anyone else to see that I was falling apart at the seams. I hate to seem that vulnerable and these little meltdowns sometimes take place at the most inopportune times. When she did find me and she let me tell her all about what was troubling me, I came away from that feeling as though I had just spoken with the all-knowing Creator of the Universe. I can only hope I have that much wisdom and comfort to offer a fellow human being someday.

I’ve been trying to piece myself together that last few weeks. It’s proven to be more difficult than I thought because things keep happening and I simply shove them down so I can keep on going. Additionally, I’m the friend and co-worker that most people turn to for comfort when something is troubling them. I don’t mind this – I really don’t. Despite how drained I feel, I’d still drop everything to offer emotional support to someone I care for. The only issue here is that I’m forgetting to care for myself. As the months have passed, trauma has been stacked upon trauma and I feel as if a small piece of my foundation has been chipped away every time I offer a helping hand to someone else. I hate that feeling – because it makes me feel powerless to help myself and those that matter to me.

Return to your roots. Dance with nature. Run with the wolves.

“Behind me the branches of a wasted and sterile existence are cracking.” – Gustave Mahler

So I manage the best I can for now – and that’s all I can ask of myself. I have to remember to practice patience when it comes to me and that it’s okay if I miss that one phone call from a friend who needed to talk or wasn’t emotionally available for another. I just keep reminding myself that I am so very close to where I need to be in life and that I will feel much better when that all falls into place. It’s gradually coming together, piece by piece.

Among my frustrations, is the seemingly unending barrage of men who want to pretend to be a friend to me and I find out soon enough that what they want from me is far more than friendship. It really irks me that no one really says what they mean anymore. “Hey Ava, I want to be your friend. I want to be supportive of you.” Translation: “I don’t really care about your feelings and am really interested in getting in your pants because I see you as a sad, easy, vulnerable target. I couldn’t possibly get the attention of a woman if she weren’t in a state similar to yours.”

Seriously, I’m enraged. I want to throw punches at these douchebags more often than not. Most recently, a ‘friend’ asked me about taking private lessons with him. It sounded like honest fun – until he began to say things about holding me on the dance floor and sending me texts asking me to let him in so he can comfort me. Oh HELL NO!! I’ve never been particularly great at handling these situations, which is why I’m grateful a friend who has turned into a bit of a mentor to me stepped in, told me she’d handle it, and sent several texts to this guy on my behalf. Mostly, I think he got the hint. Not entirely, but mostly.

Overbearing bloodsuckers . . . Just stay away and I won't start pulling out my pepper spray.

As another friend pointed out to me, I may as well throw myself into a shark tank – because the unsavory people of the world can sense when someone is their weakest, and this attracts the worst kind of individuals. This is the main reason I’m on a very long dating hiatus. I’m not interested in physical or emotional intimacy. I don’t want the attention. I don’t want the drama. I just want to tango. That’s all I’m willing to give for a while. I need my main focus to be on me, the hound, and what the next few years are going to look like for the two of us. 

I know there's a quote somewhere that states cracks are what let the light through - I can live with the cracks. 

We're content. He's all of the happiness I need. 

(dis) ability

“Part of the problem with the word ‘disabilities’ is that it immediately suggests an inability to see or hear or walk or do other things that many of us take for granted. But what of people who can’t feel? Or talk about their feelings? Or manage their feelings in constructive ways? What of people who aren’t able to form close and strong relationships? And people who cannot find fulfillment in their lives, or those who have lost hope, who live in disappointment and bitterness and find in life no joy, no love? These, it seems to me, are the real disabilities.”  - Fred Rodgers

Those that are close to me know that I have worked long and hard for many years to overcome a very traumatic past. This doesn’t mean that I’m still not affected. I have relapses from time to time, usually triggered by a combinations of stressful events that occur simultaneously and are  a little too much for me to process at one given time, or a trauma has repeated itself. For women with abusive pasts in particular, this is not uncommon. We find ourselves repeating the same patterns over and over again – regardless of how educated and self-aware we are that this happens. We think it will be different this time around; the ending is the same.

I've given considerable time to reflect on these instances in my life. The end result is almost always the same every single time - I refuse to admit it's happening and then I'm ashamed to admit that it's happened. I'm taking a very long break from dating for now. 

I don’t share my story with many, mostly because it’s literally one sob story after another. I choose not to dwell in the past, but strive to move past it. From my experience, most people attempt to understand and don’t treat me like a fragile piece of porcelain that will fall to pieces at the slightest crack.

As I’ve documented my experience with tango, it’s been no secret that I often come across women who seem to hate me for no reason whatsoever. I also come across women who love and accept me as I am – they do not require explanations, but offer an understanding that I am rarely granted from my gender. I am grateful to these women because they understand the concept of sisterhood.

We are there for one another. While sometimes envious of another’s beauty, we are genuinely happy for her, her talents, and the light she gives to the world. I sincerely wish I could say all of my female sisters shared this mentality. Sadly, they do not and strive their hardest to rip one another to shreds because they are so unhappy and insecure in their own lives – because this is the only thing that will make this type of woman feel better about herself.

While some have made it crystal clear that they despise me, I pity them. What a sad way to live life.

The woman on the left: I've lost count of how many times I've seen that look directed towards me. It's easy to hate ourselves and emanate those feelings on our fellow females. Learn to love yourself instead. Life is too short for that kind of pettiness.

“I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain.” – James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time

Valen Tango 2014 has consumed the last several days of most tango enthusiasts. While I had sincerely hoped that this was something I could have participated in fully, I knew I could not because I had promised friends I would care for their very energetic dog over the weekend.

I attended opening night of Valen Tango. Before I go further, I would like to explain what a PTSD relapse is for those who may not know. The most basic, reptilian brain takes over – regardless of what my higher thinking, prefrontal cortex says. I am driven by instinct, which is mostly fear – because my early life taught me to fear.

I walked into the doors of the opening milonga. The door shutting behind me startled me. The two women at the desk thought this was hilarious. I’ve always been embarrassed by my over reactive startle response, particularly when it is PTSD induced. While the woman laughed, I tried to brush it off, mumbling something about being pathetic. She replied thusly, “Yes you are!” and laughed even louder.

I attempted to hold my true feelings in. I said, “Actually, it’s a side effect of PTSD. Thank you.” I should point out that this was not a polite ‘thank you’. The other (younger) woman chirped in, “Was this before or after the door?” Both had a good laugh at this one. I paid my fee and walked inside, wondering to myself what on earth I had ever done to offend either of these women.

I don't view myself as broken and I sure as hell don't consider myself lesser than just because I react differently than the vast majority of people to certain things. In fact, there was a time in my life when my senses were so high that I knew if someone was standing behind me and I could tell just from their presence if the person was male or female. Depending on the gender, I would sometimes tremble out of fear. I'm not as hyper-vigilant anymore. Overall, I'd say I've come a long way and see the 'symptoms' of PTSD as badges of strength. Not everyone in the world can boast they've survived (and thrived) under circumstances such as mine.

It's far easier to laugh and point fingers rather than took a good hard look at your own reflection and consider what kind of energy you are sending into the world.

I ran into the younger of the duo on Friday at a milonga mixer. I dragged my brother along to tango for the first time. He seemed to enjoy himself and this made me happy. I hope he tries a few more outings with me. When I ran into the younger woman again, without saying a word, she looked at me as if she wanted to slit my throat. I still have no idea what I have done to offend her. Perhaps it was the fact that I had one hell of a time regardless of her looks of disdain.

It’s a pity, really. While I’ve never known her name, I always thought she was a very unique beauty. I no longer see her that way now, but as someone who is plain and insecure in her own sense of being. Someone close to me with whom I confided about this ordeal told me that this is just something I’m going to encounter from time to time, because he thinks I’m lovely, outgoing and almost always smiling. Granted, I'm no raging beauty - but attitude definitely goes a long way.

In the eye of the storm, there is till a constant peaceful form of bliss. This is what I cling to when life feels overbearing. 

What I ultimately hoped to achieve by attending the milonga mixer was the ability to be near my male cohorts without fear. Mission accomplished. I think that was the perfect setting to test my own boundaries and address some of my fears.

I have come across plenty of ladies in tango who I have thought far more beautiful than I. I admire them and I always think, “Good for you.” Good for you that you have smoking hot legs and are confident enough to show them off. Good for you that you have a curvy figure and don’t try to hide it. Good for you that you are outgoing, clearly loving life, and shine a light on others. These are lovely things and no one should try to snuff those out . . . particularly one female to another. I think we need to stick together.

If I could reach out to her in love, I would – however, I’m quite certain this would only result in more insults. I’m working on healing myself and there’s no point in putting myself out there for more abuse.

We should be fighting the patriarchy instead of each other. Just a thought. 

If there was one thing I sincerely wish I could get women who don’t consider themselves to be a mainstream beauty (which is a horrid thing to strive for) is that it comes with a price. Prettiness, particularly at a young age with no one to protect you from the world, comes with a very heavy price – and that is a debt I’m still trying to pay just so I can feel whole again – because I want to trust instead of fear.

On the topic of fear, I am quite certain my most recent relapse can mostly be attributed to one person: the constant distrust he held towards me, the names he called me, the blame he always pushed towards me – and the grandiose life he felt he would live someday that I somehow hindered him from living because I chose to ‘bow to the corporate gods’. I see him in reality now – away from his influence. He was no one special. He attempted to contact me recently. My immediate response was to change my phone number. It’s really a no win situation. Had I engaged him, the conversation would eventually lead to my faults and shortcomings. By not engaging him, I would most likely be called a cold heartless bitch who thinks only of myself. Instead of doing either, I just changed my number. Problem solved. Soon I’ll be moving and he won’t know where to find me, either. That’s a double win, I think. 

"Let no man pull you so low as to hate him." - Martin Luther King, Jr. 

My Heart's Delight

"Without you in my arms, I feel an emptiness in my soul. I find myself searching crowds for your face - I know it's an impossibility, but I cannot help myself." - Nocholas Sparks, Message in a Bottle

My heart hasn't felt so heavy in a very long time. The last month has been consumed with worry, regret, many trips to the vet, and, eventually, an extended stay in the pet hospital. Then she was gone - and a part of me is with her wherever she is right now. 

The last photo I took of my sleeping beauty.

I'm fortunate to have so many people in my life that love me - and if I didn't have them, I would fall into despair; and that's a really hard place to come out of once one falls into that black hole. I'm trying to stay positive and focus on the good things that are occurring in my life.

Several weeks ago, Cassie began moaning as if she were experiencing a great deal of discomfort. It went away for a few days and I thought it may have been some sort of intestinal issue or minor injury from one of our weekly hikes in the woods. She began moaning again and she sounded much worse. It was awful and I didn't know what to do for her. My family insisted that I go to work while they take her to the vet. I wasn't happy with this decision, but they didn't give me much say in the matter. 

There were many trips to the vet with no real progress on bringing Cassie any form of relief from the obvious terrible pain she was experiencing. My initial thought was that her pain medication for arthritis was causing her discomfort. Her health had dwindled so rapidly and that was the only recent change that came to mind. I don't know what conversation took place between my family and the vet, only that she came home with an antibiotic due to a suspected infection in her intestinal tract. It was doing no good and she was obviously still in pain. I decided to take the reigns and asked my boyfriend to take her to the vet because I knew he would treat her exactly as I would and do whatever it took to get to the root of the issue. 

Cuddling up next to Cassie.

For the entire duration of this ordeal, I could barely manage to fight tears. I thought she was dying; I said I thought she was dying. I was told to be optimistic - perhaps there was a light at the end of the tunnel. I tried to think there was hope, but deep down I knew she was slipping away. Death and I have known each other for a very long time. I felt it and now I know why I was so upset when she first showed signs of discomfort. 

She continued to show signs of distress. My boyfriend booked the first available appointment her regular vet had available: the day before Thanksgiving. I left work early that day and was told last minute that my boyfriend wouldn't make it because something had come up on his end and there was nothing but bumper to bumper traffic. I lost it. I yelled - and I am personally grateful that he was not in close proximity to me when I found out he would not be able to deliver my dog to her appointment. 

He made arrangements to take her to a clinic closer to where he lives. Because of traffic, it would take me over an hour to get there. He sent me a text that said it's okay; it would be an hour before they can see her. My response? No. It is NOT okay. I was still in a rage when I finally made it to the clinic. 

The vet said it looked like Cassie had diabetes according to her urine and blood sample. Their x-ray machine broken down, so they charged me $200 for their work and sent us to the hospital up the road who performed the very same tests again and came to the very same conclusion: Cassie had diabetes. What baffled everyone was her sudden weakness and struggle to hold herself up and walk. Initially, this was attributed to diabetes. Cassie would need to stay for a few days to bring her blood sugar levels back to normal. 

The quote for the necessary treatment was a little over $1900. Having spent several hundred dollars on her care already, I certainly didn't have that kind of money. I applied for Care Credit and was granted a credit line of $2400. While all of this was taking place, I was keeping a close friend of mine up updated regarding Cassie's condition, the vet's suspicion, and my application for Care Credit. She sent me a text that said, "Please don't worry about money. We will cover this. We just want you and Cassie to be okay." I didn't know what I could have possibly done in life to deserve friends who treat me so well and I said as much. Her last text to me that evening said, "Good things happen to good people." For what felt like the hundredth time that day, I cried. However, this time it was out of gratitude and relief. 

A close friend, benefactor, and second mother to my two furry babies.

Over the days that followed, I made visits to Cassie as often as I could. I saw her the next evening and was told beforehand that she was responding well to insulin and eating regularly. I was dismayed when they brought her in to see me. She could barely hold herself up. I laid next to her on the floor, holding her in my arms and stroking her fur. I couldn't stop crying. Still, even Cassie tried to reassure me. Every so often she would look up and wag her tail. I would have stayed with her all night if I could, but eventually I had to leave her. 

I received a call from the pet hospital the next day. I was told she had an unknown neurological condition effecting her spine in two separate places. The diagnostics alone (not including any treatment) was $3000. I didn't have anything left on my credit line; the pet hospital used every last cent of it. I was so upset I couldn't hear anything else the vet said to me. I called my boyfriend and asked him to come see me. I didn't want to be alone and I knew I needed to tell my friend and Cassie's benefactor that the outcome did not look promising. Once again, I thought this was the end. Once again, I was told to be optimistic. 

I remember putting my jacket on. It was the same jacket I had worn the night I laid with Cassie on the vet hospital's floor. It was covered in her fur. I started to brush it off and then I started crying and had to stop. I couldn't bring myself to clean it off any more because I felt like it was the last piece of her I had. 

My friend and her husband are two of the most generous and genuinely good people that I know - and people like that are a rare find in life. Their friendship and endless support has seen me through some rough patches in life - and they give me tough love when I need it, too. They told me they would look for a specialist for Cassie and they would cover the expenses. They just needed to get a couple of recommendations. 

My last visit with Cassie at the hospital looked promising. She was chipper and holding herself up. The staff said they wanted to keep her one more night just to be on the safe side because her glucose level wasn't quite where it should be. The boyfriend would pick her up the next day and take her home with him so he could give her the undivided attention she needed and make sure she got her medications on time. I didn't want her to stay for more tests. I didn't want her to be poked or prodded, or stuck in a cage surrounded by unfamiliar people. I just wanted my baby girl home. 

Jail breaking Cassie from the pet hospital. 

She surprised us on her last night. She walked across the room - and before that she had only been able to manage a few steps before collapsing from exhaustion and pain. My boyfriend and I both thought she would pull through. I left that night. I had work the next day and had missed a considerable amount of work already due to unpaid days off for Thanksgiving holiday and my inability to work my weekend jobs because I was just too sad, too exhausted, and too worried. 

It was about 4am when I got a call from my boyfriend. Cassie had a seizure. He was taking her to the hospital. She was not responding as anticipated to the dosage of insulin prescribed by the vet. Cassie left us not long after my boyfriend arrived with her at the hospital. Part of me wishes I had been there to say goodbye - but part of me knows I would have lost it when she breathed her last breath. The thought of it leaves my heart in pieces. I never knew how much love my heart held for her until she was gone. My boyfriend got an imprint of her paw and a lock of her fur to give to me. That's what I have left of her - that and the memories. 

I received a text later that day from my friend with information about the specialist. I just couldn't bring myself to tell her that Cassie was gone and it wasn't until the next day that I sent a note to her husband about what happened and that we were having a small service for her if they wished to attend. 

My boyfriend stayed up late making a coffin for my little girl. He planted tulip bulbs above her grave and a stone was placed to mark where she lays. It was beautiful and dignified - a gathering suiting to my dainty little lady. 

My emotions have ebbed and flowed since we buried her. I spend time at her grave every day. My other dog, Merlin, seems to be just as sad as I am. I pretend to be happy. I pretend to hold myself together - but the facade falls apart the moment I'm alone. I was told that I saved her. The truth is that she saved me. I was in a bad situation and when she came into my life she gave me something worth fighting for - because I didn't value myself enough to get out of the abuse. I wouldn't let her be mistreated and that's why I got out of that nightmare. That's what she did for me. 

"No matter how little money and how few possessions you own, having a dog makes you feel rich."  - Louis Sabin

She also taught me that trauma does heal. Someone had badly abused her and then abandoned her in the neighborhood in which I was living. She was cautious and afraid when she first came into my life. In the end, she was loving and joyful. She came to be so loving and so trusting that the hearts of the staff treating her at the pet hospital are mourning with mine.

I remember when she came into my life. It was spring. She had been sitting near the same tree for several days; someone had left her there and she was patiently waiting for their return. They never came for her. I called to her and she followed me home. She was half starved and uncertain. Her brown eyes stared into mine with trepidation and gratitude. After two bowls of food and several baths she settled in. She was still wary - she would run and hide every time I brought out a broom to sweep the kitchen floor. Over the years, she learned that she didn't have to be afraid of that anymore. 

"A dog is the only creature on earth that loves you more than you love yourself." - Josh Billings

In stark contrast to what was undoubtedly a traumatic past, she emerged as one of the most loving and sweet natured dogs I have ever had the privilege of having in my life. I will miss her endless dog kisses, her excitement over long hikes with her 'pack', the way she pointed every time she spotted a squirrel and her loving, gentle, nature. Mostly, I miss her presence. I'm told eventually I'll remember the good times and I'll start to feel better. I've never forgotten the good times or the funny aspects of her personality, but that doesn't make me feel better right now.

I've set a limit on wallowing in grief before I start forcing myself back out into the world to make myself happy again. And, yes, happiness can be forced; I've succeeded in this numerous times. In times like these, I think it's necessary for survival, particularly when it comes to me. I can't let myself fall into despair because I'm not sure I'll come out of it this time; I just can't wrap my mind around the fact that she's gone. So I'm choosing not to ask myself what I could have done differently or better. I'm just allowing myself to be sad for a while. 

I know she had a good life with me and I know that death is inevitable and unfortunate. I know I did everything I could to save her. Still, none of this has brought me any comfort. In time, I know I can reflect on my life with her and be grateful for the many life lessons I learned through her. Precious little girl: you are missed and you are loved. 

"When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight."  - Khalil Gilbran