Beauty In Imperfections

“If I know what love is, it is because of you.” – Herman Hesse

When we were so much younger.

I’ve been spending a significant amount of time with The One. There have been so many moments with him where I’d think to myself, ‘This is perfect’ that I stopped counting. Simple things like lounging on the couch with our dogs, talking about our future and hopes in life, and sometimes just curled up next to one another in silence. I couldn’t think of a thing in this world that would bring me more happiness than life as it is now.

I never thought I’d be one to believe in things like Fate or Soul Mates or even that a single person could bring so much fulfillment to the life of another. I believe it now.

I’ve been working on something for The One. As I’ve been going back on our old memories – I saw nothing but love and kindness in the photos and words we exchanged. This project has actually been a little difficult, because I frequently find myself on the verge of tears.

 I met The One when I had just moved to Portland and felt like my life was unravelling before my eyes. I moved to this city with a fiancé. We moved in with my relatives. Shortly after arriving I was diagnosed with PTSD. I had no idea what was going on, only that I was not well. My relationship began to fall apart. My fiancé couldn’t understand and my family blamed me for the relationship failing. There were so many elements to that part of my life that were very wrong. I was alone, trying to get help and needed a friend more than anything.

The One was the first person who asked me if I was okay. He was the first person to see that I was very sad underneath the facade of happiness I showed the rest of the world. I was entirely alone in what I was facing emotionally. He was the only one in my corner; he was the only one who cared about my emotional wellbeing. The One was also the first person I opened up to regarding the dynamics of my family and my relationship.

Fast forward several months later, the fiancé broke things off. He finally moved out of the home I shared with my relatives. In his wake, he left a string of lies that painted me in the worst light possible. My relationship with my family has never recovered – if there was ever a relationship to begin with.

The One was still my only friend – and bless the guy for sticking by me when I had nothing but awful relatives to deal with. He accepted me as I was – and that was a form of acceptance I hadn’t experienced in a very long time. We dated and we fell in love.

Before anything else, he showed me compassion.

We were young and had a lot to learn about life, each other, and ourselves. After about 2 years we broke up. We got back together again, and broke up. We’re back for round 3. I think we’re ready this time. At least I can say that I am this time.

The One told me that it feels different this time around; he doesn’t feel any resistance from me this time. He’s right. It’s not that I never wanted to be open with him – it’s just that I didn’t know how to love a person in that way. That was something I had to learn on my own by forcing myself to look inward and begin to deal with the past that I had shoved down as far as I could for too long. I had to face that ugliness myself. It was difficult. It was lonely. There was times I thought it wasn’t worth it – but in hindsight I know it’s made me better for it.

I learned to be vulnerable in front of another person. I learned to communicate. There was a night when I was out with The One. I was triggered by someone. I then had to lean over to The One and explain to him what was taking place, because I had no idea how it would manifest itself. As we were walking to the car, I explained the thought process that takes place in my mind: a grappling with fear, anger towards the person who caused me fear even though it was no fault of his, and a multitude of other thoughts that cause me to question my own character. Mostly, I felt fragile and broken.

There was something about the way The One touched me that night that reclaimed that cracked part of my psyche. He drifted off to sleep and I sobbed tears of gratitude knowing that my journey of fear and self-doubt is nearing an end. He holds up a mirror and encourages me to see myself as I really am – and he has a pretty high opinion of me.

Over the last year or so I think I nearly gave up on having the life I had hoped for. I didn’t think I’d have children, I didn’t think I’d have someone with whom to share life – yet now that we’re giving it another shot, I know these are things I wouldn’t want to do with anyone else.

Over the last year or so I’d not only given up, but told myself that happiness wasn’t in the cards for me because I was too broken and flawed. A good friend shared some profound words of kindness I’d like to share, “You are far from broken, you are the strongest gal I know. I look at you like the Japanese people look at a broken ceramic bowl. Rather than trying to hide the flaws in the broken ceramics, they would highlight them in gold, baring the cracks and scars and adopting them as part of the ceramic . . . To me, you are far from broken; it’s the broken part of you that I see strength. There is perfection and imperfection. And that, my friend, is why in a depressing work that was pain and hurt there was you.”

I've actually never seen one of these before I read her words . . .. It's beautiful. Thank you for that image, Friend.

I’ve always thought that scars are intriguing. I have to remind myself that my own scars are just as fascinating. And when I forget, I have friends who offer kind words and The One who tells me things like, ‘You’re not awful. You’re honest.’And it's not through his words, but his essence as a human being that makes me want to be a better person.

I feel small and meek at times. He shows me that I'm fierce and strong. 

I’m really looking forward to the New Year.

“Love takes off makes that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.” – James Baldwin

Burning Bridges

“It don’t matter which way you go

When you’re callin’ the highway your home

When every old town’s just the past burning down

It don’t matter which way you go.”

Waylon Jennigs, Reno and Me

This is a story. A story of burning bridges, allowing time to pass – settling it aflame and watching it burn again.

Something happened in my life recently that caused me to look back to my more recent past. I’ve felt miserable since it happened – miserable since he tried to walk back into my life. I knew it wasn’t a good time for me to be alone, so I picked up my journal and walked to the pub near my house.

While I waited for my order, I opened my journal. I intended to get back into the habit of expressing gratitude. Instead I found myself flipping through the pages, wondering what had happened to the gal that had written those words just over two years ago. I was stressed, but I was hopeful. I was happy. I was in l in love and I expressed love to so many. I had my heart broken and saw it mended again. I don’t recognize her, the person that penned those words of love, hope and happiness, but I want to be her. She radiates a life perspective that I miss very much.

She felt connected to everything. She heard the heartbeat of the Universe. I'll find you again, Cherished Version of Myself.

I had to ask myself how I got to where I am now. I have been accused of not being entirely transparent (notably by anonymous strangers), of painting myself in the best possible light while throwing someone else under the bus. I see that as an untrue accusation. I’m about to tell the story of what is arguably my greatest shame in life.

Several years ago I met a man. He was mysterious and intriguing. He was intelligent and witty. He brought a sense of excitement to my life on many levels. We had an intense attraction to one another. It boiled down to the most savage sense of carnality; we existed in our own orbit, drawn to each other in a very visceral sense. On another level, we connected intellectually.

I’ve only called him Spaniard. That’s right, Fucking Spaniard. He had a knack for picking up the pieces in my life when I could not.

Then I learned about Her. Not just Her, but others as well. I was oblivious. I had even been in his house and didn’t think for once that there was another woman in his life. I blindly believed what he told me and easily explained away things that should have been regarded with suspicion. The words regarding his own personal life were often few, and that should have sent me packing. I know better now, but I didn’t then. He wasn’t married to Her, but I’m sure he was a key figure in Her life and I’m certain She didn’t know about me.

When I knew his secret I cut him out of my life. 

Fate must have cursed me when our paths crossed again. I found myself a willing participant in older patterns of behavior. Our connection had only intensified by the time we spent apart.

We immersed ourselves in our formed religion of acts of worship for the other.

So, there I was, carrying on with a man that I knew was spoken for. We carried on for a couple of months. I was acting against my own moral compass, causing a growing dissonance between what was at the center of my core and what I was doing. It was literally tearing me apart from the inside out. 

I turned to a poor coping mechanism I relied on after I found myself in the wake of an assault. I'm not sure if it was coping or self harm, but I tried to drink myself into oblivion once again.

The war I was waging on myself escalated. It came to a peak when I woke up one night in a detox center. I had no idea how I’d gotten there. I was afraid. I was shamed. A woman next to me was coming down from her cocaine high. I don’t belong here. All I could think about was Merlin and that I needed to be home with him. He needed me to be there. An officer pulled me aside to talk to me. He told me to be comforted by the fact that I hadn’t hurt anyone and I was unlike the ‘regulars’ he saw come in and out of there. He said this was my wakeup call. I’d made a bad decision.

I had to take a time out. I had to force myself to look inward and face my actions. I was knowingly causing potential harm to a person I didn’t even know. I was the other woman. I was the one destroying someone else’s life solely for my own selfish wants and desires. Spaniard had to go.

I'm not proud of the role I played in this.

I eventually realized he was a danger to me. I don’t say a danger to everyone, because I can’t speak for them. I can speak for his personality type and mine. He has an ability to compartmentalize his life and it scares me. He had me, he had Her, he had others. These were separate lives to him. Perhaps it scares me because I’ve never met anyone with that ability. Maybe it scares me for good reason. I don’t know the answer right now.

Working as a trainer for FBI hostage negotiators, Spaniard has some very potent psychological tools. For his line of work, that’s an asset. For me, that’s toxic. I fail to compartmentalize my own life and I have no basis in tactics of manipulation or psychological warfare. My involvement with him would only lead to my own self destruction – possibly slitting my wrists and bleeding out. He told me that we were linked and would not be severed. For my own survival, he and I could not coexist.

It would only lead to destruction - and it would be mine. Possibly Hers, too.

I pray that She would never now about me. I pray She never knows about the others because I imagine that would be devastating. I don’t know if I could live with myself if She knew that I didn’t consider how my actions would affect Her because I didn’t care. I was only after what made me feel happy.

Then I sent an e-mail to Spaniard. I knew a face to face conversation with him would result in his continued presence in my life to some capacity. I typed out as compassionately as I could that he could simply not be a part of my life – and this was for my own emotional wellbeing. I tried to explain that we simply couldn’t be. His response was that until I could accept unconditional love I was to never contact him again.

Done.

Time passed. I moved to another part of the city. I never contacted him again. It had been a little over a year when he sent me an e-mail. I blocked his e-mail. A month later he sent me a text. I changed my number. Yesterday, he called me at work. At. Work. I listened in shocked silence. I asked him how he found my number. He told me he simply called and asked for me. I told him I couldn’t talk. I was working. He asked if I still had his number. I lied and said I did. He told me to use it sometime and then I hung up the phone.

This is one representation of part of the internal commotion taking place in my psyche.

I’ve thought for some time that if he wanted to find me he would. I hope my assumption is wrong. After Spaniard sent the e-mail, I thought I saw him at the pub near my house when I was out with my brother. I must have looked terrified. My brother noticed me watching the man across the room, visibly worried. I couldn’t see his face, he had his back turned to me, but he had the same physique, he wore similar clothes, his voice sounded familiar. I had to explain. I had to tell my brother about my actions of selfish stupidity. There have been no Spaniard sightings since then.

So, he found me at work. I’d never give him that number. Hell, I’d even moved on to another department since I last saw Spaniard. The bastard called me from a blocked number. I felt myself hit with a wave of emotions I’m still struggling to identify. Offhand, I’d say I feel fear, anger, and shame. The only thing I’m certain of is that he can’t be in my life. He just can’t.

I did the only thing I could think of, which was to call our safety department at work. I explained my situation. The woman who listened was understanding and empathetic. She recommended that I remove all traces of myself online, starting with LinkedIn. I invested my time in that wretched profile so potential employers would hire me. I’m not ready to give it up yet.

My employer has flagged me in our system. No one can look me up in our online database. While administration has my information, an alert pops up to not give any of my information. It’s as if I don’t exist where I work. I’ve turned his name over to our safety department. If Spaniard tries to use his ties with law enforcement he won’t get anywhere.

And that’s my story of burning bridges. That’s my story of paying for my sins on Earth. During my lowest point, when I woke up in a detox center next to people coming down off of some pretty hardcore stuff – I feel as if a part of me died that night and I’ve failed to resurrect it.

I have no secrets now. I’ll work on finding the person I lost during my lowest point in my recent adult life. Maybe I’ll dance in the ashes after I’ve watched it all burn down. 

Rejection

“Life is a succession of lessons, which must be lived to be understood.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

I’ve been crying myself to sleep for weeks now and have only just begun to question why. In fact, I was only able to admit yesterday that I’m sad. Now that I’ve been reflecting on it, it’s not surprising because I’ve invested so little in my own emotional well-being; and I’m not the only one that knows that, my closest friends recognize my tendency to always put others first. I had to ask myself a multitude of questions yesterday, each one almost always leading to another before I found the root of the issue: rejection.

One of the definitions for rejection is ‘to discard as useless or unsatisfactory’. That has always been my personal view of self when I experience rejection. Reflecting over this last year, I’ve experienced a good deal of rejection; and now it makes sense to me that I could only sum up this past year as difficult and am happy to see it go.

I have an on and off again rejective relationship with my adoptive mother – one who is constantly pushing and pulling. I’m fine with the pushing, not so much the pulling; because I know that her current state of kindness towards me is flippant and fleeting and I know it’s only a matter of time before she tries to wound me again. Also the rejection I feel over her blatant favoritism.

I felt consistently rejected during my stint with online dating and generally frustrated when I continually met awful people. Of the handful of dates that did go well (or at least I thought they did), I either never heard from them again, or there would be several more dates followed by him distancing himself from me.  The rejection hurt and the frustration of someone unwilling to tell me they’re no longer interested rather than forcing me to ask instead of wondering what went wrong made me want to hurl things at times. For the record, I never threw anything – but it probably would have been very cathartic . . . .  Perhaps I should start throwing things.

Pillows in my apartment and rocks in nature beware! Your days are numbered.

I felt rejected recently when the position I was gunning for went to the other candidate. Once again I felt useless and unsatisfactory. A person in another division suggested I apply and I put so much effort into doing my research on the higher ups in the division and mentally preparing myself for interviews. The processed involved several and I nailed every single one. What it boiled down to in the end is that the other person had more experience than me.

There is a consistent feeling of rejection when the manager plays favorites in the office. The latter form of rejection just angers me, so I’m struggling to ignore it entirely. My guess is that I’m only struggling with ignoring it because it’s consistently shoved in my face. Every. Single. Workday.

This seems oddly fitting: Turn away green fish with your different social background, ideals and outlook!

My most recent rejection hurt the most. I’m still processing the emotions, and there are many. I spent too much time with a friend and had far too many communicative interactions when he wasn’t physically with me. I began to love him and knew it just wouldn’t be. Unfortunately, there’s just no ‘off’ button for these sorts of things, at least as far as I know. I knew he was emotionally vulnerable and dealing with his own form of pain and I never took advantage of his trust or that situation. I never made a move and didn’t reveal my feelings until he badgered me into speaking the words that had been on my heart. I didn't expect him to love me back and I knew he wouldn't. Of course I was rejected and I knew I would be which is why I never wanted him to know. I felt both cornered and vulnerable during our discussion; I loathe those feelings.

Now I don’t want anything to do with him. I don’t know if that’s the hurt of rejection speaking right now or that deep down I know any connection with him will only lead to major damage to my own emotional well-being. It could even be that I don't want him to see because I may very well burst into tears the moment I see his face or that it's highly likely things will never just go back to the way they were. All I know now is that I feel hurt in a very visceral way. It’s been pulsing through my veins ever since we had that conversation. It is very unpleasant and I do not like it. Granted, I was hurting long before that, but was in major denial and this experience has amplified the painful feelings.

I kept my feelings to myself because I didn't want to lose the friendship. That now seems like a pointless endeavor.

“I know love is a fading thing just as fickle as a feather in a stream. See, honey, I saw love. You see it came to me. It put its face up to my face so I could see. Yeah then I saw love disfigure me into something I am not recognizing.” – Phosphorescent, Song for Zula

It is a rare person in this world that can get me to open up to them entirely and it is even rarer for me to genuinely love another romantically. I didn’t know what hit me when I felt it for the first time at the age of 28. Everything up until then was suddenly child’s play. Reflecting on those two encounters with a deep form of love in my life, it’s fairly obvious to me that I’m attracted to the broken. I don’t know if it starts out by my desire to help someone through a tough time in life due to my compassionate nature or if there’s something psychologically deeper than what I see on the surface of which I need to find the root cause and work through it.

My mantra for the new year: I will not love broken things. Unless it's the hound; he deserves all the love in the world.

For me, experiencing any emotion on a deep level is usually comparable to stirring a pot of stew where the ingredients surface that were previously hidden below. My past experiences come to surface and the emotions attached to those experiences come to surface as well. I feel the rejection of abandonment by a caregiver’s words and deeds, or those taken by death. I feel the emotional rejection that I experienced by many caregivers growing up. I know deep down there’s a little girl in there somewhere who wants nothing more than to be loved and accepted. For a period of time in my life I was so desperate for those things that I didn’t care what my source was – even if the person was abusive, even if I only used some form of self-medicating just so I didn’t have to feel the emptiness.

There is no quick fix. In the words of Rumi (paraphrased): Experience the pain to find the remedy

Once again I’m crossing the face of the mountain I’m climbing in my attempt to work through these issues. For the last few days, I’ve been letting myself feel, regardless of how unpleasant those feelings are. Consequently, I’m crying much more when I’m alone.  I have become so accustomed to shoving my emotions down and showing the world at least a calm face if not a smile that I just don’t know how to stop. I keep trying, yet I keep finding myself pushing those feelings as far down as I can because I don’t want anyone to know how badly they’ve wounded me, how disappointed I am, or how much I’m hurting in general.

I’ve never been one for New Year’s resolutions. This year will be different. I’m making a few commitments to myself this time around. 2015 will begin with rejection. I am rejecting the entire year of 2014 and probably finding some ceremonious way to say goodbye to it and all of the events that took place within the course of this year. I’ll be giving myself some emotional space to allow myself to process the things that I keep shoving back in the recesses of my psyche. That will probably entail more crying and possibly hurling objects about. So be it. Here's to better days ahead.  

This will be another mantra.

Heavy

“Though I live, yet am I not, since my sweet hazel-nut has fallen’ since my dear love departed, bare and empty is the dark world.” – Muireadhach Albanach, Irish Bardic Poetry

Sometimes grief is so heavy that it's hard to even breathe

After the death of a loved one, we no longer walk the same earth as everyone else. Part of us lingers at the frontier of death’s domain, looking into its unknown distance for signs that the soul is safely over, or for comforting messages that will assure us that we are not really, finally alone.

The sudden loss of someone vital to our life’s story means that our own story may be whirled out of context into total disorientation or petrified into a stasis wherein time no longer runs at the same speed as it does for others. Since every daily action, every piece of forward planning, necessitates the painful realization of how different life will be from now on, how lonely, how impossible, time and our progress through it alter our perceptions completely. Personally, I feel as if my perception has never been the same.

The world felt big, empty and dark for far too long.

Have I mentioned how much I love my job? I do very much and my favorite part is the few friendships I’ve made with folks who are healing from such an intense ordeal. A patient shared something written by his son that described knowing, but not wanting to acknowledge that his world would never be the same again. This part really hit me, “There, I felt that dark, dark little weight. It was in the corner of your heart, where what you find distasteful, what you hate, goes. I pushed it away, didn’t want to feel that weight, didn’t want there to be anything wrong.” On a brief side note, those words were written by a young teenaged boy. If you’re not amazed you should be.

I kept turning that passage over in my mind, struck by how he managed to capture that heavy sense of dread one feels with the loss of someone so integral to your own existence. I remember how I felt when I found my father dead. Even as a girl so young, I knew that something was wrong, something was about to turn my entire perfect world upside down and I was very upset. After beating the walls in an attempt to wake him I fell to the ground in an exhausted slump, crying. I felt so heavy. I felt that weight. I remember when I was told he was gone and I still couldn’t quite grasp the finality that he would no longer be there to sing to me, to hold me, to tell me everything would be okay.

I reacted similarly at his funeral. I just couldn't let him go.

As I was remembering these events in my life, I was walking with the hound through a cemetery near my apartment. It’s a beautiful place. I felt myself tear up. This time it wasn’t so much of a longing for my father, but a sadness I felt for that little girl who knew she would never experience that kind of unconditional love again – the little girl who was left alone in the world. I was grieving her experience.

I wish I could tell her that it will be okay. 

I noticed people around and quickly told myself to push those feelings down and bury them. I’m now slightly chiding myself for that. I was in a cemetery; people grieve there. Even if I wasn’t in a cemetery and needed to ball my eyes out, so be it. I don’t care if the world looks at me as if I’m a madwoman. I can’t live my life burying feelings forever.

As we continued walking a dog ran up to me that had a striking resemblance to Cassie. This made my eyes tear up again. She’s been on my mind lately. Such a sweet, beautiful little being that came into my life and changed it forever.

One of life's greatest gifts: My sweet little girl who never posed for the camera.

I keep reminding myself to stay in this present moment, reflecting gratefully on who is in my life here and now. The love of my life is a basset hound and I get the best greetings when I get home every day. I have friendships that I value and am learning to cut out what is emotionally and psychically damaging to me. I am close to my brother and know he’s always in my corner. My growing women’s hiking therapy group where we vent and let our dogs run free. And then there’s this guy who grieves as I do and we’ve spent our time encouraging and building up the other. The companionship he’s given me over the last few weeks is unique and meaningful.

Learning to treasure the memories instead of reliving them.

These are the things that deserve my focus. Of course those that have parted from my life are not forgotten, I’m simply making a conscious decision to remember them and simultaneously being done with grieving because my memories of them are what's important now - not that they are no longer in my life. I still hope to see them in the next one. 

Dirty Faerie Creature

“Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.” – Nelson Mandela

I’ve waited for some time to write about this because it really is wasted energy, but some things are far too amusing to not share . . . . and, on occasion, my rants can be comical.

I have an ability to genuinely connect with others from all walks of life and I pride myself in that. I want to understand others. I’m curious and compassionate and these characteristics show when I’m interacting with another person. This is one of the reasons I love my job so much. My patients are going through a very scary process that I’m only barely beginning to understand even a little. If I can offer them some form of solace during their time in our clinic by giving a warm smile, hug, or a listening ear, you betcha I’m going to do it. Given this aspect of my personality, imagine my frustration when I just can’t understand another person. At all. I’m consistently baffled by her.

My experience with her has been taxing, but I’ve learned a few things about myself through her antics.

Behold! A faerie creature. I was too afraid of what the word 'dirty' would add to my Google search.

She likes to call herself things like: Dirty Faerie Creature, Swamp Flower, Water Witch and Delicate Flower. I have never met another person who has so many creative names to call herself.  Personally, I will also refer to her as the Dirty Faerie Creature (DF) because that one in particular is my favorite. As I’ve interacted with her for almost a year, I’ve come to the conclusion that she is the textbook definition of a narcissist. Her ego is so over inflated I don’t know how her mind or soul makes room for it. Perhaps she has neither.

That was a horrible thing to say, but I said it.

Just from my own observation (and another co-worker) I can guarantee DF takes about five ‘bathroom’ breaks a day. She’s generally gone for at least 20 minutes because she cakes on more makeup and preens herself in the mirror. I have never met another woman so insecure that she has to spend that much time on her face.

She’s never on time to work. Not once since she’s been here. That among a few other things is a source of contention for me because she views herself in an elevated position and she is definitely the manger’s favorite – which is why he will never see several of my colleagues and I see.

DF once sent a 4 paragraph e-mail to a co-worker regarding said co-worker clicking her pen. I couldn’t make this up if I wanted to. I received a lengthy e-mail from her as well. It was several months ago. I kept trying to bring her something to process and each time I brought it she’d point out something else wrong with my paperwork. I remember thinking to myself, “Why not just tell me exactly what you need in one sitting without wasting my time with our frequent interactions.” It was frustrating. When I finally had it all arranged to the satisfaction of DF, I asked her if she needed anything else. Apparently that was a wrong question to ask.

She came into my office, my space and was literally in my face asking me what my problem was. As someone who frequently takes blame to avoid confrontation with this type of personality, I told her I was sorry I came across to her negatively; I didn’t mean to, had a lot of other things on my mind, etc. I then received a multiple paragraph diatribe stating that my apology wasn’t genuine and I was clearly being a bully and she needs a stable work environment.

Bam! Butting heads. No doubt about it.

Good grief. I bought her a plant as a peace offering because I knew she wanted one and secretly hoped it died. This was a good enough apology for the self-proclaimed Dirty Faerie Creature.

I was the first one to have this kind of encounter with her. My co-worker didn’t believe me until DF acted the same way towards her. DF did exactly the same thing, spinning it into my co-worker’s issue (because it could never have anything to do with DF’s actions) and sent her a very lengthy e-mail as well. This co-worker in particular is not easily angered and she was royally pissed about the entire ordeal.  The only good thing about it was that DF quit coming into our office, talking for 6 hours a day and neglecting all of her work.

Just one look at DF’s Facebook page can only lead to one conclusion: there is something wrong with her. I’ve never seen so many selfies, videos posted of her singing and this insanely bizarre one of her in a costume that lasts about five minutes and she’s mostly staring at herself in the camera. Sometimes I feel bad for her because that kind of behavior tells me that she’s lonely and I’m sure there’s a lot going on under the surface. My moments of sympathy are usually short lived because she approaches me to say something snarky when no one else is around to hear her do it.

I imagine underneath all of the self-absorption is a very tortured soul. 

She clearly needs help, but is too blinded by her image of having achieved the ultimate level of perfection to see it. I have done a lot of work in therapy. It takes an intense level of humility to reflect on your own psyche and behaviors. Humility isn't something DF possesses. That's not a dig at all, just an honest observation.

I just can’t understand people like DF. Her absolute favorite topic is herself and heaven forbid if anyone ever do anything better than her. She’s been biking to and from work for a while. She was upset when I started because I was putting in more miles. DF doesn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t adore her; she assumes they’re just jealous of her success and her beauty.

I admit she’s cute. Her soul, however, is not pretty at all.

This made me laugh too hard to not share. There's probably a special place in hell for me for this. 

I noticed that I began quitting meaningful things because I wanted to distance myself from her as much as possible. She does belly dance. I have put belly dance aside for a very long time. She likes Antony and the Johnsons. I didn’t listen to their music for a while – and I have always loved the singers poetic voice and words. She likes Rumi . . . . I was just at a loss for words. Then I had a bad dream about her spending time with a guy who I genuinely enjoy being around. Damn. It!! I wasn’t happy when I woke up.

I hashed this out in therapy last week. What was it about DF that caused me to dread being in her presence? Envy was definitely a part of the equation - and envy is an ugly and senseless emotion. She has expendable income and often does fun classes and workshops. She eats out daily. She goes on trips. I don’t have money for those kinds of things. The difference in what our positions pay is fairly substantial and my position has much more responsibility. It strikes me as backward and unfair. So, I have to remind myself again that I don’t really deserve anything and the world doesn’t owe me. Fairness has never really played out in life. I wonder why we believe in that construct at all.

It might be a Libra thing. There must be balance!!!

Another aspect to my dread was the feeling of walking on egg shells around DF because I never knew what was going to set her off into one of her fits. I also resent the blatant favoritism. It’s obvious and I’m not the only one who notices. I guess she’s good with politics, because she hasn’t blown up on anyone other than a handful of people because she knows it won’t come back to bite her.

My therapist asked me to think about it. What was it that DF represented to me? My therapist started listing things: double standard, two-faced personality, favoritism, etc. My work life is parallel to the home environment of my adoptive mother.

Transference. Check yourself, Lass. 

So there you have it. I’ve long acknowledged that my disdain for DF was my own issue; I just couldn’t get to the root of it. I have more work to do. Granted, DF will still grate on my nerves, but at least I can move forward knowing what my issues are and leave DF to her mirrors and makeup and hope I can reach a point where I can feel compassion and understanding for her. 

"There is a magnificent, beautiful, wonderful painting in front of you! It is intricate, detailed, a painstaking labor of devotion and love! The colors are like no other, they swim and leap, they trickle and embellish! And yet you choose to fixate on the small fly which has landed on it! Why do you do such a thing?" C. Joybell

Online Dating: A Perspective From The Irish Lass

"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it." - Rumi

I tried my hand at online dating. I decided I was ready for something wonderful and genuine and thought actively pursuing it was an excellent idea. In hindsight, that was a horrible idea and this has turned into one of the experiences in life that I've looked back on and asked myself, "What the hell was I thinking?!"

I went the wrong way at the crossroads. 

I developed my online profile as something sweet and simple with a generalization about my life and interests. My photos were flattering, tactful, and not provocative in any way, shape or form. No cleavage, no sultry poses; just a lot of smiling and a few photos of the hound. 

My inbox blew up. It was overwhelming when I'd log in every other day or so and have 50+ messages to sift through. I was beginning to turn into a shallow person. I started deleting messages without reading them because I couldn't possibly read all of that (and some of them were sickening, anyway). Anyone that looked like someone I wouldn't be friends with in real life was ignored. Pity. 

I ignored the shallow people and became one myself. 

I initially thought the process was brilliant because it allowed me to sift through men that came across as creepy, said inappropriate things, or were just too pushy. Why would I want to give you my number after an exchange of five messages?! I've never met you. I don't want to text you and I don't want you calling me, either. 

There's something wrong with my generation. We're all in a rush to the finish line. We want to connect. We want to love; but we don't want to make ourselves vulnerable. My own observation is that we're hungry for a genuine connection with someone, but still remain isolated and lonely. One of the major contributing factors is the veneer, the facade, the veil and all of the emotional barriers we put up in self defense. The internet perpetuates this problem. 

I see it more often than I'd like. A photo of some random and unsuspecting person goes viral and the rest of the world rips the person apart for being (by societal standards) unattractive, obese, fake, and my personal favorites: slut and whore. Because we're not stairng someone directly in the face there is no filter and the most judgmental, condescending and hateful words are spewed into the cyber world. Just because it can be done; just because we have something to hide behind so we feel emboldened to say whatever we want to knock someone down only to make ourselves feel better about our own insecurities and mundane lives. What the hell is wrong with us?! 

Either grow a pair or be kind to others. That's all I have to say. 

Considering that this trait seems to be tailored to my generation specifically, I've come across a lot of unfiltered words. The men with whom I've exchanged dialogue thus far don't handle rejection well. I've been called a snob, someone with major wounds to heal because I wasn't interested in sex, a flake, a bitch and someone deserving of rape because I have a bad attitude. I feel as if I've been introduced to the worst side of humanity and it was beginning to make me a very jaded person. I don't want that for myself. 

It's not just the harshness and cruelty; it's the misrepresentation of oneself and a blatant disregard for the feelings of another human being. I still can't wrap my mind around how we've evolved to be this way. 

Oh yes . . . crying because I felt unlovable, flawed and wondered what the hell was wrong with me. The answer? Nothing. Nothing at all. 

I eventually dreaded even checking my inbox, so I shut it down. I'd rather keep my sanity, thanks. A friend asked me last night why I don't just meet someone the old fashioned way. Does that even happen anymore?! So . . . meet someone at work? Granted, it's a very large organization, but I'm generally running from one thing to the next and don't have time to look into the dating field while I'm working. It just strikes me as wrong and a bad idea. 

The other option would be tango. There are currently a few issues with that. I won't be able to afford those outings for a while because money is too tight and that's what happens when one moves twice in less than 6 months and puts her dog first (he will always come first). My current hours don't really allow for me to have much of a night life because I have to be up so early. Lastly, I don't want to be a part of the polyamorous sect. That's just not in me. I'm not saying every tango dancer lives that kind of life, but I do know it's prevalent in a few crowds and I want no part of it. 

Polyandry aside, tango is pretty awesome. I look forward to returning when I can. 

It's even been suggested that I look for someone with money. I sincerely hope they were joking. In fact, I've even had a few propositions along those lines when I was a bombshell in my early 20's. For the love of all that is sacred and holy, that is the most shallow bullsh*t I've ever heard. I know people do it. I can't. I'd resent the guy. I'd resent myself. I'd personally rather live in a van down by the river, or under a bridge, or pitch a tent or something. I won't be bought or owned. 

Where do these people come from?

The darker side of humanity I've witnessed lately hasn't just been in the dating world, either. I purchased a dog house off of craigslist. I had no means to pick it up and the guy was kind enough to deliver it for me. Over e-mail exchanges he sent me boudoir photos. I'm no longer thinking that was an accident. I've been trying to pin him down to pay him and he only responds with e-mails about him being in the hot tub and sipping wine. Just let me pay you, guy!! I'll admit I'm slightly concerned because he knows where I live. What creeps me out is that he's never met me in person because I wasn't at home when the dog house was delivers. The only photo he's seen of me is on my gmail profile . . . and I'm wearing Minnie Mouse ears and huge cat like sunglasses. There is nothing provocative about that photo. 

I've been asking myself lately what the hell is wrong with the world and why everything in my life is broken, chaotic, or bizarre. I've been hearing a lot about Mercury in retrograde. Mercury is wrecking my life!! I was out with friends last night and one of them told me (regarding my recent interactions with the male population) it's just because I'm young and beautiful. I thanked him for the compliment and he laughed over my dread of turning 30. I know I'm not seeing the bigger picture right now. I know I shouldn't be so harsh on myself. I have to go back to repeating my mantras of saying positive things about me until I believe them. 

My therapist has some good insight on this recurring phenomenon in my life: I'm too trusting and there's something about the type of trauma I've experienced that is buried deep in my unconscious on a level that I'm not aware. It's like a freaking radar to others who have experienced harsh blows in life. Unfortunately, these just happen to be people that aren't trying to deal with their issues and instead project them on others. 

I'm gradually getting back into my ritualistic form of spirituality. I finally put my alter together last night. Falling asleep to my candles burning was comforting and being back in nature on a regular basis is soothing. Making room in my studio apartment for belly dancing is my next task. I'm still semi-living out of boxes. I still can't find things. It's still chaotic, but I'm beginning to feel a sense of peace; and I'm reminding myself I'm exactly where I should be. 

Playing with scarves and glittery things?! You betcha. I'll move like no one is watching (because no one will be watching - this is mine). 

Peering into the Looking Glass

“Without reflection, we go blindly on our way, creating more unintended consequences, and failing to achieve anything useful.” – Margaret J. Wheatley

To be honest, I can hardly remember the details of this past week, let alone the month that preceeded it. I’m so tired and doing my best to not let my thoughts get ahead of me to the point I’m drowning in a river of tears and anxiety. One thing at a time. I’ve got this.

Stagnancy is overrated. 

I’m attempting to unpack from what was possibly the most rushed and disorganized move I’ve ever experienced – but ultimately this move was necessary. After only a week of living in my new place I’m beginning to feel better. The last apartment and the environment around it was a psychological and spiritual drain. Amazing how much of an effect environmental factors have on one’s overall well-bring. Of course, this isn’t new news to me – but I guess I never really understood it until this last experience, this past chapter in life, this phase that feels somewhat like a mildly bad dream.

I did spend a few nights with my folks during the transition. It hadn’t even been five days and my mother and I were already drawing our daggers. No surprise there. I’ve wondered lately if she and I both are showing each other reflections of the other and neither one of us like what we see and that’s why we rarely get along.

This is about right - we just don't manage to do it gracefully.

I stopped worrying about reaching another decade in my life. I was out on a hike yesterday and realized I will never be here again. I can’t turn back the clock and probably the healthiest thing I can do for myself when I’m frustrated and giving myself a mental beating for not achieving what I think I should have is to remind myself that I will never be at this place in life again. I have wasted most of my life beating myself up for not being thin or pretty enough. Good lawd! What a waste of energy. That’s the pettiest, most superficial thing and it doesn’t deserve my attention. I have a plethora of other things that actually bring joy to me; my energy needs to be there, not spent tearing myself apart. I’m not going to mourn the years of wasted on these antics, either. I’ll just acknowledge what I’ve learned from the experience and move on.

It's not so daunting now that it's finally happened.

30. I’m okay with that. I think it was time for a fresh start. This move has given me one and I fully intend to start shaping my life into something that I want it to be instead of allowing things to just happen. That’s no good. Granted, things still do happen. I can’t control my bike and car breaking down on me, but I can control what kind of influence I allow into my life.

“Everyone and everything that shows up in our life is a reflection of something that is happening inside of us.” – Alan Cohen

I bought a dog house off of craigslist. The seller was kind enough to deliver it for me while I was tied up with the move and my family’s insistence on celebrating my 30^th birthday. We exchanged a few e-mails discussing delivery, payment, etc. He asked me about my gmail profile photo which is something of me in Minnie Mouse ears that I took while at Disneyland. He then asks me if I have ever taken boudoir shots because it’s exciting and attached a couple of his own. They’re artsy, I get it . . . .  .but that’s just plain weird. So now I’m just trying to pin him down so I can pay him for Merlin’s new house and it became apparent to me that I might have been too much of a damsel in distress over this past week because it may have given him the wrong message. That type of behavior attracts a certain kind of person and it’s generally not a good one. Or, maybe he sent them unintentionally. Hopefully that’s what really happened.

I'm pretty sure I've done this at least once in my life. 

I knew a couple of weeks ago that I needed to put dating back on the shelf for a while. It took me a while to get to my online account to shut it down. A guy started messaging me as I was doing just that. I was honest with him: I have too much going on and currently don’t have the time or emotional space to be dating material. I’m not interested. His response was that I could possibly use a friend and we should text. Sure. I could use someone to talk to right now . . . . that was a stupid move.

It wasn’t long before he started asking me about sexuality and I had to tell him again I’m not in the space for this and couldn’t be what he wanted anyway because I’m still working on some deeply rooted issues. Of course, this lead to more questions and like an idiot I answered them. Note to self: strangers don’t deserve personal truths, or personal history and really have no business asking about it. I didn’t give him a whole lot of detail, but he probably knows more about me than he should. Then he dropped a bomb on me about being in an incestuous relationship with his aunt and thoroughly enjoying it. From my experience in a course on anthropology, I can understand how that could happen. On that note, TMI, Dude. TMI.

The anonymity of being online is a major issue with how people interact with one another.

I received more texts from this random stranger last night that were unwanted with fairly inappropriate content. I told him again that I’m not ready for something like this and the more exchanges we shared it was becoming clearer to me that we weren’t compatible. Of course this damaged his fragile little ego and his responses were vulgar and mean: I’m the one with issues, I have a bad attitude and how sad it is that the only men I’ve ever had have raped me and he could understand how that happened because my attitude is that bad. Holy Fuck! What the hell?! So I was upset because that was unnecessary, untrue and hurtful. I went to bed and woke up feeling better. Slightly angry, granted, but better.

I have to take my own advice sometimes and remember to look forward. My brief encounter with some random person is insignificant. I won’t dwell on it. What matters is moving on from this past month, not shutting the world out as much as I want to and allowing love in my life. I have to start with myself first. So I’ll resort back to my tried and true method of telling myself I’m wonderful, amazing, lovely, etc. I’ll believe it eventually.