Puzzle Pieces

“The Troll was well over seven feet tall, and smelled of body odour and Germolene.” – Andrew Barrett, A Splendid Salmagundi

You must pay the toll!

It looks like I’ve made a new friend. There was an anonymous comment left on this blog entry. I inadvertently deleted it. However, look what I found in my e-mail: “’He had our HR person handle the situation. I’m furious . . .’ you are not just furious, you are bat shit crazy. Of course he had HR deal with you. Nobody ever wins an argument with a crazy lady!”

In my attempt to respond to the comment, it was deleted. Then another comment was left. I’m flattered, really. Someone invested that much energy in leaving an anonymous comment and then going back to my blog to see what their handiwork had accomplished.  

That’s as much of a platform I’m willing to give. Anonymous comments have been disabled – so if someone wishes to tell me I’m awful it must be done publicly. I’m sorry.

Just kidding! I’m not. This is my space.

I have a busy month ahead of me. I’m officiating a wedding for a friend, hosting his rehearsal and also mc-ing for the groom and bride. I’m not sure how the bride is fairing, but I can say that I feel like pulling my hair out every now and then. I’m honored they’ve asked me to do this for them, which is why I want everything to go smoothly.

Guess who gets to go back to biking next week?! This gal. My knee is finally healed from my stupid crash. I’ve felt like running in circles a little bit because I haven’t had an outlet for stress due to my knee being busted. I’m looking forward to getting back out there – and also intend to try riding up the hill to work someday. I’ll flaunt my victory when it’s done (it’s a heavy bike!). The next time I see someone with their fancy bike and gear I’d love nothing more than to lean over and whisper I’m better than you.

For the record, I wouldn’t really do that; these are the kinds of thoughts that cross my mind.

I'd say this is a pretty adequate representation of me right now.

Because I wasn’t biking while my knee was healing, I rode a different bus route to work that gave me an extra 20 minutes before I had to leave. I met a man on the bus. I think he has mistaken my friendliness as flirtation and has sent me a couple of email messages (he works for the same organization as me – and it’s a huge place). I’m just not interested and sounded very much like a petulant teenager when I was telling someone about my interaction with this man and exclaimed, I don’t want to!

Any person with common sense would simply say no. I am one of those idiots who has a really hard time doing that – which is why I’m scattered in 8 different directions more often than not. For now, however, I’m just avoiding the issue altogether.

If I can't see you I can't hear you. 

The last few weeks have been fairly intense. I’m in my new position. I love it immensely and I’m scrambling to learn everything as quickly as possible. It’s been an interesting transition. I work with a great and highly organized group of people with a high standard. When they reached out to me about the opening in their division I took that as high praise. I’m a lucky lady.

In other news, the hound and I may be volunteering for a weekend this summer at a camp for children with arthritis. A patient told me about it. I was floored; I thought arthritis was something that only comes with age. I can’t imagine experiencing that kind of pain. The organizer of the events seems happy to have the hound and me onboard. Merlin is going to be thrilled. Basset hounds are social by nature. Merlin has that trait magnified 10 times over. That’s one of the things that makes him so wonderful.

The cuteness! It kills me. Merlin does enjoy a good belly rub. Disclaimer: This is not Merlin.

As anticipated, memories have surfaced as I’ve been working on my blogumentary. It’s unpleasant but not impossible. It’s frustrating, but not overbearing. I’ll speak frankly, because this is my space and there’s something to telling secrets rather than trying to bury them. Clarissa Pinkola Estes touches on this in Women Who Run With the Wolves, “The keeping of secrets cuts a woman off from those who would give her love, succor, and protection. It causes her to carry the burden of grief and fear all by herself, and sometimes for an entire group, whether family or culture. Further, as Jung said, keeping secrets cuts us off from the unconscious.”

Her words are a source of strength while I keep digging. 

I’ve been surrounding myself with childhood things to remember my past. A plethora of things I had buried so far down that I had forgotten about them resurfaced. I was 19 and recently back from Africa. I met a man who asked about volunteering for one of the groups I worked with. I gave him my number because I was trusting and naïve. His name was Rajinder. I simply referred to him as ‘Raja’. He helped distribute food baskets to families in need over the holidays. We grabbed dinner together and I remember him telling me that he was recently released from prison for kidnapping and wanted to be upfront and honest with me. I don’t remember how he diminished that charge with his explanation, only that I didn’t feel threatened by him. I was in his apartment one evening and he started tickling me. He then kissed my neck and said, “It’s either this or tickles.” I have no idea what took place after that because I don’t remember and I’m bothered by that. I do know that I never spoke to him again. I feel as if I left there unscathed. I’ll hold on to that feeling.

Recently, I reached out to someone on facebook because his daughter was struggling with depression and suicidal tendencies. We’ve never met in person, we just know each other from an online group we both belonged to at one point. In his response to me, he referred to me as ‘yummy’ (he was looking at my photos for some reason). I feel nauseous and angry at the same time – not just because I felt objectified by him, but also because he has a wife and a teenage daughter struggling with depression. He’s been blocked and I’ll probably never speak to him again. I feel anger for his words to me and also for what I feel is blatant disregard for the emotional wellbeing of his teenage daughter. That’s not okay in my book.

I, on the other hand, am not a cheeseburger. Don't refer to me as 'yummy', asshole!

Perhaps I overreacted because of the fuzzy memory that resurfaced from when I was 19. I don’t know the answer.

I do know that I'm still putting the pieces of my life puzzle together. I should have been doing this work a long time ago. I am now, I suppose that's what really matters. I'm digging up the secrets I've buried and telling the stories that I never told. 

Something’s gotta stop the flow.

If you don’t recognize that line, it’s from an amazing movie called Ink. If you haven’t seen it I suggest putting it on your list. I’ve always had a hard time explaining it. It’s just that good.

The pathfinder in what is arguably one of the most memorable scenes. 

Now that my knee is better I think I might take up running again. I really need to. I know Merlin would want to join me, but he needs to take it easy. I used to be filled with an immense amount of guilt whenever I left him alone because I leave him alone when I’m at work all day. I’ve just acknowledged recently that I need to take time for myself, too. I doubt Merlin will hold it against me. He’s a happy camper as long as he gets his slow, meandering walks in the morning and evening. 

"I hope you will go out and let stories, that is life, happen to you, and that you will work with these stories . .  water them with your blood and tears and laughter till they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom."  - Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves

Only Kindness Matters

“Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Word can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts.” – Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

I’ve become extremely sensitive to kindness lately and have had a few more of those moments when a fellow human being shows me one iota of genuine compassion or sincere kindness I start to crumble. I don’t know the reason behind this, but I have a few ideas.

I was at tango on Friday and the topic of me moving came up. One of my fellow tango dancers offered me his place for less money and it’s closer to my job and most of the tango venues. His kind offer made me bawl my eyes out. Upon further discussion, I learned that he will be away from the home for 5 months, but will return after that and we would be house mates. While I’m sure he has nothing but the best intentions in mind, I can’t risk putting myself in yet another potentially harmful situation. I know him, but I don’t know him that well. While my new place may be a bit of a hovel with no real kitchen, I am one of the most innovative people I know and am certain this is the best scenario for Merlin and me.

He's my love and the one thing I care about most in this world. 

One of my friends wasn’t so convinced. She mentioned jumping from one frying pan to another. Sure it’s not ideal circumstances, but here are my options: continue to live in a toxic environment or get the hell out. I chose the latter. Where I’ve lived the last several years have never truly been a home to me and I’ve not really been able to use the kitchen for the most part anyway – so what’s the difference? I’m trading a little bit of convenience, but that’s really all I’m giving up. I just can’t live under the same roof as someone who is unpredictable, angry and negative. I’ve been pretending in this environment for a long time and I’m quite certain I’ve reached a point where I can’t pretend anymore.

This. I just can't.

I’ve had a long standing record of issues with maternal figures in my life – the women who were supposed to care for me and have my best interests in mind used me to manipulate others, financial gain, or as a buffer to their public image. Granted, I’ve received motherly care from very unexpected places and they’ve loved me, cheered for me and have been a constant source of support without expecting anything in return. My current maternal figure has been no exception. While she did legally adopt me, it became apparent to me soon after that it was to boost her own image so her social circle and colleagues could see what a good person she was for all of the things she did for the little orphan lass.

Because I never know what mood is going to greet me at the other end of the door, I dread going to the place that I’ve called home. It feels as if all the negativity, anger and hostility she’s ever felt towards any single person or situation is set aside and saved specifically for me. The last straw came when she told me she wished the hound dead; this coming from the woman who displayed herself as supportive when Cassie died. That was it. I haven’t been able to pretend to be even slightly content in that environment. In fact, I’m sick and tired of pretending. I’ve seen what a lifetime of her verbal lashings have done to her son who is nearly 20 years my senior: he still lives at home, has no motivation of leaving and does none of the things that most responsible adults would do: own a car, pay rent, buy food, etc. I refuse to let her wear me down to the point that I’ve given up on life.

No knock on my brother. I love him. On the same note, I'd rather live in a cave in the wilderness than have to live one more day in that house. 

I made another trip to my favorite shop this weekend with a friend. As usual, the owner knew exactly what I needed and had nothing but love and support to give me. As I told her about my current transitions in life and the hurtful, threatening words towards the living being I love most in this world, the shop owner said this, “I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I’d be thrilled to have a daughter like you.” Once again the flood gates opened and there I was bawling my eyes out – in public – in the middle of a store. I think I’ve become so conditioned to negativity that I don’t know how to handle kindness and every negative thought I’ve ever had about myself has been consistently reinforced by the current environment in which I’m living.

The smallest form of kindness and I can't stop crying.

For a brief time I felt guilt over having no concern for my adoptive mother. She was hospitalized. It was nothing serious – a condition that causes some really nasty headaches. While it was a painful condition, it was nothing that was life-threatening. While this was going on and the doctors were running a battery of tests to determine the root cause, I had no concern whatsoever that she was in the hospital. It’s not that I didn’t visit and it’s not that I didn’t go out of my way to do nice things for her – I just realized that my actions felt forced and disingenuous. I felt worry over the fact that I may have turned sociopathic from my constant exposure to such a toxic environment – and that was the only thing that concerned me. When I saw my therapist later that week she told me that I shouldn’t spend any more time saving, just get out. That’s exactly what I sought out to do.

While I found a place and have been consumed with packing boxes instead of fawning over my adoptive mother, she only comes across as resenting me more for it. Any time I enter the house (which she reminds me is hers on a regular basis) I’m bombarded with a plethora of her, ‘You need to’ and ‘You’re not doing this right’ among many other things. Recently I responded by telling her that I’m an adult and I am confident that I’ll figure it out. She’s basically ignored me since and has resorted to her own special form of passive aggressive action: she knew I will be moving the last weekend of April/first weekend of May. She knew that her husband and son wanted to help me move. She decides that the last weekend of April/first weekend of May should be the best time for her to take a two week trip to Hawaii with her husband. The end result has been a lot of pressure to get all of my things out NOW. Because I’m working full time and house/pet sitting in a neighboring city that gives me a little bit of a commute, this has been a considerable source of stress to me.

It’s almost over. It’s almost over.

Reflecting on the last several years of my life combined with the conditioning I received at such a young age, I’m not surprised why I’ve failed so much in relationships and why I tend both gravitate towards and attract what proves to be harmful to me in the end. I'm working on breaking that. I can do a lot about my own outlook on life, but very little on others. It's an individual process. I know that once I’m away from her influence I’ll not only feel better about myself, but other aspects of my life will improve as well.

On another note,  I survived an interaction with the Beloved and it was nice to have one of those rare moments when we can sort of talk without scrambling in opposite directions. He seems content in life and I wish him the best . . . . and then there was the brief moment I saw a pretty young lady sitting on his lap while he played music in a rather intimate manner. My first immediate reaction was the realization that I desperately wanted to punch this girl in the face. The other realization came a couple of days later and it was this: despite how much I cared for him, I was really nothing but a number among his long list of admirers. When I’m ready to date again, I think I deserve to be more than a name on a list; and I won’t be ready for that aspect of life again for a while. I’m hoping that bearing witness to that brief moment will be the nail in the coffin and I can finally lay all of those feelings I bore for him to rest. I need to move forward in life. Deep down, I’ve known this for a long time and perhaps I’ve finally reached a point in my life that will enable me to do so. 

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. 

Patterns and Reality

“The best thing about dreams is that fleeting moment, when you are between asleep and awake, when you don’t know the difference between reality and fantasy, when for just that one moment you feel with your entire soul that the dream is a reality, and it really happened. “ – James Arthur Baldwin

I woke up in the wee hours of the morning today. I had been dreaming of the Beloved . . . . again. I don’t know why. I haven’t figured out what exactly it is that he represents to me or if there is some part of my subconscious, heart, soul or any combination of those things that keeps trying to hold on to some small piece of him. I threw my head back on the pillow trying to get back to that moment. It was gone. While I dream of him, I’m not seeing reminders of him everywhere I turn. Truth be told, I’d rather not spend too much time reading into it so this doesn’t turn into Haunting Part II or some other bizarre form of obsession along those lines.

I locked him away somewhere inside my memory. It's not that I want to forget - I just want to let go. 

I finally saw my therapist after a six month break with the exception of one visit after Cassie died. I didn’t have health insurance. I was working as a temp. I just couldn’t afford to see her. I only made a point of seeing her after I lost my wee little lass after my co-worker insisted. For the record, she was right. It did make me feel better; it also helped me put all of that pain and longing into words. I can smile about her now. I can speak of her fondly without crying. I do still miss her, but it no longer feels like my soul was split in two by the world’s dullest knife.

What I’ve managed to hash out through therapy are some blatantly obvious things and some aspects of my life that I still don’t quite understand. Psychologist, sociologists, attachment theories and others tell us that the bonds (or lack thereof) that we form in childhood determine our relationships in our adult lives. History repeats itself and this is one of the reasons we see women returning to abusive relationships. No one can quite explain this phenomenon. There are many ideas – but for now we just know that it’s a relationship of causality.

This is one tiny little piece of the puzzle.

I used to think life was too short to not take a risk. I think the key is knowing what risks are really worth it. For now, I’ll take the mundane. Mundane is good.

Simplicity. Nostalgia. Predictability. This is what I want right now. 

The good news is that it’s not set in stone. We’re not doomed to a life of misery if we were unable to form meaningful relationships with caregivers as children and infants or were neglected, or abandoned. What frustrates me is that I know I have a tendency to fall into the same pattern. It’s like I’m stuck in a repeating orbit. I know this about me, yet find myself in the same situational pattern over and over again. Relationship wise this has manifested in forms of toxicity such as possessiveness, jealously, abuse, negligence, and sometimes even bullying. I eventually recognize I’m in a bad situation and quickly get myself out – I just fail to see the early warning signs. They do exist; I’ve just been oblivious to them. This is my current therapy project. I’ve been in this same cycle for my entire life. I’d think I would have learned to hit the eject button by now. I guess I’m on the lower end of the learning curve.

I've been told by more than one person that I should read this book. Not sure if I want to - even if it is for my own good. 

While I educate myself on recognizing early warning factors, I’ll be focusing on the good people in my life and the non-threatening males that allow me to be myself, most of which I've met through tango. Those are the types of people I want to surround myself with; there is no judgment; there are no expectations; they value my friendship and that’s all there is to it. I recognize I need to be cautious with this as well. I would never want to ruin a friendship by giving the wrong impression. Tango has social rules. It’s assumed that something is going on between two people when ‘x’ amount of sets are danced with one another.

If only tango were so simple . . . . If only life were so simple. I think I'd be set. 

On days that I just want to be comforted by friends that make me feel at ease, I have to be careful. I would never knowingly hurt someone I care about - or anyone for that matter.There’s a balance somewhere. I’ll find it eventually.

“Let go of your expectations. The Universe will do what it will. Sometimes your dreams will come true. Sometimes they won’t. Sometimes when you let go of a broken dream, another one gently takes its place. Be aware of what is, not what you would like to be, taking place.” – Melody Beattie

The Search for Tranquility

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.” – Laurell K. Hamilton, Mistral’s Kiss

I’ve been a little jumpy lately. Something that I really don’t care to talk about set off yet another relapse of PTSD. I’ll be grateful when I can calm down enough to not think a certain someone is going to bash my car windows in, follow me home, or just show up somewhere I happen to be in an uncontainable rage. When I get to the root of that irrational fear perhaps I can feel a sense of peace again.

The fear I have of this unnamed person is only half of the equation. Two nights ago, a woman ran in front of my car while I was driving on my way to tango. I still can’t quite put it all together to make one big picture. It’s come to me in pieces. I saw a bike on the sidewalk and her on the other side of my car. I thought I had killed someone.

I pulled over at the first opportunity and ran back to see if she was okay. A crowd had already gathered. The woman was standing and I was hysterical. The EMTs and law enforcement arrived. All witnesses supported my account: she literally ran straight in front of me. I had slammed on my brakes so hard that my back seats came unhinged and the contents of my trunk were scattered in the back of my car.

All I could do was cry and I wasn’t the one who nearly got bowled over by a vehicle going 30 MPH. This is one of those times in life where I’m convinced some sort of divinity was looking out for me. The witnesses to the accident stood around me, telling me it was going to be okay and that I’m a good person who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. I also think it’s worth mentioning the kindest of them all was a gay man out celebrating his birthday with his mother and his fiancé. I’ve literally lost count of how many times a gay man has come to my rescue. For those of you who still live in the stone age and view these lovely human beings as sinners and something less than human, F*CK YOU! Seriously. I have a lot to say about my own perception of the struggle for equality. I’ll save it for another time in the near future.

As it turns out, this woman was darting in and out of traffic because she thought she saw money in the road. Holy f*cking hell. I’ve felt desperate from time to time in life, but I don’t think I’ve ever been that desperate. There was some speculation that she was high on drugs. I make no moral judgments. We all deal with pain our own way. Some of us can face it, some of us ignore it, and some of us just need an escape and find that escape in very bad places. I gave her all the cash I had on me. I hope that went to something that was beneficial for her.

The entire situation makes me sick to my stomach. This woman who was ready to sacrifice her life for pocket change in the road had a man with her. My instincts told me something wasn’t right about it. She seemed afraid of him and that made me feel even more badly for her. I think what upsets me the most is that there wasn’t a damn thing I could do for her.

I was too shaken up to drive home. The wonderful man who was the greatest comfort to me called my brother from my phone and he and his fiancé gave me the world’s longest hug while I sobbed myself to exhaustion. My brother came to pick me up and drove me home. Since this ordeal, I’ve felt as if I’m barely in touch with reality. My hound is a comfort. Tango is a comfort. Even my job is comforting. Despite these wonderful things, I’m feeling quite detached from the world . . . I also feel as if I could cry for days. The effects of these lovely aspects in my life are only temporary. I guess I’m still in some form of shock.

In other news – the question that seems to be on most people’s mind is my dating life. If people are asking me when I’m going to start dating again they’re asking if I need to be comforted . . . . sickos. No thank you, sir. I do not need your comfort and I don’t want the comfort of whomever else you have in mind for me, either. I'll be just fine. 

"Nothing if permanent in this wicked world - not even our troubles." - Charlie Chaplin