Cheats, Liars and Anger

“Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean.” – Maya Angelou

I have a sense that this will be a rage fueled rant of epic proportion.

I am royally pissed off. My closest friend and mentor has been telling me for years that there is always an ulterior motive with men. That message is starting to sink in now and I’m feeling resentful, embittered and enraged at the vast majority of males that I have encountered in my lifetime.

One of the things in the world I hate the most is liars and those trying to gain my trust through false pretenses. It’s dishonest and only makes me angry at the offender. I met someone a little over a year ago at a company function and asked his name. I remembered him at this year’s gathering. It’s part of my job to remember people and also a personality trait. I’m curious. I want to know what people are about. That said, I try not to be invasive and let another person share with me at their own pace.

So, upon seeing the aforementioned person again, he suggested we meet up sometime, as friends and also to discuss psychology because that’s his current area of study, he’s new to the area, etc. In hindsight, there are things that should have been red flags to me much earlier on, but I’m not going to ruminate on what I overlooked. We exchanged a few e-mails and he wanted my number because it was his preferred method of contact. I’m rolling my eyes as I type these words because I’ve heard that line a million times. Like an idiot, I eventually gave it to him.

why? Why? WHY??????

He sent me a text on New Year’s after wrapping up at the event he had worked saying he needed an ‘Irish Lass’ hug. The fact that I didn’t call him out right then and there makes my blood boil a little bit. That was the first indicator that this guy was after something more than his false pretense of friendship. I should also note that he is twice my age and has children older than me. Something is very wrong here. Granted, I do have older friends – but now that I think about it those older friends come in couples, not some prowling male hoping to make it with a gal half his age.

This past Sunday he said he wanted to get together – a kind gesture to pull me out of the state of sadness I’ve managed to wallow in for some time now. I had no idea what we were doing and he didn’t say where we were going when he came to pick me up. I was startled because I thought we would do something downtown and he was driving towards Washington. I asked him where we were going. He told me we were headed to a vineyard in Ridgefield. I have no idea where Ridgefield is, panicked a little and told him that I carry weapons.

There is no point to this photo. Just the intense level of cutenss. 

During the drive, he kept probing me about my life, asking for more details on what I shared with him. This is another behavior I hate. Something is wrong here. If you barely know me, you have no right to ask such personal information about me – you wretched pretentious prick. What bothers me the most about this is that I am a horrible liar and my answers are always honest. I don’t know how to respond any differently. It’s clear to me now that I either need to work on building up my psychological walls or learn to spew untruths with a poker face. I am royally pissed off. Don't examine every detail of my life through a microscope unless you are prepared to be ripped to shreds by my words. 

Can you feel that rage? It's a very real thing right now.

Wine tasting at a vineyard . . .  it was nice. He had packed a picnic saying he wasn’t sure how the weather was going to turn out. Now that I think about it, his explanation makes no sense whatsoever: it was pissing rain all day long. I thought his gesture was kind for going through the trouble of preparing something. As we got in the car I suggested we go back to my apartment, watch a movie and eat his ‘picnic’ meal when he expressed disappointment in the bad weather.

I'll set them on fire myself! He knew what the weather was like. Pretentious bastard.

There had been a nagging question in the back of my mind the entire time I was with him. What is this guy’s angle? What the hell does he want from me? I ask him as much and his response starts with, “I’m a hot blooded male . . . “ and he went on to say that he’d never force himself on me. Holy fucking hell! I should have fled from the moving car right then and there. I don’t know why I didn’t. I wasn’t quite processing his true intentions at the time, I only knew that something didn’t feel quite right: That small voice in the back of your head that tells you to run away. That small voice in my head that told me I should cancel on Sunday until I learned more about this guy. I ignored it. I’m currently angry at myself for ignoring it, but acknowledging that at long last I’m finally starting to pay attention to it, even if it doesn’t have my full attention yet.

Hot blooded male?! I am grinding my teeth in anger!!

I put on a movie and he puts food onto plates. He continuously grazed my knee with his hand, put his arm around my shoulder, asking me to sit closer to him. I was rigid. Any person within their right state of mind could probably pick up that I was tense because I was uncomfortable. He hugged me as he left and attempted to kiss me. I physically recoiled. He didn’t back off and instead said, “Just a small one?” I barely let my lips touch his because I wanted to be far removed from him and, at that time, seemed to be the only way that I would be able to manage to get him out.

Underneath her barley there smile is a woman who desperately wants to punch him in the face. I feel like doing a lot of punching right now. I physically resisted. He is clearly an asshat and he disgusts me.

I decided the next day that I’m ghosting his sorry ass. He’s blocked from e-mail and my phone. I have nothing to say to him. Idiot! I’m past explaining myself and I’m past making excuses for others. That pathetic piece of shit; men like him are the reason I have trust issues. If he was trying to groom me into some form of dependence on him by being so invasive on my life experiences he failed miserably.

I’ve been turning the actions of a former friend over in my mind – the one who demanded to know what was on my heart. When I expressed anger at what I felt was a cross of my personal and emotional boundaries, he became offensive. He told me that it didn’t come as a surprise. If that’s the case, why did he have to hear me say it? The only thing that makes any form of sense to me is that his ego needed that from me. Fuck him and his ego right up the ass.  Apparently my efforts to build him up emotionally weren’t enough, so he had to take it one step further. He sickens me; and I think my anger here isn’t just his disregard for my emotional boundaries, but also when he asked how I was doing and I gave an honest answer he pretty much faded himself out. I guess it was fine for me to listen to his problems but that action couldn’t be reciprocated.

Unfortunately, I think this is the driving force in most of us. 

I’ve been walking around with a consistent form of bitch face – I’m that angry. This is a stark contrast from someone who smiles warmly at the world around her. Lately, I have people who see me on a regular basis ask me if I’m okay . . . . the bitch face is that strong in this one. I also feel like punching things and am avoiding the male population as much as possible to save myself from exploding on some poor, unsuspecting soul who had nothing to do with anything I’m feeling right now.

Yesterday I went through a wide range of emotions as I hashed it all out in therapy. My anger over the actions of these self-proclaimed ‘friends’ who are now dead to me. My anger over the recent antics of the Dirty Faerie Creature (DF) in the office, and the recent news of my adoptive father’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis.

I’ll start with DF. She involved herself with a man who was sexually coercive and manipulative. It’s now a huge thing in the anarchist vegan feminist biking community. On a tangent, when a vegan and a cyclist are mixed into one person it can only mean bad news. It’s a form of smug self-righteousness from opposite sides of the spectrum that meet somewhere in the middle to create a form of evil spawn that can only be described as the love child of Satan and Hades. Sprinkle in anarchy and feminism with shouts of ‘Fascist!’ and ‘Misogyny!’ and Portland now has a whirlwind of smug self-righteousness that’s sure to drag every last one of us to hell.

Funny, right? Now imagine the love child of those two assholes. 

I know about DF’s experience because she has made a point of telling me about her experience – as well as everyone else in the office. I felt bad for her the first day she talked about it and then that all went down the drain fairly quickly as she started writing posts about her hickeys from a new year’s celebration. It wasn’t just that, but her need to talk about it to me and my office mate that didn’t sit well with me. She said his actions triggered her long subdued PTSD and it was because of this state of mind that she had sex with this guy in the first place. I am by no means an expert of PTSD, but I have dealt with it for many years and I know of not one person with a history of sexual abuse who, upon being triggered, would willingly have sex with someone who has just upset them by inappropriate behavior. Her continual discussions about this topic in the workplace have triggered my PTSD – and that royally pisses me off. I go to therapy once a week. I have put in many hours, a hell of a lot of work, and have paid a significant amount of money to make progress. Perhaps DF should consider going to see a professional instead of using her co-workers as therapists. I discussed this topic at length with my therapist yesterday, wondering if I was a horrible person, a calloused human being because I could not give DF any support. My therapist doesn’t see me in that light, but pointed out how the unchecked behavior of DF that never experiences a form of consequence is frustrating and her topics of discussion are almost always unsettling to me.

I don't think I could have described her better . . . .Misogyny!

For the first time in a while, I visited my adopted family over the weekend. I offered to make dinner in exchange for the use of an iron and ironing board . . . . and I was also dying to try out my new spiralizer. It was during this time that my adoptive mother, Morgan, told me of my beloved Jefe’s illness. I watched how she interacted with him. I’m sure she means well – she just has a way of infantizing others, rendering them to the level of a 5-year-old that is utterly helpless and can do nothing for himself/herself. I listened as she told him, “Look at what I’m doing. I’m writing your hike on your calendar for tomorrow. Tomorrow is Sunday.” I saw the expression of frustration on his face. I know that feeling, I truly do. The problem with a diagnosis is that people do start to treat you differently, despite their protests that it’s just not so. Whether they realize it or not, the label of a diagnosis causes most people to look at the diagnosed in a different light. I’ve been where he’s been in that regard. My adoptive father, Jefe, has every ounce of empathy I have to give.

Over the course of that day, I got the impression that Jefe had simply given up. He’s accepted the label and he’s mirroring the symptoms that others are projecting on him – levels of forgetfulness that have always been a part of his personality, but now ascribed to a disease. Witnessing his surrender, his refusal to keep fighting may be one of the most disheartening things I’ve ever seen.

Don't let anyone tell you who you are. 

My adoptive father and brother gave me a ride home from therapy yesterday. I was in tears when they picked me up. I am past the point of shoving anything down because I don’t think there’s any room. I’m feeling a wide range of intense emotions and it won’t let up. I hate crying in front of anyone and I couldn’t keep it at bay. The traffic was piling up as they drove me home, and I don’t know why, but I wanted to jump out of the car and run until my feet were blistered and bleeding and broken. I don’t know what or where I wanted to run towards, only that I felt suffocated and devastated. 

Today, I feel both anger and suffocation. I don't know how to bring this one to an end and I can't remember the last time I've felt such intense anger and mixed emotions. Maybe I'll delete this entry, maybe I'll print it out and burn it to give me some form of symbolism for burning bridges . . . and liar's pants . . .

Rebirth of the Heart's Desire

“The world has tilted far from the sun, from colour and juice . . .  I am waiting for a birth that will change everything.” – Hilary Llewellyn-Williams, The Tree Calendar

I welcomed the coming of the Solstice because it brought with it the rebirth of light.

How many times since childhood have we pondered our heart’s desire? I barely grasped the notion of giving and granting when I was a young girl, listening to the tales of folk and fairies that were told to me by a mother figure (one of a few). My early experiences caused me to deny, struggle against, and doubt the desires of my own heart. As a woman, I rarely reflect upon it. The heart’s desire is whimsical or desperate ambition if we can suspend our adult disbelief. The true heart’s desire is an essential potentiality, a destiny sewn in our name, waiting to bloom and grow. What prevents us from achieving it? Our lives may be littered with unresolved and undeveloped hopes, all blocking the way to our true heart’s desire. If we are to achieve the core of our wish, we must first dismantle and rescind our immature wishes. We cancel those immature wants by calling them back and revoking them, along with any other idle wishes we may have uttered and since forgotten. Then the way stands clear. If we commune deeply with your true heart’s desire, rather than upon our fantasies, if we can envision it with every cell of our body and call to it, then we send a true song to make the pathway between ourselves and our heart’s desire.

I don't even recognize the sound of her voice anymore. The Wild Woman exists in there somewhere. I just need to hear her sound.

During the darkest time of the year, we are waiting for a rebirth. The rebirth of light – the blessed solstice; it all gets brighter from here.  What is it that waits to be born in us this time of year? It is a glorious, heroic light that blazes forth with the fierce directness of an innocence that we need now. It is a deep renewal in our lives that we crave; it is the rebirth of innate qualities that will not fail or become slothful or deterred by obstacles, that will be responsible and true, honest and enduring, bright and shining.

I feel as though I’ve been fighting to get back to my core, to the essence of who I am. I've been fighting my way towards the light not realizing that the light is actually meeting me where I am. It’s time to stop struggling. It’s time to stop giving and to spend time reflection on what exactly it is that I want and need out of life. I’ve lost sight of it entirely, particularly over this last year. It’s not necessarily that too much happened, just too much at once for me to entirely process at any given time; and the instances of ‘too manies’ were frequent with little breathing room in between. My biggest hope for the coming new year is a long stretch of a boring, mundane life. That would be lovely.

Perhaps my biggest pet peeve in question form is this: What are you looking for?  For the record, this is one of the many reasons I’m banned from online dating because that question makes me want to throw punches as a fly into a rage and shout, “No! What are you looking for, asshole?!” I think the root of my anger is this: I don’t like feeling exposed or vulnerable and I’d wager that no one does if every single person were being blatantly honest. The question of what I’m looking for is vexing because it demands a form of transparency that is rarely reciprocated. I don’t want to feel picked apart anymore, as if I’m under the lens of someone else’s microscope. They can take that 1000X objective lens and shove it up their arse.

I don’t like being read, I don’t like someone constantly reading every single micro expression on my face and trying to interpret those expressions to form some agenda that meets the needs of the other whether it be an attempt to get me in bed or use me as the physical embodiment of every person that’s ever harmed you in some personal way.

If I’m not misinterpreting my interactions with another person in my life, this happened to me recently – both the constant reading of facial expressions and the projection of ‘Her’ and her deeds that had wronged him were my fault. At least that’s how it felt. He badgered me into admitting something I would have never told him. When I expressed my need for space and being upset over feeling so vulnerable, I was met with anger. I think most of that was misdirected. Of course I understand the desire for transparency in others – yet I think boundaries can still stand and not every single thing must be laid bare and forced open. I am transparent about most things, but I often draw a line in the sand when it pertains to my emotions. When I’m ready to share those feelings I’ll gladly do so, but not before I’m ready. Provoking me only causes me to feel hurt and cracked open.

Some things are mine and mine alone - particularly when it comes to my emotions.

While I’d hoped that nothing would change after that encounter, I can’t say that it hasn’t. I have changed. If nothing else, the conversation was one that expedited the process to my own realization that I need space and I need to spend more time fostering the healthier relationships in life rather than the ones that have potential to be the ruin of all parties involved.  While we certainly have similar characteristics and goals, the potential for ruin outweighs all of the former.

Maybe I'm only speaking from my own vulnerability when I say it feels like there's only ashes now.

I find myself facing a recurring theme that’s practically turned into my mantra this year: spend time with myself. Retreat, rejuvenate, and restore the balance so I can feel whole again. When I spend most of my days constantly reassuring others, constantly pouring positivity into them, I eventually feel as though I’m in autopilot and I have no idea who’s at the helm anymore. I can only say with certainty that it’s not me. I want to tap back into what I’ve lost – not just the feeling of happiness, but also the barely-scraping-the-surface kind of knowledge of the collective consciousness. I’ve been empty for so long. It would be lovely if someone would come along right about now and do what I’ve been doing for others for so long. In the end, I acknowledge that I can only rely on myself and I have to learn to achieve it on my own.

It all comes down to this: Know thyself. 

“Pick it up, pick it all up and start again. You’ve got a second chance, you could go home; escape it all. It’s just irrelevant. You could still be what you want to be, what you said you were when I met you. You’ve got a warm heart. You’ve got a beautiful brain. But it’s disintegrating from all the medicine . . . . You could still be what you want to be, what you said you were when you met me.” Daughter, Medicine

He's Really Not Into You

“Don’t spend your time on and give your heart to any guy who makes you wonder about anything related to his feelings for you.” – Greg Behrendt, He’s Just Not That Into You

So I’ve been doing the dating thing for a little over a month now. It feels like a freaking full-time job, and an unpleasant and exhausting one at that. I keep telling myself someone will make this all worth it eventually.

I had previously mentioned my involvement with my neighbor and how fond I had grown of him and his little girl. He had been increasingly distant in the weeks that followed that post. I don’t pretend to know why.  Then came the dreaded words: It’s not you, it’s me. Oh. My. God. He refused to offer any other explanation. Ouch. I thought that was a line that was conjured up in middle school when we simply grew tired of the other person and wanted to move on. And the little girl – I’ve seen her once since then, just last night. She was looking for her cat. There wasn’t an excited greeting or hug.  She looked at me like she didn’t even know me. I felt like a dagger had been thrown at the center of my chest. I’ve missed her. I don’t know what her father has told her – I don’t even know if this is a common occurrence in this young girl’s life – I just know that life feels emptier without her.

I suspect this is what he really meant, but was just too cowardly to have a face to face discussion with me.

I’m angry because I feel like my neighbor used her as a pawn to get my attention and I’m hurt because I know she won’t be a part of my life anymore, and I had no choice in the matter. It’s not really him that I was attached to, it was her. I miss the impromptu playdates, dance offs, and bows. I miss her excitement when she saw me come home in the afternoon and the immediate hugs. That’s just not my life anymore.

She literally had my heart the second she put her tiny hand in mine. 

So I move on because I don’t want to waste my energy on crying over it. There’s nothing I can do to change it . . . .  and once the waterworks start they just won’t stop. For now I’m telling myself to be grateful that it happened sooner than later. He showed his true colors and I didn’t become more enmeshed in her life. That would have devastated me.

I’ve moved on to other distractions. I’m still biking on a regular basis. That’s proven to be a good thing for me. I feel invigorated when I get to work and at the end of the day anything that bothered me is gone because I’ve exerted every last ounce of frustrated, angry energy on bike pedaling. I’m getting stronger, too – it’s worth it.

Channel the rage, Lass. It will go away eventually. 

Life has blessed me with some truly wonderful people. I’ve mentioned my tango friend before – the one who encourages me to get out because he knows I have a tendency to draw into myself. While it’s tempting to do that, I know it’s not healthy, and I’m grateful to have the luxury of knowing someone is in my corner and looking out for my best interests.

 Last week my friend convinced me to play volleyball with a handful of other dancers. It’s been a blast. They call it ‘laughter therapy’. That’s an accurate description. I think ‘rage therapy’ works as well. I had no idea that I was so competitive until I started playing with them – and volleyball is something I haven’t done in over a decade. I never have a voice the entire day afterwards because I spend my entire time yelling at my opponents, hurling insults and cursing in general. My only complaint is that I’ve somehow managed to jam my toe two weeks in a row and today in particular it hurts quite a bit . . . . but I work at a hospital, so I’ve got my bases covered. J

We mean business. 

The online dating saga continues. I made up my mind after my experience with my neighbor that I am so done with older men. Seriously. If he’s more than ten years my senior I want absolutely nothing to do with him. Does this prevent older men from contacting me? Absolutely not. I had someone sending me messages in his 50s. Why?! When he asked me to meet him for drinks I asked him what his intentions were and made it openly known that I was not interested in being someone’s plaything. He responded that it was obvious that I have wounds to heal and he does not . . . . Dude, I think the fact that you’re trying to get in the pants of someone less than half your age speaks volumes about your issues.

Sure I have issues. At least I am honest about them and don't deflect mine to the rest of the world.

I’ve met a handful of guys in person. One really was a pleasant surprise. I’m not sure if we’re a good match, but he did not bore me to hell and back like I initially thought he would . . . and I also turned out to not be the stuck up snob he thought I might be. Our conversation went something like this, “You carry weapons? Me, too! Let’s see if we fight to the death!” I exaggerated that a bit. We just had more in common than I thought. I also very much appreciate that he has respected my statement that I need patience. I don’t warm up to people right away. He doesn’t go for a hug unless I offer. Bonus points for you, guy.

I draw a pretty clear line in the sand. Anyone who tries to blur my boundaries gets nixed. Just don't do it!

On the flip side, there’s the touchy feely types and excessively clingy and needy in general. One bragged about his stellar kissing abilities . . . . . and then he tried to lick my damn face off and plunge his tongue down my throat. My face felt like a toilet. I’m also wary of men who claim that we share a strong connection when I sure as hell don’t feel it and men that use pet names like ‘sweet baby’, ‘darling’, ‘sugar’ or anything along those lines without being a close friend makes me feel like throwing punches. It takes me a while to retract my talons and I really have no rhyme or reason as to why that gets under my skin, I only know that it does. Lastly, there was the guy that seemed genuinely surprised that I actually looked like my photos and yet spent the entire time checking out every other female that walked past him. What the hell? 

A walk in the park with the hound. He was pretty much doing this the whole time. He's just not that into you!  He did ask me out to dinner today. I told him I just don't feel a connection - because there obviously isn't one.

On more than one occasion I’ve been asked what I’m looking for. It took me a while to put it in words, but I think it’s something along these lines: I’d like to find someone to share life with, but I don’t want him to be my life – and I don’t want to be his, either. Maybe our paths will blend more as time goes on and we find similar interests and things we enjoy doing together. I don’t want someone to waltz in and completely unhinge my life by taking me away from things that are meaningful to me and try to mold me into something I’m not. He has to adore my dog because I adore my dog. He needs to be patient with me because I have a tendency to be skittish and can feel like a caged animal if he moves too fast for my comfort zone. I need to take my time to get to know him.

I'm also playing for keeps. I'd like to get it right this time.

What amazes me about my stance on dating is that most men are surprised by my answer. It’s as if they’re expecting me to say I’m looking for my soul mate, I am looking for the ‘one’ to make my life complete, yadda, yadda, yadda. Have we become a society of parasite that feed off of one another because we’re so starved for attention and insecure in our own lives? Heavens! That’s why I took a break from dating in the first place. I needed to be comfortable with who I am and where I am in life. I needed to learn to love myself. I needed to learn to quit attracting the wrong kind of person into my life.

There are a couple of men who have caught my eye. I have yet to meet them in person . . . . and I’m really in no rush, either. I’m mostly looking forward to a summer of biking, dancing, volleyball and the hound. These are happy things for me and life feels complete as it is. 

I'll always be evolving, but that doesn't change my sense of fulfillment. 

Shelter From the Storm

“Never be in a hurry; do everything quietly and in a calm spirit. Do not lose your inner peace for anything whatsoever, even if your whole world seems upset.” – St. Francis de Sales

This last month has been stressful and chaotic. I had pushed myself so hard while still following through with most of my commitments that I drove myself to sickness. I also had people comment on how calm I was. I internally laughed at them. I certainly didn’t feel calm; and now that most of those stressful events and commitments have passed I find myself feeling and reacting like someone in a heightened state of agitation. I’ve been here a million times before.

So what’s the Irish Lass to do? I read an article on grounding techniques. A suggestion was to ask oneself, ‘Am I breathing?’ I ask myself this question several times a day and instantly feel myself connected back to reality as I sense myself breathing. Then I remind myself that I’m here. I’m okay. I’m calm. There is no threat here. Keep breathing.

A deep inhale to remind me . . . . 

I still intend to drop off the radar for a couple weeks in the near future. I’m just too tired and worn out to deal with anything, really. I’m still going because I have to – but I really need to take a ‘staycation’ in the near future. The effect of so much stress is pretty obvious right now. I’m forgetful and even though I hide it extremely well I feel like going for the jugular of about half the people I interact with throughout my day. I lack patience for others and I think every minor thing that I don’t know how to solve immediately is a disaster of epic proportions. Just keep breathing.

The sky isn't falling. I can breathe now. 

I have people in my life that keep me grounded as well, the main one being Spaniard. While his tactics are questionable, it’s working. I danced tango after a few days of him making me tell him I’m beautiful, I’m loved, I’m amazing, etc. The end result was something far better than I had expected: I was calm when I danced. I was so calm that others noticed and asked me who I was studying under to help me improve so much. I wouldn’t say that there was really any improvement, only that I was able to quiet my mind enough to actually listen to what my lead was signaling. The reptilian part of my brain actually shut off for a while. Word.

Beautiful tango. I've missed you. 

As Spaniard tells me often, ’Don’t disparage yourself and NEVER disparage yourself in front of me.’ I made the mistake of berating myself for something. He literally popped me on the mouth for speaking negatively towards myself. As he’s lead me through his methods of madness at least I’ve learned to question what I say and eventually question what I’m thinking, particularly when it comes to me. I have had the lowest self-esteem for a while now. Spaniard won’t let me continue to live life with that.  I guess to get over that hurdle someone had to force me to do it. I’m not completely over it yet, but I’m getting there. Heck, maybe I’ll be ready to take off my buffer ring sooner than I expected. For now, it’s still my security blanket . . .  and I’m still breathing.

I've been getting so many compliments on this bad boy lately. 

Then there’s my brother who often talks me out of crises mode. He tells me not to worry. Everything will be fine. I’m not alone. While we’ve developed our own language of affection that consists of trash talking each other, we do so in jest and he’s far better at it than me. When I was sick last week he sent me a text saying he tried to poison me and needed to send it back for a refund. He makes me laugh randomly and reminds me that I don’t have to be so serious and so intense all of the time. The hound reminds me to calm down, too. I see him when I’ve had a long day and am worried about several things simultaneously and tell myself that I need to stay calm for him. I have to recognize that I need to be calm for me, too.

This would have been us in our younger years.

What I would love more than anything in the world right now is to snuggle up next to someone and just be for a few hours. There’s no significant other in the picture, so what’s the next best solution? TANGO!!! I’ve missed a couple of weeks and consequently have missed its therapeutic qualities. I miss the folks that I see on a regular basis and my handful of favorite leads who I adore because they are kind and good people.

I need to get back to this passionate form of dance! Also, her dress looks like mine . . . . and I still can't dance like this. Just in case you were wondering.

I’m tempted to say that I feel like the eye of the storm is coming –but that suggests more chaos and nonsense. Instead I’ll tell myself that the storm is passing and I don’t see another one looming in the horizon. My reptilian brain and shut off for a while because I don’t need it. I’m not fighting for survival, I’m living.

Blue skies are on the horizon. I miss nature, too. I need to fix that.

“The language of excitement is at best picturesque merely. You must be calm before you can utter oracles.” – Henry David Thoreau

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

The Pack Is Still Standing

“They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it. Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still” – William Penn

I stopped counting the days since she’s been gone. It hurts. It hurts a hell of a lot. It took me a while to quit looking for her in my rearview mirror every time I went on a hike with Merlin. I kept thinking I’d see her with him in the back seat. She’s a phantom and I miss her more than I can stand sometimes.

I watch Merlin sleeping sometimes. Lately he’s been wagging his tail while he’s dreaming. I like to think he’s with her in those moments – that he’s found her somehow. I know he misses her, too. I am trying so hard to pull myself together for his sake. Grieving dogs need to know that the pack is still intact. It’s okay, hound. The pack is still standing.  

We mourn. We howl. We heal and move on. Its okay, hound. I'm still here. 

Everything in my life is changing. I’m settling in to a new job. I’m looking for places to live and have realized that it is extremely difficult to find a place in or around Portland. The listings are filled in a second. As it stands, it looks like I’m going to have to move really far out for something affordable and then I’ll absolutely have to find a roommate to offer a discounted rent to because I’ll need someone to help with the hound if I have an hour commute each way for riding my bike. Dang.

I’ve only just started looking. I won’t be too discouraged at this point. Perhaps something miraculous will happen and Ava and the hound will find the perfect spot. The pack is still standing.

Yeah . . .  That's pretty darn close.

 

Someone in my life that I thought I could always count on made it their personal mission to wound me deeply. It was repeated attacks on my character and anything of any importance in my life at all. The only thing I catch myself thinking is, Why? What on earth have I done to you to deserve this? I am now asking myself if this is someone I want in my future. I don’t know the answer, so I’m giving myself time.

The unconditional love of a dog is arguably one of the most comforting things in this world. 

 The pack is still standing. We’re going to be okay. I have to stare into my reflection and remind myself that I’m still standing sometimes. There have been so many wonderful things in my life, I just want the ugliness to go away so I can enjoy the beautiful things for a while.

Speaking of beautiful things, I’ll be returning to tango soon. I’ve missed it. Actually, I’ve really needed it – particularly when scenarios in my life are so dark and painful. I’ve always prided myself on my intuition when it comes to the pain of others because I don’t want them to suffer. I received that favor in turn this morning. A friend offered to talk and reminded me that tango holds us sweetly. It really does and there’s something so very beautiful and healing about it.

The tango embrace. This is what bliss looks like. 

I’ve always thought I’m fairly good at masking how much I’m really hurting. I’ve either convinced myself of a blatant lie or I have the privilege of knowing someone who sees pain in others like I do . . . . I think the dead giveaway was the fact that I was playing with my facebook profile at 3 am this morning and there was a photo with a lone wolf. I wonder what sort of emotions and symbolism these lovely creatures evoke in others. Since I first met my she-wolf, in some other dimension in time, I’ve always seen the wolf as a companion and protector. The pack is still standing.

A friend told me once that she didn’t need to watch soap-operas because I practically live one. She’s right. I don’t know how it happens, but pain and grief and drama find me more frequently than I care to admit. Maybe someday I’ll write a book about what feels like an endless saga, or perhaps the soap opera days will eventually end. However, be it pain, grief, or a soap opera life, the pack is still standing.

On second thought, a book might be a bad idea . . . . because much like this picture, none of these soap opera events make any sense. 

“My grief and pain are mine. I have earned them. They are part of me. Only in feeling them do I open myself to the lessons they can teach” – Anne Wilson Schaff

Running Counterclockwise

“Those who don’t know how to suffer are the worst off. There are times when the only correct thing we can do is bear out troubles until a better day.” – Deng Ming-Dao

Our life is made up of victories and defeats, of miracles and grievances, and of joy and pain. I’ve had a small set back. I’m still waiting to see how it pans out this time around. That’s the thing with PTSD – to me, it feels like it comes out of nowhere for no reason whatsoever. That’s my frustration and this is my grievance. I’m learning to take it in stride, recognize it before it overwhelms me and am still working on keeping the raging ocean of emotions to small ripples instead of tsunamis. This is my victory and I’m not finished with it yet. My guess is I have to pass the same face of the mountain a few more times until I reach the top. 

Maybe when things feel like they're falling apart it's really all falling into place.

I’m asked what can be done to help me. The grievance is that I don’t know the answer to that question. I don’t know how to stop the cycle once it starts. The miracle is that I’m being asked what can be done. The tough exterior I’ve carried for most of my life is wearing thin and those that spend a lot of time with me recognize when I’m troubled. I count this as a miracle as well. I’m far more transparent than I used to be and can’t shut out those closest to me. 

Part of my fear lies in a new transition in life. As a recent college graduate, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m weighing out my options, trying to decide what will be the most rewarding to me in the long run. I have a goal in sight; I just have to jump through more hoops to get there while wondering how on earth I’m going to support myself if I’m in the strange juxtaposition of being too qualified or under qualified. I feel as if the exchange I’ll ultimately have to make is the sacrifice of my own sense of fulfillment for stability by means of income.

I try not to think that far ahead, but I find myself doing it anyway. In my worst nightmare, I’m dancing on a pole so I can spend my days volunteering in the hopes of getting an ‘in’ with the type of work that would give me a sense of fulfillment. I hope it never comes to that – but desperation drives us to do things we never thought ourselves capable. This is my grievance.

Sometimes I feel like singing and howling at the moon simultaneously. 

Even on my worst days, when I want to throw in the towel and drown myself in a river of tears, I still have people that love me and cheer me on. When I feel like I'm going to lose myself and life seems overwhelming, I'm given a shoulder to cry on. This is my miracle. 

“The bad things in life open your eyes to the good things you weren’t paying attention to before.”  - Good Will Hunting