Sanctuary

“Remember the entrance to the sanctuary is inside you.” – Rumi

I don’t like that I’ve stepped away from this for so long, but such is life. And life makes it hard for me to dedicate myself to anything entirely. At least, it feels that way with the hours I’ve had to keep. I am making some changes in the near and foreseeable future, and am hoping it brings in the results I’d like to see.

And it wasn’t just life, it was the unnerving that came with knowing that two people in particular were paying such close attention to my life. A woman where I work – the self-proclaimed dirty fairy creature congratulated me when I announced I was pregnant. I hadn’t said a word to anyone at work. And if you’re reading now, Fairy Creature, there was never a doubt in my mind that it was you who trolled my blog. And then some guy I briefly dated kept looking at one of my online profiles not long after I announced I was engaged. It was creepy. I contacted him on Facebook, letting him know that it was creepy and that I literally got a notification every time he did that. His response was to go in incognito mode or whatever it is that LinkedIn offers and block me on Facebook. I just have one question for you both:

I have another announcement: I am pregnant. Six months. It’s a girl. I found out in January. Apparently the day I took the test was the very day it could have a positive reading. She’s been hitting the marks on the timeline quite nicely and I’m looking forward to meeting the little one face to face. A friend dubbed her ‘Belly Being’. I like it and that’s how I refer to her when I write my ridiculous weekly updates on pregnant life. It’s definitely a joyous experience, but it’s also a hilariously uncomfortable one, too. I hope to make her a book on all of this someday.

Belly Being's very first gift was an awesome girl power book and a Wonder Woman teether. Compliments of a lovely co-worker. 

I feel like nearly every inch of me as widened, including my feet. I’m hoping it’s not permanent because I hear some women never go back to their original size and  . . . . Dancing. I need to fit into my dancing shoes! I have stretch marks. I have gas. I have a constant halo of grease on my face from the hormones. But hey! It gives me that glowing look that everyone says is so lovely. And I can’t say that this has been an entirely joyful experience, either. I’ve heard that before about women who have had a miscarriage. It’s really messed with my head, making me nearly afraid to be happy about it. Yet here we are and she’ll be here in just a few months. It’s not that I didn’t want to be happy, I was just afraid. And as we’ve progressed further along I’ve taken a small sigh of relief. And now I can feel her kicking every now and then and it reassures me that everything is okay.

This perfect tiny little being. I loved her from the moment I saw her as a tiny cluster of beating cells. 

She's been a positive influence on my life already. I was ready to walk away from a familial relationship entirely - and then I learned I was pregnant and knew that it wasn't a choice that I could make for someone else. So Belly Being has actually improved my relationship with my adopted mom. We still keep in contact, but I keep it at my own terms and that's made this whole dynamic run much more smoothly. 

The thing that amazes me most about this entire experience is the calmness that pregnancy has brought on me. I have felt small instances of anxiety, but nothing lasting. I have lived with PTSD and depression for so long I’d literally forgotten what it was like to not feel those awful things.  I don’t know that this will last after pregnancy, but it would be beyond wonderful if it does. And don’t get me wrong, I have plenty to be losing my sh*t about; it’s just not phasing me as it would have prior to pregnancy.

I’ll be changing jobs. It’s a step down and a cut in pay, but I am so done with the surgical department at my hospital. Bonus points because it shaves a little from my commute. And then Micheal decided that it was time to look for a house after we learned I was pregnant (insert overwhelmed and nervous laughter here). The housing market in the pacific northwest is beyond f*cking ridiculous. We qualify for a $200, 000 loan . . . . which can pretty much get us a frame of a house that’s been burned down from a meth lab gone wrong and is now housing ants. Anything that seems attainable is always going to go to a higher bidder who has cash on hand. Who are these assholes that have this kind of money? I confess, even looking at manufactured homes has been a challenge. Granted, it makes us feel like we have a fighting chance, but its’s still vicious.

We even got close once. The offer was accepted. Everything fell through last minute because the HOA didn't follow through with a letter for the lender and that was it. Then the seller took a cash offer and we were left with nothing but frustration. 

Maybe I should be grateful? I've never been fond of Portland or the Pacific NW in general. 

And despite how impossible this has felt and proven to be, it still seems like a good idea because we really need the room. Currently we live in a modest 2 bedroom apartment with 2 dogs. Technically we have an extra room, because it’s only used 3 months out of the year at most if the step son comes to visit, but it’s off limits. I didn’t feel even remotely panicky until I realized we don’t even have room for a rocking chair. And then I feel Belly Being move and realize there’s an actual tiny person living inside of me. Oh. Em. Gee. So I have a few moments of worry and then I’m done with it. Prior to pregnancy all of these things: job change, change in pay, looking for home to buy, insanely dumb commute, etc. All of those things would have resulted in me setting something on fire.

We’re taking all of these birth prep courses, too. And for these ice breaker exercises they had couples ask one another what they’re doing to prep for their nursery. LMAO!!! I’m not sure I’d have time to work on it even if we had one. Up until a few weeks ago I was still working 2 jobs. So these women with their unswollen feet with husbands who supported them fully wanted to know what I was doing to get ready for baby. I joked that I mostly just cried in the corner about it. That’s a half truth, I guess because sometimes I certainly feel that way.

I'm not at this phase yet, but I pray for Grace for those who are near me when this starts. 

Honestly I can’t complain much. Compared to what I’ve heard from other women, my pregnancy has been relatively easy. I haven’t had too much intense cravings, either; that’s also a benefit for Micheal because I’m not driving him too crazy.

I envy this little girl already because she has an amazing dad who is just as happy about her as I am.

An Empath's Perspective: TLDR

“Your perspective on life comes from the cage you were held captive in.” – Shannon L. Alder

I’ve been struggling a lot lately. My guess is a potent concoction of several factors that landed me in another deep, depressed state. My own frustration compounded what I was already feeling – I just feel like giving up sometimes. I wondered how many false hopes I’d stumble across that would make me think I had somehow found something that would take away PTSD entirely.

I have to accept that PTSD never goes away and it’s simply my lot in life to live with it. I imagine the sooner I accept that I will never truly feel whole again the better off I’ll be. I’d like to think the journey will get easier from there once I can accept that there is no cure and no amount of my failed attempts to bring closure to and make sense of my own past will make a difference, either. It’s a harsh truth, yet I think it’s an honest one.

Even though others don't like what you're saying - sometimes I have very dark thoughts. I'm not ashamed of that.

I know people hate to hear me say things along those lines because I make it seem hopeless. I don’t see it as a form of hopelessness, merely looking at the situation objectively and accepting an unpleasant truth.

My mind went to some very dark places for a while and I struggled to find motivation to do even the simplest of things. I was down for too long in my dark apartment with a nasty virus. It seems that what was trudged up during that downtime has affected me even though I struggle against it. I’m thinking the worst of it was when I called Donna, my grandmothers’ best friend and my childhood babysitter. I felt like I was on a ledge and I couldn’t think of anyone else who would understand the pain I was feeling. Donna lost the same people I lost, the only difference being she was an adult and I was a child.

These two women have a special place in my heart. My grandmother on the left and Donna on the right.

When I was a little girl, I often came home from school crying. I was teased for many things, mostly for being chubby. Donna would stroke my hair and tell me not to worry about what the other children were telling me because I was well on my way to being a Marilyn Monroe look alike. Fast forward to my adult years, I called Donna crying and asked her how she got through it. Her response was this: Sometimes I drink, sometimes I accept it, and sometimes I pray. I suppose that’s all we can do.

In the end, I guess what really matters is that I'm moving forward.

My conversation with her lifted my spirits. She told me about how my grandmother loved to dress me up when I was younger and that if she had a daughter she’d want her to be just like me. Having felt worthless and low for several weeks, her words were just what I needed to hear.

Our conversation resulted in a new project: I must find her a laptop. She was amazed that I could call her from the internet. Donna is low income and in her 60’s. Not too long ago she damaged her back so badly that she is unable to work. If I can repay her for her comfort and kindness, it’s in my new mission of laptop hunting.

Struggling as much as I have over the last several weeks made me think of the Death with Dignity Act – I think this should apply to mental illnesses as well. Before you balk at my words, Dear Reader, please hear me out. I’m not talking about a temporary bout of depression or anxiety because one has just gone through a divorce or is under a severe amount of stress. I’m talking about the chronic conditions such as schizophrenia and PTSD. I view them in the same light as I see cancer. No amount of love, medical care or money can prevent these things, particularly when it’s terminal.

I think this should extend to everyone.

I feel that there are vast mountains to be climbed for the societal acceptance of how severe these conditions are. From my conversations with others, I have found that the people who genuinely understand where I’m coming from have either experienced it themselves or have experienced mental illness with a loved one, watching helplessly as that person withered away from their own self destruction or ultimately took their own life.

When someone dies from suicide, it’s seen as weakness. Unlike death due to a physical illness, there is anger directed at the person. How could she?! I think people view these types of death far too personally. We wouldn’t be angry at someone who died of cancer, and what most fail to see is that suicide is a last resort. Suicide comes when the person just wants to escape the pain.

I have the answer: absolutely nowhere. It's a harsh truth. We just have to ride it out. That's really our only option.

Provided that a person has made an effort, if the mental illness is terminal the Death with Dignity Act should apply. Take me as an example: I’ve been in therapy for at least 5 years now. There is no cure for me.

I’m not saying I want to die, I’m only saying I should have the option – and I should have the option of a dignified death, not one that results in suicide and further compounds the stigma that’s already been attached to my life. Additionally, those who suffer from more severe forms of mental illness often turn their frustration and anger towards themselves. We have a tendency to be self-destructive and self-medicate. The self-medicating results in substance abuse and this is often so severe that it leads to death as a result from overdose or massive organ failure.

For most of the mentally ill, this is what happens in the end - or we commit suicide. 

So I wondered about the more compassionate option. Knowing the destructive nature of mental illness, why force a person to live with it and give them only suicide as a way out? Using myself as an example again, I think I should have the choice to choose death when I can’t stand the fight anymore. I’m an organ donor and those parts of me could go to someone who will live a happy life. As things stand with our current laws and statistics on mental illness, I’d be more likely to develop an addiction, die from it, and my organs wouldn’t be viable because the substance abuse would ruin them. Or, I’d commit suicide in a manner that didn’t preserve the organs and no one would benefit from my death. I just don’t see the logic in the way things are with this now. I try to see all things as objectively as possible. Perhaps I’m dead wrong on this subject, but I’m finding the more I talk about it, the more I find people who are in accordance with my own views on this matter. I think we all deserve a dignified death.

I'd wager that if we were given the choice, we'd be able to save lives with our organs by relinquishing our own life.

Maybe I’ll change my mind. Either way, I refuse to join the masses who refuse to see mental illness as a very real thing. This is something that we should talk about more, not only to understand how it impacts those who suffer from it, but also the blatantly wrong stereotypes applied to those who have a mental illness.

I’m making more effort to not only understand myself, but to protect myself as well. I’m a naturally empathetic person – and I imagine why this is the main reason I so easily connect with others. The part of being an empath that wrecks me sometimes is absorbing other people’s pain, often making it my own. Not only their pain, but their issues. I’m trying to retrain myself so that I learn to observe rather than absorb. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been sponge-like towards other’s emotional states. Seriously! There have been a few occasions, where I’ve made someone laugh because their sadness was overwhelming me.

I'm thinking this personality trait may also explain at least some of the peaks and valley in my life.

With that in mind, I nixed some people from my life. Not because they were bad people, simply because I felt they were bad for me. I can only absorb so much negativity in any given day. Because I am dealing with so many scared, anxious, and sometimes angry people in my life of work, I simply don’t have anything left over when the day is done. My goal is to have something left over, particularly for me because I’m tired of feeling so drained all of the time. When I can learn to observe instead of absorb I can work on reestablishing connections with others who consistently tap into my empathetic energy. My heart needs to be closed off for a while. I find that difficult to do because it goes against my nature.

From reflection, I’ve learned that there are personality types that are just downright dangerous to me. I’ve nixed people with these personality types, too. I’m sure they don’t intentionally mean me harm, but they can’t fight their true nature and that’s just the way of it. If I can quit blaming myself for what’s going wrong in everyone else’s life because my purpose in life isn’t to fix anyone. That’s their choice, not mine.

Truth be told, feeling any emotion to the depths that I experience them feels rather lonely. 

I just keep going in circles, don’t I? I’m thinking of a friend’s words said to me several years ago: I will pass the same face of the mountain on my way to the top. I hope I’m at least evolving and moving upward. I doubt myself sometimes. I’m also self-doubting and have no sense of direction. These are also truths. I imagine I’ve been on the most indirect path up this wretched mountain: one with no foot trails and entirely uncharted. 

Don't even ask me for directions. I will undoubtedly get you lost. That's also a harsh truth. 

They're Only Memories

“Courage doesn’t always roar, sometimes it’s the quiet voice at the end of the day whispering, ‘I will try again tomorrow’.” ~ May Anne Radmacher

My memoriam to the people that gave me the will to keep going is still in the works. I’ve uncovered a minefield recently as a result of constantly peering into the past. This is a section of my life I realized has been a secret I’ve carried most of my life. I never spoke a word of it to anyone. So, I’m facing these things. It’s emotionally draining and feels like a heavy anchor pulling me down a sinkhole. There are times I’ve wanted to walk away from it entirely – but I hear a small voice in my mind that tells me to keep going and finish what I started. I have to remind myself why I began in the first place because I’ve felt like giving up more than once.

This has been a very lonely process, too. I don't think I've ever felt more isolated than I do right now.

I have to remind myself that this is the only way I’ll get better. Yes, it hurts. It hurts a lot. Sometimes the emotion that broke your heart in the first place is the one that heals it. I also have to remind myself that I’m not a vulnerable child not in control of her own life anymore. They can’t touch me now – they are only memories. They are only memories. They are only memories.

Eventually I'll stop running. I'll stop fighting. I'll stop hiding. I'll learn to embrace the things I'm working so hard to only make eye contact with right now.

When I first stumbled upon it, my minefield certainly didn’t feel like distant memories. More so because I was sick and had nothing to do but lie in bed. During my conscious moments I remembered and in my dreams the memories haunted me. That week, in particular was a little rough. I just tell myself to keep going, keep writing, and keep sharing the secrets I have to share. What it all boils down to in the end is that I’m simply afraid of emotional suffering. That’s what I dread most.

Guess who still puts on her happy face anyway?

You know what else is a little rough? Getting back on my bike after being down for the count for about two weeks. I feel like I’m starting all over because the bastard virus attacked my respiratory system. For this situation in life, I’m telling myself that I’ll be Iron Man eventually.

Just kidding! That is not an appealing ambition for me. I’ve actually returned to listening to music again just so I don’t have to hear my own suffering of major breath exertion while going uphill. It’s a psychological thing. I feel like it’s not quite so hard when I don’t have to hear how hard I’m working.

One thing I have to start making more of an effort to practice is dancing. Friends keep pointing out that it was something that made me happy. It did. I just have to start moving. I know that’s all it will take. I happen to have a nicely sized patio which I’ve been cleaning little by little. I think I’ll start belly dance again. I’m not entirely sure I want to go back to tango. I think about it from time to time . . . and I’m just not sure. Either way, dancing is something I enjoy and I should get back to it – particularly in times like this when I’m staring my demons in the face and unsure that I can handle anything in my present life.

Maybe someone just needs to give me a kick in the arse.

I feel as though my creative energy has been entirely tapped out. I can’t pinpoint the reason, if one exists at all. I’ve made every effort to cut unnecessary people out of my life who gladly take my warmth, but offer none in return. Despite my efforts to focus more on me, I feel like something major is missing and it’s affecting my capacity to creative, worship, dance, etc.

So, while I invest some time into regaining my physical and spiritual energy, I’ll be reflecting . . .  I’m always reflecting these days as a result of my therapeutic project. Sometimes I wonder if it’s really therapeutic or just plain torture. There have been a few times since I’ve started that I’ve wished my very existence would evaporate entirely. When I’m feeling that down I tell myself there would be no one left to talk about my father, grandmother, and others. Thinking along those lines and comparing the outcomes, I feel it would be far worse to let their memories be forgotten. That’s the main reason I’m still keeping at it even though it hurts.

“Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second’s encounter with God and with eternity.” – Paul Coelho, Alchemist

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

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. 

Spaniard

“Alice came to a fork in the road. ‘Which road do I take?’ she asked.

‘Where do you want to go?’ responded the Cheshire Cat.

‘I don’t know,’ Alice answered.

‘Then, said the Cat, ‘it doesn’t matter.’ “– Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

So many changes have been taking place. I know it’s all mostly for the best, but it has certainly pushed me out of my comfort zone a good deal. I’m managing to stay grounded and persevere to keep myself that way when I catch my thoughts racing to every possibility that could go wrong. Even though I’m stressed out and stretched too thin, I’m doing okay.

I’m about 99% moved. I still have a few odds and ends in my former house – but nothing that I desperately need. Ideally, I would have had the time to sort through things and donate accordingly. That’s exactly what didn’t happen and the other day I found myself not even wanted to sort things, but throw random boxes the f*ck out! Not because they aren’t things I don’t care about, but because I’m not sure I have the room for them, and, in the end, they really are just things. For the most part, I’m cleaning . . . . a lot. The previous tenant was a smoker and I’m not sure the place has been given a good scrubbing in several years. I’ve had to force myself to take a break this week because my wrists and carpels are literally knotted from overuse. However, I only have so much time to get this done and use borrowed resources while I have access to them (i.e., washer and dryer during house sit stay). I’ll more than likely be back at it next week even if I feel like I’m dying in the process.

I don't know who this 'Rob' is . . . . but someone needs to help me! 

I reconnected with an old friend recently. I still haven’t decided if this is a good or bad event in my life. He has been and can be both what builds me up and what unravels me.  He is a complicated scenario. He’s a friend, a mentor and so much more on many facets of my life. Since first learning of his heritage, I’ve never addressed him by his first name; I’ve always called him ‘Spaniard’. It suits him.

The Spaniard and I hadn’t spoken in a couple of years. There was a point in my life when I felt things between he and I were too complicated, and ‘complicated’ wasn’t something I could emotionally handle in my life. He came over to help me clean my new place. Instead of cleaning, he and I spent several hours catching up and talking over coffee. I mostly told him about this last year of my life: loving, losing, grieving and finally reaching a breaking point that was a huge red flag that it was time to move on. I know deep in the back of my mind he’s always wanted the best for me. As I gave my account of my actions after pushing someone away I cared so deeply for, Spaniard listened emphatically and responded, ‘So – you’ve forgotten how a man should treat you? Back to the School of Spaniard with you!’

This is someone who tells me I’m beautiful and forces me to look him in the eyes and respond with , “Yes, I am.” Spaniard won’t let me take myself for granted. Perhaps in another lifetime he and I could be something else, but not this time around. He has his life, I have mine. That’s all there is to it. For now, I have the comfort of knowing I have someone in my corner and a patient teacher when it comes to weaving in and out of life. Where I tend to be scatter brained and emotionally ebbing and flowing, Spaniard has an amazing ability to compartmentalize his life. I envy that, but he doesn’t think it would suit me. If I didn’t know better, I would think he envies my ability to feel as much as I do.

As he says to me often, "Don't disparage yourself. Ever!" Also, "Look me in the eyes when you say you're lovely!"

He has seen the worst sides of me and has never judged me for it. I think he understands because the same kind of fury exists within him as well. He has seen where my demons hide, and he’s lived there as well. Considering everything that’s occurring simultaneously right now, it’s a comfort to have the presence of someone like him back in my life. Spaniard challenges me to be a better person and to dream bigger. I know he and I are destined to part ways eventually, but I’ll just simply take it for what it is right now. Sure, I never intended to be involved with anyone on any level whatsoever for a while longer – but I guess sometimes life knocks on our door and we can’t hide away from it forever. He’s has his own life and I have mine. That’s where it can stay and that’s probably what I need right now.

In all honesty, I have no idea where I’m headed. Spaniard asked me if I have a plan in place. Tentatively I do, but nothing is set in stone. I’d like to go back to school; however, I don’t think that would be fair to the hound right now. He needs me and I would feel awful about leaving him for hours on end. Merlin is getting older and I want to be with him as much as possible.

Who wouldn't want to spend every waking moment with this guy?!

I also have some loans to pay off. My friends loaned me money to pay for Cassie’s substantial pet hospital bill an a little extra to help me move out. I’m grateful to them, and I always will be. On the same note, I’ve gotten the impression lately that they think I’m trying to take advantage of them. My agreement was to both work for and pay them at a rate of 10 percent a month until the loan is paid off. I didn’t plan on everything coinciding all at once and me having a mess to clean up in my new place in addition to a long commute, an extra dog, and simultaneously moving while working full time. I had to ask her for a couple of months off, but kept hoping I’d find the energy somewhere to clean a little bit for my friend and her husband. Eventually, I had to send her an e-mail asking for leniency. She responded with, “For the sake of our friendship, we have to agree that this is the last time.” Wow. So . . . for the sake of our friendship I asked her not to count one of the jobs I did for her towards my loan and consider it a gift. That’s all I can give her right now. In the meantime, I might start looking for a weekend job so I can pay her off faster. I don’t want something like this looming over my head. I don’t need something like this looming over my head.

Probably a bad move on my part. I'll live and learn as well as honor my word. 

It’s not just the exhaustion from a long commute and constant cleaning, but also money that I’ve needed to put into the cost of moving and things I need for my new place like a dog door, dishes, a bike for commuting (I still need a helmet and a few other things for it). So, I’m next to broke and had to remind myself that I really do have the essentials for now and other things can wait.

Not perfect by any means . . . but it's coming along. 

I haven’t had a chance to dance much tango lately. I miss it and I’m hoping yet again to make it out tonight. I pondered to Spaniard the other day how his presence will affect my dancing. How am I going to channel my passion on the dance floor?! He thinks it will only improve. If I make it out tonight I can put his theory to the test.  

So . . . . I'll be dancing like this in no time, right? 

On the topic of tango, I signed up for the first Portland Tango Marathon. I’m now wondering if that will prove to be a huge mistake because I haven’t had the time or funds for practice lately. While the Irish Lass is growing rusty and simultaneously missing tango, I’m noting that a number of very advanced dancers are signing up. It would be a pity of my last tango splurge involved me sitting in the corner for the most part because no one wants to dance with the one on the black list. Truth be told, I’m not sure if there is a black list, I just take note of how people look at me . . . and I still keep smiling . . . and dancing like an ungraceful amateur. 

I'd love to boast that no one denies my cabeceo . . . . but they do. Damn it! 

"Please do make your decisions in life and feel confident that they are right. However, if fate is involved, feel just as confident even if they aren't." - C. Elizabeth, Absolute Obsession

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.