Secrets

“I thought about how there are two types of secrets: the kind you want to keep in, and the kind you don’t dare to let out.” – Alley Carter, Don’t Judge a Girl by Her Cover

There other day my therapist looked at me in astonishment. She said, “I’ve been working with you for 6 years and I’m still learning new things about you.” I suddenly realized I’ve lived a very colorful life – and colorful within all shades of the spectrum.

A fascinating colorful life, actually.

I’ve had secrets that have weighed me down to depths I thought unreachable. I’ve had secrets that are so dark I thought I’d never speak of them . . . . and I’ve also had secrets that were filled with happiness that I kept to myself to shine light through the darker moments of life. These amazing ups and downs of my life are becoming more apparent to me as I continue writing about them and realizing just how much I survived.

This is a story of another man in my life. I first met him when I was 17 and working at UC Merced. I had recently graduated from high school, and didn’t have plans to stay at the university long because I had plans to do missionary work somewhere overseas. I wound up in Namibia, Africa. The experience changed my life and gave me a very different outlook of the followers of the religion I knew and their intolerance to other people and cultures. In many ways, Namibia was when my life began.

Beautiful Namibia . . . . I miss you.

When I returned to the states I again went back to work at UC Merced. I was nearly 19 then. I hadn’t paid much attention to him before, but when I returned back to the states I suddenly saw him entirely differently . . . .  and I found him to be quite attractive. I remember the day he walked in with blue jeans and a white t-shirt. My jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

I genuinely don't know what it was about his look that day . . . but he really caught my eye. 

I should mention that there was a considerable age difference between us. I acknowledge this has been a recurring thing in my life. I was not quite 19 and he was 40. Some say it’s my preference. Some say I have ‘daddy issues’. To anyone who ever thinks I have daddy issues: F*ck you. Seriously. It’s not your place to judge my decisions.

I can’t quite remember how it started. We went on a few outings and due to the fact that I was living with my aunt who also happened to be his boss, we kept it a secret. I think the secrecy added another level of excitement to the whole thing. We exchanged stolen glances at work, smiling because the secret remained between us.

This story is perhaps one of my best kept secrets . . . until now. 

We became an item shortly after he bought his house. I was with him at his house warming party and our night after everyone had left was nothing short of mind blowing . . . all of the pent up energy from hours being within at arm’s length of one another and not being able to do anything about it – we didn’t even look at each other long for fear of being discovered.

We had many of those moments: secret, fun, gentle and loving. For many things in my life, he was my first.

I have a confession of my own. That's me to the left in the green bikini. Even during times it's been too small for me, I have never been able to part with it. Now that I've given it some thought, I think it's because it reminded me of him. That's what I wore to his housewarming party.

The issues started when he became increasingly uncomfortable with our age difference. I never gave it a second thought. I think everything started to fall apart when he was with me at a Starbucks. A young man walked up to us and asked him if he was my father. Considering that Mr. UC Merced and I look nothing alike, the question was ridiculous. I could tell he was troubled by it and he started to push me away.

I began to feel that he was ashamed of me and wanted to keep me as some dirty little secret; no one should ever know about me. I felt him pushing me away. Eventually I walked away. He broke my young heart. Considering the age difference between us, it wasn’t a fair fight and it wasn’t a level playing field.

He might as well have taken a hammer to me. 

He still wanted to be involved in my life. It took some time, and gradually over the years we began talking as if nothing had ever happened. In his own way, he showed me that I truly was special to him. He had old letters I’d written to him while I was in Montana, before I went to Namibia and he and I were anything more than co-workers and friends. He kept a card I’d signed for his housewarming party. It’s been over a decade and he’s still held onto these things. 

We didn’t have a song. We had an entire album: Nora Jones’ Come Away with Me. I stopped listening to her music altogether because it only reminded me of the man who’d made me the happiest and saddest at the same time.

He’s checked in on me over the years. He’s moved on for UC Merced and is now onto bigger and better things. His gestures of kindness seemed to always come at the right time. He knew I was struggling after I made a frenzied move to the other side of the city and that I had estranged myself from my family because I could no longer bring myself to keep up the charade. He also knew that I was hiding out at Christmas just so I didn’t have to see them. He asked for my address to send me one of his photos. He’s quite talented. What I received in the mail was a Christmas card containing $60 and a note that said someone was thinking about me.

I had a fridge issue and was struggling to get my landlord to fix it. I was at my wit’s end. That damn mini fridge that came with the apartment had ruined a good deal of my food because it kept freezing and defrosting things. I don’t even want to think about the money wasted on that fiasco. Eventually I win the battle with my landlord. I went grocery shopping and Mr. UC Merced asked if I needed any help. The honest truth is that I could, but I declined. A gal’s got to at least try to stand on her own sometimes. It’s just comforting to know that someone thinks about your small struggles in life and is willing to help.

Lately we’ve been talking a lot. He’s thinking about coming to visit. And, if I haven’t misinterpreted, hinted at me moving back to California. My immediate thought was that there was absolutely nothing for me in California. What was I going to do? Let Mr. UC Merced support me? I think not!

I've leveled with him about how he made me feel so long ago. He's tried to talk to me about it before; I was either unwilling to listen or not ready to hear his words. In our recent conversation, he said he never regretted loving me, he only regrets how he handled things. For anyone who's ever been broken up about unrequited love, I think those are the exact words we want/need to hear. 

I was telling this tale of secrets, love and loss to my therapist. When I got to the part about how much Lindsay dislikes this man because she doesn’t agree with the age difference my therapist nearly died of laughter . . . .  because if I were to actually leave and move back to California for this guy, it would be a double whammy. I’d be out of a city that drives me mad sometimes and would royally piss Lindsay off.

Mostly irate, though.

The thought is amusing and would be a great ending to what has been a very colorful life thus far. However, feeding into my spiteful ego to have the last laugh in regards to my adopted mother is a piss poor reason to be in a relationship. While I’m tempted to dismiss the idea of a life with him at all, I’ve been told to not jump to conclusions, wait it out and see where things go. Perhaps there are more pages yet to be written between us.

 . . . or perhaps a cautionary tale of epic stupidity. 

"I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone." - Rainer Maria Rilke 

I'm Banned From Online Dating

“The beginning is always today.” – Mary Shelley

I’ve been banned from online dating. I can never touch it again.

I was recounting my last date that resulted from an online dating site to my friend over our weekly Sunday hike with our dogs when she turned to me and said, “Your New Year’s Resolution starts now. No more online dating.” I closed my account for good. She’s right, those idiots make me neurotic and for the most part I’ve met guys who are too intense, too weird, want to take advantage of me, etc. etc. Also, I’m sure I saw my therapist breathe a sigh of relief when I told her I was honoring my friend’s request.

Mostly creepy people in general.

My official last date seemed to go well. I was puzzled because the guy asked me to meet him and then expected me to pay for my drink. Perhaps this is the new age of dating – I just thought that the person who asks is the person who pays. For instance, if I invite a friend to dinner, drinks, a movie or all of the above, that’s because I’m buying. It’s a rare occurrence these days that I can afford to do such a thing, but I try.

The guy took the bus to meet me at a local bar near my house. I offered to drive him home – it was quite cold. He asked for my number and I gave it to him because he seemed like a nice, normal kind of guy . .  . and then the red flags started showing. He started texting me a couple of days later. Within the span of an hour there were 30 texts from him and insistency from him that we schedule another date. His intensity and over-excitement about me were off-putting. I told him we weren’t a good match. Then I ranted to my friend, Sandalio (changed, of course – and it means ‘wolf’ which suits him), for days about my frustration for the dating scene in general. I had other dates lined up and my exact words to Sandalio were: “I am not meeting those assholes.”  I thought about contacting them directly to tell them I wouldn’t be meeting them – it just felt like a courtesy I wasn’t obligated to extend, particularly based off of my experience with the online realm thus far.

I kinda felt this way. 

I’m finding that I’m much saner now that I’ve shut the operation down entirely. Also, I magically have more time to spend with people that are meaningful to me in addition to getting my studio apartment in order. Who knew ?

Lately I’ve been spending a lot of time with Sandalio. We talk nearly every day and see each other once a week or more unless he’s out of town. We share the same spirit animal. It was a tattoo on his arm that first caught my attention and I was rather disappointed to learn that he had a girlfriend. We’ve been spending a lot of time together since his breakup, mainly because we both felt like our lives had been turned upside down and needed companionship. We laugh and challenge the other to stupid (yet very amusing) things and conspire together with even more juvenile plots. Then there’s my personal favorite: snuggling up next to him watching a movie.

It was last week that I had myself draped across Sandalio’s lap and smiled when he stroked my arm. I realized I might love this guy. Love is a scary emotion for me and the timing is horrid. He needs time to process and heal from his last relationship and I don’t want to do anything to interfere with that or lose a friendship I value. I’ll be keeping these emotions to myself and giving him as much time and space as he needs. This confession wasn’t a surprise to the one person with whom I shared my epiphany. I guess it’s the way I talk about him. Help me Jeebus.

Not just lovely, but wonderful in so many ways. If only he could see himself through my eyes . . . 

I think there’s some solace to be found in new distractions. I spent way too much money recently and bought myself a tv for the sole purpose of playing Dance, Dance Revolution and doing my yoga DVDs. Why would a person of pauper status put so much on a credit card? I figured this was an investment in my emotional well-being so I’m not moping around my studio apartment worrying about money and realizing how financially strapped I am because I can't afford outings with friends. Instead I can do some fun cardio and have friends over to have dance offs with me. It’s a much needed distraction from worry and also from loving someone. I may think differently of it down the road, but it seems like a pretty darn good plan right now. 

So very true - yet I know it can't be. I never knew hiding my feelings from someone would be so hard. 

Echo

“We can endure much more than we think we can; all human experience testifies to that. All we need to do is learn not to be afraid of pain. Grit your teeth and let it hurt. Don’t deny it, don’t be overwhelmed by it. It will not last forever. One day, the pain will be gone and you will still be there.” – Harold Kushner, When All You’ve Ever Wanted Isn’t Enough

I have a tendency towards self-loathing. Lately it’s an intensified self-loathing with self-destructive behavior added to the mix. I had a pretty severe wakeup call a little over a week ago when I realized I couldn’t continue to drown out what I was feeling or silence my mind. That is the poorest form of coping.

It’s amazing what occurs on a subconscious level. There’s a disconnect that occurs between the mind, heart and soul. The soul can feel things the mind can’t explain, the heart feels emotions that the mind attempts to drown out.

You are capable, Mind, Body, Soul and Heart. You can align, I know it. 

My therapist told me that we often take the place of our own abuser(s) when the abuser has been removed from our lives. She told me that I needed to crush that aspect of myself. A friend told me recently that I needed a new approach. He told me that instead of trying to drown her out, tell the hurting, afraid little girl that she’s okay and put her back to bed.  That certainly seems like a much more compassionate approach – and this comes from someone who is constantly telling me to be kind to myself, and pushes me to dance tango because it’s a soothing form of therapy.

It's the constant hugging. Who wouldn't feel better after several hours of cuddling with strangers? 

I’ve been blessed to share an office with a truly amazing person. I can often share my thoughts or feelings and she is more than willing to lend a listening ear. She shared with me the story of her dog that had an accident and broke his spine. Exactly a year after his accident he collapsed at the park and was unable to move. He was fine the following day when she took him to the vet. The vet told my co-worker that this is a very common occurrence in animals who have suffered trauma. They sense time differently than we do and don’t have a mind that continues to rationalize our basic instincts, needs and feelings.

Honestly, I think dogs are a small few of living beings that really get it. 

I was sending out a call schedule for medical residents today. I had to double check their G-mail calendar to ensure I had an accurate schedule before sending it out and then I saw the name ‘Patricia Woodring’ listed next week. That’s my grandmother’s name, I thought. There’s someone by that name in the medical program? How odd. Then I realized that it wasn’t there for the medical program, it was something I had put in my calendar last year to remind myself when I felt like I was losing grip on reality that it wasn’t out of sanity, but unprocessed grief.

No, Irish Lass. You are not losing it - your subconscious is just remembering on a cellular, surface level. 

In the months leading up to her death, I lived with whatever relative that would take me in. I wasn’t wanted; I was an obligation that had to be dealt with. Reflecting on the last month and the intensity of my own abuse directed towards me it makes sense. Subconsciously I’m repeating an echo, of an echo, of an echo. To my surprise, I got through the anniversary of my father’s death last year with a grace and ease that were foreign to me. I have no words to explain why I am still struggling with her; I can only speculate. I dreamed of her once. She was on a desolate highway and while her lips were moving she didn't make a sound. 

I've only just begun to ask myself, Why was she here? Why is this where I found her? 

I feel like processing my father’s death came to me a little bit easier because I know he’s still with me. I’ve been with him in other dimensions, other spans of time and he’s found ways to let me know that he’s present even when I can’t feel him. Perhaps it was a part of my psyche that conjured up these experiences to help me work through the emotions of his loss, perhaps I really was with him in spirit somewhere beyond the time and universe that we understand in our own human experience. Either way, this did not happen with my grandmother or I think this is a big factor. I had been far away from her for so long and then she was gone and I felt even more unloved and alone – even though my soul knew the day she was gone. There was a heaviness to the world around me that I couldn’t explain or identify.

He told me he'd been gone for a while. Everything would be okay. 

So now that I’ve recognized history repeating itself, the child that felt (and still feels) alone and unloved, and the woman who struggles to cope with this echo,  I can calm down a little because now I know why I’m consistently trying to drown out my thoughts, particularly my own voice that spews out the harshest form of hatred directly towards me. Of the cruelty that I’ve experienced in this life, my own infliction is by far the worst. I am my own worst enemy.

Truth be told, realizing I am the worst of them all was a tough pill to swallow.

I’ll spend some time with the hurting girl this weekend. She needs to be told it’s okay. She needs to be told she can let go of the guilt over things that she can’t control, know that she is loved, and put back to sleep. 

You're okay. You're safe. You are deeply loved. 

Do The Gods Laugh At Us?

Can we really choose who we fall in love with?

This is a question I'm asking myself now.

I’ve recently noticed a phenomenon among some of my friends. These gals are capable of loveless, emotionless, no strings attached sex. This concept is foreign to me. I’d like to think I don’t understand simply because I’m further evolved and therefore more separated from my animal ancestry as the loveless sex crowd. However, this is likely not the case and I’m just behind in the times – or an anomaly living among an ever changing society in which women are breaking free from the sexual constrains of the past.

Since beginning my journey in biology, anatomy, physiology and the like, I’ve learned a rather surprising fact (surprising to me at least). Hormones are involved in sex. Who knew?

Meet oxytocin , a hormone produced in both the male and female orgasm. It is often referred to as the “cuddle chemical” not only for its role between sexual partners, but also for the function it serves to bond mothers with their newborn babies.

Then there’s serotonin, which acts as an anti-depressant. Upon orgasm, the levels of serotonin receive a temporary boost. Phenylethylamine triggers the release of dopamine in the pleasure centers of the brain – the nucleus accumbens which is a collection of nerves found in the limbic system. A side note for ladies: dopamine is also found in chocolate.

Lastly, there’s adrenaline. We’ve all experienced the adrenaline rush – which easily explains the addiction to physical activity of any sort – from running, biking , skydiving to (you get the picture).  

The heart-flutters we feel for another could simply be an adrenaline rush wrapped in oxytocin.

In short, sex offers an emotional high. In fact, this release of chemical reactions begins before the act of sex occurs.

Ever seen someone that you felt you had to have right then and there? A basic animalistic instinct; perhaps we’re not that far evolved after all.

I bring this up only because sex is so often attached to love. Looking deeper, I’m now beginning to wonder if love is a real emotion or simply a series of chemical releases that takes place.

For as long as the written language has existed, writers, musicians and the like have paid homage to the concept of love. Love is transcendental and the pinnacle of human emotion. Love can lift hearts, bewitch minds, and break the boundaries of class and race.

It’s a complex emotion with extreme consequences. On one side, there is great joy; on the other, much pain. We entrust another with a very deep and guarded piece of ourselves. Perhaps this is both the greatest sacrifice and the greatest vulnerability. Some us feel the need to lose ourselves in another. Personally, I’d like to keep myself in tact; but I think the concept sounds nice.

I’ve heard love described as two types: a bonfire and a fireplace fire. Both are equally pleasing, but very different. Bonfires are exciting, but can quickly burn out of control and a fireplace fire can be contained. If you find yourself in a bonfire type situation, one must question if it is love, infatuation or lust.

It’s also not uncommon for people to fall out of love. Really? I didn’t know we were capable of pulling ourselves up from the bottomless abyss. What happens? Do our internal chemicals finally run out and we see the other person standing before us for the first time as they really are? Do we simply make a choice to move on because something else catches our eye?