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

Quandaries

“The curtain of the universe is moth-eaten, and through its holes we see nothing now but mask and ghost.” Emil Cioran, A Short Story of Decay

I’ve turned over the conundrum of fairness in my mind lately. I wonder if this is a concept that is purely human made, if this is something that actually applies to the Universe, or if we have a flawed perspective how we think this should apply to our lives and what we perceive as a linear pattern set before us by a deity or the Unmanifest. There have been a few studies that barely scrape the surface of the concept of fairness, and none of these seem to give a definitive answer. Some of these studies examine the behavior of young toddlers, concluding that at such a young age there is an understanding of the morality of fairness. There are many theories on this rudimentary understanding of a moral compass: evolutionary for the survival of tribes, cultural and taught by birth through actions of parents and other figures in the child’s life, some even suggest a Western-invented concept that has nothing to do with biology. I’d agree that this is a learned behavior – and yet this concept, in some form, exists in every single culture. Isn’t that something?

My current philosophical quandary is not that the concept of fairness exists, but how it has come to be that we believe it should apply to all aspects of life. I see this belief as something antiquated that was an ideal that I simply needed to hold on to for the sole purpose of my own survival. If I didn’t believe there would be a silver lining in the clouds someday I would have given up ages ago. Perhaps I never understood the concept of karma, but hasn’t there always been a belief that good behavior, a good life, is somehow rewarded? I just can’t believe that anymore. I suppose it’s because I thought that there was some sort of purpose to my life, some linear path . . . . some force behind all that I’ve lived. That doesn’t exist. What takes place in life that is outside of our control is purely random.

There is no linear projection - no path to follow.

When something awful happens our first thought tends to be, ‘It’s not fair.’ No, it’s not. This is simply life. It’s not fair that anyone we love in this life suffers, or has left us suffering by their departure from this world. Would it be any fairer if that fate had befallen someone else? I ask myself that a good deal, and recently saw something that caused me to pose the question again.

Kurt Kuenne filmed a documentary in the wake of his best friend’s death, ‘Dear Zachary’. He intended this tragically beautiful film as a letter to his departed friend’s son, Zachary, who would never know his father. It’s the celebration of one man’s life, and also the mourning of his passing as well as a tremendous loss that should have never happened. It should never have happened because it was preventable and it should never have happened because these are the tragedies in life that make us say, “It’s not fair” and leave us to question that powers that be.  

It made me think of my own father as well. What are his thoughts on what I've done with myself?

I can think of only two people who live on this earth, aside from my therapist, who know the dark secrets my past holds, particularly regarding my father’s death – and that fact that I know I will never see justice for him is one of the many issues I’ve been working through. For those few that know me in this regard and watch this documentary, I think one could easily make the correlation of why this young boy’s short lived life struck such a chord with me . . . .  There were so many parallels regarding his father and mother, his grandparents, custody, and the blatant failings of the legal system. Nothing is perfect in this life. The judicial system exists to protect most, but the same rules don’t apply to all and this is why something so awful was allowed to happen; because it could have been prevented.

I think I can begin to understand how hard my grandmother fought for me. She never stopped, not even when cancer was besting her. I can't imagine the anger and sadness she felt when she would have to look my mother in the eyes, hand me over to my mother, and know that she was giving me to the person responsible for my father's death. I understand now why my grandmother had so much worry for me when I wasn't where I was supposed to me. I can't imagine how she felt knowing she was grappling with the devil and knowing there would never be justice for her son, my father.

Dearest Zachary - you are in my thoughts and I've never met you.

I have often asked myself what my life has exactly amounted to, and if I would have been better off had I not survived . . .  because at times I honestly feel as if I’ve made nothing of myself and perhaps the gift of life was wasted on me entirely. Please don't think me suicidal. That's not the case. It just raises the question in my mind and I'm searching to find what, if anything, of value I have contributed to the world. I wonder about that boy, Zachary, who happens to share the name of my father. I wonder how his life would have formed knowing what happened to his father, knowing who was responsible. I wonder if the outcome of my own life thus far would be any different had I never known that truth about my own parents.

My grandmother, Patricia, in her young years of motherhood. 

My father, Zachary, just as I remember him. Always smiling. 

This is where they are now.

One thing I’ve heard throughout most of my life that drives me slightly batty is, “You’ve had more than your fair share.” I know they mean well. It’s just something that weighs heavy on me because I know how unfair life can feel and the saying almost insinuates that there is still something better, something somehow deserved solely because life has beat me up a bit. Being good, or trying to be good in this life does not guarantee that good things will happen. Suffering doesn’t guarantee that, either. I remember my babysitter telling me frequently when I was a young girl that I was destined for great things because I had suffered so much. At the time her words were encouraging. Now I feel as though I’ve somehow failed.

It’s during these times in life I work harder to count my blessings because sometimes they are hard to see. It’s far easier to see what is going wrong in life and how unfair it is that someone I loved died; someone I loved lost a battle to cancer, someone I love may not be here much longer because of Alzheimer’s. It’s during these times in life I am grateful to those who know who I truly am and remind me of that.

I have known someone for many years of my life. We lost touch because that’s what happens in life and since we’ve reconnected we’ve been solid ground for one another during our transitions and doubts. I’ve shared with her my spiritual journey of working with a psychic and being protected and guided by the Wolf Spirit through that amazing journey in the spiritual realm. My beautiful Sister reminded me of who I was, who I am now, and what I can be. I’ve re-posted those blog entries due to her words of encouragement . . . . . because these things we experience, even if only small glimpses, really are something amazing and of value – if not to the individual, than perhaps to someone else hearing the story.

We run and howl together, even if from a distance. 

On that note, Beautiful Sister – if you’ve ever doubted (as I have) your purpose in life, how you fit into this world, know that you are the world to me. You remind me that I’m strong, loved, and still evolving in this life. Our spiritual journeys are never over, just as our journeys in life are not. Even though we’re separated by many miles, you emanate such a radiant light in my life. 

Conventions and Conciousness

"All boundaries are conventions, waiting to be transcended. One may transcend any convention, if one can first conceive of doing so. . . . .My life extends far beyond the limits of me.  - Cloud Atlas

A basic law of the universe is that energy cannot be created nor destroyed, it can only change form. The same law applies to our consciousness.

I’ve finally picked up Women Who Run With the Wolves the past couple of days and continued to read it. The author mentions a Japanese philosopher, Shotoku Taishi, who lived at the turn of the 6^th century. Among other things, he taught that one must do psychic work in both the inner and outer worlds; even more so, he taught tolerance for every creature, human, and emotion. Imagine that? She goes on to say, “Even raw and messy emotions are a form of light, crackling, bursting with energy.”

This makes more sense to me than anything I've heard up until now. 

This particular topic resonated with me this morning, mostly because I still feel an intense form of rage. It’s one of those unpleasant and taboo emotions that we’re often told we can’t feel. “Just get over it” is something I’ve heard more times than I care to count. PTSD doesn’t work that way. I sincerely wish I could just get over it and let it go, but that’s not really addressing the issue, is it?

I had an interesting conversation with the bartender at a wine bar recently. He suggested several books which I feel like I have to get immediately . . . but then I remember I’m still working through my beloved journey with the wolves and have a couple of Dean Radin’s works that I’ve set aside as well. One of the names he mentioned (I think it may have been a philosopher and not an author) was this: from birth, we spend the rest of our lives trying to heal ourselves. Why is that? My best guess is that we spend more time suppressing feelings (particularly the ‘bad’ ones) rather than expressing them, or finding an outlet to expel those emotions.

I think it's the permission part that I struggle with. It's a common theme with me, isn't it? 

So I’m feeling an intense rage right now. I can acknowledge that. Nothing spells out ‘rage’ more than a flurry of messages sent online that are rampant with grammatical errors. This was an exchange that took place between the friend from tango and I, because I’m still trying to wrap my head around why he’d badger me into admitting something I didn’t want to share. Perhaps I need to stop asking ‘why’ and simply accept that we’re all human and flawed to some degree.

Perhaps the Irish Lass needs to remind herself of this more often.

It’s not only the PTSD relapse, but other things taking place in my life that have compounded my current anger. I’m angry at a few people in my life at the moment.

My office environment feels toxic to me now. I sincerely don’t want to come into work (but I don’t really have a choice, do I?) because I don’t want to be subjected to such an insidious personality (DF) and a manager who sticks his head in the sand. For the record, I like him very much as a person. He’s just poor management material. It took me taking a sick day because I was simply not functional and sending him an e-mail again explaining the toxicity of my interactions with DF, my PTSD was triggered and that I had called the union to mediate a meeting for him to pay attention. Still, this was something he didn’t handle himself. He finally had our HR person handle the situation after over a year of complaints not only from me, but from others in the office, regarding DF's behavior. I’m furious that it had to come to this before anything was done about the atmosphere of the office in which I work 5 days a week. I'm sure only a few words spoken to her by someone of authority (because she appeared to take my own concerns with a grain of salt) would have remedied the situation fairly quickly. I currently spend most of my life at work and it’s the last place on earth I should be triggered because someone else needs to scream about her victimization. I’m tempted to include an excerpt from her ranting, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I’ll just say that it surmounts to a 12 page diatribe of someone in a victim contest crying wolf. That’s the best description I can give.

I don't like using this expression. It's an insult to the wolves. 

I have one friendship that I wasn’t sure about and when I spent a weekend with this friend after not seeing her for a couple of months, I ultimately decided that her presence in my life is not beneficial to me. I’ve grown tired of friendships that are clearly one sided and I was mentally exhausted by the end of the weekend. Part of that was due to me having to pay for 85% of everything that weekend and she knows full well that I’m struggling and, unlike her, I don’t live rent free with my parents who pay my bills. The other part was a consistent domination of conversation: if I brought up a topic she’d quickly interrupt me and rattle on and on and on; and the conversation would quickly turn to something that she was angry about: mostly people. If she didn’t talk over me to express anger over something, it was to tell me something along the lines of her speaking several languages or that she’s a descendant of the Romanovs. The last portion is her need to make herself seem so important to others . . . and also her love of drinking. This is not a person I care to have in my life. I’m trying to figure out a way to phase her out. While the mature thing is to have a conversation with her, I’m simply done with exerting energy of any form into this friendship and I’m done with explaining myself.

I no longer have the patience for this.

Another friendship began with an agreement to support one another through the difficult times. I had done my best to prop him up, particularly when my life was in a state of chaos. When he asked how I was doing and I honestly told him, he all but vanished from my life. It’s the feeling of abandonment that upsets me; it’s also the feeling of being used.

A good friend who has known me for many years, particularly through one of the harder times in my life as a young teenager, said something in one of our online exchanges that resonated with me. She said I was so used to having to take so much garbage from everyone else (because I had no choice in the matter) that I feel guilty when I ask, “What’s left for me?” I consider this friend to be a kindred spirit. In fact, as I define soul mates in a way that differs from the general consensus, I’d say she’s one of my soul mates. I think her observation was spot on. I feel undeserving most of the time which is probably why the slightest form of kindness almost always brings me to tears.

I think what's left for me is nature and the hound.

I made a promise to myself that this year would be better. I’m cutting off as much dead weight as I can. I’m still trying to find a new position. I’m still submitting applications and am now seriously considering looking outside of this organization. It’s a pity when I think about it, because all of this work-related nonsense was preventable. I’m cutting off ties with friends who use me for whatever resources they can take.

My energy is better spent making room for more genuine things in my life.

While I can’t cut off my emotions, I’m trying to find the best way to channel them. I don’t know if my best plan of attack right now is to dig deeper and see what other unresolved aspects of my life experience are surfacing on some subconscious level, or simply acknowledging that the anger is a real thing right now. 

I still have yet to find the 'hardest' thing in life. Unfortunately, I tend to take a match to things. 

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. 

The Starved Soul

"I hope you will go out and let stories, that is life, happen to you, and that you will work with these stories from your life - not someone else's life - water them with your blood and tears and your laughter till they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom. That is the work. The only work."  - Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves

I was quite sick last week. Looking at the silver lining, being unable to do much of anything allowed me some time for reflection. Admittedly, I don't permit myself much time for such things, if any at all. Clarissa Pinkola Estes write a good deal about the starved soul and our need to return home to the Wild, even if only briefly, to recover from the demands of our modern and disconnected lives. We've forgotten how to howl. We've forgotten to sing. We've forgotten to nourish ourselves in what connects us with the Divine to the point that we're starved so much that we can look for anything to fill the inexplicable void we're feeling. We hear the voices in the distance calling us, pleading to come back to our roots. It's far too easy to cast them away with the excuses we often make for ourselves. I will when winter is over. I will as soon as I've finished . . . . I would, but . . . 

Bring the unfinished novel to a climatic end, dance, complete the poem that was never quite good enough, laugh, sing and cry. Mostly, keep dancing. 

I am a master of excuses. Having made two moves within 6 months while simultaneously performing the juggling act of my life, getting the hound settled and grappling with Truths that I've finally acknowledged I need to accept - I've become accustomed to casting away what nourishes the essence of who I am because of everything else I've told myself should take precedent: the hound (he always comes first) and the constant barrage from others asking me why I'm still not completely unpacked, why haven't I done this or that and why has it been so long since we've seen each other? If the hound is not walked immediately he won't hold it against me for long and everything else that the world tells me I should be doing will still be there. The dishes in the sink will still be there, my un-vacuumed floor will still exist and the three small unpacked boxes remaining in my studio will still be waiting for me. Those things aren't going anywhere. I've been hearing the beating drums in the distance for a while now. I'm starting to hear the howls, beckoning me back home to rest for a while. I'll be heading to my emotional retreat shortly. 

I hear your call. I'm coming home soon.

I'm still physically recovering from an illness that lasted a little over 5 days. I'd wager it's not in my best interest to jump into dancing, running or gymnastics right away. I've decided my starting point will be the relationships I've allowed to exist in my life. I can't always spot the bad applies right away, and in spite of the red flags that are apparent to everyone else in the beginning I tend to be entirely oblivious to the early warning signs. There are several reasons for this; I've been working on them. I've heard from more than one source that I'm too trusting of a person. This is part of the Truth. The other is my tendency to want to see the good in everyone. My therapist compares me to someone drawn to a hot stove: even though I've been burned countless times, I am hoping that I'll be proved wrong and the world isn't as ugly as most of my experiences have been. On that note, I have forged meaningful friendships with amazing people with whom I may not have otherwise connected if it weren't for my trusting, open nature. I have no regrets for these and they are precious to me. However, there are some relationships from which I have decided I need to step back from or eliminate entirely. 

I need time - so much time to process what took place in a highly dysfunctional household. 

It was rare that I spoke about my relationship with my adoptive mother (I'll call her Morgan) outside of therapy. I'm sure most people thought our strained relationship was normal and that I was simply overreacting. Based on the assumptions of most, I didn't know any better because I hadn't been indoctrinated into a family unit since I was a very young girl. To those people and also to Morgan, I was the source of the problem: I was too sensitive, too angry and had too many issues that needed to be dealt with. Also, I was the only one in therapy and that makes for solid scapegoat material. Lastly, I've been prone to depression for a very long time and any feelings of sadness obviously couldn't have been correlated to how I was treated, but instead resulted from my own weakness as a sensitive human being. I'm not even sure my therapist found my stories believable - not only because Morgan's actions were outlandish and irrational, but also not the actions of a person of sound mind. 

Morgan has some very deep rooted control issues, particularly when it comes to finances. Morgan offered to help with my student loans (making sure her friends and relatives knew that her intentions were to save me from student debt) and regularly asked me about my loans. When I finally forwarded the information to her, what I received in response was one of the most condescending e-mails I've ever seen because she was astonished by the total amount (I'm far lower than the national average) and how could they be so high if I wasn't paying for rent or utilities? Sure, I didn't pay for rent or utilities, but I did my best to carry my own weight. I paid for my food, cell phone, car and care for my dogs. Additionally, because I wasn't paying rent I was the live-in house keeper. I worked hard to keep that place up to Morgan's standards and that has been more than one occasion when I had to cancel my plans because she wanted me to do extra in-depth cleaning projects. Her e-mail was offensive and troublesome to me. 

Because I couldn't make sense of Morgan's words, I chose not to respond. Morgan then began calling and texting. I still didn't respond. After only a week of silence on my end Morgan showed up at my office on a clinic day completely unannounced. My co-workers got a sense of what's been bothering me, as they interacted with her briefly and saw me go from a 0-10 within a second. I was very worked up, but it was only noticeable to the handful of people that know me fairly well. For the record, Morgan does not fall under that category. 

Morgan has never really seen me. I'm fine with that, only irritated that she pretends to know me. 

Several days later I asked Morgan not to come into my workplace unannounced. It's not professional and an invasion of my space. Naturally Morgan was defensive. She always let her subordinates visit with friends and family. What was the problem?! 

Recently I told Morgan she needn't be concerned with my student loans; I can handle it myself. Since then, she's made a point of fishing for information regarding my finances. I find it irritating and pathetic. There's not a doubt in my mind that she knows I need to distance myself from her because something is very wrong and she's known for a while - she just lacks the level of self-awareness to ever see herself as a contributing factor to the issue. I'm not saying it's entirely her fault our relationship is on thin ice. I'm searching myself as well and will deal with the Truth's as they come. I think my first mistake was moving to Portland in the first place. I was so desperate to be wanted and loved. It's not like the signs weren't there - I just chose to overlook them and I still don't know why. Morgan has wanted ultimate control of my life since the moment I began living under her roof. 

Regarding Morgan's finances, the truth is that she could have easily afforded to send me to college without me accruing any debt at all. Currently, she can afford to pay off my students loans like she promised. That's not really the issue though, is it? My issue is her attempt to manipulate and control me at every turn and her blatant use of my presence in her life to make herself seem like a compassionate, caring, and giving person. 

I'm tired of the facade and the feigned bond of a mother and daughter relationship that doesn't exist. 

No one likes being used. I've been struggling with this particularly long and drawn out chapter in my life because so much of my childhood was spent under similar circumstances: being used to make someone else look better or charitable, being used for services or money, and the caregiver (Morgan included) making a point to let me know that I wasn't wanted. It hurts. I'm working on letting it go. I'm reminding myself that I'm loved and am blessed to have wonderful and loving people in my life. They're not blood related. None of them have legally adopted me. They've chosen to be a part of my life and offer me unending support, guidance and unconditional love. This is what I'll be holding on to while I'm focusing on letting go. 

Dead Weight and Apathy

“People tend to complicate their own lives, as if living weren’t already complicated enough.” – Carlos Ruiz Zafon, The Shadow of the Wind

I wrote an e-mail today I dreaded doing, but ultimately had to look out for my own well-being because that’s really what’s important right now. I won’t go into the details here because mention of them may cause hurt feelings and that’s not what I’m about. The important thing is that person is being faded out of my life at least for a time being. When I’m feeling more grounded perhaps I can take on the rest of the world’s problems – but now is not the time. My days are spent with very sick people who are facing death. They are afraid. They are in pain and they need someone to give them patience, understanding, and a smile. That’s where my good energy needs to go. At the end of the day/week, I need to be around others who are going to uplift me instead of pulling me into their own vortex of anger and bitterness. For now, with this person, I’m closing the chapter.

I’ve closed the chapter on a few others as well. I can at least give myself credit for recognizing influences that are toxic in my life. Most I’ve cut out completely and others I’ve struggled with a bit more. I know I’ve rambled on and on in previous posts regarding my delicate relationship with my adopted mother. She’s in the hospital again. I find myself extremely apathetic regarding the whole thing. What’s eating at me is that I’m telling myself that I should be concerned that she’s still in recovery. I should care about this woman. I’m sure I do deep down somewhere, that’s just not what’s on the surface right now and I’ve decided I’m going to stop telling myself how I should be feeling and just ride out the apathy. This will pass eventually, I just need to honor that I need time to sift through years of bullsh*t and work through it; it's another form of dead weight that needs to go. 

I'm ready to fly - I just have to teach myself to cut the cord. 

In the meantime, I keep making mental notes to myself of actual notes I need to write to people. Nothing major, just simple ones to let these random people I encounter on a daily basis know that they make my day. I do make an effort to hand write notes on a semi-regular basis to my childhood babysitter.  She practically raised me and I love her. She was my grandmother’s best friend and so much about her embodies all of the experiences in life that are dear to me. There’s also the lovely woman who works at the bike valet station. She’s mute (Why have I not learned to sign?!). She needs to know that smile is lovely and I look forward to seeing her every day. There’s the boisterous, kind and hilarious woman who works in the cafeteria. There’s the kind chef who asks me about my day and is genuinely interested in my answer. These are people that deserve my energy. These are people that deserve to know they make someone’s day because they exist.

The people I encounter now, the women who looked out for me in the past - they need to know they have made a difference to someone. 

My point in all of this is that I am cutting out the negative to make room for the good, positive and fulfilling things in life. I’ve been saying I’m going to do it forever and a day, but have been skipping around the issue for as long as humanly possible. It’s ridiculous. My time is now. I’m taking it.

Dating is still foreign to me. Like my approach to most things in life lately, I’m doing my best to go with it and not overanalyze to the point that I drive myself to some form of mania. There haven’t been many second dates. There haven’t been many first dates, either. What I have noticed is that I am gravitating towards men who are in the military or have a military background . . . . and I never even knew that was some sort of preference of mine until this adventure started.

I’ve had a few dates with one person in particular. I’ve mentioned him before, and I still haven’t thought of another name to call him for the purpose of this blog. I feel at ease with him. He’s made a point of respecting me when I tell him I need time to warm up to him – don’t cross my boundaries because it will send me either running or flying into a rage – maybe even both, who knows? The other night was the first time he touched me without my own initiation of a hug. He ran his fingers on my arm, nothing more. He hasn’t pressured me into anything more and I don’t have the words to describe what a relief that is. He also doesn’t make me go out of my way to see him, either. He comes to my side of town, offers to pick me up if we go out somewhere . . . chivalry isn’t dead. On some levels he understands me. He’s been upfront about his major life f*ck ups as have I. I’m still not sure; I have my reservations about him and I also have all the time in the world to figure it out.

Whatever the outcome, his willingness to let me approach him at my own pace has already left a lasting impression on me. 

So here are my concerns about him: we seem to have no common interests at all. Seriously, it’s like there’s nothing. We do have a good time when we’re together, so there must be something I’m just not seeing yet. On the same note, everyone puts their best foot forward in the beginning, so I’ll re-evaluate this a few months down the road. Additionally, he has an uncanny ability to compartmentalize his life. I guess that comes with being in a specialized Army discipline. While that’s a pretty wicked skill to possess, it worries me a little bit. It worries me because I know someone with that ability, and that person (no longer a welcome presence in my life) is possibly the most toxic, psychological mind f*ck that has ever crossed my path. The person no longer in my life also has a military background. He’s lived with his long-term girlfriend and has many women on the side in many different countries. I guess there’s this nagging (probably irrational fear) that my life will be that of the long-term girlfriend in 20 years . . . ignorant of the intentions, affections and actions of my lover. It’s funny how an attribute of one person who rubbed you the wrong way can cause such an irrational chain of thoughts. I keep reminding myself that they are not the same person. Not even close.

His ability to compartmentalize shouldn't be so worrisome to me. That's another to add to the list of works in progress for the Irish Lass. 

There’s a guy that I’ve been talking to quite a bit who has the name of a comic book hero. I won’t tell you which one. I’ll just call him Clark Kent. He’s in the Army Reserve and we have yet to meet in person. He understands me on a level that a lot of other people don’t as well, but entirely different from the other fellow that I actually have met in person. Sometimes Mr. Kent wishes me goodnight, but his way of doing so is by saying, “happy hunting”. That probably isn’t something anyone else reading this would understand, but it speaks volumes to me. We share a spiritual connection; and that’s an aspect of who I am that Mr. Kent truly understands. On the same note, when we finally meet in person we could decide that we’re enemies and fight to the death. Who knows? I have all the time in the world to figure it out.

While Mr. Kent is away in training he sends me photos throughout the day of him in uniform and it makes me squeal like a little schoolgirl. Lord help me.

Apparently I've had a 'type' this entire time and have only just now noticed it. 

I’m being careful to not judge myself as well just because I’m taking a different approach this time around. I found myself worried the other day about hurt feelings, breaking hearts, unintentionally leading someone on, etc. and I had to tell myself this: No one has made promises or commitments here. What the hell am I worried about? The answer is nothing. I am worried about nothing. I’ll keep approaching this part of life at a snail’s pace. It makes me happier that way. I think my next step is to figure out what type of connection with another person I want in life. At least I think that’s where I go from here. I’m still figuring it out. 

I intend to change many

Warfare

My experience with dating so far has led me to this conclusion: It really all boils down to psychological warfare. Also, people in general are idiots. On any online dating site it’s commonplace to see things written such as “Be real” and “Not into mind games” and “No drama”. Those lines tell me the following: 1. You are probably the biggest phony that ever lived. 2. You are psychologically flawed and must be in control at all times. 3. You obviously have drama in your life or you wouldn’t have mentioned it. You have unresolved issues and are projecting your nonsense into cyber world. And then there’s my all-time personal favorite message I get from time to time, “R u real?” No, dumbass. I actually put effort into a profile for your own amusement and gawking pleasure! (Side note: I do NOT upload revealing photos). There was also that one guy that said something along the lines of, “You’re hot, but I’m not sure about you.” Umm . . . . Thanks. Blocked!!!

There was also an inebriated text sent in the wee hours of the morning. Lord help me. 

Of the few I actually have let into my life at least to some small degree I’ve found myself wondering why he hasn’t called or messaged me in several days. What did I do to irritate him? Was I not forthcoming enough in who I truly am? OMG?! Do I lack the level of self-awareness to truly know myself?! And then I remember that I’m one of the most awesome people ever, go cuddle with the hound and get on with life.

I'd choose this guy any day. 

I think I have a far different take on what a guy is actually saying than what he really means. I didn’t really realize this until I was telling my landlord last night how extremely bored I am by most of these guys. If they can’t match me intellectually or emotionally and are unable to carry a semi-intelligent conversation, why do they bother wasting my time?! My latest irritation came when I met a guy in person who seemed interesting enough. The entire time he talked about his connections with local big names of which I know nothing of because that really doesn’t matter to me and also about all of the money he’s made. Nice enough – it just struck me as full of himself and materialistic. From my landlord’s perspective, this was merely a guy’s way of saying he could take care of me.

Then there's the guy who just can't tear himself away from his phone. When in doubt, spill your drink and run. 

There’s a Huffington Post article that resonates with my own thoughts about how ridiculous this entire process really is. Here are a few of my favorite highlights: 1. Thou shalt never maketh plans to hang out in advance, for thou are casual and disinterested. 2. Thou shalt never compliment thy lover. Speaketh only in condescending words. 3. Thou shalt covet many, many lovers, preferably in the same neighborhood. Thou shalt speak of them often. 4. Thou shalt remember, above all: The lover who cares the least wins: One sentimental ‘thinking of you’ could derail all the progress you’ve made! Go into Code Red Aloof mode. Ignore your babe’s texts for hours-long gaps and reply with one-word answers. In no time, you’ll prove your lack of investment and thus restore the balance of power.

Because winning is more important than anything else, right? 

It’s just insanity – our own struggle for power and to always have the upper hand. Every single time I feel the urge to want to blow someone off I’m starting to question why. Did I feel slighted by him and am turning this into a vendetta to protect my own ego? Why did his failure to contact me irritate me so much and how does this tie into my own issues of abandonment? Why does dating feel like one of the hardest games of tug-of-war I’ve ever played?

What I can say is this: I’m paying close attention to not just how he treats me and those close to him, but also how he treats the average person that might cross his path. If he can’t be kind to a stranger it’s highly unlikely he’ll be kind to me when I need him to be.

This loving of a heart. That's what matters. 

Something else that really gets me is that everyone has advice to give me. Everyone. Seriously. The attitude seems to be that because these people are married and I am not, clearly I have flawed logic and that’s why I’m still single so they have hoards of knowledge to bestow upon me! My personal favorite is the concept of a soul mate. I believed in that once upon a time – now I’m a firm believer that what you put into a relationship is exactly what you’ll get out of it. The idea that there’s one perfect guy out there for me and I only just have to find him for my life to feel complete and make myself whole is nonsense.

I love old and new friends - I just don't need the dating advice. Thanks. 

I’ve had very old friends reconnect with me lately. I love them, I do. The problem with their logic is that they still think they know me as the young teenager who hoped someone would rescue her from her nightmarish life. People change. I learned to save myself. I’ve been told that I come across as guarded. That’s probably true and I don’t see that as a bad thing. Being naïve and trusting didn’t do me any favors. I can still be open to the world without living my life like a bumbling idiot thinking that no one could possibly ever want to harm me or take advantage of me.

My dating woes are the least of my problems lately. My radiator blew on me last week, forcing me to take out whatever funds I had left in my account to fix it. I am officially in pauper status again. The silver lining to this is that while my car is now fixed, it forced me to ride my bike to work like I said I would. I’ve been doing 22 miles a day and royally kicking butt. I’m rather proud of myself for that – and also noted a few truths about myself that I had to admit. 1. I’m extremely competitive. How dare that guy pass me on the road?! I’m going to smoke him! 2. I get road rage on the bike, too. This isn’t just from other cyclists acting like total assholes, but also from cat calls and inappropriate stares. There are times I want to dismount my bike and bash in someone’s car window . . . . But then I remind myself of my awesomeness and carry on. 

I have been described as such . . . .But my main point is this: I am not out there for your personal viewing pleasure. I don't care how marvelous my breasts are.