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. 

Cheats, Liars and Anger

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

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

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

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

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

why? Why? WHY??????

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't let anyone tell you who you are. 

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

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

Rejection

“Life is a succession of lessons, which must be lived to be understood.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

I’ve been crying myself to sleep for weeks now and have only just begun to question why. In fact, I was only able to admit yesterday that I’m sad. Now that I’ve been reflecting on it, it’s not surprising because I’ve invested so little in my own emotional well-being; and I’m not the only one that knows that, my closest friends recognize my tendency to always put others first. I had to ask myself a multitude of questions yesterday, each one almost always leading to another before I found the root of the issue: rejection.

One of the definitions for rejection is ‘to discard as useless or unsatisfactory’. That has always been my personal view of self when I experience rejection. Reflecting over this last year, I’ve experienced a good deal of rejection; and now it makes sense to me that I could only sum up this past year as difficult and am happy to see it go.

I have an on and off again rejective relationship with my adoptive mother – one who is constantly pushing and pulling. I’m fine with the pushing, not so much the pulling; because I know that her current state of kindness towards me is flippant and fleeting and I know it’s only a matter of time before she tries to wound me again. Also the rejection I feel over her blatant favoritism.

I felt consistently rejected during my stint with online dating and generally frustrated when I continually met awful people. Of the handful of dates that did go well (or at least I thought they did), I either never heard from them again, or there would be several more dates followed by him distancing himself from me.  The rejection hurt and the frustration of someone unwilling to tell me they’re no longer interested rather than forcing me to ask instead of wondering what went wrong made me want to hurl things at times. For the record, I never threw anything – but it probably would have been very cathartic . . . .  Perhaps I should start throwing things.

Pillows in my apartment and rocks in nature beware! Your days are numbered.

I felt rejected recently when the position I was gunning for went to the other candidate. Once again I felt useless and unsatisfactory. A person in another division suggested I apply and I put so much effort into doing my research on the higher ups in the division and mentally preparing myself for interviews. The processed involved several and I nailed every single one. What it boiled down to in the end is that the other person had more experience than me.

There is a consistent feeling of rejection when the manager plays favorites in the office. The latter form of rejection just angers me, so I’m struggling to ignore it entirely. My guess is that I’m only struggling with ignoring it because it’s consistently shoved in my face. Every. Single. Workday.

This seems oddly fitting: Turn away green fish with your different social background, ideals and outlook!

My most recent rejection hurt the most. I’m still processing the emotions, and there are many. I spent too much time with a friend and had far too many communicative interactions when he wasn’t physically with me. I began to love him and knew it just wouldn’t be. Unfortunately, there’s just no ‘off’ button for these sorts of things, at least as far as I know. I knew he was emotionally vulnerable and dealing with his own form of pain and I never took advantage of his trust or that situation. I never made a move and didn’t reveal my feelings until he badgered me into speaking the words that had been on my heart. I didn't expect him to love me back and I knew he wouldn't. Of course I was rejected and I knew I would be which is why I never wanted him to know. I felt both cornered and vulnerable during our discussion; I loathe those feelings.

Now I don’t want anything to do with him. I don’t know if that’s the hurt of rejection speaking right now or that deep down I know any connection with him will only lead to major damage to my own emotional well-being. It could even be that I don't want him to see because I may very well burst into tears the moment I see his face or that it's highly likely things will never just go back to the way they were. All I know now is that I feel hurt in a very visceral way. It’s been pulsing through my veins ever since we had that conversation. It is very unpleasant and I do not like it. Granted, I was hurting long before that, but was in major denial and this experience has amplified the painful feelings.

I kept my feelings to myself because I didn't want to lose the friendship. That now seems like a pointless endeavor.

“I know love is a fading thing just as fickle as a feather in a stream. See, honey, I saw love. You see it came to me. It put its face up to my face so I could see. Yeah then I saw love disfigure me into something I am not recognizing.” – Phosphorescent, Song for Zula

It is a rare person in this world that can get me to open up to them entirely and it is even rarer for me to genuinely love another romantically. I didn’t know what hit me when I felt it for the first time at the age of 28. Everything up until then was suddenly child’s play. Reflecting on those two encounters with a deep form of love in my life, it’s fairly obvious to me that I’m attracted to the broken. I don’t know if it starts out by my desire to help someone through a tough time in life due to my compassionate nature or if there’s something psychologically deeper than what I see on the surface of which I need to find the root cause and work through it.

My mantra for the new year: I will not love broken things. Unless it's the hound; he deserves all the love in the world.

For me, experiencing any emotion on a deep level is usually comparable to stirring a pot of stew where the ingredients surface that were previously hidden below. My past experiences come to surface and the emotions attached to those experiences come to surface as well. I feel the rejection of abandonment by a caregiver’s words and deeds, or those taken by death. I feel the emotional rejection that I experienced by many caregivers growing up. I know deep down there’s a little girl in there somewhere who wants nothing more than to be loved and accepted. For a period of time in my life I was so desperate for those things that I didn’t care what my source was – even if the person was abusive, even if I only used some form of self-medicating just so I didn’t have to feel the emptiness.

There is no quick fix. In the words of Rumi (paraphrased): Experience the pain to find the remedy

Once again I’m crossing the face of the mountain I’m climbing in my attempt to work through these issues. For the last few days, I’ve been letting myself feel, regardless of how unpleasant those feelings are. Consequently, I’m crying much more when I’m alone.  I have become so accustomed to shoving my emotions down and showing the world at least a calm face if not a smile that I just don’t know how to stop. I keep trying, yet I keep finding myself pushing those feelings as far down as I can because I don’t want anyone to know how badly they’ve wounded me, how disappointed I am, or how much I’m hurting in general.

I’ve never been one for New Year’s resolutions. This year will be different. I’m making a few commitments to myself this time around. 2015 will begin with rejection. I am rejecting the entire year of 2014 and probably finding some ceremonious way to say goodbye to it and all of the events that took place within the course of this year. I’ll be giving myself some emotional space to allow myself to process the things that I keep shoving back in the recesses of my psyche. That will probably entail more crying and possibly hurling objects about. So be it. Here's to better days ahead.  

This will be another mantra.

Rebirth of the Heart's Desire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It all comes down to this: Know thyself. 

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

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. 

Heavy

“Though I live, yet am I not, since my sweet hazel-nut has fallen’ since my dear love departed, bare and empty is the dark world.” – Muireadhach Albanach, Irish Bardic Poetry

Sometimes grief is so heavy that it's hard to even breathe

After the death of a loved one, we no longer walk the same earth as everyone else. Part of us lingers at the frontier of death’s domain, looking into its unknown distance for signs that the soul is safely over, or for comforting messages that will assure us that we are not really, finally alone.

The sudden loss of someone vital to our life’s story means that our own story may be whirled out of context into total disorientation or petrified into a stasis wherein time no longer runs at the same speed as it does for others. Since every daily action, every piece of forward planning, necessitates the painful realization of how different life will be from now on, how lonely, how impossible, time and our progress through it alter our perceptions completely. Personally, I feel as if my perception has never been the same.

The world felt big, empty and dark for far too long.

Have I mentioned how much I love my job? I do very much and my favorite part is the few friendships I’ve made with folks who are healing from such an intense ordeal. A patient shared something written by his son that described knowing, but not wanting to acknowledge that his world would never be the same again. This part really hit me, “There, I felt that dark, dark little weight. It was in the corner of your heart, where what you find distasteful, what you hate, goes. I pushed it away, didn’t want to feel that weight, didn’t want there to be anything wrong.” On a brief side note, those words were written by a young teenaged boy. If you’re not amazed you should be.

I kept turning that passage over in my mind, struck by how he managed to capture that heavy sense of dread one feels with the loss of someone so integral to your own existence. I remember how I felt when I found my father dead. Even as a girl so young, I knew that something was wrong, something was about to turn my entire perfect world upside down and I was very upset. After beating the walls in an attempt to wake him I fell to the ground in an exhausted slump, crying. I felt so heavy. I felt that weight. I remember when I was told he was gone and I still couldn’t quite grasp the finality that he would no longer be there to sing to me, to hold me, to tell me everything would be okay.

I reacted similarly at his funeral. I just couldn't let him go.

As I was remembering these events in my life, I was walking with the hound through a cemetery near my apartment. It’s a beautiful place. I felt myself tear up. This time it wasn’t so much of a longing for my father, but a sadness I felt for that little girl who knew she would never experience that kind of unconditional love again – the little girl who was left alone in the world. I was grieving her experience.

I wish I could tell her that it will be okay. 

I noticed people around and quickly told myself to push those feelings down and bury them. I’m now slightly chiding myself for that. I was in a cemetery; people grieve there. Even if I wasn’t in a cemetery and needed to ball my eyes out, so be it. I don’t care if the world looks at me as if I’m a madwoman. I can’t live my life burying feelings forever.

As we continued walking a dog ran up to me that had a striking resemblance to Cassie. This made my eyes tear up again. She’s been on my mind lately. Such a sweet, beautiful little being that came into my life and changed it forever.

One of life's greatest gifts: My sweet little girl who never posed for the camera.

I keep reminding myself to stay in this present moment, reflecting gratefully on who is in my life here and now. The love of my life is a basset hound and I get the best greetings when I get home every day. I have friendships that I value and am learning to cut out what is emotionally and psychically damaging to me. I am close to my brother and know he’s always in my corner. My growing women’s hiking therapy group where we vent and let our dogs run free. And then there’s this guy who grieves as I do and we’ve spent our time encouraging and building up the other. The companionship he’s given me over the last few weeks is unique and meaningful.

Learning to treasure the memories instead of reliving them.

These are the things that deserve my focus. Of course those that have parted from my life are not forgotten, I’m simply making a conscious decision to remember them and simultaneously being done with grieving because my memories of them are what's important now - not that they are no longer in my life. I still hope to see them in the next one.