It's been awhile since I wrote. Since I broke my rib, things have been kind of slow. For the past couple of weeks I have been taking a lot of drugs and sleeping and wishing for the pain to go away. Things are still plodding along, though.
Early Friday morning, my little yellow bird Petey passed away after a sudden and very brief illness. I held Petey and had her beside me during the last hours of her life, and I cried and I cried when she was gone. There is no sweet little yellow bird swinging enthusiastically in my life anymore, and her boyfriend Sammy is quite lonely and inconsolable.
Ivan and I continue to navigate the challenges of life together. This rainy weekend Darius stayed with us and we (well, Ivan) carved jack-o-lanterns. I roasted pumpkin seeds even though I was the only one with a taste for them.
I continue to struggle with terrible anxiety. I am anxious about everything! Past, present, and future--I do not discriminate. I start the morning with intense fear and dread. I beg Ivan to hug me and tell me everything will be okay.
I think I have always been under the impression that once you find a partner, you don't feel lonely any more. I should know already from experience that this is not true--that it's my own problem--but somehow I still seem to operate under this illusion. And it surprises me every time I encounter it.
I still don't know how to negotiate the boundaries of writing so much of my personal life in a blog that suddenly includes another person whose privacy has to be considered. And rather than deal with that or find a way through it, I have just not been writing, in general. And I miss it.
I've been feeling a little blue. The reasons for this are not important right now, but what happened while I was feeling that way today is worthy of mention.
While the place I work is perfectly fine, people tend to keep to themselves. Other than the other person on my team, Michelle (thank God for her!), I don't really have anyone to talk to during the day. At times it feels a little lonely.
Today I've been feeling especially anxious and emotional, and it was so hard to coax myself out of bed this morning. I've burst into tears twice today at work. Michelle stopped by to let me know that a small reception had just let out, and that free for the taking were sandwiches, cookies, and pasta salad. This occasionally happens around here, and it's always a lovely treat. I hurried back to conference room where the food was located just in time to see someone picking up the last of it. Disappointed, I returned to my desk to continue working and to grumble about my bad luck.
Suddenly, the guy in the cube next to me stopped by my cube and introduced himself. I was a little surprised, as Michael's been my neighbor for 3 1/2 months now and we've never talked. (I'm shy! I'm horrible at introducing myself!) We chatted a few minutes, and he told me he'd gotten more food than he could eat leftover from the reception and would I like to share? I felt silly for feeling so grateful at the prospect of sharing someone's free lunch, but I gratefully accepted. He returned to his cube, got out his plate and fork, and created me a platter that was exactly half of everything he had: a roast beef sandwich, pesto pasta salad, and a peanut butter cookie.
I immediately teared up again, but they were good tears. I had my delicious lunch while I worked. I washed his dishes and returned them, and told him he'd really made my day better. He seemed a little surprised by this.
Sometimes it's the little things.
September 18, 2010
There's this weird little song that is apparently huge on the radio right now. When I first heard it, I was immediately annoyed. But somehow it's grown on me and makes me sad--like I've lost something I can't quite find.
It was not your fault, but mine It was your heart on the line I really fucked it up this time Didn't I my dear?
Somewhere along the way I lost the need to be better--to improve, to try, to embark on new personal projects. I can't seem to find that desire. I'm not sure how to get it back.
Occasionally I have days that are like one giant existential crisis. Today is one of them. I get up with the alarm, I smear shampoo through my hair. I dutifully put on my security badge for work and march through the front doors. I spend my work day in a sort of survival mode: just getting through it, getting it done, putting in the time until I can leave. It’s not clear to me why there is so much anticipation about going home at the end of the day. There is dinner to be had and dishes to be done. I may or may not do those things. If I’m really good I spend time writing to or about someone. If I’m especially restless I turn on the TV and try to absorb one of the mind-numbing shows on there. I try to be strategic about giving myself things to look forward to: dinner and drinks with this friend, concert tickets with that friend, the occasional movie. A walk in the fog. But I can’t stop wondering, “Isn’t there more that this?”
I suppose I’m not asking anything that everyone else doesn’t wonder at some time or another. It’s just that for so long I had this feeling that I was meant for bigger and better things. When I was young that feeling was so strong I could almost TOUCH it. A part of me refuses to believe that measuring out my life with coffee spoons and paychecks is all there is to it.
I don’t mean to sound cynical. I’m actually not. I pay attention. I look for the little moments and relish any time I get with people I love. I try to keep the shit that doesn’t matter in perspective and not lose sight of the bigger stuff. I try not to lose my general sense of optimism and my naïve belief that good people get good things because they deserve them. It’s just that some days are a little harder than others, and today I am working extra hard.
Last night Darius spent the night with us. He likes sleeping on my Aerobed and in my sleeping bag, and we set him up a bed in the living room. After giving strict instructions to come get dad if he had to go potty, we all went to sleep. About an hour later, he jumped out of bed in terror and came running into the bedroom crying from a nightmare. Ivan and I sprung out of bed immediately to comfort him. I wrapped my arms around him and stroked his hair, while Ivan said, "It's okay, buddy. Do you want to climb in bed with us?"
Somewhere during my half asleep confusion, I remember looking at Ivan and thinking, "Yes, I want to do this with you."
We made some family planning decisions last night, and my brain can barely focus on the smaller details of my daily grind as it tries to wrap itself around these huge things. I think I'll keep the specific details private at this time (I know! You're not used to that, are you?), but I am lost somewhere between excitement and terror as I think about what I want to do and how I want to take care of myself before it's time to start trying. My brain keeps saying, "This might be your last August 27 as a non-parent!" and "This could be the last Christmas before you turn in to 1/2 of Santa Claus!"
I'm gonna tell my son to grow up pretty as the grass is green And whip-smart as the English Channel's wide And I'm gonna tell my son to keep his money in his mattress And his watch on any hand between his thighs And I'm gonna lock my son up in a tower Till I write my whole life story on the back of his big brown eyes
Holy mother of god are we poor right now! The last time I was this broke it was, like, 1997.
I didn't have any money to eat lunch today and was pretty bummed about it. MAGICALLY my office suite ended up with a donation of free pizza after some event ended and it was just about the best thing EVER. Guess I'll have to pick up all the pennies and nickles that spill from my pockets to the floor when I take off my jeans (and drive Ivan crazy). There's no money for lunch tomorrow, either, but it's a work from home day and that is a major consolation. At least I can be hungry at home in my pajamas.
I suppose one day we will look back on this time period and laugh. Because we are sick sons of bitches like that. Right now it's not too funny, though.
This weekend we had very few choices. For a variety of reasons not worth going into, we're out of money until payday (and we only get paid once per month). Plus, my car is having some serious issues and should not be driven until I get it fixed. Which cannot happen until after payday. Thus, this weekend we stayed in. And ate ramen noodles.
Mostly we lounged. I spent a little time clearing some clothes and other stuff out of the bedroom to give us more space. I threw away items that I swore I would fit into again. I threw away the blanket that I originally started crocheting for my grandma, because I am never going to finish it. Tears were the result.
I am still interested in getting back into running (inspired, in part, by brief encounters with my old running clothes) and Ivan agrees. I think joining the gym is our most realistic option, although we have different ideas about which gyms to join.
Last night we went to bed early.
This morning when emerging from the shower, Ivan said, "Baby, I'm sorry living with me isn't more glamorous."
I know you love me. You murmur it into my ear and against my hair when you are unconscious with sleep. So why can I not help but clam up when you ask me to tell you what I am feeling?
Maybe it is because we are still learning our ways around one another. Maybe it's because no one ever really wanted to hear these things and I'm not used to it. Maybe it is because I worry that if you know my true fears and worries, you won't want me anymore.
Know that when my lips are silent, my head is loud.
I used to write, I used to write letters I used to sign my name I used to sleep at night Before the flashing lights settled deep in my brain But by the time we met By the time we met the times had already changed...
In reality, things have only changed minimally. I mean Ivan got his stuff out of his old room today and we brought it over, but he's been here all along. We've looked at each other a couple of times already and marveled that it was for real now.
He brought over a tupperware container filled with duffle bags. I looked at it incredulously and, knowing how little room we have, said, "Are you bringing all those bags?"
He opened his hands to me and said, "What else am I going to put my stuff in when you kick me to the curb?"
After resting awhile late this afternoon, I woke up with the most amazing idea. "Baby, let's get a Christmas tree this year!" I enthused. He agreed and now I am nearly beside myself.
I think we might be destined to live in a federally-proclaimed disaster area.
I was just looking at pictures of other couples' apartments and--even the ones that bemoan how cluttered and messy they are--they're SPOTLESS compared to ours. Our laundry is in a giant, unfolded pile, our dinner dishes from last night are still in the sink, there is an extra computer in the middle of the living room, the bathroom needs scrubbed...I could go on but it's starting to stress me out. Like watching an episode of "Hoarders."
It's just that we have so many more interesting things to do when we get home in the evening than CLEAN. Like last night. I think I laughed for an hour just because we sat and TALKED and drank beer after dinner. Seriously: my abs are sore today.
I can remember lots of lonely nights in a clean apartment in the past and I wouldn't trade this for the world.
Well, baby I've been here before I've seen this room and I've walked this floor I used to live alone before I knew you...
She opened her eyes with a start and looked around. The room was empty and silent; the lanterns and paper cranes hanging from the ceiling were still. Turning over, she began to sniff his side of the bed frantically. She needed one whiff of clean laundry, shaving cream, deodorant, and that unnamed something--the particular scent of his skin. She ran her nose over the pillows and across the sheets and blankets, sniffing all the while.
There. On that pillow. A remnant of him. She curled herself around his smell like a cat and closed her eyes.
This weekend Ivan and I had his four year old son Darius stay with us. All of my fears are alleviated. We had a wonderful time. I adore Darius and I think he rather likes me as well. And I love Ivan even more after seeing the Dad in him. I'm trying to think of the best way to articulate this to him. I think it might involve whispering under the covers under the dark of night.
This morning felt quiet--no little feet running in to tell us, "Guys...wake up!" We drug ourselves out of bed and into the shower to begin our morning routine. Incidentally, how can this feel routine when it hasn't even been 6 weeks yet? How have I become so accustomed to and content with this way of being so quickly?
All I know is that I am at my desk and I feel lonely. Neither of my boys are here and I miss them terribly.
I was playing soft while Bobby sang the blues. Windshield wipers slapping time, I was holding Bobby's hand in mine, We sang every song that driver knew...
Ivan told me last night I should write a new blog entry. I dismissed this idea, because I don't want to make everyone barf by reading how happy I am.
We are busy trying to fit into my apartment and putting off our major cleaning day. Cleaning needs to come soon, though, because his son Darius will be staying with us in the near future and--though he is just a kid--I don't want the place to be a disaster.
I confess that I am nervous to meet Darius. I hear he's a sweet and easy-going little boy with a penchant for Spider Man, but all I can hear echoing in my head are future fights that end with, "You're not my mom! You can't tell me what to do!"
Oh god.
I look around my house wondering how to entertain him when he visits. Mostly I come up with the fact that I need to buy popsicles, except I think those might be more for me than they are for him. I have a neglected game of Hungry Hungry Hippos that might go over well. There is a small park near my house that he already likes. I kind of want to gather up and add to my art supplies for some fantastic creations. (Again, probably more for me than him.) I would like to find kid-friendly recipes so that making lunch and snacks could be an interactive experience.
I am remembering trips to my auntie's house as a kid because they were always a special treat. She had paints and cotton balls and watercolors and story books, and we could create and pretend to our heart's content. I would like Darius to feel this way when he visits us.
I am trying not to be daunted by this.
I have many years of experience in taking care of infants and small children; I just hope I'm not too self-centered to be able to do it these days.
I am enjoying your face. When you are away from me and I see a picture of you, I feel a pang of separation. We talk for hours, sleep with limbs entangled, eat together, cross paths in the shower, take turns brushing our teeth--and still I miss you when you’re gone.
Yesterday, I picked Ivan up from work and we went to his sister's so I could meet her for the first time. I was certain she was going to hate me and that this would be our last evening together, so I tried to make the most of it. We were in a celebratory mood: we were off work, we were being naughty and going to McDonald's for dinner, and we had beer with us.
As we drove and chatted, I scrolled through my iPod. I was stuck in the "M's" and went back and forth between the Misfits, Marvin Gaye, and Marty Robbins. Suddenly, Mates of State jumped out at me. Oh, I hadn't heard "Middle is Gold" in years! I put it on.
This was the song that I was listening to in Oct.-Nov. 2006 when I was moving out of the apartment with Chris and I was wild with hysteria and terror at what I was about to do. I recited the lines over and over to myself:
You can get only what it is you want! (It's always the same by and by)
The deja vu was almost more than I could stand. I wanted to cry because I made it. I officially made it out the other side of that tunnel.
Who, can you tell me, who do you love? You ought to know things will never be the same, boy...
I wanted to try to articulate this to Ivan, but it seemed too complicated. Instead I said, "Oh, my god I love this song." He couldn't have known how much I meant that.
So much gets trapped inside my head that never gets out.
So, yes, big news. Ivan and I will be cohabitating, as T.K. urged me to call it.
I'm not gonna lie: it's a simultaneously scary and exciting development. We realize it might seem crazy to others as we've not even known each other a month yet. I think I am more sensitive to others' perceptions of us than he is.
I'll let you in on a little secret: I'm happy he's the one that suggested this development. I'm not sure that I ever would have no matter how long we were together. I just never wanted to be seen as the whiny girl in a relationship who is always pushing for more, more! (When are we getting married!? What colors do you want to paint the nursery?) I think it may backfire on me sometimes, though, because I end up never pushing for anything.
Maybe that's why I have settled so much.
At my suggestion, we are beginning with a 30 day trial period before he moves all of his stuff in. I felt like we needed an emergency cord to pull just in case. I know we are in for plenty of challenges as we settle in to each others' living space. We're already facing some of them. I, for example, do not understand why the bathroom sink has to turn into a lake each time he uses it. What does he do that requires so much water all over the place? Maybe he has some of these thoughts about me and my habits, but I doubt it. I am very easy to live with...
Okay, I know that sleeping with my fan on makes him nuts. He's also incredulous as to why I never want to pick up the mail that my mail carrier drops through my door slot. One thing we have going for us, though, is the fact that we both squeeze the toothpaste from the top of the tube. (I think this characteristic about me alone made Chris want to scream, and I can understand that.)
My place is tiny. We'll get a larger place down the road with a second bedroom, but for now this is where we're at. I know it won't be easy, but there are so many wonderful things to look forward to. For example, he gets off work a couple hours later than me, and by the time he arrives I am practically jumping out of my skin to see him. I cook more now that there's someone else there to enjoy it with. I like reaching over in the middle of the night to find his warm, sleeping body. I love that we set the alarm a little early each morning so we can spend some time snuggling before facing the day. It fortifies me.
We are silly and excited and looking forward to our future. Please excuse us if we are corny and cheesy and make you gag.
It's easy to forget that there are these nights--these nights that test you and make you wonder if you can really make it work. I think they will come no matter what, but they always scare me and give me a (at least a brief) sense of hopelessness.
I think that compliment-giving is a lost art. Receiving them may be as well. I would like to write down some compliments for things folks have done for me recently. The fact that you likely won't know who they are is immaterial.
1. Cricket: you make me laugh when you stick your butt feathers up in the air and dig upside down while grunting. Thank you for being a fool.
2. Security guard at DeLano's at 2am Saturday morning: It was really impressive the way you recognized me in my pajamas with my hair swirling in a tornado around my head while I drank Nyquil from the bottle at the cash register. It really makes me happy to know that that moment is immortalized in someone else's mind forever, in case I ever just want to pretend like it didn't happen.
3. Mom: Thanks for letting me know your boyfriend's penis is 6 inches long. Really. There are no words.
4. Suzie: You are the most enthusiastic steak-finger maker in the history of the world, and I absolutely adore it.
5. Ivan: Thank you for your thoroughness. Holy mother of god.
6. Geico insurance agent: I really liked the way you described in great detail how Mucinex works. Nothing was left to the imagination, and I am grateful for that.
7. Michelle: It makes my day when you eagerly trot back to tell me about the presence of cheesecake, strawberries, tuna sandwiches, and any number of other scrumptious treats that make their way to our desk in the lobby at work. It's nice of you to think of sharing first and foremost.
8. Dude in the cube on the other side of the wall: I've never seen you, but I feel like I know you intimately. I know you have a rash on your inner thigh, are grumpy in the mornings, and like all things Spanish. Thanks for making me feel a part of your life.
A: I thought about whether or not you can "prove" you love someone. I thought about whether or not it was a good idea to wear this strappy sundress on a foggy day, and decided that it was because it makes me happy. I thought about why it is that there are some issues that turn me into an ostrich--putting my head directly into the sand. I thought about the fact that I haven't finished my book yet for tomorrow night's book club, and am I the worst member of the club? I thought about making a list of meals to make for dinner because, without a conscious effort at diversity, I will eat the same thing almost every night. This, in turn, led me to think that I was way overdue for making some homemade mashed potatoes. I thought about issues of privacy and trust, and the the borders where one person begins and another one ends.
G: All noble thoughts. Yes. Yes. I read an article this weekend regarding a similar vein, but it was with food and not issues. That happens, and No. That's a good idea, and, in theory, it is cheaper. mmmm potatoes Typically at the phalanges, but it depends on how you roll ;-)
Inspired by my friend B's success and relatively minor pain, I've decided to get my first Brazilian bikini wax. Appointment scheduled for Saturday afternoon. This is not a job for Penny, my old Vietnamese waxing friend. I'm paying to go to a nice place. 'Cause I'm skeered.
I know. I'm off living my life and not writing about it. Crazy, huh?
A bus hit me in my car. Still dealing with insurance and, as TK said, some of the organge-y goodness has been squished out of Julius.
On July 3 I passed the five year mark of living in San Francisco. It filled my mind with nostalgia and memories of the day that Chris and I arrived with the moving truck feeling exhausted and wary and anxious. So many things have happened since then. I have fallen into and out of love, gotten jobs, gotten fired, made new friends, lost one friend, lost my two beloved grandparents, traveled, has emotional breakdowns, got help, got lost, got found...and so on.
I have some decisions to make. I keep putting them off, hoping they will get easier.
My house is clean in preparation for a friend coming over to cook dinner with me this evening. I'm wearing a strappy sundress despite the fog and drizzle because I feel rather sunny today.
The day is perfect except for one minor inconvenience...
Two-headed boy, She is all you could need, She will feed you tomatoes and radio wire, And retire to sheets safe and clean, But don't hate her when she gets up to leave...
...No, I am not pregnant. There's at least one essential activity that has to be taking place for that to occur and--not that it should be publicized here, but will that stop me? No. No it won't--I've not done that for, what? Years? Seems that way.
You really are the best. It's the little things you do that I adore, you know? When you roll down the window before farting in the car, it makes me love you even more. When you lovingly smack me in the face with your penis as I wake up in the morning, I realize how lucky I am to have you in my life.
I can only hope that little Buddy grows up to be half the man that you are. I look forward to watching you teach him how to secretly look up girls' skirts and to see you serve as his role model for shifting your package while noisily belching in public and calling the dog "Lil' Fucker."
Just thinking of these things makes me want to make more babies with you.
"And my emptiness is swollen shut Always a wretch I have become So empty And please, please don't leave me here."
Some of you have been asking where I've been and it warms the cockles of my cold, cold heart to know that I have been missed.
To tell you the truth, I'm doing well. I'm in a period of transition.
I love my new job. I really do. It's not like it's anything spectacular, but it's the normalcy of it that makes me happy. I don't dread getting up in the morning. I don't shake and cringe when my boss calls or stops by. No panic attacks. No tears.
I have been meeting a lot of new people and shedding cracks of light on parts of myself that have been hiding.
I have been taking stock. There are things I'm unhappy with and want to change, and I'm figuring out how to go about that.
I want to purge it all. I want all the weight of the things I've been carrying off of my shoulders.
A perfect example: In the closet of my office I have a bag of stuffed animals that I have been collecting since I was 16 years old. They're animals given to me by Chris or ones that we acquired together. I've loved them dearly for so many reasons--because they represented young love and hope and innocence to name a few. I haven't been able to look at them, but I haven't been able to get rid of them either.
The past is weighing me down.
When Nannette gently suggested it might be time to get rid of them, I welled up immediately. I think it's time for them to go.
I'm looking around all the signs of light and hope in my bedroom--a room which I've adorned with the things I love: lanterns, paper cranes, collage, words--and trying to pull out inspiration and the forms in which it comes.
I have two definitions written on my wall. One is for the word "desiderium": a yearning, specifically for a thing one once had, but has no more. The other is for the word "balter": to dance clumsily.
I'm ready for less desiderium and more balter.
Not so long ago, I mourned to a friend that the people who have loved me most and best are gone, and I don't know how to be. If I continue to lament this and to live in the past, then it will always be this way.
Part of the reason I stayed away from blogging, also, is because some of my thoughts on the things I need to let go of have the capacity to hurt other people--the last thing I want to do. As much as I love having readers, sometimes it's also a curse to have them. I've chosen to keep my thoughts private.
"She comes and goes most afternoons One billion lovers wave and lover her now They could love her now And so could I..."
He would run every morning, but only for a mile, which was all he needed to clear his mind. He admired the intricacy of origami. He would write about spaceships on weeknights. He would eat a large breakfast each day, with ice water and herbs. He didn't believe in foreign travel so much as foreign living. He wore jeans everywhere, except weddings, because protocol matters. He smiled easily. He would go to zoos to be sure the animals were taken good care of. He would spend his days golfing with his ideas, sending them into the water, the woods, and the far off sands.
You're in your room from 11pm - 8am each day (which I already am). Showers, free meals, and hour and a half outside. Visitors for an hour. Hell. This is a better day than I normally have.
Obviously this is good news for financial reasons. Also? It means the living hell of a job I have been in for the last 21 months is over. My god that place made me so unhappy. I miss my co-workers terribly already, though. They made it bearable.
The pay is less than what I was making before, but I was able to negotiate it up a bit. And I won't be paying for gas and all the wear and tear on my car.
But seriously. I am really proud of getting this job because the competition was fierce. On Monday I move into my new office. I will have a Mac desktop and a Macbook laptop and I am a little nervous about figuring out how to use them.
But I am feeling incredibly optimistic.
I am looking forward to morning walks to work--it's about 2.4 miles. No more 2 hours of commuting! I should be able to lose some of the weight I gained during my misery at my last job. In the meantime I am enjoying my week off.
Remember her sounds Remember her smells Remember her colors Remember through towns With fear and fascination of what was here And what's replacing 'em now...
I actually found out a few days ago, but had to mull over my response before writing this. I'm still not positive what to say. Let me tell you a few things I do know for sure.
I am mad at you for being so selfish and hurting your mother. It did hurt her, you know. Maybe she didn't tell you. Probably she didn't tell you.
I always thought that if I had a major life event like, oh, moving across the country, getting married, having a baby...that I would tell you. You know why I would tell you directly? Because I wouldn't want you to hear it from anyone but me. It seems that you do not feel that obligation, and though it hurts me it seems it is something I have to live with.
At first I was really mad at you for marrying Anna from Canada when you had carried on with her before I was gone; when you had brought her into my apartment; when you had (bizarrely) kept our pictures side by side. I guess she got you over me in short order. I suppose that is good.
And now I am left with all my other thoughts. They vary from anger to bitterness to hurt to resignation, depending on when you ask me. I do wonder this, though: do you ever miss those two kids? The two who were so young and naive that they thought their love could and would overcome anything? The ones who wanted nothing more than to sit beside each other on the bus to Florida? Because that's who I think of when I think of you. I think of the shy, long-haired boy to whom I told all my secrets and for whom I saved the best of myself. I prefer to think of us that way than as two people who grew up and further apart.
I guess everyone has a first love. Someone whom they fall in love with with reckless abandonment because they have never been hurt and don't know any better. I know that I can never get that back again because time and years and pain have made me more cautious, more protective. I still like to think of myself as someone who can love freely and openly and without pretext, but there are places in me that I'm not even sure I have access to anymore. I want to give them to someone else again. I am working on it.
I have plenty of ridiculous, irrational thoughts, too. I wonder if you thought of me on your wedding day. I know that is selfish. I wonder on what points you compare she and I, and on which ones she wins and on which ones I do, if any. I wonder if you ever regret not spending some time alone to find yourself the way I did, or if you're happy you had her before you even lost me. I wonder if it feels strange to you that your family still considers me a part of them.
I guess it is natural to wonder these things about the person who consumed half of your life.
Though you love someone else, and though I love someone else, I imagine that I will never again in this life lay eyes on you, and that is a strange feeling. The face that was once more familiar to me than my own. I imagine it is something you have already successfully come to terms with.
I don't know what else I can tell you except for this: I hope you have found what you are looking for. I hope you are happy. I hope you don't dream about me anymore.
I seem to be developing a nervous disorder. Every now and then I'll be overcome by the irresistable urge to squeeze my eyes shut - as hard as they'll squeeze. I feel so much calmer after I do it, but each time I do it my students seem to flinch a little - like they're wondering if this is the moment when I'm going to choose to snap. I want say "No my pretties. I've snapped a long, long time ago. What you need to fear is the moment when I can no longer mask my turmoil."
Alright. I admit it, okay? I bought a pack of cigarettes today. The stress and transition of last couple of weeks have done my months of hard work in--temporarily, I would like to emphasize--and I broke down. So this morning on my way to work I stopped at the old tobacco shop that I used to frequent in order to purchase them.
Some of you already know part of this story.
There is a 60 year old Indian man (no idea what his name is) who owns the place and--for years now and for unfathomable reasons--has seemed to really like me. I would walk into his shop and he would cry out, "Hello, beautiful!" For a long time I have assumed he does this to many female customers, as he is a bit of a flirt. He would always ask me if I had a boyfriend and why did he never see me with him? Then he started asking me out for coffee.
I had learned bits and pieces about him over my years of visiting his store. He commutes to and from Vacaville, has two college-age sons, likes to play soccer with his friends on the weekends and (are you ready?) is single. His interest in taking me on a date began to get uncomfortable, so when I moved further away from his shop I didn't bother stopping there anymore.
When I came in this morning he was so surprised. He ran out to hug me and kiss my cheek and ask me where I had been? How was I doing? Where was I working now? He renewed his request to take me out for coffee and I laughed to put him off. Getting very serious, he said, "No, really. When are you going to let me take you out?"
Apparently I need to continue to stay away.
If I weren't 99.9% sure that he had romantic intentions, I might consider having coffee with this strange man, but I have no interest in encouraging him further. I can't even begin to imagine what we would talk about. I have a few ideas about where he would like to take the conversation and it creeps me out to think about it.
1. I was invited for another interview at UCSF (for a different job than the first interview). This is tremendously good news. The interview is Monday. Enough said.
2. I had my first psychotherapy appointment with Dr. J, and she was lovely. Her office was warm and inviting, with a big cushy couch and throw pillows and blankets and windows filled with sunlight.
I always find the first therapy appointment to be a little awkward, because a) you're meeting a stranger for the purpose of telling him/her the most intimate details of your life and thoughts and behaviors, and b) I never know how to begin. Do I start with the junk in my mind today? Do I immediately go way back to the beginning with, "So I was born..." or Do I offer a simple, "I'm fucked in the head. Please help?" I try to be up front about this uncertainty by admitting my discomfort to the therapist. Dr. J. was lovely and guided me by starting with simple and then increasingly deeper questions.
What is it about telling my story that makes me ball like a baby immediately? I mean, I've told it before. I'm years removed from these events. I'm in a safe place in the middle of the day. But I gush like a dam burst in me.
Dr. J. is more spiritual than what I'm used to, and I have to work actively to keep an open mind. I mean, I'm here for the purpose of eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR) therapy, which sounds kooky enough as it is--so I might as well go with the flow. We didn't start any EMDR today, as she said we needed to get to know each other and develop some trust between us first. That makes sense. We spent some time having me connect with different parts of my body mentally and physically, and feeling my "soul space." (I know how it sounds, but I'm willing to try.) I realized from this experience that I'm incredibly out of touch with my body and my mind is way too analytical. I need to relax and loosen up more. I could use some help with that in so many ways.
Whether it was the crying or the compassionate ear or the soul space, I felt relaxed and much more peaceful when I left.
My homework assignments are these:
1. Practice hugging myself. Literally.
2. Rub my chest to take the positive energy out of my heart and then rub my bellybutton to transfer it to the source of my sadness.
3. Brace my hands against the back of my head and feel the force of my inner strength to survive anything I encounter.
4. Do a few sweet things for myself, such as rubbing luxurious cream on my body.
I am quite excited about my interview tomorrow--I feel so optimistic. Maybe I'm getting a little ahead of myself in my head (planning walks to work, searching for recipes for healthy lunches to pack) but I can't help it. I am such a great fit for this position.
Maybe Thursday, May 13 should be known as Amie's Independence Day.
Maybe this is the beginning of great things.
Maybe a little weekend trip is warranted in the near future.
A: I file things in my head for him for later. Sort of like a chest that I store things in that I'll tell him someday. It's like, "Remember that time you were asking me what you stopped and I felt like I couldn't tell you? Well, this is what I meant..." Stuff like that.
Dr. T: So, you mean that you file stuff away that you want to tell him when you allow him to know you?
A: [pauses] Yeah. I guess so. For when I feel more secure that he won't just bail from a simple comment that I make.
Dr. T: But what are you doing in the meantime? Until then?
A: You mean until I let him know me well enough that I can tell him these things?
My friend P. just returned from a hiking trip on top of Mt. Shasta, and today she tentatively knocked on my office door and asked me if I had a second. "Sure," I said, "what's going on?" (I was nervous, you see, because work hasn't exactly been a source of good news lately.) She was cupping something in her hand, and looked a little shy.
She said, "I brought something back from my trip for you because I wanted you to know I was thinking about you. I was thinking about the people that lift me up every day, and I wanted you to know that you do that for me. So, from 10,000 feet up on the mountain, I brought you some snow melt so that you would know I took you with me and I'm grateful for you." She handed me a small, clear vial of water.
My eyes stung immediately. I hugged her and thanked her profusely for thinking of me, because she is someone who lifts me up each day, as well. She made this day a lot brighter.
I had a major disappointment today. It crushed me and I cried at work. I knew it was a distinct possibility. I received sweet support from Dave, Ruben, and Tamara and I am so grateful. I'm trying really hard to keep my chin up and stay hopeful.
I have no other choice.
Thus, I am drinking champagne and celebrating small things.
YOU don't care because you can't remember But I do You don't want to hear, but I'll fill you in on the things she can't or won't These are the things I go back to in my mind and I want you to understand what it's like to feel worthless until he gives you permission not to.
I sit and listen and wait in vain Wondering What have I done? (What haven't I done?) I don't seem to have the courage to ask But the difference is marked I can't help but wonder Is this the point that I'll later look at as The moment things began to unravel?
My female parent has been visiting the past few days. While we've had a surprisingly nice visit, I've come to really loathe her boyfriend. He is insecure and jealous and can be rather vicious. He calls while the two of us are hanging around in my apartment and says things like, "Who's there with you? Do you have guys there?" While we were spending Mother's Day in wine country, he would call and text constantly. She wanted to get off the phone so we could continue our day, and he assumed she was in the middle of fucking someone and wanted to finish. The rest of our day was spent getting phone calls and text messages from him saying, "What the hell's going on out there? You've been out there for days. Who are you seeing?"
She defends him at every turn: "He has a good heart." This afternoon I officially got fed up and I'm spending a couple hours in my room so I don't have to listen to her reassure him over and over that she's not fucking anyone while she's here visiting me.
On one hand, I am jealous that she has someone who seems to miss her. But that's exactly where that ends. I am exhausted from dealing with him vicariously through her, and don't know how she can stand his constant accusations. My insistence that she deserves better--someone who can trust her for more than 5 minutes at a time, at least--falls on deaf ears.
I love those moments when you're poised on the brink of something, not knowing which way things will go. Sometimes the moments when your life is about to change feel mundane and ordinary, with no clue in sight. At other times they feel heady with meaning.
I guess I'm somewhere in between right now. Of course, it may or may not be about to change.
I feel lucky to have had the recent changes that I've had and, no matter what happens, I will continue to pursue new ones. There are only so many tomorrows. I'm grabbing them.
Okay. Let's get this over with fast. While I'm ready.
So my therapist was trying to tease apart all the things that are wrapped up in me, and she said, "This is how I would describe you. You're prone to intensity--attracted to it, in fact, tend to think in black or white, all or nothing, alternate between feelings of closeness with people and feeling abandoned by them, have a lot of self-loathing and struggle with finding your identity internally versus externally."
I cried softly and said, "What is that?"
She gently told me she feels that--mixed up in all that is me--are some traits of borderline. She stressed that it was NOT THE FULL DISORDER, just tendencies and traits. She said it was very common for people with significant early trauma to experience these traits because they'd never had a stable sense of self.
As a result, and in addition to her former recommendation that I seek EMDR therapy, she suggested that I have some dialectical behavioral therapy in conjunction with it in order to seek a more stable sense of self.
That's it. That's all. It was just scary to talk about because there is a lot of stigma associated with borderline.
I am still trying to work up the courage to finish my earlier post, but I'm not sure that I ever will completely be able to.
Tonight I am wide awake, and re-reading old posts that characterized the blitzkrieg of insanity (peppered with bits of clarity) that has been my mental health for awhile now. This one still summarizes it well and still moves me.
After a particularly earth-splitting therapy session today I feel scared but also completely optimistic.
I want to write about this while it's still fresh in my mind, even though I have 1,000 things to accomplish.
There are days when I feel fragile enough that it seems like if I were to say what's really on my mind without censoring it--to really put it out there in the open--I might shatter into hundreds of tiny pieces on the floor. Today started out as one of those days, likely because I had an appointment with my psychiatrist and I haven't had one in a few weeks. It was overdue.
I love my doctor for many reasons, but one is because she is really putting effort into a finer-grained diagnosis than my others in the past have done. She agrees with my bipolar diagnosis. But she was the first person to put a name to some of the problems I was having that never occurred to me to share as symptoms of PTSD. And today she was the first person to mention that there might be shades of something else tied up in all those layers.
Before I get into that, let me describe part of how she summarized me today. I've never had someone describe me so completely before in their assessment of me, and it brought tears of recognition to my eyes...
fuck. i don't have the courage to do this. i thought i did. maybe later.
I used to take pride in oceans as if they were mine for pockets of coats/shirts. We wanted a kitchen with checkerboard floors when we were small enough not to know better. Now: I distance myself from visual depression. I only care about feeling overwhelmed. The sea means nothing more than boredom. I prefer gas stations. I prefer the freeway bridge. Butterflies left a long time ago. Now I just flap my wings. I only like linoleum. Progress. Using time up. You took me to the barbeque place with the bad lighting. I preferred it to dining by the water.
I can be kind of all or nothing about things. I'm either all about it or could care less. When I find something I like, I LOVE it passionately, dearly. If it's a song I discover, I need to hear it 1,000 times on repeat (S.T. suggests this is symptomatic of the aforementioned need for medication). If it's a meal I enjoyed, I want to have it every day for two weeks straight. A movie I love? I need to watch it over and over, read about it, get the soundtrack, watch the trailer on YouTube.
I recognize that this extends to larger issues in my life, too. Taking this one step further (but stopping short of laying down ALL of my neuroses for you), I am attracted to similar intensity in others. I have been criticized for this, but is it something I can really change?
I don't know how to find the middle ground. It feels so...mundane.
This is the first day of my life, I swear I was born right in the door way. I went out in the rain, suddenly everything changed, they're spreading blankets on the beach.
Yours was the first face that I saw. I swear I was blind before I met you. I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been, but I, Know where I want to go.
And so I thought I'd let you know, these things take forever, I especially am slow. But I realized that I need you, and I wondered if I could come home.
Sometimes all I really wanna feel is love Sometimes I'm angry that I feel so angry Sometimes my feelings get in the way Of what I really feel I needed to say.
Your prettiness is seeping through Out from the dress I took from you, so pretty My emptiness is swollen shut Always a wretch i have become So empty Please, Please don't leave me.
I'm watching Naomi, full bloom I hope that she will soon explode Into one billion tastes and tunes One billion angels come and hold her down They could hold her down until she cries
I'm tasting Naomi's perfume It tastes like shit and I must say She comes and goes most afternoons One billion lovers wave and love her now They could love her now and so could I
There is no Naomi in view She walks through Cambridge stocks and strolls And if she only really knew One billion angels could come and save her soul They could save her soul until she shines.
Until she Shines Until she shines Until she shines Until she shines
I won't tell, I won't tell, I won't tell. I can hide it sufficiently under self-deprecation and colorful banter No one in my life wants to know these things And the part of me that needs medication Goes on and on and on And the hysteria rises And no one can (or will) Say anything to make it stop.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me.
ST: [quoting Modest Mouse] This is the part of me that needs medication this is the part of me that believes in heaven this is the part of me that thinks outer space is all dead
AA: The part of me that needs medication is beating the other part of me's ass.
ST: That's a pretty big part of you, second only to the boobs part.
AA: You eat boogers.
ST: Well, evidently I just got served. If I were six.
My blog has been getting HUNDREDS of hits per day--more than ever--and I'd like to celebrate. I want to write something for you.
Let me know what you'd like. It can be a writing on a topic of your choice, something written for your eyes only, or anything else that your pretty little head can dream up. Let me know what you want in a comment or in a personal email (amieashcraft@hotmail.com) and I'll make it happen.
