sludge

it's been a long time since i've posted a light/fun blog. i was going to apologize for that, but life hasn't exactly been light or fun lately and i need to quit "should-ing" myself about what to write or feel.

i should be getting over london.

i should be enjoying the holidays.

i should be...

fuck all that. i'm having a fuck of a last few weeks. things are the hardest they've been in a while and i'm not going to apologize or feel bad for admitting that.

i've been trying not to let myself get stuck in a pity party. i've been trying to go about my day and just let things feel like normal. it's fucking exhausting. right here, right now, things are not okay and i'm not going to pretend they are.

i am working on making things better. i'm not sitting here just wallowing. this isn't about poor me, how do i get out of this. i'm already working on it. but for a moment, i'm going to just flat say: THIS, this part right here, it sucks. and it's okay to feel bad.

i'm not happy at my jobs. sorry if my bosses happen to be reading this. i don't like working so many different places and still barely patching by. i don't like waking up on a saturday in a panic because i can't remember which office i'm supposed to be at. i don't like that i can't even cover my own ass insurance wise even though it's available at both jobs. i don't like that i need to find ANOTHER new job. i don't like this much change. notice please that the jobs themselves aren't the problem. i like where i work. i like my jobs. i like the people i work with. i DON'T like that i put myself in this corner. i don't like that i feel horrible knowing that i need to leave sooner than later to take care of myself and my kids. i don't like the pending feeling of walking away from people that took a chance on me and helped me get through a damn hard spot. i don't like that i have to go back to a corporate (or equivalent) grind. i don't like the idea of another first day. i don't like the idea of another new set of people to get used to. but i know i have to make a change. i need insurance. i need solid hours. i need to know each day when i wake up where i'm supposed to be. i need to be a grown up again.

speaking of needing insurance: it sucks giant balls that A) i'm fucking sick. B) i have to apply and prove how broke i am to try to get approved to maybe be put on a waiting list for surgery C) i have giant fucking bills already piling up from the ER trip, the doctor trip, the prescriptions. i know surgery will be a few days off work, which means cuts to the paychecks. i'm too poor to be sick, but according to the paperwork i make too much money to get assistance. i HATE the looks i get when i say i don't have rent or a car payment. well, if you can afford a house, what are you doing in our offices? ummm...everyone died and i got one check, one time and THOUGHT i was doing the right thing. holy fuck has that decision bit me in the ass more than a few times already. i fucking hate that i'm scared to eat food. sure, it's nifty that i've already dropped 15 pounds but i HATE that i never know what will wake me up in the middle of the night in crazy pain. i fucking hate that if shit goes sideways between now and the possible waiting list, there's no plan B. MAYBE a hospital will do surgery if it's an emergency situation. MAYBE. in the meantime- when was the last time my will was updated? what would happen to the spawns? why the fuck did i ever give up my desk jockey job with good insurance and plenty of sick leave? i hate how irresponsible it makes me feel. i hate how helpless it makes me feel. i hate all of this fucking stupid bullshit. all over a fucking extra body part that no one needs anyway. seriously evolution- couldn't have taken care of this a few thousand years ago for me?

and here's the big one: you knew it was coming. i'm still working through the london trip.

it's killing me. in strange ways. when i said it would be a life changing trip, i had no idea what that could possibly mean.

there's two parts to this one, and it's going to get ugly and dark. welcome to my brain the last few weeks. it's not a good place to be.

part one: new york: we've been keeping in touch. i've been trying to dial back and just be a friend and a support. i'm doing a shitty job at it. i care so much about him that it's killing me holding back everything. i want to just say what i feel and all that girl crap- especially on days like today watching another huge national tragedy happen. i know too damn well how short life is. i want to be able to say what i feel when i feel it because i've learned the hard fucking way you more often than not don't get the second chance to say it. but i know at the same time he's not in the right place to hear it. i don't know if or when he will be. i do know that we've had very limited text conversations since i've been there. i haven't "seen" him on skype once since then. we haven't talked via phone or skype at all. and i know he has no clue what my brain has been doing since i got on the plane home. he has no clue all the crap that i've been working through. he has no clue how much this whole thing is tearing me apart. and he shouldn't right now. he's already got enough shit he's dealing with- he doesn't need my emotional baggage on top of it. and so i'm stuck in this horrible place of not being able to say anything and just being WRECKED. i don't know how to just be a friend when i care this much about someone. and i know this will sound like a petulant child, but it doesn't seem fair that i should have to stuff my emotions away and be this miserable just because he's not ready for it right now. yes, i just said it doesn't seem fair. because normally life is just so fair.
and it's killing me not to be able to talk or text to him more often and more than "how was your day" "busy" type crap. the worst part checks in on a level 10 crazy girl level- the app that i use to text him shows the last time someone was on line. i can see that he's been in the app. i can see he's been checking his phone and not responding to or starting a conversation. like right now: open the app and it shows he last checked in at 430 this evening. i haven't heard from him since wednesday night. do you have any idea what that does to a girl brain?
and i know there’s the argument of just getting over it and kicking him to the curb. how do you do that to someone you’ve invested 8 years in? especially when they’re going through some honestly TERRIBLE shit that can fuck any person up and change everything about the way they respond to things and their day to day interactions. i can’t give up on him and honestly- i don’t want to. i still hang on to the fact that when shit hit the fan, i was the one he called and wanted to talk to. i hang on to the fact that the whole time i was there he kept saying how glad he was to have me sitting next to him. he liked looking over and seeing me. i can’t dismiss that after 8 years, seeing him again was smooth and seamless. how often does that happen? after that amount of time you can just pick up right where you left off? i can’t get over him smiling at me and telling me i’m gorgeous. i can’t get over all the strange, random things that make him totally perfect for me. we have the same fucking cereal bowls. sounds stupid, but seriously- we both have the same tony the tiger cereal bowl. dumbest thing on earth but it’s still a thing. i made his coffee exactly right the first try. hell, his dog didn’t even bark at me once (and put her toy in my suitcase within an hour of being there). i just. i can’t give up. but i haven’t found a way to survive it yet either.

then there’s this other part of it.

this has nothing to do with new york oddly enough. but everything to do with the trip.

when i came home i dissected every part of every moment trying to find answers in speculation. i’m a virgo. it’s what we do. we over analyze and drive ourselves insane trying to find a concrete answer to everything even when there is no answer. i picked apart everything. even this idea: we had sex once when we got there, then his back hurt too much to be able to do it again. he did try one other time but just couldn’t. so. hmmm. was it because his back really was hurt? or was his  back a convenient excuse to get out of having sex with me? did my body change too much from the last time he saw me? was he no longer attracted? was i not good enough? was it too soon to have someone new in his bedroom after his wife leaving? you can imagine all the dark corners a crazy girl brain can wander off into.

the question itself: injury vs excuse, is a moot point. i don’t know. i don’t know what was going on in his head. i can speculate all day long but unless i ask new york directly that’s a question i’ll never have an answer for. at this point it doesn’t matter. there’s argument in my head as to if it ruined or saved the trip. how would i have felt if i had gone over there and it HAD been the crazy sexcapade i planned on? would i have just felt like a cheap tart that paid all that money just for sex? the world’s most backwards call girl? maybe it was better that we were able to just spend time together without all the sex muddying the waters?

but question as to why we didn’t have sex: doesn’t matter.

here’s what matters. i asked one of my oldest friends the question. he has no better answer than i do. it’s all speculation. even harder for him- it’s one sided information. but he is a guy- he may have a better idea of how another guy brain works and 99% of his readings have been right, but it’s still just speculation.

here’s how the conversation went:

me: that’s the hardest part for me. i just want to know an honest why. if i wasn’t what he remembered after 8 years, fine. just say so. if i was too fat, just say so. whatever it is, just shoot me and put me out of my misery.

him: yup. i agree. when did he tell you about his back? just before you left?

me: after i got there. yeah. ouch. good excuse to avoid having sex with someone you’re not into.

him: yup. that’s exactly it too.


“that’s exactly it too.”

my very worst, most painful thought about myself- that someone, a very important someone would lie to me to get out of having to be with me- that’s exactly it.

i know he didn’t mean it to hurt, he was just speculating and being honest with me, but holy fuck did that open a pandoras box of self image issues.

so, i’ve had that rattling around in my head for the last week.

i have a hard time with my body. i want to love myself the way i am. the person i see in my head and in the mirror is a gorgeous creature. i take care of myself, i do my make up carefully, i try really hard to pick out clothes that fit my body and make me look my best. i’m a terribly vain creature. i hate leaving the house without at least mascara. i worry about my hair and my nails. i don’t want to be submitted for the people of walmart blog. in the mornings when i’m done with getting ready i generally feel GOOD about myself. i like what i see. i’m ok with my size and shape. then something happens- sometimes i’ll see a picture of myself. sometimes i’ll look in the mirror when i get home and realize something went tragically wrong at some point and no one warned me. i really do take THE WORST pictures on earth. that isn’t part of my vanity, that’s a cold truth. i’ve had friends take pictures of me and say WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED? so when i’m out and about on the town doing tweet ups and things then get home and see the pictures- it’s hard. i’m learning not to let it get to me, whatever is in the picture is how people see me all the time even if it’s not how i see myself.

BUT. to think that the image of myself that i hate the most- to think that’s really why someone wouldn’t want to be with me. to think that they can’t even glimpse the person i see in the mirror in the mornings- that fucking HURTS. i want someone that sees me as the beautiful creature i see in myself. i want them to see the sexy girl dancing in the kitchen making dinner, not a beached whale having a seizure. i want someone to see the sexy person that i feel like i am even if perhaps i don’t look exactly like i do in my head.

and i know- big shock that a guy would dismiss a girl because of her looks. oldest news story around. hell, i had a lover once tell me straight out that i was too fat to date. it was ok to sleep with me and hang out at my house, but he couldn’t be seen at clubs with me.

so this isn’t the first time i’ve heard this. not a new shocking revelation.

but there’s something about the way this one happened. coming from one of my closest people about the man that i care the most about. it’s the worst thing in the world from the two most important people.

i hate my body right now for being sick. i hate that i’m genetically not a petite girl. i hate myself for not being more proactive about getting in shape. i hate myself for being so vain and worried about it all. i hate that it affects how people see and interact with me.

i don’t need another reason to hate myself. i’m doing a pretty damn good job of it all on my own.

but to hear that. to have it be what changed the trip? to hear that it’s not just me having a paranoid thought in my head that YES, it’s exactly what a guy would think? that’s a whole black, destructive level of hate i haven’t felt towards myself in a long time.

and i’ve been trying to work through it but it’s one of those things that the instant i even begin to think about it i can just feel this dark spiral setting in and i don’t have time for that. i have kids, i have jobs, i have a magazine, i have shit to do. i can’t sit around paralyzed trying to work through that feeling. i don’t have the time or the ability to hide under the covers and be sad or hurt. better to just stick it on the back burner. funny thing about the back burner though, it can’t be ignored forever. especially when there’s piles of stress coming from every direction coupled with lack of sleep, more than normal pain levels, suddenly the back burner is the front corner burner on high and boiling over. “that’s exactly it.” i’ve been mulling it over every day. hating myself a little more every day. i’ve been trying to dismiss it but damn it all if the bad stuff isn’t harder to get rid of than any good thing. and at this point it’s outlasted my small reserve of good things. and all i can see right now is the negative. the lack of text messages. too many questions, no answers. the negative body images taking over. the negative self talk. the negative beliefs. i’m starting to drown in them. i guess writing about it is my way of clawing back to the surface. maybe it will rattle around less stuck to paper.

i don’t have many answers right now. i’m working on the ones i can. i’m working on a better job that takes care of ish. i’m working on getting the medical crap resolved somehow.

this last one though- both parts of it. still not sure how to take it on. how to make it better. which for a natural fixer...it’s a little stressful not being able to come up with an answer or a solution. vicious cycle that bit. stress about an issue. more stress about not being able to resolve the stress. stress about the new stress from not being able to resolve the initial stress. quite dizzying and draining.

but i’m not giving up. it isn’t in me, for better or worse. i’ll keep looking for answers and solutions. find a way to hate myself less and let go of the rest of it. i can’t change what’s happened. until my delorean gets back from the shop at least. i can’t force now to be magically and suddenly better. and worry/stress is like a rocking chair- whole lot of nothing that gets you nowhere. maybe the answer is simply that there is no answer and i have to be okay with that. maybe the answer is not yet or be patient. the good lord himself knows how little patience i have. the line was too long to wait to get any more when they were passing it out. maybe this is a chance for me to see my worse self image and learn to get over it. maybe it’s a wake up call- having the worst things about yourself confirmed can be a powerful motive for change.

i’m working through the sludge. i don’t particularly like it but i’m not simply going to stay stuck in it either.