scratch the surface

i've been doing a LOT of processing and working through things lately.

i've been digging deep into my past, why things are the way they are, why i am the way i am. i'm finally resolving (or working on) trauma and weird shit from the last 37 (fuck, almost 38) years on this planet.

i've delved really fucking deep into recurring nightmares, grief, choices, all the different paths life has taken.

i've gone DEEP y'all.

and it's been (mostly) good and healing. 

but, oddly, it's the super shallow stuff that's made a really big difference for me.

because people are shallow y'all.

and i mean this in the best way possible.

see, i've been single for basically my entire life. i've dated here and there. i was married for a whopping 23 months. most "relationships" don't make it past the 2 month mark. i've been on countless horrible first dates. i've been on plenty "meh" first dates. i've been stood up for an embarrassing number of never-happened dates.

and i took it all so, incredibly, painfully personal.

every rejection, every ghost, every failed attempt it was because of ME. like, ME. the deep me.

i don't have success dating because I'M A TERRIBLE PERSON. my very core self if like if every serial killer and political dictator and perpetrator of ethnic cleansing and generally horrible person on earth merged into one horrible, disgusting, repulsive, intolerable sample of humanity packaged into a chubby brunette body.

imagine packing this image of yourself around year after year.

except...

maybe not?

because here's the thing. most of those people never even got to know me beyond a few text messages and phone calls.

hell, most of them didn't even bother to show up to try to get to know me.

so...maybe people are just shallow.

ya think?

maybe people didn't like me because i'm brunette instead of blonde. cool. i have been blonde(ish), red, blue, pink, purple, black, and for a very short time, a horrid forest green after an attempt at color correction went very wrong.

maybe people don't like me because i'm fat. i've been heavier. i've been lighter. ive been a bigger size, i've been a smaller size. in high school i weighed 140 and had a 28" waist. now i'm almost 40 and have a 28" thigh.

maybe people don't like me because i have kids. i'm hesitant myself to date other people with kids because it's a HUGE responsibility to be in a child's life, for a short time or a long time. even a one time memory can have a lasting effect.

maybe people don't like me because i have tattoos and piercings.

maybe people don't like me because i pronounce words wrong/different.

maybe people don't like my views on politics or religion or which grocery store is the best.

maybe people don't like me because i still own dvd's and refuse to make a digital library. I LIKE THE ACTUAL DVD'S. LEAVE ME ALONE.

maybe it's because i don't like the right music.
 
maybe i talk too much about weird topics (how many people do you know with a book of drawings done by a guard at the gulag?).

maybe it's because i like pineapple on pizza.

maybe it's because they found someone else they have a better connection with.

maybe it's because no one is required to like everyone else on the planet.

maybe i have man hands and don't own a pirate blouse and those are the only two Seinfeld references i know. 

not every rejection is a meat cleaver to the chest. sometimes it's a papercut on your pinkie. sometimes it doesn't even leave a scratch.

people are shallow ya'll.

and that's actually a good thing.

it means maybe i can give myself a break. maybe i'm not actually a terrible monster of a person. i'm just a weird little duck. even weird little ducks can have a great life. 

not everyone hates me as much as i hate myself.

which is actually helping me hate myself less.

funny thing how less hate leads to less hate.


but you know, all those shallow people? it's a time saver. if they think i'm not a match because i don't eat anything purple? how the fuck are they going to handle me when i'm in full PMS rage ranting about who keeps putting the milk back in the fridge on the wrong damn shelf?

sure, it would have been nice if a few had stuck around a little longer.

there's a lot of things that would be nice if they happened.

accidentally becoming uuber famous with endless money to help people out and travel with friends, but without any of the paparazzi or internet trolls? that would be SUPER nice if it happened.

but in the mean time, i'll take a little shallowness and a whole lot less self hate.

that seems like a pretty damn good place to start.

who the fuck am i?

i'm having a medium to large identy crisis as of late.

i have these certain ideas in my head of what things are in relation to what they look like-

you know,

stereotypes.

you know what i mean? the hollywood casting sheet versions of people?

moms of teenager: middle aged, frumpy and tired with a boring neglected haircut and personal care routine.

moms of sports kid: sweater sets, khaki capris, mini-van full of sports gear and snack packs.

single mom: frazzled hot messes in yoga pants or painted up baby-daddy hunter.

country music fan: sleeveless tee shirt (or flannel shirts), home make jean shorts, dirty lifted 1980's rust bucket truck with rebel flag proudly displayed.

office manager: lumpy, middle aged, permed bowl cut, bargain discount suit, sad cat lady.

people with visible tattoos: bad ass artistic types or a member of a biker gang.

writer: obscure reference quoting, deeply intellectual, jacket with elbow patches, sipping camomile tea, glasses.

i am all of these, but i am none of these.

i don't know who or what the fuck i am.

how the fuck would hollywood cast me in a lifetime original movie?

i'm not a path forger. i'm not a trend setter. i'm not cutting edge ANYTHING.

maybe it's not so much an identity crisis it's more of a perception and acceptance crisis.

while sitting around the house this weekend like a slob, binge watching netflix parked on the couch after the kiddo headed to summer camp i started to wonder about what some of the other youth group kids have been saying to him, about how they perceive me and our home life.

he's been told a few times that he's living in an "unsafe and unhealthy household" because, from their religious standpoint, i'm not what a good mom "should" (fucking hate that word) be.

to some of the youth staff and youth group, a "good mom" is completely straight, married to a man, no tattoos, no cursing, no drinking, no piercings, "natural" colored hair, sunday morning, wednesday evening prayer group attending mom.

when they look at me, hell, when anyone looks at me, first appearance is anything BUT that.

i'm guessing (purely theoretical as no one has actually ever said anything to my face) when people look at me i can be a bit...intimidating? off putting?

i am not petite. at all. throw in a few visible tattoos, piercings, half shaved head, blue/purple hair...i joke that i'm totally fine walking around downtown any time because no one wants to mess with the plus sized tattooed chick. street kids don't ask me for cigarettes, people don't bump into me on busy streets, there's generally a pretty comfortable bubble that surrounds me wherever i go. 

my brother asked me after the last tattoo: who i was rebelling against and when i would stop?

i'm not a rebel. never have been.

i got my cartilage pierced in college 17 years ago because there was a girl that graduated with my brother (gennessee, super cool name) that was gorgeous and cool and she had one, so of course i needed one. i got my nose pierced after my divorce because it was something _i_ wanted to do and my divorce was all about getting away from someone that told me what i could and couldn't do.

ok. maybe a *bit* rebellious. more reclaiming identity than rebellion.

my tattoos are a version of story telling, not rebellion. they're pieces of me and what i believe and what i've been through. my hair- who the fuck knows. why not cut it and change it? i LOATHE looking in the mirror and seeing boring and frumpy. i work VERY hard to maintain my shallow, superficial appearance. always have. i suppose when you have a mother that only points out flaws you think that's all ANYONE can see and you desperately want to fix it. i don't want to be a lazy, people of walmart joke. i don't want to be known as the girl with the perpetual ponytail. i don't want to be the mom living in yoga pants and a sweatshirt. i want to look nice. i want to look well kept and polished. to me, in my super shallow vanity smurf mind set, having colored hair or a non-standard hair cut shows that i put time and attention into it. it's not the same ignored/neglected haircut from the last 100 years. it shows i'm trying. i keep up the color. i try stupidly hard to do a style every day. i make it a point to get a haircut or change when i find myself using alligator clips more than a few times a week.

BACK TO THE POINT. if i ever pretended to have one.

I LIKE ME. for the first time in a VERY long time, when i look in the mirror I LIKE ME. funny how shaving off 3/4 of your hair can change your self perspective so much. I LIKE MY FACE. like, REALLY like my face. for the first time i don't qualify what i see: oh, you look nice with your hair pulled up this way. oh, you look nice with your make up done. oh, you look nice...WHATEVER.

i keep waiting to look in the mirror and have my usual range of "yuk" to "well, this is as good as it gets" reaction, but it hasn't happened. I LIKE WHAT I SEE. i feel like myself for the first time in a LONG, LONG time. not to sound trite or cliche, but maybe for the first time ever. i like my face. i don't feel like a drag version of my brother. or a passable version of myself. I LIKE MY FACE.

but.

there always has to be a but.

i can't figure out how liking my face blends with the rest of me. and it's the dumbest fucking thing EVER.

can a person with this haircut wear western boots?

WHAT THE FUCK DOES HAIR HAVE TO DO WITH SHOES?

but do you know what i mean? can "edgy" and "hick" co-exist? bullshit like that?

how can i be all the things that i am but not BE any of the things i am?

the amazing women of my book club were very quick to call bullshit when i brought this up- they reminded me that punk rock got it start in bluegrass. i am woefully under-educated when it comes to things like the history of CBGB which stands for COUNTRY, BLUEGRASS, BLUES (*headdesk* moment). OF COURSE PUNK AND COUNTRY CAN GO TOGETHER.

i know, in my head, that for every stereotype there's a thousand people that break that stereotype. i know writers that don't live in a secluded cabin in the woods. i know other moms (even ones of teenagers, gasp) that aren't stuck in frumpyville. i know people with tattoos that aren't societal degenerates. i know stereotypes are as wrong as often as they're right.

i think i just need to get the fuck over myself. tell that little (huge) virgo voice that needs a crisp, clean, precise label on everything to just shut the fuck up already. quit fucking worrying about what other people see or think. THEY AREN'T THE ONES LISTENING TO MY THOUGHT SHIT STORM AT 3AM. and if i like myself and quit fighting myself, that shit storm gets so much quieter.

funny thing that, IF I LIKE MYSELF AND QUIT FIGHTING MYSELF MY SHIT STORM OF SELF HATE GETS QUIETER.

whoda thunk?

so, to wrap up, today's lesson? just fucking love yourself already.

i'll accept my award for captain obvious statement of the day now.

quit worrying about stereo types and what i think things *should* be. quit worrying about what people i've never even met think of me. quit trying to be what some article or google image search has tried to convince me i *should* be. stop analyzing myself to the millionth degree. stop with the lists and reasons other people should hate me. stop with the lists and reasons why _I_ should hate me. i don't have to be happy. i threw that in at first then realized that's putting a lot of pressure on myself. i can be healthy and not "happy," i can have off days and still self care. i can change my look and still like myself. i can gain/lose weight and still be ok. if i am or if i'm not someones expected idea THAT'S OK.

i just need to be healthy. i just need to keep liking me. just as i am (thanks bridgette jones).

re-learning

have you every had just a total mind blowing moment that is so simple and logical that you can't believe it's taken so long to get there?

tonight i did a web chat as part of the "renew you" sessions. it ended up that i was the only one that logged on and HOLY HELL- it was a serious mind blowing hour. it's going to take me a few days to work through all the stuff that got crammed in my brain tonight and even longer to really get a grip on it and make it part of my thinking. the biggest part for me is un-learning the BAD stuff and replacing it with this new GOOD stuff.

when it comes to learning i've always been that needs that certain key to unlock things. i can read over and over and OVER a math problem and never be able to understand it. then finally someone will say it a different way and BAM. why was that so hard? once something is unlocked just wait and see what i can do with it.

that's the way i feel about what i learned tonight.

people have drilled into my head for YEARS the fucking question i loathe the most on earth: "where do you see yourself 5 years from now?"

BITCH, PLEASE.

i have no idea what i'm doing this weekend let alone 5 years from now. and are you fucking kidding me? who the fuck can plan out 5 fucking years? or 10 years? do you have any fucking idea how fast things can change? a two minute phone call and your whole world can be knocked on it's ass and shaken like a fucking snow globe at a parkinsons convention. 

making a 5 year plan is just challenging the universe to find out how many ways it can fuck you up between now and then.

tonight i was asked that same damn question and i just laughed. fuck if i know.

then it was rephrased:

"what do you want to experience most in the future?"

well HOLY FUCK. that's a total different question. but it's really not. what you want to experience most in the future? a feeling, a trip, a life change...you have to start now and work towards it. it will take time. sometimes...oh...say...a few years. maybe even 5. who knows?

what do i want to experience most in the future? 

now there's a fucking question i can answer and work towards with the right tools.

the second mind blowing thought was a basic principle i've heard for a while, but i didn't actually apply it: the 80/20 rule (or the pareto principle to be fancy): roughly 80% of the results come from 20% of the effort. 80% of the work comes from 20% of the workers. 80% of the income is received by 20% of the population.

follow this- it took me a while to wrap my head around it. 80% of the time i'm content. but that other 20% - that other 20% holds 80% of true happiness.

i'm not sure i'm phrasing it right- it's one of those things that will make sense for a few minutes, but by the time i try to write it out it's gone again.

so 80% of the time i'm mostly content, plugging along, no real reason to want to make a change or rock the boat. but that other 20% of the time- that's where 80% of the change and progress and happiness making will come from.

i think that makes a little more sense. still not sure i'm getting it quite right. bottom line- when i can get to the point where i make that last 20% really start working for me and kicking out results- can you imagine that? 80% more content, happy, positive in life? that's HUGE. it's exciting. it's something to work for.

here's the biggest one- this is going to take a LOT of practice, unlearning, refocusing, just a LIST of things to achieve:

you know that voice in your head? the one that's constantly talking to you and telling you you're not good enough, that other people are judging you, that you're judging you- that stupid fucking voice that just won't quit? that voice that makes you think people are talking about you, the voice that "shoulds" you, the voice that can just tear you apart? it's in your head, so it must be your voice, right? it's your own voice telling you what's wrong with yourself and how can you argue with yourself? if it's your own voice, it must be mostly right...right?

truth: the negative voice you hear in your head is NOT you. it's an amalgam, a compilation of all the things you've heard since you were little. it's a giant pile of what you've heard FROM OTHER PEOPLE. it's what you've heard, read, assumed, learned, experienced and listened to over and over until you thought it was your own voice. it's all other people though. ALL OF IT. all these things i keep telling myself, these things i've heard and said to myself over and over- it's not me. it's all the things i've heard and believed from others.

why am i letting other people dictate what i say and think to myself? where is MY voice?

WHO WOULD I BE WITHOUT THE VOICE THAT LISTENS TO ALL THE OTHER PEOPLE?

that's a HUGE fucking question for me. who would i be if i wasn't listening to every negative thing that i've heard from every other person forever. who would i be if i listened to ME and the things that i know to be real or false?

i don't know how this works yet. i don't know how to stop listening to that voice that's been playing in my head for 32 years. i know it will be hard to unlearn the negative and start finding my own voice in there that actually likes me. what if i could quit listening to my family saying i'm not good enough? if i could quit listening to the people that have said i'm not pretty or smart or worthwhile? what if i could start hearing that i am worthwhile. that i'm enough just as i am? and beyond hearing that- truly believing it? from my own voice?

that's a big step and it will take a LOT of un-learning and selective hearing. i've been trying for years- when something like that is so ingrained in from way too many years to count- it's not an easy process.

but.

it's powerful. the idea that i don't have to listen to the negative because it's not true. it's not my voice. it's all these other voices. i've never been able to turn it off or not listen to it before because it was my own voice. finding out it's just a badly programmed recording of all these horrible outside influences- that's a whole different ballgame.

being able to honestly believe that i have found a path to start liking myself? that i've found the way to work towards truthfully, humbly, and completely being able to say: "I am enough. I am worthwhile. I am loveable."

FUCK. that's powerful. it's this overwhelming feeling. it's like coming home.

so that's what i learned and what i'll be working on. 12 more weeks of this too...i'm excited (terrified) to learn more and really start working on me and figuring shit out finally. 

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.

that's you little girl-

last week i was going to write a blog. not a very nice blog. i was going to write a pretty damn mean blog. to myself. about everything. my body. my life. depression. i was trying like hell not to be hard on myself, but my brain had other ideas. every time i looked in a mirror i would hear these evil little voices in my head. every time i looked at pictures from vegas i couldn't help but compare. i would tell myself: you know, they SAY you got looks in vegas, but it was only people wondering what the hell the three hot chicks were doing with the beached whale. or: sure they guys at clubs said four hot women- but it's only because they're smart enough to know that if they want to hit on ONE they have to compliment all FOUR. guys are at least smart enough to know that. i kept remembering that i used to say in high school: if my belly ever stick out further than my boobs, just shoot me. well, guess what captain ahab: pull out the harpoon...it's getting close.

BUT.

then i looked in the mirror this week and saw something different. and i heard a different voice.

this week when i've looked in the mirror i've seen a beautiful woman. a lady who has been working hard to take care of herself and take pride in herself. a woman who had leaned to dress for her body, apply her makeup tastefully, style her hair with pride but not vanity. i've seen a beautiful creature looking back at me and i heard a voice in my head: that's you little girl, and you're beautiful. and i can't explain it. it's not something i ever remember hearing my dad say to me, but i'm damn sure it's him saying it to me now: THAT'S YOU LITTLE GIRL, AND YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL.

i've changed over the last few weeks- well, except last week that is. i've morphed in a way. i've started to see someone else in the mirror. i mentioned it a few times to my gals in vegas- i see this beautiful creature looking back at me and it's shocking to realize THAT'S ME. i can't explain it. nothing big has changed- i darkened my hair a bit again which is not new. it's the same make up. it's the same hair style. but when i look i see a whole new person. and it's taking me a while to get used to her. she's confident. she's well put together in age appropriate and body appropriate clothes. she's beautiful. and it's me. 

i'm sure i sound like i'm a bit off my rocker right now. and i can't really explain it any better. but something has changed AND I LIKE IT.

i'm sure i'll still have off days. i'm sure this won't last forever. but for now- this is a really fucking good feeling. it's kinda nice to REALLY like me.

the good, the bad, the ugly truth

the good: i am capable of feeling romantical type of emotions. it’s a shock to me too. didn’t think i could after all these years. thought that part has been properly cordoned off and sealed up. guess there was a breach in security. catherine zeda jones made it past the laser maze and stole the damn mask.
the bad: i found this out by becoming all schmoopy and attached to someone who not only didn’t return said feelings at the same level, he didn’t return ANY feeling. suck.
the ugly truth: several of my own worst self perceptions were confirmed during this learning experience. i was too chubby, not pretty enough, embarrassing to be seen out with, in general just all around not good enough. it was, very much, like re-enacting pretty woman including the no kissing clause, minus the bank and the happy ending. well, and minus the killer shopping spree. and minus the being beat by the lawyer friend. okay. fuck. it wasn’t like pretty woman at all except the fact that i was a last resort and he wouldn’t kiss me. there you go.

so. the result of this is more thinking that i am, in fact, very much right on one thing: some people aren’t made to be part of a couple. some people really are meant to be a party of one for whatever reason. i’m the party of one. i’ve tried to be a party of two, never really works out so well. ever. only twice was i really a part of something that could be called anything…once was 6 years ago when i was married (gag) and once was 5 years before that when i was “dating” my oldest sons dad (for a whole 4 months (three of which i was knocked up)). i’ve gone out on dates…even as recent as 3/2007 (not even kidding). i’ve had people i hang out with. but i’m just not meant to be a part of something. this last excursion around the bay was the first and ONLY time besides my marriage that someone stayed overnight two nights in a row. it’s the ONLY time that a boy has had his own toothbrush at my house. it’s the ONLY time EVER that i’ve woken up next to someone and been comfortable. but it didn’t work. there wasn’t anything to work really. i wasn’t wanted, just handy. whatever. i should know better by now. i suppose it’s like a rat in a cage: you have to keep checking the edges even though you never get out and the electrical shock never goes away. it is always a shock when i rediscover what i already knew. actually, i think the rats have a faster learning curve…