purging even more posion

i had a huge realization last night after spending HOURS writing a letter to my mother purging all my hatred and hurt and everything that i've been holding onto when it comes to her.

as angry as i am at her, and as much as i've battled to let that go over the years, i finally realized that maybe the reason i've never been able to is because i've never addressed the REAL source of all the hatred and anger. as angry as i am at my mother, she isn't the cause of all the hurt. her choices that i react the most strongly against are the result of someone else's actions, actions that i've never been willing to address head on.

until now.

my mothers husband, my step father, is a horrible person. he is a pedophile, an abuser, a terrible, destructive person. he hides behind religion and fear. he has done damage to my family for over 25 years. my reasons for cutting my mother out of my life are due to her support and allegiance to him.

i have never spoken directly to him about my anger and hurt and damage.

i've been afraid. i've been ashamed. i have been worried sick that if i wrote or talked about growing up then friends, boyfriends, people wouldn't want to associate with me. they would look at me with pity or disgust. i didn't want people to know how fucked up my head is. i didn't want guys to know what i battle inside my head every time one is interested in me.

i'm tired of being ashamed. i'm tired of hiding. i'm tired of letting him win by keeping quiet. i'm tired of holding onto anger at other people because i've been to scared to say what my real anger is.

i know this will be considered airing dirty laundry to some. but i don't fucking care any more. i don't care if it's dirty laundry. i don't care if people find it gross or sick. this has shaped who i am and is one of my biggest battles. people that are worth having in my life will understand that. everyone else can fuck off.

airing dirty laundry, letting skeletons out of the closet, i don't care.

i'm taking my voice back and letting people know what an abuser is and how many different ways it can hurt.

michael gates:

i fucking loathe you. i have wished a thousand times for your painful, torturous, death. i used to watch news reports of car accidents in my home town and wish it were you. i have wished you weren't such a coward and that you would leave my mother and go off and rot in an unknown corner like you said you thought about doing so many times.

you are a demon on earth. you cause pain and destruction while hiding behind intimidation and religion. you are only "sorry" when you get caught, not because you're actually sorry or wish to change. you think that if you cry a little and lead a few songs at sunday service all will be forgiven. 

i. fucking. hate. you.

i hate you for all the things that you taught me. for teaching me what it feels like to be backhanded by someone twice my size. for teaching me to be afraid to speak my mind. i hate you for all the times you backhanded my brother. for all the times you made me scared of you because he was scared of you. i hate you for lying to and hiding things from my mother your whole marriage. i hate you for teaching me a warped twisted version of marriage. i hate you for hiding thousands of dollars in debit from my mother and taking advantage of how hard she worked for things. i hate you for your fucking locked briefcase and all the secrets that you kept. i hate that i'm so scared of ending up with someone like you that i would rather be alone.

i hate you for teaching me at 11 years old that i needed to learn how to give blow jobs for boys to like me- a voice i still hear every. single. time. i'm with a guy. i hate you for teaching me that i needed to learn how to shave "down there" or everyone would think i was disgusting. i hate you for telling me about all your sexual experiences in the military. i hate you for telling me about your mother daughter threesomes. i hate you for telling me how terrible my own mother is at sex and how she never put out enough for you. i hate you for teaching me to lie to my mother and hide things from her- "there's some things mom doesn't need to know about."

i hate that my few friends were uncomfortable at our house. i hate that the few times i tried to talk to anyone about what was going on, i ended up being in trouble and socially ostracized.  

i hate you for hiding your porn collection in my first apartment. i hate you for ordering videos and having them delivered to my house. i hate you for masturbating in front of me to those videos, in my own home. you took away the safety of my very first home.

i hate you for making me ashamed and making me hide everything. i hate how you were only momentarily sorry after i was forced to talk about what happened. i hate that you never owned up to being a fucking creep, only reacted to a few specific things.

i hate that you introduced me to my husband/abuser. i hate that when i finally left you maintained a friendship with him. i hate that to you it was more important to look good at work than worry about the protection of your family. i should have known that abusers would bond over a shared target.
 
i hate that you started playing the same games, teaching the same lies to my son- "there's some things you don't talk about. only kids will get in trouble, not grown ups." i hate that my own mother called me a liar and believed you over me. i hate that she told me i was just projecting what happened to me onto my son. i hate that you let her think that. i hate that you lie and hide and manipulate causing a second layer of abuse because the first just wasn't enough.

i hate that you took my mother away from me. i hate that she believes you. i hate that she told me nothing i say will ever be true because that's easier to her than believing the real horrible person you are. i hate that you've taken away what family i have left. i hate that you spend time with my niece and nephew and everyone thinks it's ok. i hate that you encouraged my mom to have a daycare in her home. i hate that you allowed a foreign exchange student to live with for a year. i hate that you have countless high school and students as your friends on facebook. i HATE that people actually believe the bullshit that "because you had a hard time making friends as a teenager, it's okay for you now, at 50+ years old, to have teenage friends. i hate that you are allowed around innocent unknowing people.

i hate that everything is my fault. i hate that you tell people that i made it all up. i hate that you make my VERY VALID concerns that this is still happening to other kids just "misguided accusations." i find it very odd that you supposedly had some big tearful coming clean to your church but then shortly thereafter switched churches.

i HATE. more than anything. that you've tried to convince my own children that i'm a liar. i hate that you flat out plain text told my son i am a liar. i hate that you told him you never did anything to me. i hate that you lied and tried to play the pity card to get him to sneak to come visit you. i hate that you tried to use other peoples position of trust and authority as a reason my children should trust you.

i hate that you lie and twist truths and keep getting away with it. i hate how many people believe you.

i hate that i've let you stay in my head for so long.

i will never forgive you for twisting and warping my childhood. i will never forgive you for trying to do the same to my son. i will never forgive you for making my mother choose between us. i will never forgive you even long after you're dead and rotten and not able to cause any more harm to any more people.

but i choose, right now, to not let you continue to ruin my life. i will never have anything to do with you or my mother ever again. i will stop worrying about things i can't control, people i can't change. i will no longer believe all the things you taught me when i was so little. i will learn to turn off your voice in my head. i will learn to forget thing that should have never happened.

i will continue to protect my kids and anyone i can from you. i will stop waiting for an apology that will never come. you have ruined enough years. you have damaged me more than should have ever been allowed.  i will not be ashamed any more. i will not be afraid of what people will think.

i know that things will never change. i know that you will never stop lying. i know that you will never stop hurting. i know that i can't change that. but i also know that i can stop letting it affect me.

it's not my battle any more. i'm done with you.

purging the poison

they say when youre angry at someone you should write a letter and stick it in a drawer, let it sit, go back and read it, if you still feel the same, send it.

i've been writing this letter in my head over and over for years. i've stuck it in the mental file drawer a thousand times. i keep coming back to it. i keep adding to it. it the same emotions, the same feelings, the same everything- only difference is it keeps growing and getting more angry and poisonous.

it's killing me.

i keep waiting for it to go away. i keep trying to find ways to purge it or look past it or move on from it. but it seems everything, especially lately, keeps circling back to it and it's killing me. i'm depressed. i'm hiding from friends. i'm barely moving off the couch when i get home from work. i've reduced my circle of people to almost none and i keep fighting myself to not push the final few away. i'm SO ANGRY. all the time. and i actually AM angry instead of just feeling angry. it's affecting my actions, decisions, interactions, posture. i know the difference between feeling and being. and i'm being angry.

i know the hierarchy of negative: anger is a response to fear which is a response to pain which is a response to an unmet need (6 basic human needs: consistency, variety, significance, love/connection, growth, contribution). i know that the way to resolve/move past the hierarchy of negative is to find the need that's not being met, work on a solution.

i also understand that the solution i most desire is not possible and i'll have to find a way to be okay with that. THAT'S THE HARD PART. the solution i most desire are the significance and love/connection chunks. 2/6 of the whole. and the person i want those from, my mother, is the person least able to provide those pieces. and that makes me angry.

second verse, same as the first. you can see how this little circle can grow to be exhausting.

i think the hardest part for my logical brain is the denial, the lack of validation, being told that nothing i say is true or real and it will never be.

i don't just say things. my brain processes NON-STOP. it always has. i know what i'm saying is real and true. i know my experiences and my memories happened. to be ignored or told otherwise...it just does not compute. so i keep thinking. i keep trying to find another way to present the information hoping this time it will get through.

i'm sure this won't be my last attempt. but this is my biggest attempt. this is me purging all the poison. getting it all out in a logical, concise, concrete form. this is me coming to terms with those two missing pieces. this is my last shot at significance (value, importance) and love/connection. i'm laying it all down. i know i won't get the answer and the resolution i want. i know that my mother will never see it. i know that if she did it wouldn't change anything. i'll have to work on a way to be okay with that. but here's my letter. i want to be done with this anger and start moving forward again.


mom-

i hate you. i am so hurt and battle scarred from so many things from so many years. i hate that you are this overpowering negative voice in my head that i can't turn off. well, that i haven't learned to turn completely off anyway. the FUCK YOU that i yell every time i hear you is getting louder and stronger. but you're still there.

i hate that i can't wear the color red without hearing how it will make all my acne/flaws stand out. i hate that every time i look at my self in the mirror and think i look nice it's followed by "for someone your size." i hate that i feel like a bad mother when i want to buy a new shirt without buying one for my kids. i hate that every time i correct my kids or punish them i hear in my head "if anyone else saw the way you treat your kids they would turn you into the state." i hate that i feel shallow for liking curling irons and make up. i hate that i had to read the instructions on the tampon box because i couldn't ask my own mother about how to use them.

those are little things. there's so many more from the closet where those are stashed.

the real pain and anger has it's own fucking wing, not just a dark little closet.

i HATE that as far back as i can remember i was never wanted. i HATE that i know you didn't want to get pregnant and you were on birth control and my dad was having an affair with the nurse and that made it a terrible delivery and the whole thing from day one was torture for you. i hate that not only was i mistake from the beginning, but you drilled it into my head my whole life.

i HATE that when you got married the second time it was "because you needed help raising your son."
where do i even begin with that one? did i not exist? did you not care about raising me?

how about the other side of that coin? how far it has pushed me to NOT be that single mother that "needs help raising her kids." do you know that is one of the biggest reasons i'm single? because the minute any guy mentions that maybe i need help, i rebel and instantly get rid of him to not be that weak, pathetic mom that will marry any abusive pedophile to take over for her.

i hate that you didn't even notice me until my brother had graduated high school and gone off to college. i was 15 the first time you noticed i had a sense of humor and 24 the first time you told me that. i hate i was threatened and bullied from grade school through high school and all i got were lectures about how to make friends. how many hours did i spend researching bible verses about how to be a better friend because it must be my problem? i hate that when my brother told me he was ashamed of me and embarrassed by me for being into theater and books- instead of defending me or letting me be myself you encouraged me to do things he approved of. HOW FUCKED UP IS THAT? you cared more about him not being embarrassed in front of his friends than about who i was. i hate that when i had problems you shoved me in counselor after shitty ass counselor instead of just talking to me yourself.

i hate that when i got pregnant the your response was "well, we've been expecting this." did assuming the worst about me just come natural? did you even care that it was my FIRST time? did you even ask? did you really not care enough to talk to me before hand? if you expected it, why didn't you even attempt to...ANYTHING? you worked at the community health clinic for fucks sake. education. birth control. ANYTHING. instead, not only was prevention ignored, i was shoved into the fucking abstinence class when i was seven fucking months pregnant. i mean. WHAT THE FUCK?
 
i hate that when i was in an abusive marriage all you could do is point out over and over again all his affairs and how horrible and damaging it was, but when i left you couldn't help me because he worked at the same business as your husband and you didn't want to make it awkward for them at work. ME, MY TWO CHILDREN. your own child and your grandchildren. DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. and you didn't want it to be awkward for two grown men at work.

i hate that you never listened to me. i hate that you asked me to attend counseling with you only to be looked straight in the face and called a liar. i hate that you told me, without hesitation, without second thought that nothing i say will ever be true. i hate that when i talked about things that happened to me growing up you looked at the counselor and said "she's making things up in her head." i hate that when the counselor asked you if you heard what you said about your own daughter YOU REPEATED IT. you bold faced called me a liar and a crazy person in the same sentence. YOU. SAID. THAT. ABOUT. ME.

i hate how weak and ignorant you choose to be. i hate that you are not only married to but stand up and defend a pedophile even though it cost you ever having any type of a relationship with me ever again. i hate that you defend him. i hate that you still have small children in your home around him. i hate that you make excuse after excuse for his behavior. i hate that you refuse to do anything about it and are so willingly allowing him to hurt other people. i hate that you are so stupid to sign a pedophiles name to children's birthday cards. i hate that you have no clue how many teenage and high school kids your husband has on facebook. i HATE that when i told you how he had groomed me growing up you looked me straight in the eye and said "what do you want me to do? it already happened." i hate that you shamed me into keeping quiet so he thought it would be ok to start grooming my child. i hate how you tried to blame my three year old child for making things up in order to excuse your husband. i hate that you choose to be ignorant against the statement and conclusions and opinions of several professionals.

i hate that i have tried to cut you out of my life but you're still there. i hate that i had to cut my own mother out to protect my family. i hate that when i my dad died i needed my mom and you weren't there. i hate that when teenager moved away i needed my mom and you weren't there. i hate all the bad days and holidays and occasions when i just want a mom to talk to, when i need someone to tell me everything will be ok- there's no one there. i hate that every time someone ask about my family i have to tell them i have none.

i hate that you're the voice in my head. i hate that you're the example i grew up with. i hate that i'm trying SO HARD not to be you that i have no clue what i need to be.

i hate that i have been cut out of my sons life. i hate the pain that i feel from it. i hate that i know you must feel the same pain. i hate that i feel bad for you.

i hate that i'm questioning my decisions. i hate that my choosing to protect my kids is even remotely blurred with your refusal to protect yours. i hate the irony: the thing i most need help with right now is the exact same thing that's keeping us apart. a child so angry at their parent that they can't talk to them. my choice to cut you out to prevent one kind of damage has instead been replaced by another.

i hate the thought that my son could feel the same way about me that i feel about you. i have tried so hard to protect him and stand up for him and go to battle for him. you have never once done that for me. i'm worried he doesn't see the difference and that makes me so angry. all he sees is the dysfunction. i hate that i've been forced to choose between protecting him and having my mother. i hate that this fucked up mess is the example he'll grow up with.

i hate that i'll never be of value to you. i hate that i'll never be accepted. i hate all the negatives. i hate that you're so scared of whatever you're scared of that you've chosen to stay where you are. i hate that you've chosen to stay with an abuser. i hate i'll never be good enough for you to choose.

that's a LOT of hate.

a LOT of poison.

i now from here i need to learn how to let go of all that. i need to find out who and what i want to be and quit focusing on what i don't want to be. i need to turn off her voice in my head and find my own voice. i need to stop looking for value and significance from others and find it in myself. i'm not sure what all that looks like, but i'm ready to find out. i'm tired of being angry. i'm tired of carrying all this bullshit with me. i'm tired of drinking the poison.

 i know i have a long unknown path from here to healthy. i don't know what tools i'll need. i don't know which direction to go. but i'm ready to find out.

where i get it

my dad was born april 5, 1955 in akron, ohio.

he would have been 59 this year.

almost 60.

i honestly don't know what 60 looks like. it seems like people are either close to my age (27-69) or OLD (70+). i'm lousy at guessing ages. but 60. my dad would have been 60. 

i don't know how he managed to be born in akron, ohio but raised in anaheim, california. i don't know way too many things about him. i do know his dad died in 1962 when my dad was 7. i know he was an eagle scout. i know he was part of a baptist church youth bell choir.

that's about it.

what i DO know is that my dad would drive from the yakima valley to spokane every year for my birthday in my adult years and take me out to a nice dinner. since his death i've claimed april 5 as steak and beer day in his honor. he can't take me out to dinner on my birthday anymore, but i sure as hell can enjoy his favorite meal on his birthday for him.

i never appreciated his driving 2.5 hours each direction for my birthday when he was around to do it. this year the small spawns adopted grandparents drove to spokane for his school concert/birthday dinner. about 2.5 hours. i truly appreciated it. i managed not to snot myself during dinner, but i sure snotted all over the car on the way home from dinner.

some people are just...amazing.  you know?

my dad was a grizzly bear. as kids we had to draw the short straw to wake him up for work. he was not a morning person.

that's where i get it from.

he also snored like a cartoon character. i still swear that if he wore socks when he slept you would have been able to see them blow back and forth when he snored. you possibly could have seen the walls of the house flex in and out too.

that's where i get it from.

one of the very last things i learned about my dad was that he loved musicals- chicago in particular.

that's where i get it from.

that whole side of the family- the miller side- not exactly a petite genetic structure.

that's where i get it from.

my dad loved all things related to a good steak dinner.

that's where i get it from.

my dad had some great sayings too-

"close the door, you're letting all the bought air out."

"wow. your legs go all the way up to your hips."

"i don't mind if you work at a stip club. just let me know which one so i'm not surprised."

he always called my brothers either "fuzz nuts" or "son" without exception.

he whistled john denver songs on car trips.

he always stopped at long horn bbq on his way out of town.

and best of all- he knew he had made plenty of mistakes in his life like we all do. he told me his job wasn't to judge me, it was to be there and help pick me up when i fell on my face.

i hope i get that from him.

happy birthday dad.

on being excommunicated...

i don't remember becoming catholic. or joining a cult. i haven't had any koolaid of any kind recently, nor have i sacrificed any black cats at midnight.

i have however managed to be excommunicated.

so. there's that.

a little over a week ago, at the seven week mark since the teenager moved, it officially happened.

the small spawn called the big spawn to tell him about his new bike, chat in general, and he asked if the big spawn wanted to talk to me.

"NOPE."

i knew it was coming. i know there's so much anger and emotion and teenage angst and pure hate. i've been expecting it. but to actually hear it...

OUCH.

you know?

and i did something that i rarely do: I LET MYSELF FEEL IT.

i didn't stuff it down. i didn't distract myself. i just...let it hit. and i cried. holy shit did i cry. snotting all over the place, kleenex in a pile on the coffee table. i went in to make dinner and just stood over the stove crying.

it hurt. and i let it.

the worst part though, was the small spawn. apparently watching mom have feelings, a LOT of feelings, is unsettling.

i tried to reassure him through the snot and tears- it's OK. i held it in for seven weeks. it was bound to come out. i just need to purge it all out and get back to rights.

but seeing mom sad is hard for his tender little heart, so he tried to make it better.

he tried to text his big brother:

"do you hate mom?"

i know he SO DESPERATELY just wanted to see that "no" come back. he wanted to be able to show me a text that it wasn't true. the big spawn isn't so angry, he doesn't hate me.

instead he got back "what's it to you?" and "don't be such an asshole."

totally uncalled for and even more hurtful to a little brother who still doesn't really understand what all happened and was just trying to make things right.

and then i REALLY fell apart. i expected the anger towards me. i didn't expect him to take it out on anyone and everyone in the general range of fire.

i cried. i hurt. i let myself totally fall apart. i snotted and sobbed until 4 in the morning when i finally fell asleep. i called in to work the next day- something i NEVER do and took the time i needed to put myself back together. a friend came over for lunch and let me talk it out. i cleaned house and purged the rest of the emotions while i purged the piles of clutter that had built up.

maybe it's just me, but depression is half emotional and half environmental- neglecting my feelings tends to go hand in hand with neglecting my house. purging both and getting them both in order was a tremendous boost.

i had posts of encouragement from friends, even a bright delivery of flowers from across the state to show support.

and here i am a week later.

it still hurts.

i know i'm missing out on his first season of track. i'm missing out on his new school and new experiences and new friends.

i know it will take a LONG time for him to work through all his hurt and hate and anger- and then only if he chooses to.

i knew it would be hard going in. i expected something like this- i just didn't know what.

one of the side effects of all this is that it's made me rethink a few of my relationships- mostly with my own mum.

as much as i hurt going through all this, i'm sure she's felt similar feelings.

it made me really evaluate the decisions i've made- have i been too harsh? have i been intentionally hurtful and hateful?

end of the day i still stand by my decisions, even going through something as painful myself.

a change of perspective, yes. a change in results, no. but it's good to re-evaluate. it's good to question. 

i'll deny it if you tell people, but it's good to let yourself have all the feelings. they don't just have to be stuffed away and moved past without a second thought.

things are settling down around home now with just the two of us. it's still strange, but it is what it is.

i really hope some day i'll be back on the good list. but until then, it's ok. it's part of the process. it hurts. and it's not fair. and i don't like it. and i SO wish i had a magic wand to just make it all better and get rid of all the yuk. but the yuk is part of the learning and growing process. even plants need a little shit to be healthy.

confessions of a fat girl

not-so-breaking news:

I AM A FAT GIRL.

now. i know that's an ugly word- that FAT word. it carries so many social and self esteem implications in it. it's mean and degrading and hurtful and really just a not nice word.

and i don't use it lightly.

but i am. i'm a FAT girl.

i'm not made to be small. i know this. my frame, my family, my everything does not lend me to being the type of girl anyone ever describes as "willowy" or "flowingly slender" or any of those other teen drama book descriptions of apparently every heroine that ever existed.

i know i'll never be the size i was in high school ever again. hell, i don't ever remember actually BEING the size i was in high school but apparently at some point in life i had a 28" waist and could wear a size 2 dress (there's pictures to prove it.). i don't ever WANT to be the size i was in high school. it wouldn't be healthy for me to be 145 pounds again. i would look like skeletor (but with better hair).

BUT.

i'm tired of being a fat girl.

and here's why i'm using the word FAT:

i eat like CRAP- taco bell, mcdonalds, pizza, endless nights out at restaurants around town. i don't shy away from cheesecake...like...EVER. i LOVE pretty much all foods- especially those of the carb variety (can someone explain how BREAD, a carb, became the standard side to PASTA, also a carb? both of which are on my favorite things list).

i also happen to HATE exercising. well, not hate so much as i'm not good at exercising. i do love yoga. i love the wii fit (when it's not calling me obese). but i'm not good at going to a gym or biking or walking. i know. simplest thing ever- going for a walk. but WHERE do you go. and it's boring to go alone. and walking/running trails are where all the dead bodies get dumped. i get bored with videos easily. i have a million ideas pinned to my pinterest exercise board, but i need a better way to look at them or remember more than one of them at a time.

yes. i realize these are all lame, easily solved excuses. end of the day i just avoid working out. it's easier to sit and read a book or watch a movie.

i would say the rest of my life is SO HARD, i deserve one easy thing! but that's a stupid answer too. it should be that i'm used to hard, so just suck it up and do it anyway.

so yes. i'm FAT. as in i'm not healthy by any of the measurements (physical, exercise, diet, etc). i'm not taking care of myself at all. i'm pretty much pure fat by BMI index measurements as well- i'm sure there SOME muscle hiding in there, but i'll be damned if i know where it is. my clothes are too tight, my bra size is jumping by the week, every part of me jiggles, i'm just not what i want to be.

SO.

i don't want to be a FAT girl anymore.

i want to be HEALTHY. this does not mean skinny. this does not mean a certain number on the scale or on the clothing rack.

IT DOES MEAN: cooking good meals AT HOME. it does mean going for walks or doing yoga or the wii fit. it does mean not being out of breath if i have to walk up three flights of stairs. it does mean setting a good example for the small spawn (who is a solid build as well). it does mean being more comfortable in my clothes. it does mean being more body confident and not feeling like i need to find ways to hide the things i don't like about myself. it does mean still eating the foods i love, drinking wine, having cheesecake but WITHIN REASON.

i will always be a BIG girl. but i'm tired of being a FAT girl.

so. i'm working on it.

i've started making sure i have healthy snacks at work and that i'm actually eating breakfast. i've almost completely cut out soda and am working at drinking more water. the wii has been reconnected downstairs, and as soon as new batteries are procured i'll be getting off my ass and using it in the evenings. the weather is getting nicer and it's staying late longer, so there's no reason the spawn and dog and i can't go out for an after work jaunt. i don't expect this to be some magical overnight change. it will be a process, starting new habits (and sticking to them for 28 days until they become a a natural choice instead of a habit).

i'm honestly not setting any goals or timelines or anything because this will be a LIFESTYLE, not a 3 week kick.

i still want to have boobs and a butt and be able to go out with friends without being the girl that orders a leaf of lettuce and a glass of water. i want to fill out my dresses in different places but still fill them out. i want to be sexy and soft and confident.

so. there you have it.

i'm a fat girl. working on being better. bit by wobbly bit.

...and counting

it's been six weeks since my oldest son moved.

it feel like a lifetime. it feels like a few days.

it feels like the world has completely stopped. it feels like everything is on fast forward.

i've had a fuck of a time writing lately. there's so much hurt and anger and sadness and worry and gut wrenching sickness.

but i still get up and go to work.

i still meet up with friends.

i still make sure my youngest son has a good birthday.

i still try like fuck to hold it all together.

that's the real reason i haven't written.

i can't fall apart.

there's too many things to do. i can't write at work because i can't let them see me cry.

i can't write at home because there's dishes and dinner and grocery shopping and all the things i'm supposed to be doing (but can't because i'm just frozen).

i can't think about it. i can't fall apart.

i've lost my son. for probably a long time. i hope not forever.

but i can't think about it because i still have another son that needs me.

i'm so worried. everyone says he'll come back around. he won't hate me forever. he didn't really mean it when he told me he never wants to see me again.

i shouldn't read into him avoiding phone calls, stilted text message conversations. i shouldn't focus on the anger and blame during the few phone conversations that have happened.

i've taken my time thinking over the last few weeks. i can't say it's all been good thinking. i've used (and quite possibly abused) my sounding board friends. i've tried to look at things from all different angles, all different options.

i still haven't found another option that would have been better. i know this is the way it needed to be. it hasn't made it any easier. even weeks out.

i have so many questions and theories and ideas of why it all happened the way it did. i'm still working through them. i know i may not have any answers, ever. i'm working on being ok with that. some of the questions i'm still working up the courage to ask the right people and hope that they're willing to give me an honest response. i've been realizing half truths and passive destructions and undermining that go back years. it makes me think i'll i honestly never get real answers to my questions. it makes me think i've never gotten any honest answers from some people.

people ask how i am. how i've been doing. i answer politely but vaguely. i'm battling. it's true. i don't say it's a bloody, ugly, mean, horrible battle. i just answer politely and move on as quickly as possible. i feel like i've become adept at distractions- ask people questions, keep an arsenal of current events handy to change the topic, know ways to move on as quickly as possible. 

speaking of which.

i had a huge realization last week with the small spawn aging one more year: i'm the same age now as my mum when she got married to her second husband, and the small spawn is the age as my brother (and then me, three years younger).

it's hard to imagine my mom at 27 dating and...being young. hard to imagine her being the age i am now getting married to have someone help her raise her kids (her words). she's always been old to me. i never remember her being young or going out or anything. i remember one time in seattle she showed us she could change lanes without hitting the turtles in the road (the raised lane markers). i remember she had one gal she worked with that we would occasionally go over to their house on the edge of town. i think that was it for the extent of her friends and the extent of activity. she, to this day, has never had a drink of alcohol. she would go to work parties during the holidays but only stay a half hour because she didn't like being around people "like that" (drinkers). we went to church and i'm sure there were people there...but i dont remember her having a social circle. to this day i have NO CLUE what she would do during spring break and our two weeks in the summer my brother and i spent with our dad. we usually came home to rearranged furniture and her with a fresh perm. that's it.

it makes me wonder how my kids see me. i try to take them places and do things- movies, baseball games, hockey games, vacations (well, just one of those). i have a good circle of friends. i take time for myself and go out with said friends, attend theater, tweet-ups. i have friends over for dinner parties and bbq's and movie nights and just hang out nights. i've attempted dating (as well as that's gone...ugh). i've tried to make life LIFE. i've tried to show my kids conflict and resolution. i've tried to show them how to have a good time but still be responsible. i've tried to show them all the things that were hidden from me as a kid because they were grown up issues (never too early to learn budgeting and being money wise to me.)

i don't want my kids to look back on their childhood and only vaguely remember stories associated with pictures but draw a huge blank for the rest of it.

i'm 33. my youngest is 11. my oldest will be able to drive in a few months. life FLIES BY. i want them to remember it and love it.

on another track- i look at how my mom felt like she HAD to get married to have someone help her raise her kids. while i don't agree with that in any way shape or form, i also realize i've gone almost too far in the opposite direction shunning anyone that offers help (especially those that tried to force their help or tell me how it should be done). i'm so afraid of being like her- not being strong enough to do it on my own. i'm pretty sure i'm able to do it on my own. at least i have been able to for 15 years. pretty sure i don't have anything to prove to anyone at this point, so i need to just cool my jets and stop being so...harsh.

it all comes back to balance. i want someone willing to help, but not someone that thinks i NEED help. i'm not some fucking damsel in distress. i'm a damsel- maybe more of a dame. but i'm not exactly in distress. i've kept the lights on and the cupboards filled just fine. i want a partner, not an asshole knight on a horse that is going to shit all over my lawn (the horse. not the knight. well, maybe both). BUT. to get someone willing to help, i have to be willing to LET them help. i have to quit being so worried people will think i'm weak.

i have to quit being worried about people in general.

yeah. that's the biggest part of the equation. people are always going to have their own opinions. i can't control that. i'm sure no matter what someone out there is going to think i'm baby daddy shopping. someone is going to think i needed rescued. someone is going to think i'm with a guy i don't deserve. someone is going to think i could do better. someone is going to think i'm a fucking beached whale. someone is going to think i have soft movie cuddling enhanced plushness.

i have to quit worrying about others and worry about me. i have to look for what i need. what is important to me. what is best for my little core that's left.

IN OTHER NEWS:

i've said it before and i'll say it again: tattoos are my form of healing/working through things. i PLANNED on finishing up my second half sleeve before venturing out into any other tattoos, but gene had other ideas.

i've already introduced gene:

 well, gene needed a friend.

so.  meet anita:

she helps take care of gene. she's there to ice his injuries, mend his broken little heart. sweet little pigeon-toed anita.

together they're kind of AMAZING.

i know for sure i have gene in me. i've taken my hits. i've had my heart broken. i've been knocked around pretty good over the last few years but i'm still going.

but i also have anita in me (i know it's not a proper sentence. shut it.) i'm a fixer. i'm a helper. i want to make things better and take away what pain i can. i want to help put things back together, be there when someone needs me...especially my own damn self. back to that balance thing. admit my hurt, but also my own power to heal. like gene and anita. they go together. i'm going to keep taking hits over the years. and i'm going to keep fixing over the years.


so. 

six weeks. six weeks and counting.

i have plenty to say. i've been taking notes. i just haven't been able to get it out.

i'm trying to come back around. i'll get there.

six weeks is a lifetime and a blink. i'm getting there.

gene

well. it's been almost a week since the teenager moved. the last few days before the move were tough- PLENTY of emotions on both sides.

the big spawn had a few friends over to say goodbye one night- he really did have a group of GOOD kids that he associated with. i'll miss having a house full of kids arguing over whose GPA is the highest and who speaks the most languages before they go nerd out on zelda.

the next night he went to a party some friends from school threw for him- that one was harder since it was a last minute "hey, i'm going to this." one of a few final defiant moves of "i'm already losing everything, what are you going to do?" no permission asked, just deciding on his own. add that to the HUGE stack of dishes from going on strike, the mess leftover in his room, just all the little things that added up and made the transition somewhat easier.

so much frustration, hurt, anger, relief, everything rolled into one. sunday came and went in a brief not even 10 minute window of loading things into the car and gone.

i stood there watching him load his dads car and drive off and it just...hurt.

hurt isn't a big enough word (i'll come back to this in another post).

i am SO eternally grateful for friends checking in, taking me out for a spa day, being sounding boards, providing distractions.

the small spawn and i are adjusting to a different home atmosphere now.  the small spawn chatters CONSTANTLY now. i'm not sure if it's because he's trying to fill the silence or if it's because he feels like he's not being shut down every time he talks, but either way it's hilarious (and slightly overwhelming) to listen to him go on and on and on for 20-30 minutes NON-STOP.

now. if you know me, you know that my way of dealing with particular shitty-shit in my life is to add the inside feelings to the outside skin via tattoo.

and so, i would like to introduce gene:

gene is the sweetest bad ass mofo you'll ever see.  he's a reminder that no matter how beat up, no matter how broken hearted, you keep going.

it's been a rough few years. i've taken my share of hard knocks. there's been more than once i wanted to quit- whatever that meant. but there's always kids that need food, bills that need paid, a dog that needs out to pee, SOMETHING. i've wanted to quit, but i've never actually given myself that actual option to quit. many times i felt like a little robot- shut off the emotions, shove them deep down, just keep going. just. keep. going.

that's gene.

take a hit, keep going, and try your damndest to come back swinging.