where's my super suit?

last week i vague posted to facebook mentioning that it had been a rough week and i could use some support.

i don't like vaguebooking, but i wasn't quite ready to dump my brain at that point and really did need something, someone. SOME interaction.

this week i was able to meet up with one of my favorite people, someone who listens without judgement, HEARS what i'm saying, and doesn't sugar coat or water down responses either way- if i'm being ridiculous or if i'm being real. it's hard to know sometimes when it's just your voice on a loop in your head. sometimes real things can take on a ridiculous tangent unintentionally, or after a series of too many things it can start to seem like maybe you're just being too sensitive if THIS MANY THINGS are causing distress.

this week over drinks and dinner she let me take my time getting around to what i needed to say, no judgement, no laughing, no walking away out of disgust or annoyance or triviality or anything.

and as i've continued to process and reevaluate and look at every different angle and possibility and the usual overthinking junket my brain goes on, i've gone back and forth about whether or not it's worth writing about, if anyone else would care, if it's dumb to put my petty little problems out there.

because that's what i worry about. not about the actual problems (well, those too, but not mainly). i worry about annoying people by talking about my problems. i don't want to be trivial or a burden or the person that everyone rolls their eyes when i say there's something going on becasue drama, drama, drama. i don't want to repeat myself, which happens ALL THE TIME in my brain (and in my journal). i don't want people to be like "ugh. this again?" because that's how i feel ALL THE TIME about myself.

but this particular series of crap was BIG. and, i don't know, two weeks out and i'm still having a hard time not getting emotional about it, so it IS big. even if just to me. and maybe it's happening to someone else, and i don't want ANYONE else to feel this way, so maybe getting it out there will let one other person know it's not just them. and if even ONE other person doesn't have to feel this? WORTH IT.

i have finally found my super power, and it's a SHITTY one.

i have the power of invisibility.

and trust me, it's not all it's cracked up to be.

the signs have been there for a while. all the stood up dates, all the times bartenders have blatantly ignored me, the million and two times i've repeated myself to the teenager.

it became crystal clear at the seattle erotic art festival two weeks ago.

i had been looking forward to the event ALL YEAR. last year was amazing. the performances, the sculptures, the photos, drawings, literature, interactive pods, ALL OF IT. the crowd was a gorgeous mix of anyone and everyone at every kink and security level. some people walking around in next to nothing with just pasties on. some people in gorgeous bondage corsets, costumes, gimp suits, stilts, drag, regular clothes. EVERYTHING. it was this mismash of people from every background imaginable i'm sure, all gathered together in a place of mutual acceptance to celebrate sexuality in all forms in a safe space. it's what we were ALL there for, so no judgement, no sideways looks, just people being people.

i was SO EXCITED to go back this year. the ONE PLACE the tattooed fat girl who loves art and music and creativity and sexuality can fit in. the ONE PLACE i wouldn't feel like the freak because i start "those" conversations. the ONE PLACE i could openly admire women and men. the ONE PLACE i could belong.

and i planned the weekend, marked it on the calendar, made a hotel reservation, followed the twitter account and watched the artist selection be announced and the lead up happen and the posts of the whole weekend kicking off and the schedule of all the different parts and pieces.

i drove to seattle (with the teenager and three of his friends...they were attending a concert). i wore a little black dress, did my hair, put on bold red lipstick, took a lyft to the event center.

i went inside and ALL THE ART. oh my god. ALL THE ART. everything you can imagine. photos of legos doing bondage play. a d-rex battling a tri-cera-cocks. a storm trooper doing suspension bondage. live demonstrations of suspensions. live drag/costume/shoe contests. poetry readings. electric play demonstrations. a piercing suspension (can't watch, i can feel too much of the pain. thanks empathic abilities). it was another AMAZING show. there was a huge crowd of people wandering all over, taking it all in.

and i was invisible.

three hours. i walked around for three hours. i looked at ALL the art work, every single piece. multiple times. a massive wall piece of sheet metal air brushed in perfect patterns then stained and sealed to make a gorgeous textured/colored vagina. the craftsmanship and skill to so carefully manage the metal air brushing strokes and get the stain in exactly the right places...it was gorgeous.

i walked around for three hours. THREE HOURS. not one person said a thing to me.

i was invisible.

people would literally bump into me and not even say anything. i would try to start conversations and people would walk away mid sentence.

the ONE PLACE i thought i would fit in and not only did i NOT fit, i didn't even exist.

i'm not a petite girl. i don't blend in very well. i was in a sleeveless dress which means ALL my tattoos were visible. even people in the taco bell drive thru notice my tattoos.

and NOTHING. i didn't exist.

fuck man. that was a kick to the gut. the event i had been waiting a full year for. the place i thought i would find my tribe. the place i thought i could be myself and talk to people and make connections.

fuck.

that hurt.

(**IMPORTANT NOTE: this was not, in any way, the fault of the art festival, just my own issue. if you get a chance next year or any year, GO TO THE FESTIVAL. it's amazing. the artwork is outstanding and there's classes, demonstrations, workshops, it really, really outstanding.**)

the next night my oldest son wanted to meet up and talk. we've been communicating a little more via text recently...not just the usual "i need money" texts. i haven't had the opportunity to SEE him in several years. things haven't been smoothing sailing since he moved to seattle, to put it lightly. and he wanted to meet up in a hookah lounge in seattle and talk. i was so excited. i was going to actually get to meet one of his girlfriends and get to see him and just...hang out.

it didn't exactly go that way. he spent 45 minutes dressing me down, calling me a liar, saying every horrible thing he could think of, demanding i tell him details about things that have happened to me so he could "decide if it's real or not." he tore me apart for never dating but dating the wrong people in the same sentence. he said some terrible, horrible things about the death of his step mother/baby brother that...holy fuck. if he even said half of it or implied any of those thoughts to his dad...no wonder things are so terrible between them right now. it was bad. it was REALLY, REALLY bad. after 45 minutes of spewing every venemous, terrible thing, he told me that i could contact him when i'm "ready to finally tell the truth and stop beating around the bush," then he walked out on me. the kid that used to yell at me for telling too much truth and answering all his questions, as honestly and age appropriately as possible, now calling me a liar and walking out on me.

fuck.

strike two.

that's a really fucking shitty back to back.

that's a one-two punch that left my ears ringing a little bit.

so i came home after the weekend and tried to process as much as possible.

oh, and my therapist is out of the office until july recovering from surgery. just a fun little side note.

so. i'm processing. functioning. struggling. REALLY, REALLY struggling.

then my brother called for his monthly check in.

why do i even answer those calls? especially after a shitty weekend like that?

it's all fine until he hears me refer to our mother by her proper name. she's no longer a "mom" to me. she's just a person i (barely) know, so i refer to her by name. he literally laughed at me. LAUGHED. AT. ME. "that sounds so weird. why do you call her that?" because she hasn't been a great person to me. "oh, i just thought you had issues with her husband, not her." DO YOU EVER LISTEN DUDE? i've said the same. damn. thing. every. single. time. this. comes. up.

so i try to explain it again. "oh. i didn't know any of that."

yeah. thanks for not listening to me. ever.

brought to you by the same brother that was shocked when i wrote a short story for his son a few years ago. "when did you start writing?" WHEN I COULD HOLD A PENCIL. thanks for noticing me, ever, in our childhood.

the power of invisibility. it started young. apparently.

and it just...it sucks, you know?

and i'm not a very social person. i don't keep hoards of friends. and i'm not great about keeping in touch with the ones i do have. and i ALWAYS feel like a burden when i try to make plans...my schedule has NOTHING and i always feel like it's such a pain in the ass to try to arrange meet ups because other people actually have lives, and so i just don't do it. i don't want to make them feel bad for being busy. so i just...don't. and when i do go out...i just...don't fit in. i'm the awkward one that's moderately tolerated. i'm good for bringing the weird factor, the inappropriate stories.

and so i just sink further into invisibility.

it's just me and the puppy at home every night and i'm not sure if you know this or not, but no matter how stoned you get, puppies don't talk back.

and i HAVE people. i know i do. but they all live in my phone. i know if i really need to i can text, snapchat, message, tweet people and chat. and they are all AMAZING people that i am so lucky to know. they're positive and supportive and really, really just beautiful people.

but that doesn't really...i mean...it doesn't really help with the invisibility thing. you know?

and so, here it is. i'm struggling.

i feel like i don't exist outside making sure the teenager has food and money, the puppy gets fed and walked, and all the necessary papers get shuffled at my jobs.

PLEASE DON'T TAKE THIS THE WRONG WAY OR READ INTO IT: I'M NOT IN A DANGEROUS PLACE: i'm really, really not.
but if i just disappeared, road trip to mexico style, would anyone *really* notice?

if i just attached a teardrop trailer to the back of the jeep and started driving...it may be inconvenient for a few people for a day or two...but then?

and i know. find a group! volunteer! get out there! meet people!

yeah. we all know how good i am at that. you mean like just going to the concerts alone? or the art exhibits? dinner and a movie? maybe try speed dating? puppy play dates? community events at my apartment? maybe i should start a book club? what about trying an app to meet new people? you know they have ones for just making friends now, right? maybe if i have TWO jobs it will double the circle of people i interact with and get to know, right?

or would all that just give me a chance to see how my invisibility cloak looks with several different pair of shoes?

spoiler alert: it's the shoe thing.

so. i'm still processing. i'm trying to find new solutions. i'm still plugging along.

but if anyone else out there stumbles across my random corner of the internet and sees this: you're not the only one. you're not invisible. you do exist. you do matter. and i know, exactly, how hard that may be to believe. but don't stop trying to believe it. I SEE YOU. maybe you can recognize the shimmer on my cloak the way i can see the shimmer on yours. i don't know where i belong. i haven't found my place yet. but i'm not giving up the thought that maybe some day i will. maybe i'll find a space where i really belong with people who see me. it's out there for everyone. so me of us just have to look a little harder. and i'm going to keep looking.

i'm positive i'm not positive.

the body positive moment happening everywhere right now is an amazing thing. women are learning to love themselves, no matter what shape, size, hair color, length, style, ANY of the stuff that goes into learning to love yourself.

there's the "take back the beach" movement emphasizing that any body you put a bikini on IS a bikini body.

there's beautiful models across the nation proving you don't have to be a size 00 to walk a runway or being on the cover of sports illustrated swim suit edition or be a national clothing line spokesperson.

more and more women are getting over their insecurities and being the example for a new generation of women.

and that is AMAZING.

but...

there's still crazy people out roaming around, like me.

and the only thing the body-positive movement has done is made me hate myself more.

here's the recording in my head:

LOOK AT ALL THE WOMEN LEARNING TO LOVE THEMSELVES. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU THAT YOU CAN'T DO THAT?

all these women are all learning to love their "flaws"

 

 

 

nayyirah waheed, salt

and i'm over here just finding more things to hate about myself. like the fact that i haven't learned to love myself.

it's a particularly ridiculous hate spiral and i'm well aware of it, but my brain can't "just stop."

that's what i hear from well-intentioned people the most: just love yourself. just stop your brain. just ignore the negative voice in your head.

trust. if i could *just* anything, i would. but my brain doesn't work that way. i have this endless pro-con list running in my head in addition to a relentless sense of fact-based reasoning that together are worse than any super villian you could ever imagine.

for every one positive i try to say about myself in the mirror in the morning there are instantly 3 *actually* comments that push it out of the way.

me: oh wow, my hair looks great today!

also me: *actually* there are a bunch of frizzy fly-aways that make you look sloppy. and *actually* that one piece is curling weird like it's TRYING to point directly at the acne on your jawline. and *actually* that root color is too dark for you and makes your fat face look fatter.


me: i'm bold. i'm brave. i'm going to wear red lipstick today!

*side note: kat von d outlaw is KILLER if you're looking for a red. end commercial*

also me: *actually* you shouldn't be wearing red. you're too pale to pull it off. and *actually* you don't even own a lip liner, so  you shouldn't be wearing lipstick with out a liner. and *actually* you always put it on crooked and it comes off on your coffee up so you look like a hot mess all the time.  WHY DO YOU EVEN OWN THAT SHADE OF RED ANYWAY?

me: i *adore* this new dress! i'm going to wear it to work today.

also me: *actually* your legs are stupidly pale and stand out when you wear dresses. and *actually* you didn't shave your legs last night because you're too lazy and EVERYONE will notice. and *actually* that dress makes your back fat look terrible and you shouldn't wear it.

it's like i live with the worlds most obnoxious, entitled, waspy asshole ALL THE TIME.

i don't worry (much) about what people will *actually* say to me (spoiler alert: no one cares OR ever says anything) because the voices in my head are ALWAYS 1000X worse than what anyone could ever think to say to me. unless they're agreeing with me. which is pretty mean. because i'm pretty mean.

BUT, back to the point. the body positive moment happening is killing me.

what's so wrong with me that i'm the one female out here not learning or already intrinsically knowing how to love myself? why haven't i been able to find a way to turn off the negative recordings yet?

it feels like i'm the last person left that doesn't believe a bikini body is any body you just put a bikini on. WHAT ABOUT THE CYSTS ON MY THIGHS? no one wants to see those!

and i'm still working on it. i'm making myself wear the red lipstick even if i feel like and idiot. i'm making myself wear the dress because it is adorable and deserves to be worn, even if i'm not the right person to do it. i haven't shaved my head...again anyway. the grow out is a bitch. trust me on that.

i'm still trying. there are some days i'm almost convinced that i can at least live in a grey middle zone where i may not love myself, but at least i don't actively hate myself...for a bit at least. and there are some great strains of weed that can convince me i'm a goddess and look AMAZING and give me the most empowering self confidence to wear things or dance in my kitchen or dress up...but unfortunately they wear off after 20 minutes. but damn those 20 minutes are fun.

did we just become best friends?

i'm not the fastest learner out there. there's some REALLY basic concepts that i'm still figuring out and coming to terms with. i'm still learning how to shift perspectives and trying to look at things from several points of view. this applies to big ideas about life and mid-life crisis moments to basic every day functioning like doing dishes.

I FUCKING HATE DISHES. with a fucking passion.

YES. i have a dishwasher. BUT, i also have a crazy brain that was raised in the house where we washed the dishes before we washed the dishes. YOU KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT.

i've never been in the "rinsing it mostly off is fine" camp. i'm FIRMLY in the "there shouldn't be a speck of  anything on it, use the scrubber WITH SOAP to get it clean before you load" person.

dishwashers are for sanitizing, not cleaning.

COME AT ME.

anyway, you can see why doing dishes is obnoxious. they take forever. especially in a house where *ahem* certain people *side eye at teenager (and myself)* don't always rinse off their dishes when they're done with them, then they sit by the sink until i force myself to do them, and by then things are dried on. and then doing dishes REALLY sucks. 

yes, i know, simple problem, simple solution. we've been working on it since my first apartment 20 years ago.

when it was just me making dishes because my oldest was only 9 months...

shut it.

ANYWAY. long story longer, the point of all this is i finally had a break through this morning in shifting the perspective a bit.

there were a LOT of dishes this week.

but wait, there were a lot of dishes THIS WEEK. that means we were eating at home this week more. which means we were eating healthier foods instead of drive through.

oh...and huh. look at that. i'm in a really good mood, up early on a saturday morning making breakfast and washing dishes.

huh.

it's almost like eating better makes my mood better and gives me more energy and makes my quality of life better.

well. THIS IS BRAND NEW INFORMATION.

so. you know. maybe doing dishes isn't so bad. maybe dishes aren't quite the arch-nemesis i've always thought of them as. 

maybe dishes and i can be friends.

you know. turn up the music, teenager ALWAYS disappears, so nice alone time...dishes and i may just be good friends.

continue from last save point?

i believe love at first sight is real for some people.

i believe it's the "...to be continued" for soul mates whose journey ended abruptly or tragically before its time.

so, in a way, i believe in reincarnation: a continuation of the soul's learning journey. not sure where i land on the start as a rock, come back as a turtle and work your way up portion of it.

i subscribe to more of a cafeteria plan when it comes to religion and spirituality. take the parts that make sense to me, skip the weird parts, especially any involving snakes.

but i believe that some part of us gets more than one journey on this rock.

and i believe that sometimes you can see or intuitively know some of your past pieces. i was recently allowed to see someones memory from being a rum runner on the oregon coast in the late 1920's (second sight, energy sharing, memory transference, whatever you want to call it, it's cool as shit.)

and i can't help but wonder...maybe there's some sort of tether on your essence...like maybe you get to continue from your last saved point. if you grew up and lived in one town your whole life, maybe your saved spot will be close to there. you can have love at first sight with someone from grade school because you're both starting from your last saved point...romantically and geographically.

if you traveled/moved all the time maybe your last save spot was on a trip or somewhere away from home. maybe this is where wanderlust comes in. the search to find where your other memories are; find your other saved points. maybe this is why some people search their whole lives for their soul mate. they have to search for the intersection of last saved points.

i've always been inexplicably drawn to the south.

what are the chances my last saved point was there once?

is that why i feel lost and unsettled here more and more? is that why i haven't been able to find a functional partnership anywhere in a tri-state area?

am i just running out of ways to avoid settling so i'm inventing new ones?

bullet-trainwreck

this story starts like most train wreck stories:

you see, there was this guy...

and since you already know the ending (spoiler alert: that's where the train wreck part comes in), i guess what's left is for me to fill in the middle part.

i can't pretend to be too mad at the universe. i knew i had a pretty hefty karmic debit in the relationship column. i knew it would bite me in the ass in a big way when it caught up with me, and boy did it.

so, i met a guy on a dating site. we talked, regular get to know you conversation, daily bullshit, all the real stuff. it never turned dirty (if you've ever been on a dating site you know 98% of the conversations start or turn dirty quickly). it was great. seemed like just a cool guy.

we planned to meet up on a saturday evening, but the wednesday before i was out for a drink and invited him to join me, which he did. not only was i NOT stood up for a date, he came out for an impromptu meet up BEFORE the time he was supposed to stand me up. WHAT IS THIS WITCHCRAFT?

and it went well. so well my regular bartender commented on it and the immediate chemistry.

well, fucksticks. NOW WHAT?

so we kept talking and kept the date for saturday which went INCREDIBLY well. as in he shared a lyft the next morning with me (him back to his car, me to the airport).

two dates? that pushed me into foreign territory and the freak out commenced. i spent a day in seattle with an amazing friend who let me gush and be a twit, all with him texting me all day. flew back monday morning, he came over and cooked me dinner monday night. WHAT IS HAPPENING??

panic is full swing. we keep texting and talking and he comes over tuesday night. and it's amazing. it's a connection i've never had with someone before. i'm being myself. my total, unfilted, fully crazy self. i tell him my fears about relationships, my hang ups, my disaster history. he does the same. i tell him when i'm panicking about how things are going. he does the same. i try to think of every weird freaky thing that's been a deal breaker in the past and this guy is holding steady. i finally break out the big guns and one evening we talk about empathic abilities. turns out not only is he not freaked out by my abilities, HE HAS THEM TOO. and we are able to literally pass energy back and forth. we're able to share emotions and memories and connect in a totally different way.

this is some next. level. shit.
 
and there's a few snags along the way- he's dealing with PTSD and TBI and gets a little overwhelmed by home life thursday, but then he works through it and comes over friday night...and stays til sunday afternoon.

and i THOUGHT it was going well. there were a few too many calls from the ex-wife and the ex-girlfriend for my comfort, but they were concerned about him and checking in. not unreasonable for someone dealing with veterans issues. i'm just glad he has a strong support network at this point.

but then shit goes sideways. he mentions the ex-girlfriend is going to meet a new guy and it's throwing him for a loop.

huh. ok. well, they were together for 4 years and just split in october. and he's still teaching her photography. so. maybe a bit of an open wound situation. then, after he left sunday, he calls a few hours later in the middle of a melt down because the ex called him on the way back from her overnight date and it sent him into a total tailspin.

and there's my line. if her going on a date throws him into a total tailspin, then he's not ready to be even considering anything new. and i don't want or deserve to be a stop gap or a distraction or whatever.

so i call him monday afternoon and we discuss it and agree that he's really not in as good of a place as he thought, he isn't ready to try something new, but you know, we can still talk.

cool. that ended well. sad. it seemed like it could be something really cool. but i'm not going to settle for second anymore.

LOOK AT ME BEING MATURE AND GROWN UP.

then shit went REALLY sideways. he goes dark after our phone call and, given his mental status over the weekend and everything i want to check and make sure he's ok, so i check his facebook page to see if there's any activity.

and then i see it. a simple post on his wall that says "143." that's it. "143" posted saturday night at 11:44.

wait.

what?

saturday night? when he was in bed with me?

what the fuck?

what's 143?

to the google: OH, 143 is "i love you."

well fuck. that's weird. he was in bed with me. who is he posting that for in the middle of the night?

OH, there's a comment on it. 

nice. the ex-gf posted "143" back.

well. that's fan-fucking-tastic.

and the pieces start to fall into place: he started seeing me, so she started seeing someone new. then she was going to go stay with that guy, so suddenly he's staying with me. OH, so i'm a pawn in a game of ex-relationship chicken.

THAT'S FUCKING SPECTACULAR.

holy. fucking. blindside.

and here i stupidly thought things were going well and he was actually into me.

commence total mind fuck.

BUT.

here's where things get interesting.

i call him on it. flat out call him on it. is this what you were doing? was any of this real? do you have any idea how totally shitty this is?

that's right: I STOOD UP FOR MYSELF.

good news: he wasn't using me. WHEW. that's a relief.

he was just trying to hurt her and i got caught in the crossfire.

oh wait...not so much of a relief.

BUT, he swears our connection was real. he says that he did actually care for me and feel the same connection, he was just too caught up on her.

so. I'LL TAKE IT. i choose to believe it.

I. CHOOSE. TO. BELIEVE. IT.

it wasn't me this time. i threw everything at him. all of it. he didn't run away. i don't know if it's because he was determined to show her up, or too distracted to really be bothered, or if he really did just simply like me.

i'm going with the last one.

and that's a BIG shift for me.

silver lining.

i was myself. i cooked meals i would normally cook. i sat around in my pajamas. i even *gasp* wore my glasses and didn't wash my hair. WHAT????

i spoke up for myself. i opened up. with the help of some VERY patient friends i didn't panic and cut ties when i normally would. i stuck it out. i tried. i opened myself up.

I HAD FEELINGS Y'ALL.

ACTUAL. FEELINGS.

and i didn't die.

as fast as it flashed and burned out, as stupid as i felt for how intense it got in such a short time, I DID IT. i threw it ALL out there. i let him stay the night. i let him be around the teenager. i cooked him meals. i did dishes and laundry and REGULAR PEOPLE THINGS. 

it wasn't a magical bachelor island bubble where everything is perfect all the time and no one snores (spoiler alert: i snore. loudly).

and it was ok.

i mean, until it wasn't.

BUT IT WAS OK.

he didn't run. he didn't judge me. he didn't freak out.


I WAS MYSELF Y'ALL AND HE LIKED ME.

so. i can deal with the train wreck. i can deal with the hurt, and there was A LOT of hurt.

AND. because i'm trying REALLY hard to be in the moment and actually experience things as they happen instead of shoving them down to bite me years later: here's my take away:

it's going to get really sappy and self-help bullshit and very meditative/mantra-ish right now:

yes, this hippie shit is coming from me:

i appreciate the pain for letting me know i can still feel.

i appreciate the experience for letting me know i am capable of and open to a partnership.

i appreciate the betrayal for reminding me actions have consequences.

i appreciate the despair for reminding me i have people i can reach out to that will listen and care.

i appreciate the reminder that hope is still an option. and that i am capable of warmth and caring and understanding.

i appreciate the experience for showing me i CAN open up and be honest, ALL of me.

even though it all fell apart. even though there's a ton of ugly questions i could ask.

I CHOOSE HOPE. i choose to know me being me didn't chase him away. for the first time ever.

I CHOOSE TO BELIEVE HE LIKED ME AS I AM.

well fuck. that turned into a bridget jones moment. time to wrap this up.

SO. long story short: there was a guy. i liked him. HE LIKED ME. and it just didn't work out this time.

but i tried.

anxiety

a few weeks ago i was sitting in my living room on a nice quiet evening, watching the great british bake off on netflix, nice and mellow, and all of a sudden BOOM: massive anxiety attack.

i had just been offered a part time job and was working over a new budget and suddenly FREAKED OUT. full on tears, chest pain, full on panic: OH MY GOD. HOW AM I GOING TO SURVIVE ON A SINGLE MOM BUDGET?

yes, how am i, the single mother, who has survive on a single mother budget for the last 20 years, going to keep surviving now on a single mother budget?

that's right. i retro-actively freaked out about the last 20 years of my life.

i told myself i should have been kicked out of every apartment i lived in...it takes 2 people to pay the rent more often than not. I SHOULD HAVE FAILED.

2 people working full time can barely make ends meet...HOW AM I GOING TO AFFORD ANYTHING?

well, let's see...my kids never went naked, our power was never shut off, they never went hungry...

it's a special kind of crazy that makes you panic about something you've already done. FOR TWENTY YEARS.

this has been my mind the last few months...never. ending. anxiety.

i've battled with depression. i've battled fear. i can't remember a time i wasn't under some kind of stress. i've dealt with domestic violence, divorce, sick kids, family dying. this isn't the first time i've left a "career" job. this isn't the first time i've taken a part time job. this isn't my first go round with lonely holidays. this isn't my first run in with a moody hormonal teenager.

i'm older. i've been seasoned, earned my grey hair (that i immediately colored over).

SO WHAT THE FUCK?

anxiety man. it's the worst of it all. it's this never ending voice of terror. of destruction. of certain doom. it's this constant sound track of every. single. thing. wrong. that i've done in my life. it's a constant slow motion replay of every. single. decision. over the last 6 months reviewing every one over and over and over and over. it's every horrible thing i've ever thought about myself BLARING over a megaphone all day long and even in my dreams. 

all my writing has ground to a heartbreaking stop. i have so many project i want to finish but i just...can't right now and it's making me so mad.

i've cried more in the last few months than i have in a LONG time.

we got a new puppy this weekend and it's been CONSTANT terror the last few days that i can't handle it. a puppy. i have myself convinced that i can't handle a puppy.

i believe, i really do believe, that things happen at a specific time for a specific reason. i believe in the balance of the universe. i believe that things happen when they're meant to, that there's lessons to be learned in every experience.

i believe that out of all the jobs i applied for and interviewed for, there's a reason this job was offered to me. THIS is where i need to be right now.

so why can't i quit questioning it and worrying about it? why can't i stop looking online at indeed and craigslist to see what else is out there?

i believe that out of all the jobs, state jobs, corporate jobs, big businesses, small businesses, government jobs, out of ALL the possibilities over the last few months, THIS is the place for me.

can you believe and not believe something at the same time?

i know the universe is SCREAMING at me to just trust myself.

and i just can't do it.

JUST WRITE. GET IT OUT THERE.

and then the doubt and questions and hate start.

so what if i finish writing something? what's that going to do? it's not like it's going to be something that i can make a living at. do you know how many people WORK for YEARS to make a living at writing? and i think that whatever hack job i throw out into the universe is actually going to be anything more than a blip?

WHO CARES IF IT ISN'T A MILLION DOLLAR BOOK DEAL? haven't i always said that as long as ONE person connects with it, it's worth it?

SO WHAT THE FUCK IS MY PROBLEM?

i've been trying to meditate more. find a calm space for my mind free of judgement and hate and anxiety.

spoiler alert: quiet time just means all the negative voices have less to compete with and get louder.

i worked my way through the meditation basics on the headspace meditation app a few times. even with the guided meditation i still haven't been able to shut off the anxiety spiral for more than a few minutes at a time.

anxiety man.

it's a whole different beast than depression.

it's way fucking meaner. just a relentless. it's much more active than depression. anxiety is like depression on meth: all the horrible thoughts, seventeen times the speed ricocheting around your brain! it's an endless choose your own adventure OF TOTAL DESTRUCTION. no happy endings here kids, no matter how many different ways you follow the rabbit trails. go ahead. try EVERY option. NOPE. still terrible.

and i know i'll figure it out. always have. always will. it hasn't always been stars and rainbows and pots of gold, but i've made it through the last twenty years. i can make it through this too.

i'm not giving up, as much as...whatever it is in there is screaming how much easier that would be.

i'll research. i'll keep trying. i'll keep kicking cans until i find an answer for this new challenge.

man. you have to give credit where credit is due.

just when i thought i had shit dialed in and on the right track. just when i thought i had figured out the tricks to my own mental health and how to catch myself when i'm slipping and get myself back on track...life was like OH REALLY BITCH? TRY THIS FASTBALL THEN.

just when i was like- i'm going to take three months to make shit happen! make myself the best i've ever been! spend time on me! chase dreams! believe in yourself! DO IT!

then life was like...but first...

and, somewhere in the deep corners of my brain, there's a theory percolating: ok. so. if life is so scared of you becoming healthy and being your best self that it has to distract you THIS HARD, what kind of fucking powerhouse of awesome does it know you are? and what happens if you are finally able to actually believe that and tap into it? if you can get past these distractions, if you can do what you set out to do...

what if anxiety is like the boyfriend that constantly puts you down because he knows once you stop listening to him and realize how awesome you actually are he doesn't stand a chance in hell...

huh.

given my track record you think i'd be much better at kicking a crappy boyfriend to the curb.

the grandiose late night thoughts

this is a journey of finding who i want to be, not WHAT i want to be.

when i can find the WHO, everything else will fall into place.

i want to take three months and i want to learn me. no stress about work. stop worrying what the teenager thinks. he's taken care of. he's loved. this journey is not putting him at any risk.

i've never consciously set on a path. i've reacted or grabbed out of desperation, but i've never had the head-space, the insight. i've never taken the luxury of contemplation.

intellectual vs. emotional: my nature is emotional but my environment had forced intellectual/logical. cold. basic. defend-able. i've learned to depend on those.

take religion: religion just was my childhood. i memorized the bible verses. i studied. i learned the details. i attended, regularly, unquestioned. it was just what i did. i know the details. i know the history. i know the information. but i lack the spirit of it. i went to camp. i remember the group experience feel of it. i remember vividly telling myself that i didn't need to cave to the pressure of everyone else having a big spiritual moment. i remember being one of the last ones left in the bleachers during a particularly dramatic altar call. i was there. i did it. but i didn't FEEL it.

i've always searched for the FEEL part of things but been able to logically explain it away when i didn't find it. the few times i did find it, or thought i did, the fizzle was fast and the reasons or excuses plenty.

now i'm starting to actually find it, but i'm not sure how to let myself trust the emotion over the logic for once.

meditation, writing, music. those are the FEELING. i need to allow them. trust them. believe they are real and not try to explain them away or discount them out of existence.

i want to learn to be at peace with myself. allow my intellectual and emotional to share a space. allow them to exist together. not have one shaming the other. intellectual is so cold and mean. emotional is too hippie and out of control. one is rigid. one is flaky. we need rules and structure. you need responsibility and order. you can allow yourself to be free for once. you don't need to be on the set path.

it will be ok.

it will be ok. it will be ok.

even if bad things happen.

i mean fuck, bad things have already happened. there's already been hurt. there's already been chaos and mayhem and restarting and WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED.

and i'm still here.

i can do this. i can do whatever this thing is. this allowing myself to be. this allowing myself to try.

purpose. voice. the print i want to leave outside myself. my contribution. my way to make it a little better for the next person.

i'm so lucky to get this opportunity. this experience. to not have to plod along. to get that chance to stick my head above the crowd and get a glimpse of all that's out there. i don't have to do the job i hate to get by. i get a chance to be a maker of things. the thing so many scramble and are so passionate about. THE DREAM. i get to try for the dream, not just survive and talk about it late at night after too much whiskey and remember when.

the dancer working all day just to dance and practice at night. working to pay the bills but not giving up on the dream. pushing to get the break, the chance. getting distracted or worn out or derailed along the way. flashdance. coyote ugly. august rush. all the movies of someone fighting to make it and not give up.

I GET THAT CHANCE. but...like...the easy version of that chance. and i'd better not fucking waste it.

all the stars are aligned. in this one moment so there's literally no distractions or excuses for me. this is my moment. i can't blame work for making me tired. i can't blame needed money for work. i can't blame life/teenager for needing things that take the money that require the work that makes me tired.

there's literally nothing standing in my way besides me. 

i don't know what's going to be on the other side of 3 months. i don't know if it's a book or the ability to say i tried. maybe it's all for the process of learning who i am when i trust myself. maybe it's just for the learning to trust myself. maybe just the learning to push through the fear and not giving up.

maybe it's in the awareness of the process. maybe it's learning i don't have to explain or defend, i can just do.

i owe no one a justification of why.

and how many people get this chance? how many want to? how many would give eye teeth for this window?

i'm surrounded by people who are all on their own path to enlightenment. i'm so incredibly lucky to have people all around that know this path or at least recognize it. they are aware and accepting and encouraging. there's no shame or judgement. just encouragement. they  get it.

so who do i constantly feel the need to defend it to? there's a question for another time.

i feel like i'm always playing catch up actually. like i missed some elemental part of growing up. going straight from teenager to parent i missed the bit of searching for enlightenment until now. i missed the learning curve of unencumbered young adult. when the consequences are only your own. i couldn't take the risks when there were people fully dependent on me. just not my style. the logical won over the emotional for so many years.

and now i'm 37 and just looking for and just beginning to find the enlightenment. and i judge myself quite harshly for that. for not learning to like myself sooner. smarter, more together people have already had these revelations. i'm late to the game. it makes me not as good. if i were better i would already know this. i'm judging myself for not already being better. i'm judging myself on feeling that i'm missing something instead of appreciating that i'm aware enough to know what that feeling is and work on correcting it. i need to celebrate the desire to go looking at all. i want to appreciate that i'm finding it now. at all. not compare to others speed. i want to celebrate that we've all found this piece, regardless of when we each arrived at the existential party. at least we're all here.

i feel mad at teacher for already knowing what they're teaching. i'm jealous of the original people that had the genesis thought all on their own. i'm in awe of songwriters and musicians. i'm jealous of their ability to create instead of enjoying the music. how do they do it? how do they create out of thin air? i shame myself for their extraordinary ability not being mine.

i get mad at Buddha for his ability to discover and articulate and develop all these mind shifting concepts on his own instead of buying all the books or having to learn from a teacher. i envy him.

i want to have the original thought. the transformative  idea. the first to scribe the verse. the first to create the shift. i want to create the splash instead of riding the ripple. i want that indelible unique thumbprint. i want that shakespeare, dillon, jobs flash of lightning in a bottle.

i want to be the idea being discussed instead of the one discussing the ideas.

i want to resonate and connect.

i want to be the fucking quote on the plaque in walmart instead of the one buying the damn thing.

i want to be the oracle. i want to be the one people come to. i want to be the crazy old shaman in the village. i want to be used and useful in helping people. i want to be the fixer. i want the insight and the intuition.

i need to recognize that the crazy old lady in the village wasn't born that way. it was a process. she was born with the desire and she took the opportunity to observe and learn. she was aware and gained her wisdom from years of watching and experiencing and being willing to learn. she searched and watched and asked questions. she had an open mind and the ability to see the difference in things. she learned to articulate the minutia that makes the difference. she learned, most importantly, to listen. to listen to herself, her own voice. she learned to be still and quiet and trust. she learned to not only hear other people but listen to what they are saying. she learned to go beyond their words to their catalysts, their spurs, their intentions. she's able to see several perspective, how all the pieces fit together or could fit together. it takes a lifetime of learning to become the old person.

there's a big difference between experiencing and doing. the awareness and attention in the moment. the ability to plug in the emotional instead of functioning in the intellectual and logical.

i've done things for years. the physical experience of things. i've attended funerals. i've done the proper standing up part, did the motions as needed. held it together, checked things off the list, accomplished the task. but did i experience the funeral? i accepted the flag. i went to the graveside. i spread the asked. but did i stop to fully consider lives that had ended? did i think about holidays never being the same again? did i think about wedding plans permanently altered? did i think about all the future birthday calls and dinners that wouldn't happen? did i consider all the coworkers that would have a shift in their daily life? did i experience the shift? the change in the shape and picture of the puzzle? i did it. i made it through. but do i even know what it was i made it through?

i've always focused on mechanics over emotions. but i want to learn.

i want to experience so i can pass it on.

i want to take my lessons, my hurts, my experiences and find a way to put them into words that other people can understand and learn from.

how many times have i stood quietly to the side gobsmacked by something that i just couldn't wrap my brain around? the words just didn't make sense. i couldn't grasp or retain the concept. i coudn't learn in that moment. i lost the lesson.

like the damn graphs in geometry. i've had it explained over and over but i still can't tell you how to figure out the rise over run. i can't tell you what quadrant of the graph the line needs to be in, which direction it points or at what slope.

like accounting. debits and credits seems so simple but fuck if i can keep them straight. profit and loss statements make my brain hurt at their mere mention.

chemistry however...it eluded me for so long until i found that magic key. the certain arrangement of words, explanation, that certain translation that just HIT and stuck and made sense. i went from staring blankly at my chem 101 book hating all that i could find to hate in a small community college classroom to not just understanding but being able to explain it to others and finding an impromptu study group smashed into my tiny apartment because i wan't the only one that couldn't understand but i was suddenly the one that could help it make sense.

and i want to do that for life. divorce, death, domestic violence, parenting, parents, family, work, life.

i want to be the wise old woman that survived and learned and taught. i want to leave a print. i want my experiences to be worth something. i want to function and talk and teach.

i want to use my words, my writing to do that.