THE PROJECT: week 1

Okay.

So.

I'm going to start a project and I'm very excited about this and I'm going to record it and I'm going to type it and I'm going to make myself do it.

One year. I have to pay child support for a year. a little over a year at least.

So I'm going to go on lockdown for a year and this is...it's going to be a growth challenge and I'm going to take it.

I'm going to commit a year to it. I'm going to cut my budget as much as I can. I'm going to go car free. I'm going to sell Ginger or surrender her to the loan company. I know it's terrible for your credit but I need that payment gone so I can pay child support so I can stay in my apartment. So. There it is.

I took out a loan last year when I moved. I needed moving expenses, brakes for the car. I consolidated all my debit/payments so there would only be one per month. Paid everything off. Used the car for collateral.

Because it was hard adjusting to my budget cuts. And I was not as financially responsible and conservative and smart as I needed to be as early on as I needed to be. And I really resisted going backwards to being poor. Once you get used to being able to spend money it's really hard to adjust back. And I did allow myself to enjoy spending money for a while after selling the house. It was nice to not be poor. It was nice to be able to go out to dinner or buy clothes or just do things or live. It was really hard to cut back on, and now I’m struggling. And it's frustrating because the car was completely paid for and I carefully budgeted to be able to pay the loan payment every month. But it is what it is. Things change. It will be a challenge. It'll be a good chance to figure out what it's like to live without a car for a year. I'm actually very excited about this. It will force me to be healthy. I live .08 miles from work it's super close. You can see the building from my apartment. I can just walk to work. I can instacart groceries, I can coordinate with friends to go shopping at Walmart or Target or wherever I need to go.

I can ask for help. That's that's a very hard thing for me to say.

This is...this is a challenge. But I can make it work. I can. I can make it work. I live close to downtown. I can be the city girl. I can be Sex in the City. I can walk to meet friends for drinks, which I won't be doing much anyway because I'll be on strict financial lockdown. But I can make it work. I can make laundry work. I can make shopping work. I can make everything work. I can do lime scooters this summer. I could maybe get an electric scooter at Costco. I could maybe get one cheap and have that as a backup.  It depends if I'm able to sell the car or if I have to surrender it, but there's options. I'm working on it. Walking won't be the worst thing for me anyway. I told myself I was going to walk more when I got this job and I have not been doing that. I own that. This will be good.

I'm excited. I get to be the city girl. I get to be the young lovely *coughfortycough* something living and working close to downtown. I can Melanie Griffith my shoes to work. I’m excited to get to challenge this and figure this out I'm just really excited about this year.

It's going to be a good challenge. It's going to be a challenge for staying on top of things. Stay on top of my mental health care. Staying on top of taking my vitamins and making sure that I'm doing what I need to do. It's going to make me write. I'm going to check in with people and be held accountable. I'm going to cut things out; I'm going to cut the internet out. I'm going to cut Hulu out. Going to try and reduce my bills as far down as I can. I can listen to audio books. I can write. I can go outside more. I can NOT sit and stare at my TV every night when I get home from work until I get up to go to work again the next day. It's not healthy. Big shocking news there. It's really not great for your mental health to just check out like that. I need to engage again. I need to write. I need to create. I need to do the things that I know that are good for my mental health I need to take care of myself going to be along here it's going to be a hard year and I'm going to have to safeguard and preemptively caution against that.

And really, just it's changes I've needed to do anyway. It's things I've said I was going to do.

I'm going to be an asshole and I'm going to ask people for help. I’m going to put some of the responsibilities on other people while taking responsibility for myself. I want to ask people for help. I want to ask people to check in with me. I want to ask ya'll to pretend like you read it every week and set a reminder to bug me if you haven't seen a post. You can do it on Google or on Twitter. Just set a reminder, schedule a weekly tweet to remind me please. I will be super excited to see the reminders and pretend every one is really real. It will help me to write. Yes, I can set my own electronic reminders (and did) but please make sure that I'm writing.

I don't want to hide anymore. I want to get it out there. I want to be fully open and honest. Why not? If I'm going through this somebody else somewhere might be going through this. I'm not even going to pretend I'm some special unicorn that's the only one going through a shity time. Going through budget cutbacks. Going through some ugly, tough shit.

I'm going to talk about it because I'm not the only one and we should be able to talk about it. We should be able to talk about it and not shame each other or judge each other just be open about it.

And what else do I have to do? I have a year. My calendar isn't exactly overflowing with appointments. Why not talk about it? Why not take the time and dedicate to it? Somebody's got to do it.  What's the old saying? You're never worthless, you can always be a bad example. I can be that bad example for all y'all. I’ll be your cautionary tale.

But all four of you that do read this I'm going to ask you to please, bug me, pretend to be interested in this. That would be great to help me stay on track.

I'm going to do it.

One a week.

52 weeks in a year.

One a week,  so that's 6 days procrastinate one day to write.

And i’m going to do stream of consciousness.  I'm just going to talk into a microphone and type it out for y'all. It's going to be interesting.

I'm going to talk about things. I'm going to get it out there. I'm going to open myself up. I'm hoping to maybe to do a short video and walk through my apartment, show you guys around so when I talk about things you can be here in my apartment with me.

Because that's what it feels like when I write. I feel like I'm just talking to somebody. So maybe I can make a video and show you guys my little space so that it feels like you're just sitting and having coffee with me.

I'm going to make myself to this. I've already lived in this apartment for a year. I can do it. I can I can do this for a year. What's a year? I have a longer streak on Timehop y'all. For real, I have a 3 year streak on Timehop.

I'm pretty sure I can manage a year of writing. I say I do it anyway so maybe I should actually do it.

I'm not going to edit anything out I'm going to leave it as it is.

Let's do this. 

You're going to get the boring stuff. The regular stuff. The processing stuff. The thinking about stuff.

Sometimes it'll be hard things. Sometimes it'll be funny things. I'm hilarious ya'll. It will be random jokes and the snide comments and probably some really stupid things because my education wasn't really top notch. Sorry you're stuck with me.

It's going to be hard though because I'm going to talk about things. I'm not going to hide anything anymore. And there's a lot of room for hate and a lot of room for judgment.

I'm bisexual, so spoiler alert, I'll probably talk about that.

And I'm going to talk about being an empty nester. I'm going to talk about what led me into being an empty nester. My feelings on parenthood and what the last 20 years has been like. I'm may talk about some sexual assault or trauma or healing because those are all things in my orbit right now. It will be me just figuring things out, but there's...there's a lot of room in my head. there's a lot of room for judgment. A lot of room for feedback. It's really scary.

But do I think I'm going to just have that many people read this? I'm afraid of not being good but I'm also afraid that I'm just going to smash it and go viral everybody's going to want to come in and comment on it. It's a very twisted place in my brain where I want everybody to read it but I'm terrified of everyone reading it. I want people to get it and be part of the conversation but I'm telling myself it's not even possible at the same time. I'm afraid of it being possible and impossible at the same time. And it just goes round and round in my head. 

This is why I don't post much. I think about all the ways I would argue and all the ways I would hate on whatever it is, because it's really east to hate myself. But I'm going to talk about stuff just like that. All the negative self talk. All the doubt. I'm going to say it all out loud and talk it out and let people know that I'm a human being...

This is a big risk. The risk of other people identifying with it or hating it. And a LOT of people like to think they know what's right for everybody else. They know the truth. But the truth is different for every single person.

What led me to this place, to this challenge, where I'm at and why I'm making these changes is different than anybody else. This isn't that exact same fight anyone else is going through, but it is. We're all just trying to make the budget work at the end of the day. Make sure we can survive and do what's best and healthiest for ourselves.

The circumstances might be different but the experiences the same.

So I hope that's what people take away from this I want to talk about my experience and be open about the scary stuff in the ugly stuff in the hard stuff. I'm going to say all the terrible things, all the shameful things, all the really hard things. 

Some things are really hard to talk about.

Imagine what it's like to live it.

So maybe, if we can just talk about it then it won't be so hard.

SO. HERE WE GO.

52 weeks.

One down.

51 to go.

 

my healing process

so. in the middle of everything there’s one thing that keeps coming up, one thing everyone keeps saying, one recurring theme: it will get better, i’ll heal and get back to normal. i’ll move on.

i get it. you know? i know it will happen. i know it’s inevitable. it will get better. i will begin to heal. i will eventually move on. but normal? there is no normal any more. normal is long gone. there will be a NEW normal eventually but there is no normal to go back to. nothing will ever be the same again.

NORMAL was talking to my dad every week. it was him checking about my car, asking how money was, what the boys were up to, when i was going to come see him again. it was listening to him talk about football games or golf or fifty cent taco night at the bar. normal was my dad being upset every time i moved that my house wasn’t good enough. it was grandpa showing up at every birthday or holiday with WAY too many presents- there was no such thing as getting a few things on the wish list- it was EVERYTHING on the wish list. normal was great big grizzly bear hugs and snoring that put old school cartoons to shame. normal was having a dad i could call any time for help or love or laughs. there will never be a normal again.

so what do i go back to? i guess the answer is that you don’t go back to anything- you have to move forward. but it’s fucking hard people. it’s hard to move forward. it’s hard to move. it’s hard to breathe. it’s hard to know that all the things that were so special, the things i took for granted are just gone. they’re memories now. and i’m TERRIFIED that memories will fade with time.

i don’t want to move forward. i don’t want to have a new normal. i don’t want to forget.

i know that eventually i’ll have to. i know that time and life will force me to. but for now i need to hurt. i HAVE to hurt before i can heal. i have to ask my questions. i have to be angry. i have to cry. i have to rage against the universe and curse the unfairness of it all. i have to find time to let myself feel all the different things.

i’ve been told over and over “this is the life” but i say BULLSHIT. BULL. FUCKING. SHIT. this is NOT the life. it is NOT normal to lose your brother and your grandmother and your father and your step mother all in less than a year. YES, loss happens. but holy fuck universe- give me some fucking room to breathe and deal with things. can we space these out a little more? you know...like...NEVER? and yes, i understand how unreasonable that is. i understand life and death and eventually we will lose people. but FUCK. not all at once, you know?

so. the questions really are: HOW DO I HURT? and HOW DO I HEAL? i know that i have to do both. and here’s what i’m attempting (poorly, but attempting):

talking about it: friends and sounding boards and therapy and hell, even perfect strangers are all hearing little bits and pieces of what i’m going through right now. there’s several reasons for this: #1- it validates my feelings. wait...validates isn’t the right word- it makes them real. when you’re forced to put words to things you have to know what you’re saying. you have to be able to call it by name and once you’re able to do that it doesn’t seem so big and scary. it makes me really think about what i’m feeling so i CAN say it. #2- every person you come into contact with is there for a reason and at a specific time. i believe that with every part of my being. every person is there for you to share something with or to share something with you. you never know what you will take away from an interaction, or what you may be able to give them. whose to say that the checker at the store didn’t also recently experience a loss and by my talking about mine it lets them know that they’re not alone in the shit-pile the universe is shoveling out? maybe they can tell me how they’re getting through it or i can tell them how i am. maybe it’s something as simple as making another human connection. maybe it’s an opportunity to learn something new or laugh for a minute or be reminded and one of a million things. TALKING IS GOOD.

writing about it: if talking is good, writing is fan-fucking-tastic. as much as you can talk about something there’s a sense of finality to see it in front of you. writing has always been my core self. it’s what i ALWAYS go back to when shit hits the fan. i have journals from every hard part of my life. it’s my chance to talk to myself and talk to other people without being interrupted or thrown off track or forgetting what i was trying to say. i can organize it, tweak it, work it through until i really know it’s exactly what i want to express. it also gets it out of my head- there’s something about writing for me- i can think about it forever, i can talk about it, but until i put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) it won’t be OUT of my head. once it’s written i can finally put it to rest. i can know i’ve said my peace. i can know that it’s there. it’s a tangible thought. it’s no longer just my own voice in my head, it’s out there- if this makes sense to you, you’re probably also a writer. if it doesn’t make sense- trust, it really helps me.

and i'm finding new ways to write. ways to force myself through it. i'm making myself write on my lunch breaks at work- it makes me get through things and feel it all without being allowed to fall apart. i tried to write at home one evening and just found myself staring at the wall and getting lost in emotions and getting NO writing done. when i write at work i have to focus, i have a time limit, i have to get it out and still be able to function for the rest of the day. i make myself write about the hard things that i know i wouldn't be able to face otherwise. it's been very helpful.

ink: i waited until i was 27 to get my first tattoo. every single one of my designs is something i picked, something that represents a part of me, something that helped me deal with a different part of my life. a tattoo on my foot for my kids. “destiny” on my wrist to remind me every day that there’s a time and a purpose for everying. the flowers growing up my calf to remind me of all the battles i’ve made it through. the vw for my brother. and now my dad’s badge on my shoulder to never forget who he was and what he meant to so many people.

i went in a week or so ago and had this new one done. and it’s my dad. it’s his badge, his badge number, hell, my artist even mixed some of my dad’s ashes into the ink for me. it’s as much of my dad as i can get and keep forever. and there’s something about the pain of getting ink- it puts a REAL pain to the pain in my heart. as i was on the table for this last one i started crying- something NOT ALLOWED on tattoo tables. you know how there’s no crying in baseball? there’s no crying in tattoos too. so there i am on the table, all of 5 minutes into the ink, and i start to cry. IT DIDN’T HURT (which was surprising given the placement). that is to say the INK didn’t hurt. but it hurt to the very core to think of why i was getting the tattoo, what it meant. it made me really face it again- you can’t deny your father is gone when his ashes are being put into your skin. you can’t say he’ll come back one day when you’re holding his burned badge in your hand for the artist to get the design from. you can’t pretend it didn’t happen any longer.

and you know that thing about talking that i mentioned? how each person is there at a certain time for a certain reason? turns out my tattoo artist was law enforcement. he worked as an EMT for years, had been recruited for the WSP, had tested for Kootenai county- all places my family of cops has been. my dad studied to be an emt back in the beginning and was a WSP. my brother started his career in Kootenai county. my artist UNDERSTOOD. he knew what it meant to put this badge on me. he had read the news and followed the story. it meant as much to him to be able to do the ink for me as it did for me to receive the ink. it wasn’t just some random person all...whatever...with the gun. we were able to talk about it through the process. he understood the tears and made an exception to the rule for me on his table crying.

and it really did help me start to heal. going through the pain, working through the meaning, making sure the ink healed right- it’s helping me heal a little more every day. i still tear up when i look at it. i still hurt when i remember why it’s there. i have a hard time explaining it to people without turning into a slobbering crying mess. but each time gets a little easier. i can’t say each day is getting easier yet. just when i think that something comes along to submarine me. but you know...eventually...right? that whole being forced to move forward and find a new normal? it will happen whether i want it to or not, right? so. welcome to my healing.