I realize I have times where I seem too sad on this blog. I don't use it as an accurate representation of how I am, overall, a happy person. I guess I use writing as my therapy too often. But why not? It works, it's free, it's my outlet.
So, I'll write today of traditions.
Today, once my girls get home from school, we are baking up a storm. Fudge, cookies, chocolate covered everything, sprinkles here and there. In the background will be Christmas music and once we are done and have the treats delivered, we will settle in for our traditional living room camp out with some hot chocolate with marshmallows and Elf.
And I can't wait. I almost wish they had a no-school day so we could start now. I sometimes think I enjoy these nights more than them. I only hope I create enough traditions to both give them something to pass on to their own children one day and to create memories of a happy childhood.
Once I had a family of my own, Christmas became the central focus for creating new traditions. A new ornament every year, writing letters to Santa, leaving cookies out the night before. On Christmas Eve, once the girls were old enough to understand, we'd bake a cake and sing Happy Birthday to Jesus.
So much has changed over the years . . . .
But I still work to create those traditions. Because, to me, that is where the family becomes a closer family: in the shared memories.
I want my girls to look back and remember living room camp-outs, monster S'mores, movie nights, Zombieland and Twinkies.
Being a single mom, full-time college student and part-time employee leaves little money to do things. But in a way, I'm grateful for that because it pushes me to be more creative in our time together. And that creativity has led to some amazing times together.
In a few hours, a new tradition, mixed with some old ones, will be started. And most likely, this will continue. And once the movie is over and we turn on the fake fireplace on Netflix, we'll each share our dreams for the new year.
And once we wake up on Saturday, they'll prepare to leave for their dad's and I'll do some cleaning and work. But I'll be a bit more full of love and memories with four young ladies I cherish more than anything.
I can't always give them the newest shoes or the most expensive nights out. But I give them love and memories and somehow, I hope that evens out.
Analyzing
These last few weeks of school have been so busy. Projects, papers, tests, analysis. All good signs pointing to the fact that the semester is almost over and I almost. Three more semesters . . . .thank God.
For my last paper in my Dependency class, I am reading a memoir about a woman who survives a horrible childhood, marries, has a baby, becomes a drunk, gets sober, goes mad, gets sane and divorces and moves on. 386 pages from broken to about whole. I then analyze how it parallels my own life and why did I choose it. Isn't that obvious? Easy A.
So, since I almost always put off everything until the last minute, I have spent all day reading. And reading. And reading. And thinking. Ah!!! Thinking. Now that's never a good thing. But required for this. But now that I'm about done (Yes, I admit, I skipped some parts. She did add a lot of unnecessary details), I haven't been thinking as much as remembering.
Her mother set fire to stuffed animals, my mom had me climb onto the back of the car, hold on to the lip between the trunk and the window while she did doughnuts in the parking lot. NO reason, just because.
The ups and downs so extreme with my Mother, it's no surprise how much I hate roller coasters to this day. I spent enough time on one in my childhood. But in the book, about page 212 the author is speaking to her sister, "I'm just like Mother" "You are nothing like Mother" her sister tells her.
I've always feared I was just like my Mom. Slightly crazy, never quite there, always teetering between complete madness and slight craziness. I am even brave enough to admit I sought out a psychologist and had a whole panel of testing done. I was deemed okay, mentally healthy. I'm just quirky.
But it always lingers there, in the back of my mind, taunting me. "It's genetic" Except in our case, it's not. Her's was brought on by her life. My life has had some bad moments, but nothing compared to hers. Just as my daughter's life in no way resembles my childhood.
Each generation working to get healthier.
It's been a tough semester. Not academically, but emotionally. My professors warned us of this beforehand: We must purge what is in you that will keep you from helping others.
And I'm grateful for that. Even if it sucks sometimes. I'm grateful for the hollowing out and the refilling.
Today isn't the greatest day I've ever had. I'm actually quite grumpy, which I hate. But that's okay. It's normal to have these little bumps in the roads, the slight ups and downs. And as I have always told myself, if a nine year old girl can hold onto a small lip on a car between a trunk and a windshield while doing 360's and not fall off, why, she can accomplish anything.
For my last paper in my Dependency class, I am reading a memoir about a woman who survives a horrible childhood, marries, has a baby, becomes a drunk, gets sober, goes mad, gets sane and divorces and moves on. 386 pages from broken to about whole. I then analyze how it parallels my own life and why did I choose it. Isn't that obvious? Easy A.
So, since I almost always put off everything until the last minute, I have spent all day reading. And reading. And reading. And thinking. Ah!!! Thinking. Now that's never a good thing. But required for this. But now that I'm about done (Yes, I admit, I skipped some parts. She did add a lot of unnecessary details), I haven't been thinking as much as remembering.
Her mother set fire to stuffed animals, my mom had me climb onto the back of the car, hold on to the lip between the trunk and the window while she did doughnuts in the parking lot. NO reason, just because.
The ups and downs so extreme with my Mother, it's no surprise how much I hate roller coasters to this day. I spent enough time on one in my childhood. But in the book, about page 212 the author is speaking to her sister, "I'm just like Mother" "You are nothing like Mother" her sister tells her.
I've always feared I was just like my Mom. Slightly crazy, never quite there, always teetering between complete madness and slight craziness. I am even brave enough to admit I sought out a psychologist and had a whole panel of testing done. I was deemed okay, mentally healthy. I'm just quirky.
But it always lingers there, in the back of my mind, taunting me. "It's genetic" Except in our case, it's not. Her's was brought on by her life. My life has had some bad moments, but nothing compared to hers. Just as my daughter's life in no way resembles my childhood.
Each generation working to get healthier.
It's been a tough semester. Not academically, but emotionally. My professors warned us of this beforehand: We must purge what is in you that will keep you from helping others.
And I'm grateful for that. Even if it sucks sometimes. I'm grateful for the hollowing out and the refilling.
Today isn't the greatest day I've ever had. I'm actually quite grumpy, which I hate. But that's okay. It's normal to have these little bumps in the roads, the slight ups and downs. And as I have always told myself, if a nine year old girl can hold onto a small lip on a car between a trunk and a windshield while doing 360's and not fall off, why, she can accomplish anything.
Like Jesus
Years ago, when I was still married, my girls were in car seats and I was a Sunday school teacher, I went on a weekend getaway with some women from church. On the drive back, one woman decided we needed to do more bonding. She said we had to each go around and state one thing about each person. One woman got to me and said, "You remind me of Jesus"
Yeah, that gave me pause. Me? Like Jesus? Funny how little they know me. But for some reason, I never forgot that and over the years, it's becoming more obvious what she means.
I love the unlovable, the broken. the tossed aside, those who live on the fringe of society. They are my soul mates, they are the ones who have my heart. I connect with them.
Now, I am not in a state of delusion and declaring myself anything great. I'm so far from that. I am masterful with my imperfections. I have no strong religious connections and I don't believe I am going to be performing any miracles any time soon. At least not the type that result in food being multiplied or rising from the dead.
I see the hurting in the world and instead of wanting to run, I gravitate towards them and I want to know them, all of them. A person who has suffered, who has struggled, they have a determination, a grit about them that is, well, beautiful. It's as if you can see the strength they have acquired from making it through, or in some cases, being right in the middle of something so hard, it can make a person cave.
But they don't, not completely. They keep going. No matter how hard, how painful, how seemingly impossible it seems, they keep going. So maybe, reflecting back, I'm not drawn to their pain but their strength.
Because it's a strength I recognize. Kindred spirits, drawn to each other.
I have never desired a life of ease, wealth or success but a life of purpose. And I have fought to get there. To get here. Some days, I have screamed, sobbed, raged, ran away. However, I never gave up and I kept going. Because of this, I have been left with scars that will never heal and I don't want them to.
I'm making peace with how my life has unfolded. I'm making peace with the loss of, at one time, what I thought it should be.
I'm nothing like Jesus, not even close. Not from the stories I heard of him in my childhood. But I'm grateful for a soul so full, it is obvious to others around me. That my love shows through. Because, really, in the end, that is all I want to be: loving.
And if that is all I ever accomplish in my life, loving others, I will pass on to whatever is next with peace.
Yeah, that gave me pause. Me? Like Jesus? Funny how little they know me. But for some reason, I never forgot that and over the years, it's becoming more obvious what she means.
I love the unlovable, the broken. the tossed aside, those who live on the fringe of society. They are my soul mates, they are the ones who have my heart. I connect with them.
Now, I am not in a state of delusion and declaring myself anything great. I'm so far from that. I am masterful with my imperfections. I have no strong religious connections and I don't believe I am going to be performing any miracles any time soon. At least not the type that result in food being multiplied or rising from the dead.
I see the hurting in the world and instead of wanting to run, I gravitate towards them and I want to know them, all of them. A person who has suffered, who has struggled, they have a determination, a grit about them that is, well, beautiful. It's as if you can see the strength they have acquired from making it through, or in some cases, being right in the middle of something so hard, it can make a person cave.
But they don't, not completely. They keep going. No matter how hard, how painful, how seemingly impossible it seems, they keep going. So maybe, reflecting back, I'm not drawn to their pain but their strength.
Because it's a strength I recognize. Kindred spirits, drawn to each other.
I have never desired a life of ease, wealth or success but a life of purpose. And I have fought to get there. To get here. Some days, I have screamed, sobbed, raged, ran away. However, I never gave up and I kept going. Because of this, I have been left with scars that will never heal and I don't want them to.
I'm making peace with how my life has unfolded. I'm making peace with the loss of, at one time, what I thought it should be.
I'm nothing like Jesus, not even close. Not from the stories I heard of him in my childhood. But I'm grateful for a soul so full, it is obvious to others around me. That my love shows through. Because, really, in the end, that is all I want to be: loving.
And if that is all I ever accomplish in my life, loving others, I will pass on to whatever is next with peace.
Reflecting
I've been in a reflective mood the past few days. I think it's healthy to go back to specific points in our lives to gain a better understanding of who we are now. It's healthy to reflect on how far we've come as well as how far we may need to go. It's a process, a journey and it's not linear. In the words of Doctor Who: It's not linear. It's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff.
For me, for my journey, I've had many times of having to go back to certain points where I started to get it right and then for one reason or another, veered off. So I return to that point and instead of going right, I take a left. Other times, I look towards the future to get a better view of where I'm going, hoping to catch a few hints of which direction I am to take. In the end, it all makes sense, really, in it's own way.
But this week, I'm been reflective. And I'm glad. I remembered moments from my past that molded me into who I am now. I thought about it, wrote some of it down and now, I feel better. I feel I've learned about myself a little bit more.
To Understand Our Present, We Must Understand Our Past
But, and this is the step so many forget, even when we reflect on our past, mull it over, seriously allow it to be a part of our thoughts, we must not get stuck there. Going back to times in my childhood can hurt and it may be necessary to do to understand myself better now, but I cannot get stuck there. I cannot allow it to change me into someone who becomes a victim and says "Woe is me!"
Because my life now is anything but Woe is Me! Though there are aspects that suck right now, overall, my life is good. Damn Good! Really, really freaking good. I can't lose sight of that. I cannot get so stuck in what I have lacked or what's been taken from me that I completely lose touch with all I have gained and all I have fought for.
My childhood was so far from ideal but it helped me to become this resilient, strong woman I am now. But reflecting on it this week also showed me that I am vulnerable and sometimes, I do need others. And that's okay. I'm not going to do that part perfectly, but I'm more open to trying now. More than I was before.
My relationships haven't always been perfect. But it has taught me that I am capable of loving others, learning new things and surviving disappointment. It has also taught me to appreciate the good people in my life and to appreciate it during, not after, when they are gone.
The past 15 months of my life have been hellish. But I've learned that no matter how I may have wanted to give up, I have an inner core that is too strong to allow that. I also have learned that again, it's okay to be vulnerable and cry sometimes.
Today is a good day, for no reason except it is. And though I write so often about the painful times in my life, I need to start working to write about the good times as well.
For me, for my journey, I've had many times of having to go back to certain points where I started to get it right and then for one reason or another, veered off. So I return to that point and instead of going right, I take a left. Other times, I look towards the future to get a better view of where I'm going, hoping to catch a few hints of which direction I am to take. In the end, it all makes sense, really, in it's own way.
But this week, I'm been reflective. And I'm glad. I remembered moments from my past that molded me into who I am now. I thought about it, wrote some of it down and now, I feel better. I feel I've learned about myself a little bit more.
To Understand Our Present, We Must Understand Our Past
But, and this is the step so many forget, even when we reflect on our past, mull it over, seriously allow it to be a part of our thoughts, we must not get stuck there. Going back to times in my childhood can hurt and it may be necessary to do to understand myself better now, but I cannot get stuck there. I cannot allow it to change me into someone who becomes a victim and says "Woe is me!"
Because my life now is anything but Woe is Me! Though there are aspects that suck right now, overall, my life is good. Damn Good! Really, really freaking good. I can't lose sight of that. I cannot get so stuck in what I have lacked or what's been taken from me that I completely lose touch with all I have gained and all I have fought for.
My childhood was so far from ideal but it helped me to become this resilient, strong woman I am now. But reflecting on it this week also showed me that I am vulnerable and sometimes, I do need others. And that's okay. I'm not going to do that part perfectly, but I'm more open to trying now. More than I was before.
My relationships haven't always been perfect. But it has taught me that I am capable of loving others, learning new things and surviving disappointment. It has also taught me to appreciate the good people in my life and to appreciate it during, not after, when they are gone.
The past 15 months of my life have been hellish. But I've learned that no matter how I may have wanted to give up, I have an inner core that is too strong to allow that. I also have learned that again, it's okay to be vulnerable and cry sometimes.
Today is a good day, for no reason except it is. And though I write so often about the painful times in my life, I need to start working to write about the good times as well.
I need you
I let go of her hand. The tears pouring down my face, I went into the hall to break the news to my sister.
"She's gone. It's over."
I walked outside, hands shaking, dialing your number.
"She's gone. I need you. I need you so badly."
"We decided to stay here a few more days. She's dead. What could I possibly do for you now? I'm heading out with friends. You're strong. You'll be fine."
Click . . . .
The dead silence on the other end of the line was too much. I dropped my phone, wrapped my arms around myself and sunk to the ground. Alone . . .
I looked up briefly. My sister's husband was holding her. My brother's wife was holding him. I was barely holding on to myself.
Typical . . . .
You barely held my hand at the funeral, told me I was making a scene with my show of emotions. I needed to pull it together and be strong for my children.
"Okay, but who's going to be strong for me?"
You refused to stay with me at night. You said my outbursts were immature and embarrassing. I learned to hug the pillows tight enough to me to not feel completely alone as I spent the first two weeks crying myself to sleep after my Mom died.
Every rejection from you become fresh mortar for my walls.
I never wanted to be this woman: a woman too strong to need anyone. But what choice did I have? I learned a long time ago to only depend on myself. I wasn't raised to believe men were the heroes who rushed in to save a princess. That was the stuff of fairy tales. My reality was of men who left, men who broke promises and men who let the women they professed to love grieve alone.
I tried again, a few years later, to let someone in, to need them. My daughter was sick. Really sick. I wanted you with me at the hospital. You said you'd think about it. I held onto the hope that you'd come through. They wheeled her back into the room for the procedure, I walked outside, holding my phone. No missed calls from you, no texts, nothing. I called once, you never answered. I finished my cigarette and went back inside to wait for her.
I put my phone away. I had more important things to deal with. You texted hours later:
"Are you okay?"
"No, but I will be. I got this. I can handle it from here."
The final brick was set.
And I hate it being like this; hate being this person. But what choice do I have? Seriously, is there a second option?
Because what no one gets is that those of us that are the strongest, we are that way because of years of toughening up, years of callousing.
I hate doing it all on my own, never asking for help. But no one seems to understand the humiliation that comes when you do reach out and are left empty handed. It's soul crushing. So you learn to not place yourself there anymore. Even if "there" is the last place you want to be.
But in the end, if I allowed myself to be truly honest, what I hate the most is that I've never really figured out how to be completely hard, completely impenetrable, less, well, me.
Because I still wish for that person who will reach out and be there.
But men can't read minds . . . .
. . . . and I no longer know how to ask . . . .
. . . . so I stay here until I figure it out . . . .
. . . . .even though I have no idea where to start.
I just ask one thing: stop judging a book you were never willing to read past the prologue.
"She's gone. It's over."
I walked outside, hands shaking, dialing your number.
"She's gone. I need you. I need you so badly."
"We decided to stay here a few more days. She's dead. What could I possibly do for you now? I'm heading out with friends. You're strong. You'll be fine."
Click . . . .
The dead silence on the other end of the line was too much. I dropped my phone, wrapped my arms around myself and sunk to the ground. Alone . . .
I looked up briefly. My sister's husband was holding her. My brother's wife was holding him. I was barely holding on to myself.
Typical . . . .
You barely held my hand at the funeral, told me I was making a scene with my show of emotions. I needed to pull it together and be strong for my children.
"Okay, but who's going to be strong for me?"
You refused to stay with me at night. You said my outbursts were immature and embarrassing. I learned to hug the pillows tight enough to me to not feel completely alone as I spent the first two weeks crying myself to sleep after my Mom died.
Every rejection from you become fresh mortar for my walls.
I never wanted to be this woman: a woman too strong to need anyone. But what choice did I have? I learned a long time ago to only depend on myself. I wasn't raised to believe men were the heroes who rushed in to save a princess. That was the stuff of fairy tales. My reality was of men who left, men who broke promises and men who let the women they professed to love grieve alone.
I tried again, a few years later, to let someone in, to need them. My daughter was sick. Really sick. I wanted you with me at the hospital. You said you'd think about it. I held onto the hope that you'd come through. They wheeled her back into the room for the procedure, I walked outside, holding my phone. No missed calls from you, no texts, nothing. I called once, you never answered. I finished my cigarette and went back inside to wait for her.
I put my phone away. I had more important things to deal with. You texted hours later:
"Are you okay?"
"No, but I will be. I got this. I can handle it from here."
The final brick was set.
And I hate it being like this; hate being this person. But what choice do I have? Seriously, is there a second option?
Because what no one gets is that those of us that are the strongest, we are that way because of years of toughening up, years of callousing.
I hate doing it all on my own, never asking for help. But no one seems to understand the humiliation that comes when you do reach out and are left empty handed. It's soul crushing. So you learn to not place yourself there anymore. Even if "there" is the last place you want to be.
But in the end, if I allowed myself to be truly honest, what I hate the most is that I've never really figured out how to be completely hard, completely impenetrable, less, well, me.
Because I still wish for that person who will reach out and be there.
But men can't read minds . . . .
. . . . and I no longer know how to ask . . . .
. . . . so I stay here until I figure it out . . . .
. . . . .even though I have no idea where to start.
I just ask one thing: stop judging a book you were never willing to read past the prologue.
So Strong . . . .
I ran in the house, threw my backpack on the ground and started to head to the kitchen.
"Mom! MOM! Mo----"
The half-packed boxes told me immediately that telling my Mom about getting a starring role in the school play was pointless. I wouldn't be there tomorrow for play practice.
"We're moving. Get your stuff together. We don't have much time." And just like that, I let go of another dream and settled into the role of the New Girl. I was the new girl so often, it became second nature. New classroom, new teacher, new students to befriend. Standing in front of the class, bag in my hands, head down, mumbling my name. Over and over and over again.
But this time, I wanted to stay put. I begged. I'd live with a friend. I threatened to run away. I didn't want to go. Not this time. This time, I had made friends. I felt popular. I was going to star in the Christmas play. I wanted to dress up and sing on stage. I wanted to dance and belong.
I had gotten to be in a play once. Edison Elementary. Like A Child. I was Cyndi Lauper. I had a solo. It was heaven and I felt like a star. I felt at home there. I had always felt home on the stage.
During times when my Mom slipped into depression, I was the comedic relief. She told the story of a bad Christmas up through my adulthood. We lived in another small, rundown apartment. There was no money for a tree; we only had a few meager presents: gifts donated by the school. But we had decorations and lights. And I had an idea. While my Mom slept, I decorated myself. Red Christmas balls dangled from my pierced ears, gold garland became my boa and lights wrapped around my body. I plugged myself in and woke her up by singing "Oh Christmas Tree" We had very little that year, had very little most years. But dammit! that year, we were going to laugh.
I will always cherish that memory and the memory of a Christmas years later when I worked extra shifts, borrowed the car and brought home a 7' tall Christmas tree for the house.It didn't matter that it was slightly crooked and had to be tied to one wall to keep from falling. It was the most beautiful tree I had ever seen; my gift to her. When I got married, my husband never quite understood why I took so long to pick out the right tree, had to decorate the house so perfectly and worked so hard to make Christmas so special.
I didn't understand either, until years later. I was trying to fill in the gaps left by my childhood. I was trying so hard to create normal, a version of a life I viewed as normal but it never felt right. Because it wasn't right. I was trying to be someone other than myself. I'm the performer, the comedian, the fixer. I worked so hard as a child to be funny in the hopes of keeping my Mom from slipping to that dark place that scared me so much. I was attempting to hold things together so no one knew how badly broken everything (I) was.
I learned a while back to not speak of my childhood. Most people don't believe me; the others look at me with pity. I don't want either. Life was what it was. That simple. I got through it. And it's made me strong; really damn strong. At least for the most part. Some days, carrying the weight of my childhood is too much and my arms give out and I'm dropped to my knees. Only from that point can I truly see what a mess it was.
And I feel guilty for hating it. For hating the lack. For hating the deprivation. For hating the knowledge of what hunger feels like. So I hide from it. Behind funny words. Achievement. Big words. Bigger goals. A determination to achieve at all costs. To do whatever I can to insulate myself from the fear of never fully escaping the pain that poverty brings.
So it hurts when my strength is seen as a flaw, something to run away from because it comes from a place of incredible weakness, vulnerability. It's my protection though not always something to be proud of. But sometimes, I will admit, I let a few tears escape the armor when I remember a cold Christmas, so many years ago, and a little girl desperate to save her Mom with some garland and a badly sung rendition of "Oh Christmas Tree".
And when lost in those memories, I'm not so ashamed of my childhood . . . . not completely.
"Mom! MOM! Mo----"
The half-packed boxes told me immediately that telling my Mom about getting a starring role in the school play was pointless. I wouldn't be there tomorrow for play practice.
"We're moving. Get your stuff together. We don't have much time." And just like that, I let go of another dream and settled into the role of the New Girl. I was the new girl so often, it became second nature. New classroom, new teacher, new students to befriend. Standing in front of the class, bag in my hands, head down, mumbling my name. Over and over and over again.
But this time, I wanted to stay put. I begged. I'd live with a friend. I threatened to run away. I didn't want to go. Not this time. This time, I had made friends. I felt popular. I was going to star in the Christmas play. I wanted to dress up and sing on stage. I wanted to dance and belong.
I had gotten to be in a play once. Edison Elementary. Like A Child. I was Cyndi Lauper. I had a solo. It was heaven and I felt like a star. I felt at home there. I had always felt home on the stage.
During times when my Mom slipped into depression, I was the comedic relief. She told the story of a bad Christmas up through my adulthood. We lived in another small, rundown apartment. There was no money for a tree; we only had a few meager presents: gifts donated by the school. But we had decorations and lights. And I had an idea. While my Mom slept, I decorated myself. Red Christmas balls dangled from my pierced ears, gold garland became my boa and lights wrapped around my body. I plugged myself in and woke her up by singing "Oh Christmas Tree" We had very little that year, had very little most years. But dammit! that year, we were going to laugh.
I will always cherish that memory and the memory of a Christmas years later when I worked extra shifts, borrowed the car and brought home a 7' tall Christmas tree for the house.It didn't matter that it was slightly crooked and had to be tied to one wall to keep from falling. It was the most beautiful tree I had ever seen; my gift to her. When I got married, my husband never quite understood why I took so long to pick out the right tree, had to decorate the house so perfectly and worked so hard to make Christmas so special.
I didn't understand either, until years later. I was trying to fill in the gaps left by my childhood. I was trying so hard to create normal, a version of a life I viewed as normal but it never felt right. Because it wasn't right. I was trying to be someone other than myself. I'm the performer, the comedian, the fixer. I worked so hard as a child to be funny in the hopes of keeping my Mom from slipping to that dark place that scared me so much. I was attempting to hold things together so no one knew how badly broken everything (I) was.
I learned a while back to not speak of my childhood. Most people don't believe me; the others look at me with pity. I don't want either. Life was what it was. That simple. I got through it. And it's made me strong; really damn strong. At least for the most part. Some days, carrying the weight of my childhood is too much and my arms give out and I'm dropped to my knees. Only from that point can I truly see what a mess it was.
And I feel guilty for hating it. For hating the lack. For hating the deprivation. For hating the knowledge of what hunger feels like. So I hide from it. Behind funny words. Achievement. Big words. Bigger goals. A determination to achieve at all costs. To do whatever I can to insulate myself from the fear of never fully escaping the pain that poverty brings.
So it hurts when my strength is seen as a flaw, something to run away from because it comes from a place of incredible weakness, vulnerability. It's my protection though not always something to be proud of. But sometimes, I will admit, I let a few tears escape the armor when I remember a cold Christmas, so many years ago, and a little girl desperate to save her Mom with some garland and a badly sung rendition of "Oh Christmas Tree".
And when lost in those memories, I'm not so ashamed of my childhood . . . . not completely.
Raining
I only remember the rain. It was pouring out as I ran after you.
"Stop!"
You turn around, stare at me, the rain hiding my tears. I clung to you, the scent of you as familiar to me as my own. A fresh woodsy scent, so strong.
So unlike you.
Sigh . . .
My friends knew you were coming, that I was going to see you. They warned me not to. They remember how it was . . . . before. When you broke that which I thought was unbreakable. When you caused me to fall to my knees, shaking, the grief too much. One girlfriend was the one who found me first as I hid in a bathroom, clutching the phone, head between my knees, rocking back and forth.
"I don't love you. I never did. It's over. It's over."
Once the initial shock wore off and I accepted that you were gone, I tried to get back to figuring out how to resume life without you in it. I found I couldn't, not as before. I changed too much because of you. Opened my mind too much; my heart; my soul. All too much.
I never played it safe with you, not from the first moment I saw you. It was a blind date, set up for Thanksgiving, neither of us having family to spend the holiday with. We made our plans and on that freezing cold November day, I heard a knock on a door and when I opened it, I fell in love.
Instantly.
We spent the whole day together, driving around, talking and ended up at a bar. After a few beers, you played a song. 311. Whiskey and Wine.
And we danced with the glow of a fake fire behind us. Everything else disappeared in that moment. The laughter of the other bar patrons was silenced. It was just us, you and I.
It only took a few months for it to fall apart. A story too well known in my heart for me to retell again.
But you hurt me.
And regardless of that, or maybe because of it, I found myself holding onto you in the rain. I felt your hands in my hair, pulling me closer, saying you were sorry.
And I accepted.
And in spite of the wisdom of those looking on, I left with you.
You sat in the audience one last time to hear me tell jokes.
You kissed my forehead.
You held my hand.
Your eyes welled up when you said you loved me.
And I was right back where I was just a few months before.
You left the next morning and I heard nothing from you for months.
I grieved quieter the last time. I kept it deeper inside.
And you changed me. Completely.
I still haven't quite figured out how I feel about that.
I don't think of you as often anymore, only at certain times. When a random song plays on the radio or I drive nearby where you used to live. Or when someone else wants to get closer.
I found the book you bought me for Christmas the other day, next to the journal, also from you. I flipped the pages and allowed myself to feel sad. I read the journal and the words I wrote to you.
Did you ever know I was writing letters to you? One every single day? I still can't bear the thought of throwing them away. Not because I believe I'll ever see you again. I've grown too wise to ever allow that to happen. But because I do not want to forgot how completely I loved someone. I never want to forget that.
But right now, it's only because I want to make sure I never love someone that deeply. Not yet.
You didn't ruin me. Not completely anyway. I am happy now and more calm. I've let go of more of our memories, or at least the feelings attached to them. I've replaced romantic contemplation of who we were with stoic reflection based on the facts that most of what we were was based on lies.
Yet, you are still my greatest inspiration when I want to write. My muse. You are my sole focal point when I need to go inward and feel, deeply.
That is the one effect you had on me that I am the most grateful for: the way you opened me up, even if it caused me pain. I'll always be grateful for that.
And, honestly, I'd be a fool to regret having a season where I got to be a woman carefree, completely in love, with no holding back.
And I've already been a fool too much to allow it to happen again.
"Stop!"
You turn around, stare at me, the rain hiding my tears. I clung to you, the scent of you as familiar to me as my own. A fresh woodsy scent, so strong.
So unlike you.
Sigh . . .
My friends knew you were coming, that I was going to see you. They warned me not to. They remember how it was . . . . before. When you broke that which I thought was unbreakable. When you caused me to fall to my knees, shaking, the grief too much. One girlfriend was the one who found me first as I hid in a bathroom, clutching the phone, head between my knees, rocking back and forth.
"I don't love you. I never did. It's over. It's over."
Once the initial shock wore off and I accepted that you were gone, I tried to get back to figuring out how to resume life without you in it. I found I couldn't, not as before. I changed too much because of you. Opened my mind too much; my heart; my soul. All too much.
I never played it safe with you, not from the first moment I saw you. It was a blind date, set up for Thanksgiving, neither of us having family to spend the holiday with. We made our plans and on that freezing cold November day, I heard a knock on a door and when I opened it, I fell in love.
Instantly.
We spent the whole day together, driving around, talking and ended up at a bar. After a few beers, you played a song. 311. Whiskey and Wine.
And we danced with the glow of a fake fire behind us. Everything else disappeared in that moment. The laughter of the other bar patrons was silenced. It was just us, you and I.
It only took a few months for it to fall apart. A story too well known in my heart for me to retell again.
But you hurt me.
And regardless of that, or maybe because of it, I found myself holding onto you in the rain. I felt your hands in my hair, pulling me closer, saying you were sorry.
And I accepted.
And in spite of the wisdom of those looking on, I left with you.
You sat in the audience one last time to hear me tell jokes.
You kissed my forehead.
You held my hand.
Your eyes welled up when you said you loved me.
And I was right back where I was just a few months before.
You left the next morning and I heard nothing from you for months.
I grieved quieter the last time. I kept it deeper inside.
And you changed me. Completely.
I still haven't quite figured out how I feel about that.
I don't think of you as often anymore, only at certain times. When a random song plays on the radio or I drive nearby where you used to live. Or when someone else wants to get closer.
I found the book you bought me for Christmas the other day, next to the journal, also from you. I flipped the pages and allowed myself to feel sad. I read the journal and the words I wrote to you.
Did you ever know I was writing letters to you? One every single day? I still can't bear the thought of throwing them away. Not because I believe I'll ever see you again. I've grown too wise to ever allow that to happen. But because I do not want to forgot how completely I loved someone. I never want to forget that.
But right now, it's only because I want to make sure I never love someone that deeply. Not yet.
You didn't ruin me. Not completely anyway. I am happy now and more calm. I've let go of more of our memories, or at least the feelings attached to them. I've replaced romantic contemplation of who we were with stoic reflection based on the facts that most of what we were was based on lies.
Yet, you are still my greatest inspiration when I want to write. My muse. You are my sole focal point when I need to go inward and feel, deeply.
That is the one effect you had on me that I am the most grateful for: the way you opened me up, even if it caused me pain. I'll always be grateful for that.
And, honestly, I'd be a fool to regret having a season where I got to be a woman carefree, completely in love, with no holding back.
And I've already been a fool too much to allow it to happen again.
Busy
I haven't been writing a lot lately. This could be a good thing since it means I'm finally back among the living.
School is overwhelming right now but if I had to be honest, I'm not completely upset by this. I like feeling as if I belong to something good. I really need to work on my procrastination problem though. I have three assignments due this week and in typical Michelle fashion, I am putting them off. My goal for the weekend is to dig in and get them done. I keep telling my feeling of accomplishment will outweigh my odd desire to feel the rush of getting something done right before deadline.
Two of the projects are group projects. I like them for the fact that the work is distributed. I dislike them for the fact that I am on other's timelines. I don't like that. I like my own timelines. But I'll accept it as a growth experience.
I had counseling the other day. Every time I go, I am more grateful that I allowed myself to accept help. In my last session, I discussed my weight gain. I feel so uncomfortable in my body. I told her how I need to get rid of the weight for more than vanity reasons (though, I won't lie, that is a big part). I also need to shed the weight because of what it represents.
Fifteen months ago, when my life was turned upside down and I was sitting on my couch, locked into my house, I remember saying to myself OUT LOUD "I will not let this change me. I will not lose myself or let myself go." I repeated that a lot over the passing weeks. But slowly, the undealt with emotions took over and I found myself not caring as much.
And now, fifteen months later, I no longer see someone strong and beautiful in the mirror, but someone out of shape, dull, and lifeless. And I recognize her too much; too much to really like her. The person I love, the person I really am underneath the extra weight, is still there, screaming for freedom, for a voice.
So I start this journey back. And I find it ironic that I find myself circling back to a place I was at before in an effort to move forward. However, that is what I need to do. Go back. Back to a time when I was not hindered by other's ideas, baggage or expectations. Back to a time where I got tired of being held down and broke free and ran away, literally and figuratively. Back to a time where I realized I cared about myself a whole damn lot and did whatever I could to prove it. Back to a time where I ignored the fact that no one else may love me, but by God, I'm going to love myself.
I was looking at old pictures on Facebook a few nights ago. I came across some from when I was thinner. I didn't only notice how thin I was, but how much I glowed. There is such a natural glow in someone who is taking care of themselves.
I have polluted my mind, body and spirit so much over the past 15 months. If I hurt, I ate or drank. If I was sad, I mulled and ate or drank. If I was angry, I raged, ate and drank.
And now, I feel as if I have aged a century. And what's worse is that I recognize who I am now. It's who I was before, years ago. Years ago when I was trapped in a marriage that was causing me to shrink, years ago when I was bound to my Mom and her opinion of me, years ago when I was bound to myself with so much shame and pain. And I found my way out of that, so I can do it again.
I found an old note I wrote years ago and still remember one line: I found myself on the track, one mile at a time.
And it's time to go back to that old path, that's grown over with weeds and trample them down and find myself again.
I recognize who I am now and it's a stark reminder of why I worked so hard to forget her so many years ago.
School is overwhelming right now but if I had to be honest, I'm not completely upset by this. I like feeling as if I belong to something good. I really need to work on my procrastination problem though. I have three assignments due this week and in typical Michelle fashion, I am putting them off. My goal for the weekend is to dig in and get them done. I keep telling my feeling of accomplishment will outweigh my odd desire to feel the rush of getting something done right before deadline.
Two of the projects are group projects. I like them for the fact that the work is distributed. I dislike them for the fact that I am on other's timelines. I don't like that. I like my own timelines. But I'll accept it as a growth experience.
I had counseling the other day. Every time I go, I am more grateful that I allowed myself to accept help. In my last session, I discussed my weight gain. I feel so uncomfortable in my body. I told her how I need to get rid of the weight for more than vanity reasons (though, I won't lie, that is a big part). I also need to shed the weight because of what it represents.
Fifteen months ago, when my life was turned upside down and I was sitting on my couch, locked into my house, I remember saying to myself OUT LOUD "I will not let this change me. I will not lose myself or let myself go." I repeated that a lot over the passing weeks. But slowly, the undealt with emotions took over and I found myself not caring as much.
And now, fifteen months later, I no longer see someone strong and beautiful in the mirror, but someone out of shape, dull, and lifeless. And I recognize her too much; too much to really like her. The person I love, the person I really am underneath the extra weight, is still there, screaming for freedom, for a voice.
So I start this journey back. And I find it ironic that I find myself circling back to a place I was at before in an effort to move forward. However, that is what I need to do. Go back. Back to a time when I was not hindered by other's ideas, baggage or expectations. Back to a time where I got tired of being held down and broke free and ran away, literally and figuratively. Back to a time where I realized I cared about myself a whole damn lot and did whatever I could to prove it. Back to a time where I ignored the fact that no one else may love me, but by God, I'm going to love myself.
I was looking at old pictures on Facebook a few nights ago. I came across some from when I was thinner. I didn't only notice how thin I was, but how much I glowed. There is such a natural glow in someone who is taking care of themselves.
I have polluted my mind, body and spirit so much over the past 15 months. If I hurt, I ate or drank. If I was sad, I mulled and ate or drank. If I was angry, I raged, ate and drank.
And now, I feel as if I have aged a century. And what's worse is that I recognize who I am now. It's who I was before, years ago. Years ago when I was trapped in a marriage that was causing me to shrink, years ago when I was bound to my Mom and her opinion of me, years ago when I was bound to myself with so much shame and pain. And I found my way out of that, so I can do it again.
I found an old note I wrote years ago and still remember one line: I found myself on the track, one mile at a time.
And it's time to go back to that old path, that's grown over with weeds and trample them down and find myself again.
I recognize who I am now and it's a stark reminder of why I worked so hard to forget her so many years ago.
Reflecting
I miss being fearless!
I used to be so unafraid. I went after any new challenge with 110% effort, only thinking of how improbable it was AFTER I did it.
A former fat couch potato run races?
Why not? I went on to complete 5 5Ks and 1 10K.
I was the former nerdy girl in high school who never got a date who ended up running for President of an organization, went after a job that was all I dreamed of, gave out my number, gave speeches in front of groups and told jokes on a stage.
For a period of time, I was fearless.
And then in July 2011, I locked her away and became the most scared person I ever knew.
Waking up in bed, he's leaving, no recollection of allowing him there the night before. Head heavy, thoughts blocked, limbs sore. I could barely get up so I laid there, letting him leave, unable to figure out what had happened.
"I didn't drink that much."
His laughter, so thankful I have blocked out that sound, "Someone like you is way out of my league. I drugged you for a kiss." A kiss on the cheek and he leaves.
I lie there. I feel sick. I stumble to the bathroom and I look like hell.
"This feels like no hangover I've ever had"
I drive to town, to his work.
"What happened last night?"
"I told you, I drugged you. It's the new way"
He laughs again. I don't believe him. No one jokes about that stuff, do they?
I drive to my friend's house. She is worried.
"Let's go to the hospital. It's right up the street. They can check you out. You don't look right."
"I just need more sleep. I'm so sick. I can't even think"
A few nights later, I'm out with a friend. He's there. I carry my drink with me everywhere. He gets angry. I choose to go home. I'm ending a conversation on the phone, heading to bed. A final text
It was good to talk to you. Good night.
I curl up under the blankets, ready for sleep. It's early. Maybe I can sleep in the next day.
I hear a pounding on my front door. Intuition tells me to not answer it.
His voice: Michelle!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
I freeze. Maybe he'll go away. All of the lights are off. I panic:
Did I lock the back door?
I run to my room, check the lock, see his shadow. He's circling the house.
Michelle! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
He's pounding on windows. Slowly circling the house. I run to the hall, peek out a window, he's at the back door. He's shaking the door knob, the booming knocks replaced with slight taps.
Michelle!!
I'm frozen in place in the hall, not sure what to do, wishing I had grabbed my cell phone. My heart is racing.
Michelle!!!!!!!!!!!!!
He's at the kitchen window, tapping, tapping, tapping.
I run to the living room, grab my phone. I stand there, listening, waiting . . . .
He's at the front door again, a rattle.
He's coming in!
I freeze, too scared to dial the numbers on my phone. Frozen in disbelief.
The front door opens, he's standing there, filling the frame. I'm no longer frozen but screaming. I'm crying I only realize later when a cop asks me if I need a tissue.
Get out! Get out of here!! Leave me the fuck alone!
He runs off. I call the cops.
And that's when the hell begins.
A report where I'm made to look like the criminal. The feeling of shame at the ER:
I'm here for a rape kit.
There looks of pity made me want to run away. They discharge the male nurse, replacing him with a female. Escorting to my room, gently.
It was days ago. You'll find nothing. I know this procedure. I was a Victim's Advocate.
"Why weren't you here sooner?"
I didn't want to believe it happened.
I collapse outside of the ER. I then go numb. I always go numb. It's what I do when faced with stress.
And I became terrified. Locked in my house with chairs under the handles. Jumping, sobbing, if someone knocked too loud. Startling if anyone even bumped into me.
I stopped being fearless.
And I miss that. Being fearless. Being brave.
I can be outside alone now. I don't startle nearly as easily as I used to.
But I'm still scared. Of relationships. Of someone getting close. Of people finding out.
I'm ashamed.
Because I was made to feel ashamed.
"We tested the sheets for DNA. There is a problem."
Did you find anything? What? I thought the case was closed. It's been a year.
"There is a sample on there. It's not his. We no longer see the necessity of doing further testing. It's expensive, considering."
Considering what? I had a boyfriend before this happened. We had sex. Considering what?
"The extra man's sperm on your sheets makes you look bad."
Me? Why? I had sex, consensual sex with someone else. That's not a crime.
"It's expensive, Michelle, to conduct further testing, considering"
Considering they viewed me as a slut.
I cried. I was ashamed he saw me cry. I asked him to leave. He didn't look at me with pity, but of judgment.
The man who broke into my house wasn't even arrested.
Case closed. My jury a handful of men who disagreed with my sexual choices. A sample of sperm my evidence.
I wasn't worth the effort, the cost.
The bottom line: You can't rape the willing, even if the willing says no or is unconscious.
And I'm still scared.
I'm scared that someone will get close enough to know this story and see me the same way:
Too used for sympathy; unworthy of justice.
"Michelle, how often do you wash your sheets? I mean, how could there be someone else's sperm on your sheets?"
Is my sex life or my laundry habits on trial, because, I promise you, neither are your business, Officer.
A professor said to me one day:
"You're a tough soldier, Michelle, but your pain is still so evident."
This just makes me wonder: how in the world does a person hide in plain sight?
I used to be so unafraid. I went after any new challenge with 110% effort, only thinking of how improbable it was AFTER I did it.
A former fat couch potato run races?
Why not? I went on to complete 5 5Ks and 1 10K.
I was the former nerdy girl in high school who never got a date who ended up running for President of an organization, went after a job that was all I dreamed of, gave out my number, gave speeches in front of groups and told jokes on a stage.
For a period of time, I was fearless.
And then in July 2011, I locked her away and became the most scared person I ever knew.
Waking up in bed, he's leaving, no recollection of allowing him there the night before. Head heavy, thoughts blocked, limbs sore. I could barely get up so I laid there, letting him leave, unable to figure out what had happened.
"I didn't drink that much."
His laughter, so thankful I have blocked out that sound, "Someone like you is way out of my league. I drugged you for a kiss." A kiss on the cheek and he leaves.
I lie there. I feel sick. I stumble to the bathroom and I look like hell.
"This feels like no hangover I've ever had"
I drive to town, to his work.
"What happened last night?"
"I told you, I drugged you. It's the new way"
He laughs again. I don't believe him. No one jokes about that stuff, do they?
I drive to my friend's house. She is worried.
"Let's go to the hospital. It's right up the street. They can check you out. You don't look right."
"I just need more sleep. I'm so sick. I can't even think"
A few nights later, I'm out with a friend. He's there. I carry my drink with me everywhere. He gets angry. I choose to go home. I'm ending a conversation on the phone, heading to bed. A final text
It was good to talk to you. Good night.
I curl up under the blankets, ready for sleep. It's early. Maybe I can sleep in the next day.
I hear a pounding on my front door. Intuition tells me to not answer it.
His voice: Michelle!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
I freeze. Maybe he'll go away. All of the lights are off. I panic:
Did I lock the back door?
I run to my room, check the lock, see his shadow. He's circling the house.
Michelle! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
He's pounding on windows. Slowly circling the house. I run to the hall, peek out a window, he's at the back door. He's shaking the door knob, the booming knocks replaced with slight taps.
Michelle!!
I'm frozen in place in the hall, not sure what to do, wishing I had grabbed my cell phone. My heart is racing.
Michelle!!!!!!!!!!!!!
He's at the kitchen window, tapping, tapping, tapping.
I run to the living room, grab my phone. I stand there, listening, waiting . . . .
He's at the front door again, a rattle.
He's coming in!
I freeze, too scared to dial the numbers on my phone. Frozen in disbelief.
The front door opens, he's standing there, filling the frame. I'm no longer frozen but screaming. I'm crying I only realize later when a cop asks me if I need a tissue.
Get out! Get out of here!! Leave me the fuck alone!
He runs off. I call the cops.
And that's when the hell begins.
A report where I'm made to look like the criminal. The feeling of shame at the ER:
I'm here for a rape kit.
There looks of pity made me want to run away. They discharge the male nurse, replacing him with a female. Escorting to my room, gently.
It was days ago. You'll find nothing. I know this procedure. I was a Victim's Advocate.
"Why weren't you here sooner?"
I didn't want to believe it happened.
I collapse outside of the ER. I then go numb. I always go numb. It's what I do when faced with stress.
And I became terrified. Locked in my house with chairs under the handles. Jumping, sobbing, if someone knocked too loud. Startling if anyone even bumped into me.
I stopped being fearless.
And I miss that. Being fearless. Being brave.
I can be outside alone now. I don't startle nearly as easily as I used to.
But I'm still scared. Of relationships. Of someone getting close. Of people finding out.
I'm ashamed.
Because I was made to feel ashamed.
"We tested the sheets for DNA. There is a problem."
Did you find anything? What? I thought the case was closed. It's been a year.
"There is a sample on there. It's not his. We no longer see the necessity of doing further testing. It's expensive, considering."
Considering what? I had a boyfriend before this happened. We had sex. Considering what?
"The extra man's sperm on your sheets makes you look bad."
Me? Why? I had sex, consensual sex with someone else. That's not a crime.
"It's expensive, Michelle, to conduct further testing, considering"
Considering they viewed me as a slut.
I cried. I was ashamed he saw me cry. I asked him to leave. He didn't look at me with pity, but of judgment.
The man who broke into my house wasn't even arrested.
Case closed. My jury a handful of men who disagreed with my sexual choices. A sample of sperm my evidence.
I wasn't worth the effort, the cost.
The bottom line: You can't rape the willing, even if the willing says no or is unconscious.
And I'm still scared.
I'm scared that someone will get close enough to know this story and see me the same way:
Too used for sympathy; unworthy of justice.
"Michelle, how often do you wash your sheets? I mean, how could there be someone else's sperm on your sheets?"
Is my sex life or my laundry habits on trial, because, I promise you, neither are your business, Officer.
A professor said to me one day:
"You're a tough soldier, Michelle, but your pain is still so evident."
This just makes me wonder: how in the world does a person hide in plain sight?
Smarter
I have four daughters. I think they are amazing. They are amazing. Yesterday, my youngest came home, walked through the door and sobbed. Fat tears, choking sobs causing her whole body to shake.
She called me names today. I did NOTHING. I didn't even sit in her seat. I didn't talk to her. She told EVERYONE I called her names. I would never call her names.
I called the school, spoke with the principal. This has been a repeated problem. I wanted to call the girl's parents.
Teach your children some freaking manners! You're raising a bully!
But I didn't. Instead, my daughter and I took a walk.
Mom, I pray for her. Every night before bed and in the morning. I pray for her. For her to be happier so she wants to be nice. I hate that this happens but it's making me stronger, right?
My twelve year old daughter is smarter than me.
Me? I have held grudges. I have played the victim. I have been vindictive.
Sigh . . . the student has become the teacher.
Thank God.
She came home today:
Today was great. We compromised. My friends and I get the back of the bus in the morning, she gets it in the afternoon. The principal said if we didn't find a way to resolve this, he'd assign seats. I didn't want the whole bus punished because of her and I. So we made a plan!
I vote for some select 7th grade girls to run for President.
I never wanted to compromise. My way or the highway! They usually chose the highway.
I want to be my daughters when I grow up. Or maybe, as someone said to me, they each have a part in me. I have to have those qualities to instill it in them.
I need to be more aware of them, I guess.
And I will never forget how a 12-year-old, cheeks still stained with her tears, taught me what it means to be a grown-up.
She called me names today. I did NOTHING. I didn't even sit in her seat. I didn't talk to her. She told EVERYONE I called her names. I would never call her names.
I called the school, spoke with the principal. This has been a repeated problem. I wanted to call the girl's parents.
Teach your children some freaking manners! You're raising a bully!
But I didn't. Instead, my daughter and I took a walk.
Mom, I pray for her. Every night before bed and in the morning. I pray for her. For her to be happier so she wants to be nice. I hate that this happens but it's making me stronger, right?
My twelve year old daughter is smarter than me.
Me? I have held grudges. I have played the victim. I have been vindictive.
Sigh . . . the student has become the teacher.
Thank God.
She came home today:
Today was great. We compromised. My friends and I get the back of the bus in the morning, she gets it in the afternoon. The principal said if we didn't find a way to resolve this, he'd assign seats. I didn't want the whole bus punished because of her and I. So we made a plan!
I vote for some select 7th grade girls to run for President.
I never wanted to compromise. My way or the highway! They usually chose the highway.
I want to be my daughters when I grow up. Or maybe, as someone said to me, they each have a part in me. I have to have those qualities to instill it in them.
I need to be more aware of them, I guess.
And I will never forget how a 12-year-old, cheeks still stained with her tears, taught me what it means to be a grown-up.
Christmas Morning
I am getting new tires today. This has me extremely excited. I feel like a kid on Christmas morning. I like this part of myself; the part that still gets excited over simple things.
When I was dating my now ex-husband, I mentioned to a girlfriend how much I loved Peanut M/M's. I had no idea he was listening. He picked me up the next day and we went to a movie. He went to get popcorn and came back with Peanut M/M's. I was impressed.
Over the course of our "courtship" and subsequent marriage, in the beginning, anytime something big happened in my life, he would find a way to give me peanut M/M's. He never handed them to me, I had to find them. In a bookbag when I took my GED test, with flowers after giving birth, taped to a letter on my first day of college.
Peanut M/M's. They make me smile.
When I started dating B, I mentioned the M/M story. I have no idea how it came up but it did. A few days later, I open my purse to find a Snickers bar. It still makes me laugh that he tried to do something he knew I liked before. But it wasn't the same. With B, I liked randomly finding notes or a letter from him. He worked on the railroad and was gone a lot, so this was a way for me to still feel connected, even when he wasn't there.
And his t-shirt. An extra large shirt yellow shirt that hung to my knees. His cologne spritzed on it. I slept in that thing for months after we broke up. It's amazing how cologne lingers even after so many washings. Before, while dating, he was always back home by the time his cologne started to fade. But after a breakup, once the scent was gone, I threw it away. Along with all of his notes and cards.
I sometimes wish I had kept them. Just to remember a time when I fell in love without any reservations.
Each person who has come into my life for any length of time has left a part of themselves with me. Something unique to them or a moment that still makes me smile or laugh . . . a lot.
California buying me books and a journal. He was so excited to surprise me. So disappointed that I guessed. And that silly, silly Christmas tree. OUR Charlie Brown tree. I still find needles sometimes, two years after. Every year, around Christmas, when I'm putting up a tree, I still hear his laugh and hope he has found his way out . . . .
J and his kindness. His overwhelming kindness. And the first man to buy me shoes.
T....well, T stands out. Not because he was he love of my life and every relationship will always need to live up to him. No, not that at all. But T gave me orchids, a beautifully chaotic yet perfectly arranged bouquet of orchids. The most beautiful arrangement of Stargazer Lilies and orchids I have ever seen. I still laugh when I remember buckling the bouquet in and wrapping a blanket around it so they wouldn't fall.
It's movies that made me laugh:
ME: I bet he's crying because the emotional distress is too much and he can't take it anymore.
FRIEND: Or it could be the big shard of glass he just pulled out of his stomach.
It's a little boy on a search for his father's secret. I still wonder if I should have cried. But I'm grateful I laughed, a lot. I so need to laugh like that again and more often.
They were all so different. But each brought something into my life. Something necessary.
These are good memories; special memories.
And I don't regret a single one . . . .
When I was dating my now ex-husband, I mentioned to a girlfriend how much I loved Peanut M/M's. I had no idea he was listening. He picked me up the next day and we went to a movie. He went to get popcorn and came back with Peanut M/M's. I was impressed.
Over the course of our "courtship" and subsequent marriage, in the beginning, anytime something big happened in my life, he would find a way to give me peanut M/M's. He never handed them to me, I had to find them. In a bookbag when I took my GED test, with flowers after giving birth, taped to a letter on my first day of college.
Peanut M/M's. They make me smile.
When I started dating B, I mentioned the M/M story. I have no idea how it came up but it did. A few days later, I open my purse to find a Snickers bar. It still makes me laugh that he tried to do something he knew I liked before. But it wasn't the same. With B, I liked randomly finding notes or a letter from him. He worked on the railroad and was gone a lot, so this was a way for me to still feel connected, even when he wasn't there.
And his t-shirt. An extra large shirt yellow shirt that hung to my knees. His cologne spritzed on it. I slept in that thing for months after we broke up. It's amazing how cologne lingers even after so many washings. Before, while dating, he was always back home by the time his cologne started to fade. But after a breakup, once the scent was gone, I threw it away. Along with all of his notes and cards.
I sometimes wish I had kept them. Just to remember a time when I fell in love without any reservations.
Each person who has come into my life for any length of time has left a part of themselves with me. Something unique to them or a moment that still makes me smile or laugh . . . a lot.
California buying me books and a journal. He was so excited to surprise me. So disappointed that I guessed. And that silly, silly Christmas tree. OUR Charlie Brown tree. I still find needles sometimes, two years after. Every year, around Christmas, when I'm putting up a tree, I still hear his laugh and hope he has found his way out . . . .
J and his kindness. His overwhelming kindness. And the first man to buy me shoes.
T....well, T stands out. Not because he was he love of my life and every relationship will always need to live up to him. No, not that at all. But T gave me orchids, a beautifully chaotic yet perfectly arranged bouquet of orchids. The most beautiful arrangement of Stargazer Lilies and orchids I have ever seen. I still laugh when I remember buckling the bouquet in and wrapping a blanket around it so they wouldn't fall.
It's movies that made me laugh:
ME: I bet he's crying because the emotional distress is too much and he can't take it anymore.
FRIEND: Or it could be the big shard of glass he just pulled out of his stomach.
It's a little boy on a search for his father's secret. I still wonder if I should have cried. But I'm grateful I laughed, a lot. I so need to laugh like that again and more often.
They were all so different. But each brought something into my life. Something necessary.
These are good memories; special memories.
And I don't regret a single one . . . .
Knitting
I remember the first time a friend handed me homemade needles and yarn. Yarn she spun and dyed herself from her own sheep. I felt as if someone was asking me to perform open heart surgery.
Do you realize how uncoordinated I am? I can barely walk a straight line most days.
But she was patient. She even brought me new, sturdier needles after I held the first pair too tight and snapped them in half. She undid my mistakes, unknotted the knots I somehow created. And she sat, patiently, by my side, in between classes, during church, over lunch and taught me to create. And showed me how Knit 1, Purl 2 can relax a person.
That was the key to me learning to knit: learning to relax. I had to learn how to undo my mistakes, had to learn to be guided, had to learn to go slow.
And once I unclenched my hands from around the needle, understood the directions and took a deep breath, I began knitting. And creating.
Scarves, shrugs, bags, a sweater, some hats, and a poncho.
I was in love. Hours spent creating loops and cables. Designing my own items to give as gifts. And in Knit 1, Purl 2, I learned to relax.
It's been too long since I have had needles in my hands. Felt the different types of yarn: wool, cotton, silk, mohair.
I basically quit after my Mom died. I remember sitting with her, holding my favorite needles. Size 8, metal so the yarn slid easier, a deep rich purple (her favorite color)in the softest cashmere yarn. It had to be soft. The chemo took her hair and made her head hurt. It had to be something soft.
I sat in the chair, next to her bed, knitting over and over. It was never quit right. I ripped out what I started and never made progress. Once the Chaplain showed up, I put the yarn away and didn't pick it up again. I knew there was no longer a need for a hat. She'd be feeling no pain very soon.
I was out with my girls last weekend. The stress of the past 2 weeks and the not knowing what the future holds was causing so much tension in the house. You could feel it, see it, invading our cocoon. So I took them away. Shopping, eating out, laughing, water park, amusement park, conversation, piled up in bed together laughing and talking. I felt the stress ease.
But I also realized, I missed creating. I've spent so much time tearing down. I wanted, needed to create. So I picked up some new yarn. It's soft. It creates ruffles. It's pretty. And I bought new needles. Metal, slippery, size 10 for a fast project. And as my girls did facials and giggled over one's new boyfriend, I began to knit.
It was amazing how natural it felt. I forgot how much I had missed the weight of needles and the lightness of yarn in my hands. Two items coming together to make something. Using my hands for more than picking up a heavy mug or shot glass. But hands that are creating. And I felt the tension ease away with each stitch. I felt a sense of accomplishment as I saw the ruffles form. I felt my mind start to open at the possibilities of new designs.
Sometimes, to move forward, you have to go back to what you know. Back to a time when my girls were little and innocent. When I was more easily molded and guided. When my life was becoming more tumultuous but I was still naive enough to not fully understand what was to come. I went back to a time when a woman placed wooden needles and yarn in my hands and said "This is just what you need".
And I forgave myself for a time when I didn't finish my Mom's hat. When I put down the needles and yarn to pick up a pen and sign, with hands trembling, the fulfillment of the final wishes of my mother and to open my arms to hold her, even as I had to whisper in her ear that it was okay to go.
But having the needles and yarn in my hands again, though so simple, reminds me that I am going to be okay. As long as I can breathe, as long as I can still think, as long as I can still create, I didn't destroy myself as much as I thought.
Knit 1, Purl 2, cast on, bind off . . . .words as soothing to me as notes are to a composer.
Love of a Lifetime
Yesterday, while at Squaw Creek with the girls, I walked behind them to just watch. I realized as we made our way up, up, up, how strong each of their personalities are. I was so overwhelmed with love for them, I had to stop and catch my breath so I didn't cry.
Kristin and Kaitlin grabbed hands and ran ahead, stopping only to make sure they were together if one fell behind a bit.
Brianna, for no fault of her own, had to stop frequently to catch her breath and take a break. But she never let on that she was wearing out and in pain. She just said "I'm okay, let's go!" She was the first one to agree to go back the "Strenuous" path. At the end, she sat in the front seat and collapsed, she was hurting and exhausted . . . but would not let her sickness get in the way. Her strength amazes me.
Erin just kept saying it was mean of us to trick her. She had no clue so much walking was involved and she had to keep away from poison ivy because what girl is pretty if they swell? She is my princess and I wish tougher. But she is soft and gentle and that is a gift in itself.
I learned that my daughters are amazing, each in their own individual way. They stand on their own, they stand together. At one point I looked up, we were heading towards a clearing and just like in the movies, the sun broke through and I saw four beatiful girls holding hands, walking along and I saw them again as my babies but also as children on the cusp on becoming ladies.
And at that point, I let a few tears slide down my face. Gratitude, joy, peace, contentment. No matter what struggles have come at us this past year, no matter what has been lost, I have found so much more.
A favorite line of mine from the movie "Where the heart is" is . . . How can you love someone so much you just met?
My only answer is . . . how can you not?
Kristin and Kaitlin grabbed hands and ran ahead, stopping only to make sure they were together if one fell behind a bit.
Brianna, for no fault of her own, had to stop frequently to catch her breath and take a break. But she never let on that she was wearing out and in pain. She just said "I'm okay, let's go!" She was the first one to agree to go back the "Strenuous" path. At the end, she sat in the front seat and collapsed, she was hurting and exhausted . . . but would not let her sickness get in the way. Her strength amazes me.
Erin just kept saying it was mean of us to trick her. She had no clue so much walking was involved and she had to keep away from poison ivy because what girl is pretty if they swell? She is my princess and I wish tougher. But she is soft and gentle and that is a gift in itself.
I learned that my daughters are amazing, each in their own individual way. They stand on their own, they stand together. At one point I looked up, we were heading towards a clearing and just like in the movies, the sun broke through and I saw four beatiful girls holding hands, walking along and I saw them again as my babies but also as children on the cusp on becoming ladies.
And at that point, I let a few tears slide down my face. Gratitude, joy, peace, contentment. No matter what struggles have come at us this past year, no matter what has been lost, I have found so much more.
A favorite line of mine from the movie "Where the heart is" is . . . How can you love someone so much you just met?
My only answer is . . . how can you not?
Things I have learned . . .
1. I don't know near as much in my 30's as I thought I did in my 20's.
2. How hard it's going to be to let go of someone you loved is directly related to how much of yourself you gave in that relationship because when you let go, you have to let go of parts of yourself that you gave away.
3. Which leads me to, don't go into a relationship to find yourself or feel better about yourself. Stay single, learn who you are, build a great life, then see what happens.
4. I'm sorry is only meaningful if you change the wrong behavior that caused the reason for an apology.
5. No one can fix what's wrong in your life -- you have to do it for yourself.
6. No one completes someone -- refer to #3 if you believe this.
7. All problems in a relationship can be traced back to one thing -- selfishness.
8. There isn't alway time to say what you want to -- so say it quickly.
9. Ultimatiums don't always lead to something good -- be prepared to handle a bad outcome if it comes to that.
10. If a person is still asking for advice for the same problem over and over -- stop giving them advice and instead, hand them a self-help book.
11. No one knows you better than you know yourself --- trust yourself more.
12. Nagging NEVER, EVER, EVER works. EVER.
13. If a man asks for space, give it to him.
14. If a man says he doesn't want to date you, marry you, stay married to you, they mean it. Move on.
15. Don't hold onto things or people that aren't holding onto you.
16. If you miss your friends, don't wait for them to call. It's a two-way street. Call them.
17. Words can destroy a person.
18. For every criticism you give a child, it takes 10 praises. Even more if the criticism is harsh. Children are still figuring out who they are and they first learn this from who we tell them they are.
19. It's okay to cry....hard.
20. It's okay to let others see you cry.
21. Sometimes, when someone asks how you are, all they want to hear is fine.
22. If someone offers help, take it.
23. If someone compliments you, say thank you, not "Oh, no, I'm not" or criticize yourself.
24. If a man does something nice for you and a woman complains, he probably won't ever do it again.
25. A person's life can be changed just by having someone believe in them.
26. NOt everything is meant to be forever, just for a time.
27. Just because someone is smiling, doesn't mean they are happy.
28. True happiness isn't found in moments or other people. It's something inside of you.
29. Sexual chemistry isn't love.
30. Sometimes all a child needs to feel loved is to have you stop what you're doing to listen to them talk.
31. You can't be a single mom, work full time, have a life and a spotless house and sleep. A little clutter is okay (still working on this).
32. Going to church doesn't make me a Christian just like staying home on Sunday doesn't make me an atheist.
33. Don't pretend to like something to impress someone. They'll find out eventually when they want to talk about common interests and realize you know nothing about it.
34. A man who cares about what you have to say will look you in the eyes . . . not the newspaper, tv, computer or another woman.
35. Don't try to change someone. It's impossible. Instead, decide if you can live with them the way they are and if not, move on.
36. Kids love it when we stop being such adults and act silly with them.
37. Kids grow up too fast.
38. This is such a cliche, but so true. We are not guaranteed forever.
39. People that put you down aren't worth your time.
40. It's okay to be lazy sometimes.
41. Failing isn't a sign of being a failure.
42. I can't love someone who isn't also my friend.
43. Its okay to fall apart when your world falls apart. Just don't stay that way.
44. Never stop doing small things for each other, no matter how long you are together.
45. Getting flowers or cards never gets old.
Ü
2. How hard it's going to be to let go of someone you loved is directly related to how much of yourself you gave in that relationship because when you let go, you have to let go of parts of yourself that you gave away.
3. Which leads me to, don't go into a relationship to find yourself or feel better about yourself. Stay single, learn who you are, build a great life, then see what happens.
4. I'm sorry is only meaningful if you change the wrong behavior that caused the reason for an apology.
5. No one can fix what's wrong in your life -- you have to do it for yourself.
6. No one completes someone -- refer to #3 if you believe this.
7. All problems in a relationship can be traced back to one thing -- selfishness.
8. There isn't alway time to say what you want to -- so say it quickly.
9. Ultimatiums don't always lead to something good -- be prepared to handle a bad outcome if it comes to that.
10. If a person is still asking for advice for the same problem over and over -- stop giving them advice and instead, hand them a self-help book.
11. No one knows you better than you know yourself --- trust yourself more.
12. Nagging NEVER, EVER, EVER works. EVER.
13. If a man asks for space, give it to him.
14. If a man says he doesn't want to date you, marry you, stay married to you, they mean it. Move on.
15. Don't hold onto things or people that aren't holding onto you.
16. If you miss your friends, don't wait for them to call. It's a two-way street. Call them.
17. Words can destroy a person.
18. For every criticism you give a child, it takes 10 praises. Even more if the criticism is harsh. Children are still figuring out who they are and they first learn this from who we tell them they are.
19. It's okay to cry....hard.
20. It's okay to let others see you cry.
21. Sometimes, when someone asks how you are, all they want to hear is fine.
22. If someone offers help, take it.
23. If someone compliments you, say thank you, not "Oh, no, I'm not" or criticize yourself.
24. If a man does something nice for you and a woman complains, he probably won't ever do it again.
25. A person's life can be changed just by having someone believe in them.
26. NOt everything is meant to be forever, just for a time.
27. Just because someone is smiling, doesn't mean they are happy.
28. True happiness isn't found in moments or other people. It's something inside of you.
29. Sexual chemistry isn't love.
30. Sometimes all a child needs to feel loved is to have you stop what you're doing to listen to them talk.
31. You can't be a single mom, work full time, have a life and a spotless house and sleep. A little clutter is okay (still working on this).
32. Going to church doesn't make me a Christian just like staying home on Sunday doesn't make me an atheist.
33. Don't pretend to like something to impress someone. They'll find out eventually when they want to talk about common interests and realize you know nothing about it.
34. A man who cares about what you have to say will look you in the eyes . . . not the newspaper, tv, computer or another woman.
35. Don't try to change someone. It's impossible. Instead, decide if you can live with them the way they are and if not, move on.
36. Kids love it when we stop being such adults and act silly with them.
37. Kids grow up too fast.
38. This is such a cliche, but so true. We are not guaranteed forever.
39. People that put you down aren't worth your time.
40. It's okay to be lazy sometimes.
41. Failing isn't a sign of being a failure.
42. I can't love someone who isn't also my friend.
43. Its okay to fall apart when your world falls apart. Just don't stay that way.
44. Never stop doing small things for each other, no matter how long you are together.
45. Getting flowers or cards never gets old.
Ü
Some things . . .
1. I get hurt very easily and usually doing the simplest things. This embarrasses me
2. I'm always saying the wrong thing, at the wrong time. This embarrasses me
3. Still surprised when people tell me how pretty I am. I still feel like the girl in H.S. who never got asked to prom
4. I want to travel for a year, non-stop, and write down everything I see and experience
5. I still believe in Love and this surprises me
6. I LOVE to kiss and that's one of the biggest things that I miss while single
7. I look at my daughters and still wonder how someone like me managed to be a part of something so phenomenal
8. I say phenomenal a lot
9. I'm very sensitive
10. I'm a loner
11. I love reading about other religions and views on spirituality
12. I don't always feels as smart as people think I am
13. There used to be words I could not say, but now I can easily. I still don't know why I was so uptight for so long
14. I LOVE my sense of humor
15. Good, no, great!!!!! conversation is the best way to grab and hold onto my attention
16. The only place I ever feel completely comfortable and like myself is in a classroom
17. I once knit a lace thong to prove that knitting wasn't uncool
18. I almost always root for the underdog.
19. To me, talking is the best form of intimacy
20. I prefer hanging out with men
21. I HATE losing control
22. I've only been in love once
23. I miss my old job at Circle of Hope and wonder how the kids I worked with are doing
24. I have an incredibly short attention span
25. Nothing maes me feel prettier than a dress and stilletos
26. My eyes make me too easy to read
27. a big pet peeve of mine is being let down
28. I have incredibly strong intuition and wish I trusted it more
29. I'm independent to the point of it causing problems
30. Music is such an emotional experience for me that sometimes, it causes a physical reaction
31. I can blush easily
32. I rarely cry, even if in a lot of pain.
33. I am envious of people that seem so laid back and confident in social situations
34. I wonder what happened that I no longer keep a journal
35. I laugh inside when people think I'm an airhead, prissy or weak. I have been through more than people would ever now and I am strong as hell
36. My top favorite moments in the world:
A. The birth of each of my daughters
B. Christmas shopping with my mom in KC until after 2 a.m.
C. Sitting at the hospital w/ my mom for hrs, just the two of us and not saying a word but seeing her wake up and smile at me w/ so much love
D. A lazy day doing nothing w/ my ex. I knit my 1st pair of socks while he watched UFC.
E. Taco Bell, after hours, getting an old guy to order my food. It was so spontaneous and unlike me, I knew it would be okay
F. Perkins until 7 am talking to a new friend for 8 hours.
37. I'm too uptight sometimes.
38. I feel as if my life is stalled and I'm doing all I can to move it forward
39. Conway Twitty gives me goosebumps
40. So does Etta James
41. I am a HUGE flirt
42. I hate going to the movies
43. And Mini golf
44. I've skinny dipped . . . . twice
45. I want to just take off for a weekend road trip
46. I'm the oddball of my family
47. I do not know if I'll ever marry again . . . . but I want to be. Just not right now.
48. I know exactly what I want in life
49. I HATE being told No or I can't
50. I was married for 10 years and he never saw me pee :)
When . . ..
We tell ourselves "I'll be happy when . . . ."
I lose 15 pounds . . . .
Fall in love . . . .
Get a raise . . . .
Get married . . . .
Why wait? Why not allow happiness NOW, right now, this very second?
Why must we put conditions on our happiness? Do we put conditions on our sadness?
"I'll be sad when . . . . "
I'm home alone and can cry without anyone seeing me . . .
The kids are asleep and don't hear my grief . . . .
He's done packing his stuff and has left . . . .
I guess we do place conditions, on all of it.
We have lost our ability to just feel unless there is an event connected to it. We have lost our connections with life.
I am re-learning this. I am learning to just sit still and smile, for no reason. To be happy even in the middle of chaos. And the chaos suddenly just turns into a minor issue, easily resolved.
Because of this one key thing: My happiness isn't connected to smaller jeans, a wedding ring, a fatter paycheck. It's a part of myself I have found that was always there. That's the weird part. I have always had this ability, to just . . . . BE . . . . I just forgot.
Look at children, before we teach them otherwise. Look at their pure joy just at waking up, sitting alone, listen to their laughter.
We've forgotten how simple it is. Life helped us forget how simple it is.
I had to remember this or I would have ended up living my life with a constant struggle for the "next thing". My happiness couldn't be connected to what I had because in one brief second of my life, I lost it all. All the things I connected to my joy.
My mom . . . .
My first love . . . .
My cousin . . . .
My faith . . . .
My income . . . .
I had to search within myself because it was all I had left and I discovered something beautiful. I discovered myself and my own connection to the world around me. And I learned one amazing truth: I was responsible for the CHOICE to be happy or not. It was a CHOICE. A choice!
I had to lose everything I depended, be stripped bare with nothing to anchor me. I had to be lost first.
I had to fight for a while, walk away for a while, had to cry even longer.
I had to be ME for a while, just me.
Not me plus one . . . .
Not me, someone's daughter . . . .
Not me, untouched by tragedy . . .
Not me . . . insert ABC religion here
Not me, employee of X Corporation . . . .
Just me. Just Michelle.
And the joy that I have found, regardless of my life, status, job, relationship status. Those just add to it, not create it.
I found happiness in the midst of nothing and now I believe that's the way it was meant to be.
Flowers
I've been thinking of you a lot lately and I feel the longing intensify. It always does when my life is going through a change. I've decided I'm bringing you flowers for Christmas. I have yet to take you flowers. It also made me wonder:
Why didn't I do that when you were alive?
I don't remember taking you flowers except for the childish bouquets when I was a little girl. The excitement I felt at the treasure I had found, wanting to share it with you.
Why did I ever stop?
Sometimes, I wonder if I close my eyes enough, wish hard enough, if somehow, through enough wanting, if I could have just one more moment with you. Just . . . one . . . . more.
I still hate talking to a stone and wondering if you can hear. I still have too many questions and uncertainties of what the after life holds to wonder if you can hear me. Guess it depends on who I talk to on whether you can or not. I'd like to think you do, but a part of me doubts it because if you can hear me, why can't I hear you anymore? What a cruel trick of time, the forgetting.
It shouldn't be that way. If I had any say in it, your voice would get stronger, your image imprinted of my mind forever, as if you were there.
Maybe the powers that be believe that the forgetting helps with healing. I disagree. The forgetting makes me feel worse. What does it say about a person when they forget? I don't see it as healing, just moving on.
But how much moving on must I do to be "healthy" and yet still hold on to you?
So I write these letters, hoping to make sense of that which confuses me.
Sometimes, I wonder if you are here, in your own way, whatever way that is, reading over my shoulder. Such a silly thought for such a logical person.
You'd be proud of me, I think, at how I am slowly allowing myself to be illogical in my life and yet how completely sane and logical I feel in the middle of it all.
Yet, here I am, writing you a letter you can never read because a small part of me hopes that you can. That I hope (and would never readily admit) that each keystroke somehow reaches you, wherever you are: Heaven, the ground, somewhere in between. Guess it depends on which pastor I listen to that week, which book I read.
That's the part you'd hate right now, my doubts and wonderings. But I was never like you in that regard: the absolute, unwavering faith. I question too much, everything, always have. But that's the part of me I love the most.
I've grown into a woman the past few years, some due to natural progression, some due to shoving. I feel the selfishness of who I used to be falling away and being replaced with a love for life and others that I never imagined. I am letting my life be led more by my heart and less by my mind.
So I'll bring you flowers and try to forgive myself for not doing it when it counted. I guess, right now, it's more for me, than you. But I'm sure you'd understand and love them anyway, if you can even see them.
My heart aches today; aches too much for all I have to do. What I'd give for a day to grieve, without interruption. My life is too fast paced for that; I make it too fast paced. It's easier that way; except when it's not. Except for the times when the busyness makes me feel trapped.
I guess it's up to me to create the time; the time to feel and grieve. But opening up that door, the door I finally inched shut. I don't really think I'm ready to open it again.
So for now, I'll accept the few moments I had to open up to you and well, until we meet again . . .
I love you.
Rollercoaster
I don't want to do this. Why am I doing this? Why did they talk me into this?
The line is long, that gives me some relief. It will take longer to face the inevitable. I look ahead and see the brave in the front, excited to see everything coming, experience it fully. I observe those standing in line towards the front, trying to figure out which ones are the hands in the air type, which ones are the eyes clenched shut, as if not seeing it will make it less scary.
Eyes definitely closed for me. Hands gripping the bar, holding on for dear life.
I realize that there is no one in front of me. My legs suddenly jerk, acting on their own accord. I want to turn around, run, find the chicken exit. I'm not scared of being a chicken, I'm scared of being the unlucky one that gets stuck upside down, blood rushing to their head, feeling as if they are going to explode . . . or worse. I look up at the peak, estimate how far the drop is and how bad it would hurt once I land.
I wonder what my life would look like flashing before my eyes? I wonder if the impact will kill me instantly or if I would just break all the bones and if the I could experience pain so instense, my body would go numb to protect me.
I only have 2 seconds to ponder this massive, possibly life altering question before I am shoved into a cramped seat with a frayed seat belt snapped around my body and a thin metal bar standing between me and mortality. I chose the middle.
Don't analyze that. It's safer here, cushioned. If it crashes, statistics show it's always the ones on the ends who go first. Suckers and their insane need for adrenaline rushes.
I assume my position, eyes tightly closed, hands on the bar, white knuckles. I have a moment of wanting to grab the girl checking my seat belt by the neck, begging her to let me out. Before I can succumb to my desire for solid, unmoving ground, I feel myself jerk forward.
Shit!
We are going up . . . .
How crazy am I that this is the scariest part for me? The uncertainty . . . what is going to happen once we are on top? How bad will the fall be? Will it hurt? Will I be left breathless? Will I laugh or cry . . . or vomit?
It takes forever to reach the top, the slow ascent a horrible tease.
Just get me up there....now!!!!!! My heart is hurting, my stomach is in knots. Why the hell am I here?
Suddenly, I feel nothing. I'm free falling. I see the trees rushing past me but can't comprehend I'm falling. Suddenly, I realize, I like how it feels . . . . the nothingness and everything'ness at the same time. I realize I have opened my eyes and let go of the bar. My hands are in the air. I am envious of those in the front who were less afraid, more willing to look forward to what was coming instead of wanting to hide in the middle.
Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhoowaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa . . . YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I don't even realize I'm screaming until I feel myself jerk forward and slow down. It's over. Two minutes of pure adrenaline.
Why was I so scared?
I slowly lift the bar up that was my security only seconds earlier, unbuckle myself with trembling hands, smooth my hair and stand up. My legs are weak, my heart is racing . . . .
I feel so alive.
I look around and see a woman who has the same "death would be better than this" look on her face I had only moments earlier. I catch her eye . . . .
Sit in the front. I promise, this is a ride you don't want to miss.
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