Naptime, Surgery and…Life?

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I just gotta say, before I even get started…it is naptime again.  This is the only time I get to come here to write and share my world that is so unwritten, so not waiting on a free moment to give me to process it!  So my baby will probably wake up long before I am actually done with a complete working of my brain’s thoughts right now.

I survived surgery.  I actually talked through the surgery with the surgeon’s nurse about aging and choosing whether to age with grace…or not.  She is outspokenly of the latter.  However, I think grace looks decidedly better.  And I kind of told her.  I was probably injected with a truth serum.  I named Jamie Lee Curtis and Helen Mirren in my defense.  (And the many less named women in the world…the real masterpieces of our landscape…ah you know them when you see them!  Fought for wrinkles that usually crinkly around lit up eyes and mouths…that’s who I want to be anyway.)

During surgery my tattoos and my “interesting” life also came up.  My surgeon’s nurse wanted to know what made me classify my life “interesting” and I laid there, kind of unable to move, more than just because there was a surgical instrument stuck in my side.  I about choked on the oxygen that wasn’t over my mouth.

I said, “I’m not sure what you really want to know.” Lol.  My surgeon seemed to get it pretty quickly.  “Is it like family stuff?” he said.  “Um, yeah.  You could say that.”  I’m pretty sure my surgeon and his nurse made eye contact after that and then decided to move on without probing anymore than they already were in the process of doing because there was a silent pause and a few more moments than normal before conversation started up again.  And at that point I don’t even remember what was said. I think maybe it was a compliment about how amazing my red hair looked inside the blue hair cap/covering I was wearing.

Anyway, I’ve decided recently I need more time for myself.  Like, I want to go back to work.  Not that I don’t work all day everyday and all that jazz, but I want to do more work.  I need some help with the baby to do it.  I’m not sure how I’m going to acquire that help or how I’m going to manage my second work schedule around the first one I’ve already got, but it must be done.  And I’m pretty sure it will be done.  Well…I’m trying to trust that if it has anything to do with God’s Will it will be?

I am really trying to learn.  Really trying to breathe and let go and just live this amazing incredible life that I feel I am trying to cram so much into.  I can’t seem to get enough time at any given time.  I just feel this push and drive for time.  Like my time is limited. I know it’s limited.  There are ALWAYS limits to anything.  But I just feel like there’s so much to be done.

And as much as I want to be the mother that loves being a housewife…I’ve kind of changed and I love my family and my husband and children…but “housewife” is not me anymore.  It feels like I have been a housewife all of my life, from the time I was just a little girl.  And there’s something else inside of me.  I know this is temporary and life goes on and children grow up and it is precious time and on the outside I know “I’m what dreams are made of.”  This is my mantra during every miserable housewifeish task I complete every single day.

This just isn’t me.  What if I’m actually a better mother if I’m…just not this?

Omg, I have SO much energy.  It’s incredible amount of energy bursting inside me.  Maybe it’s this cleanse.  Maybe it’s that I haven’t had sugar and its subsequent crashes for 6 days now!  Maybe it’s because I’m coming clean…coming clean with it ALL.

I’m not really happy doing this!  So I’m working on finding a way to make it work and I will work to make it work and  work, work, work and think think think and pray pray pray and keep moving my feet and my heart and walk the walk.

I’m afraid this sounds like I don’t love my family, but I do!  It’s because I actually do that I am “going there.”

It’s April, after all, and I’m still alive.  Thank goodness I didn’t die 4 months ago.  Or maybe I did and I’ve been reborn?

I just don’t know.

I just don’t know.

 

There’s just so much more…and I can’t explain.

Time’s up!

 

I remember that.

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When I was little I always hoped that I would be adopted.  It didn’t matter that I never was in foster care or that anyone hardly noticed I was alive…other than when they did notice (and, then they noticed a lot) and always seemed to be really upset about it.

Sometimes I had hopes about my own family.  I would get my hopes up when there would be a moment of laughter…which usually came after a really big fight of some sort.  There was so much tension all the time.  I think I took it all into me.  I was the youngest and the smallest, and out of the kids there were only the two of us.  I was kind of the runt.  And I didn’t mind being the runt.  Being the runt can be nice and safe sometimes.

I was always somewhere else.  I happened to get a massage today and went somewhere else.  I went a few places, actually, but one of them was my first grade classroom.  I remember it. Not vibrantly, but it’s not muddy either.  It’s blurry…but moving images are there.  And what I remembered today while I was in my first grade classroom was looking out the windows.  Our classroom had windows that lined one wall facing toward the playground.   I remember a sunny playground with black and white rock asphalt topping.  I don’t remember too much from 1st grade.  But when it comes time for me to answer security questions…i use info. from a memory i have kept about 1st grade.  Even if that means sharing that info. means my security questions aren’t as secure anymore?

It was really 2nd grade that I was thinking about when I went there.  I was thinking about how when I was in second grade I would never ask the teacher to use the restroom when I really had to go.  I was too scared to upset her and make her mad because I knew the classroom rule was that students were only supposed to be allowed to use the restroom at designated “restroom break” times. And believe me, I always used those times!  But sometimes I’d really have to use the restroom even more than that.  But I would never ask.  This started to cause a real and serious physical problem for me because I had undergone a surgery that was in “that realm” a few years earlier, and it was physically important that I have access to the restroom when needed.  I remember my mom telling me I didn’t have a choice about asking the teacher to let me go, even if it wasn’t a scheduled time.  I was always so afraid to ask.  Even though it’s what I needed, for real needed, and wasn’t just trying to get out of classroom time like most of the kids who always wanted to leave the room when they could find an excuse.  And also about second grade…I remember learning how to tell time and count money because there was a workbook that you tore out paper coins from and the teacher had us rearrange and count in all sorts of benign ways.  I was never really very good at telling time or money.  Oh, and I remember show-and-tell!  And I also remember one day where we had some kind of fitness drive going on at school and everyone participated in aerobics led over the intercom in their classrooms.  I remember thinking that was so bizarre and fantastic!

And I don’t know why I’m remembering that.

Maybe it’s because in therapy we’ve been talking about asking for things and making requests.  Maybe it’s because this cleanse I’m doing is in some odd way related.  (Even though it’s not really “clearing me out,” at least, yet.)  Maybe it’s because I’ve experienced so much fear lately, along with really having a strong drive to put myself out there in life.

Maybe it’s just because I’m growing and I’m processing little tidbits.  Maybe it’s like when you juice something.  There’s the juice, which is usually the goal, and then there’s all that pulp.  What to do with all the pulp?!

To get back to the present day, producing all that pulp has gotten me thinking about starting my compost again.  It’s still just a great idea in my brain and it needs to find a new home.  A home, like maybe in the corner of our backyard…or somewhere where the neighbors won’t complain about me having a compost. Again, scared of upsetting someone else for doing something on my own property that isn’t hurting anyone.

Anyway, I’m just getting really tired of doing this.  I’m not tired of the cleanse.  I’m not even really tired right now at all, even though I need to be sleeping because bright and early it is surgery time for me (see my last post if that seems an odd bit of info to introduce so late in the game.)

I’m tired though.  I’m just tired.

And I still wish I could be adopted.

I know it’s never going to happen.  I know I probably couldn’t even handle it if it did.    And it might not even really be what I want.

I thought getting married could sort of be like getting adopted.  I was seventeen the first time, so it sort of could have worked.  But it didn’t work out. No, it just didn’t work out at all.

I’m tired. Too tired for daytime, even if it’s 10:30 pm.

I’m going to close my eyes.  Sweet dreams.

(Wish me luck.)

 

Cleanse Day 2

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I’m having a “depressed” day which shouldn’t surprise me, considering I’m on day 2 of a cleanse I’m doing.  It’s not a strict cleanse.  It’s basically a raw food diet/lifestyle approach.  Cutting out all refined sugars and processed foods.  I’m fine with not eating the box meal type stuff, but the lack of sugar kills me…well…it does.

I wish I could go out and hit the pavement and go for a good run or do some other pounding type of workout because those are the kind I really crave. (Can’t because my knees are now broken to that activity.)  And swimming is ok, I guess, but it takes a whole heck of a lot of prep work and time for me with having a baby and I don’t have a pool at my home.  It’s just not very user-friendly.

I wonder if I can actually live without sugar.  Sugar is a killer because when you take it away from me I die!  ha.  Not very funny.

But with all of this part of me is depressed, but part of me isn’t.  Part of me feels a lot better.  My body moves better, it’s clearer, even just 2 days in.

 

But this raises all the issues I have with my body.  I look in the mirror and hate it so much.  And I’m having surgery tomorrow.  More lipo.  Because the surgeon left me uneven after all the invasive surgery I had this fall.  And it only became so clear after all the swelling went down.  I’m not looking too forward to laying on that surgery table, awake.  I’m not looking forward to getting done with the procedure only to get up off the table and hate my body just as much or more as I did when I laid down on it.

Why do I keep subjecting myself to this crap?

Because my stupid body will never be right.  Why can’t it let me be happy?

And when did the end of my body letting me be happy begin?  I can’t even tell.  It has been this way forever.

When I look at pictures I identify things by the certain clothing I was wearing at the time and the relationship I had with it.  Every piece of clothing comes to have a certain story.  I remember things by the dialogue I had when I looked in the mirror.  Or when I saw every other person who had a approachable body while mine was destined to be so repulsive.

Anyway, I have a lot of issues.  Most of them I don’t talk about.  Most of them are buried.  And the cleansing process fucking sucks.

Right now I’m not too sure whether it’s better to stay covered in dirt or be clean.

 

Now my baby is up from her nap.  I have to put all this aside and be “right.”  So dig, dig, dig and put this way down deep in the ground, as deep as rock where sun can’t get to it, hopefully.  Because if sun gets to it while it’s in this freshly tilled dirt it might grow.

 

“Just Keep Swimming”

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Tonight was my second swimming lesson of the year.  I’m doing pretty good, considering the last time I took lessons (which was my first time) I was so scared to even get my face wet.

Tonight I was actually using the lines in the lap pool lanes for what they are for!  I never knew those black lines on the wall sides of the pool were for foot placement!  I not only am getting my face wet, but I’m going under without holding my nose, using correct form and pushing off the wall under water and then rising to the top and swimming!!!

Granted, I still freak out when I know I’m nearing the deeper end, but my teacher said he knows I can do it because he can see from watching me that I have the capacity already to be doing laps.

My teacher is really good too.  He has tattoos on the inside of his biceps…one bicep has “Nothing Ventured” written across it, and the other “Nothing Gained.”  Then he has a cross tat on his shoulder blade and I’m pretty sure a tat that says “Faith” going down the side of his ribs.

We’re working well together!  And I found something I think I can do while I heal my hurt knees that is actually really fun!

Toward the end of the class I asked him about underwater swimming.  I noticed he’d mentioned underwater swimming several times in last weeks lesson (our first lesson) and could see it was one of his favorites.  And I’ve been working a lot on breathing while swimming.  So I was wondering about underwater swimming and how that works out.  I was trying to figure out how you breathe under there!

So he showed me. What bliss, what heaven under there.  It was almost like skydiving (only not really.)  But if I can’t jump out of a plane (with a parachute) every day then it’s probably a lot more likely that I can jump in a pool and dive that way on a more consistent basis.

Anyway, I feel happy that I’ve been working through a lot of fears this year.  It seems like with every fear there is another one right in line behind it.  I guess that’s ok.  If I ever completely work through all of my fears I probably will be dead then? In the movie, Finding Nemo, there’s a character that says, “Just keep swimming” a lot.  I always like that part.

Last week my teen daughter was with me (because she wanted to go to my lesson with me) and she kept giving me the “thumbs up” sign, which I’m sure has a lot to do with my success, actually.  Because last week, wow, I was really scared.  I hadn’t been in water outside of a bath or shower in over two years and hadn’t practiced my swim skills at all up to that point.

Anyway, the next fear about swimming I’d like to conquer is to go to the lap pool all on my own while it’s not lesson time and practice.  I’m scared about suddenly not knowing what I’m doing, but mostly because I’m scared about pool etiquette and lane sharing and all that complicated stuff.  How embarrassing to drown in front of people.  I asked my teacher about it today.  He explained general pool etiquette and then reassured me that most people there are actually very nice and easy to get along with, but that, “To just be honest, some people are just assholes, but you’ll be able to know which ones those are.” Lol.  As he said that to me, I’m pretty sure one was standing behind and a little to the side of us waiting to get into our lane which had just become open after the reserved swim lesson time!  Because that (asshole?) guy jumped in the lane next to us and went under the rope to get into the lane we’d just left after my teacher said that and waved a seemingly miffed behind at us like an otter, lol.  It was kind of one of those “You had to be there.” kind of things…

All in all, it was a good lesson which I had all to myself because the guy that was a student with me for the class didn’t show up tonight. It might be that showing up is the hardest part.

Brutal Healing

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I want to heal myself.

It can be a frustrating and expensive endeavor to have to find healing outside of yourself.  And I understand that God doesn’t cost money and definitely is the ultimate healer, but sometimes a person needs the hands of another person God created.

It all just seems so dangerous to me.

Because…for me it HAS been dangerous.  On different levels it has been dangerous, and for a time it was the highest danger.  I was severely injured in my search for healing…

Healing…Healing is such a painful word for me.  When I think of healing I think of pain.  It hurts.  This is how it has been all of my life.  From the time I was a tiny tot.

And I wonder…Is it this way for everyone?  Does healing always hurt?

I am learning in therapy now that healing maybe doesn’t always have to hurt, and I feel so gifted to finally have found a therapist with such healing qualities.

Those same qualities scare me.  Because…why?

Because people (I guess one in particular who was in the helping/healing field) with those seeming qualities have also hurt me the worst.

Eight years ago I was hurt by a psychotherapist severely.  I…can’t really seem to ever find the words for it.  I haven’t been able to tell about it.  I can’t even really talk about it in therapy even now.  The therapist who hurt me so badly lost his license, and I later found out that I wasn’t the only one hurt by him, but that hasn’t cured the hurt.  It hopefully stopped him from hurting other people so much.

At times I don’t know how that psycotherapist/abuser isn’t sitting in prison right now. But at other times I can’t get the weight of it being my fault off of me.  I can’t surrender fully to either side.  If he had been a boyfriend or a stranger or even a family member maybe I could comfortably classify it better.  But he was my therapist.  It makes everything so confusing and it wasn’t an attack of brutal force, even though the force he used was more brutal, perhaps, than what is traditionally thought of as brutal.

What is rape?  I’ve gone over this so many times in my mind.  When the memories blast me it reaches right up into my throat and I can’t breathe.  Do you know the feeling?  It gags me from the bottom up.

And that is how I have lived this experience.  Mostly silently.

I’m not really angry at the person/abuser who hurt me in my search for healing (from so many other abuses.) But I need to tell.  This isn’t about wanting to hurt.  This is about healing.

i need to put it outside of myself somewhere so big that when it’s there, it is clearly there–so clearly not inside of me anymore.

I am ready to say to a broader audience.  “LOOK.  LOOK AT THIS.  This is what happened.” I’m getting stronger so that maybe even me, myself, can know what happened.

I’m hurting a lot.  Oh my God, I am hurting a whole lot.  Lots and lots and lots and lots more than I ever even thought I could…but what’s so strange about right now is that I also feel better.

I’m healing.  Maybe?

Is this what healing is?

I’ve never put the words rape with what happened to me in those dark dark places and moments in that room with him.

And nobody else has ever spoken that word for me.  Nobody.

Maybe it’s because I could never tell, so how could anybody ever know.

But then I go back to what constitutes rape and is there a difference between traditional rape and non-traditional rape?  Lol, I never heard those terms before, but…I don’t know.

And what about emotional rape?

I guess nobody really cares about that.

I’m sad at myself that i didn’t prosecute him.  I’m sad I didn’t have the strength to stand up and say, “No!  You can’t get away with this!” and I’m sad I didn’t know better when it happened to begin with.  He told me it was therapy.  Healing.

I only told a few sentences of things to the licensing board and it was enough for them to revoke his license so I never had to tell it all.

I am proud of myself that I finally reported it to the behavioral sciences board 4 years after it actually all took place, but I’m not proud of how it all arose to consciousness.

I hurt at myself that I hated myself so much…and for so long.

Even now the hate episodes envelop me.  I stagger through my life with it.

I’m tired of staggering.  I want to be a woman and healthy and strong and available to people.

Available to myself.

A significant amount of my life has been devoted to just this one event.  And there are so many others hurts that brought me to this “event” in the first place.  Don’t I think it’s about time to be free? I do.

I do think it’s time I got to live.

I will heal.

I’m risking my life to do it.

The Good Fight

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I am so sad that there was once a day (for many days and all day long) I truly wanted to die.

If it’s that day for you…hold on.

Things can change.  They have for me (and I never would have believed anything could be different.)

But even though I am feeling better now, I’m here to say you’re not alone.

 

Have You Tried the Guacamole?

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Ok, something to share.

I  have been busy working on a lot of things recently in all aspects of my life, or at least the aspects of my life that I am at least aware of.

There are a lot of exciting things going on.  Exciting, gut wrenching, wonderful, scary things.

I think its strange how this blog almost seems to have run it’s course.  It’s like it came to life and lived and breathed for a time and then when its work was done, it was done.

Where I am now:  I’m not sure if it’s really done or just taking a nap or taking a short underwater swim.

But definitely it has not died.  If it has moved on it is because it has evolved into something else.  It’s transformed….I’m just sitting with myself mid transformation right now.  My wings still aren’t quite ready…but they are ready, as in…growing.

Change does happen.  I know it happens, I’m just not so used to changing for the better when it comes to my internal personal development.

 

There’s a part of me that wants to know exactly what has caused things to change so quickly recently, but there is a part of me that doesn’t want or need to know at all.  There is a part of me that knows I quit grasping so strongly to MY story.  I couldn’t hold onto it.  So I can’t hold onto it.  I’m just going to let it be.

There has been so much I have wanted to share, even in the last couple of days, but haven’t known how to say things.  Stuff is shifting around.  It’s not so much about naming light and dark now.  It’s more about just living and being in the present moment of all of everything.  All the amazing wonder of life, even the parts I don’t necessarily like or prefer.

This will probably sound like a weird analogy and it probably is, but it’s the first thing that popped into my mind so what do you expect?

Where I am with how I feel about the present moment is a little bit like my relationship with guacamole.  As a kid and teenager I found the sight or even the thought of guacamole to be sickening and putrid.  But then one day, sometime after I had my first daughter I heard myself saying things like, “Just because it’s green doesn’t mean it’s gross.” and “Try everything at least once.”  And I took a non-judgmental bite of that loveliness called guacamole for myself.  The rest is history.  Delicious history.

So, like with eating guacamole, here I am taking bites of the present moment and living in it every day.  Yum Yum!

 

Ok, it’s not a spot-on analogy but I’m hungry and want some guacamole right now. Sad I don’t have any at the moment, but I am at least present enough to know that I am hungry and I can do something to at least fix that, even if it isn’t by eating guacamole tonight.

 

 

 

Whew, I am tired and it’s showing.

 

 

 

 

An Ogre and Her Blog?

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I have the sudden need to apologize to anyone who is following my blog.

I am realizing that I think this is the place I have mostly been coming on the bad days.  Don’t you know the places, the places we go?  I rarely think I’m so special that I’m the only one in the world doing the things I do.  So surely I’m not the only one who can understand about how sometimes when I  feel or am a certain way I tend to end up in a certain recurrent place with it?

Whoa, was that convoluted?

I just mean, maybe I come here on the bad days because when I started this blog it was during some REALLY bad days.  Could this be my bad day (sometimes even if it’s just a bad hour)  place  I might get drawn to sharing here during the bad times because of how it all started.  I tend to get drawn back here to share the yucky parts of my days because I know it’s already established here that the yuck exists so I don’t have to go through explaining why I feel so yuck.  Yuck yuck yuck.

But the truth is that this whole story isn’t yuck.  And yes, the darkness and light are having it out mostly all the time lately, but this is sort of like a Diary of the Dark!

So, I’m not sure what to do about this realization.  Will I be able to transform this residence?

I guess this is an example of the compartmentalizing of my entire life.

But if that is so, then this realization about what is happening here is a pretty big deal, right?  And realizations don’t happen without light and light tends to not be dark, right?

So it would follow that light is here now!

Mostly I just want to clear it up to the masses (haha) that there is light in my world.  It just doesn’t come here very often! lol!  There is a big dark monster at the entrance of the door here…an extra battle to survive after the battle of surviving the hard times to begin with.

And sometimes, I’m just too tired and the dark gets grouchy about not being seen.

I am maybe a little bit like an Ogre.   Like Shrek?  It’s been a long time since I watched Shrek, but this blog is sort of like my big green monster that isn’t so nasty if given a chance.

I’m not sure, maybe this place is just another aspect of telling my story.  And if I must have 15 different places to tell my story because there are that many different parts to it (and me) then I will be having a lot of fun on the last day of the year when I pop the cork and give a toast from 15 different champagne bottles!

Life is always evolving…

I could only be fucked up.

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Things have been wordless here because I don’t have any words for this.

It’s not all light and chocolate kisses.

It fucking sucks a lot.

I’m in a marriage that I’m trying to make work because I fucking NEED it to work.  I’m not raising another child on my own, and when it comes right down to it I’m still at the level of a 17-year-old in some ways…the age I was when I got married to my first husband.

Sure, a lot of things are different.  A LOT.  I have two daughters now.  And I’m older, yes.  I’m older and have a lot more years of twisted bullshit that I’ve lived through.  And when I say twisted, it’s really fucking twisted.

It’s so twisted I really don’t think anybody would believe me if I said it.  Nobody would fucking believe.

I’m living with the recurrent memories of it a lot right now.  My whole life is coming back to me and it feels like every time my life tries to come back to me it just gets fucked again.

Why?  Maybe because I’ve never been really present in my decision making.  So I’ve made some really bad decisions.  And also because I’ve never been able to escape abuse in one form or another from the time I was a little girl.

My mother continued to abuse me until I got re-married almost 2 years ago.  And then, even after that.  It just ended 5 months ago when I was 3 days out of major surgery and she came after me to attack me and tried to leave my house with my 4 month old baby against my will.

I guess it takes a lot for me to finally have enough.

I’m upset today because my husband doesn’t care about me.  He only cares about me in the ways he feels like caring about me, which is really not very caring at all.  Emotional intimacy is zero.  Sometimes it’s even a negative number.

I have never been with a person who could ever be with me.  And maybe it’s because I couldn’t be with another person.  I could only be fucked up.

But now things are changing.  And it fucking sucks.

I live and I die all the time now.

I try to not feel the aloneness of my life.  I try to put happy pictures up on Facebook so that my life will be as sweet as I want it to be.  And sometimes it even works for a little bit.

But not for very long.

I guess I will always just live in my head.  Because I can’t deal with me heart.  My fucking heart.  Fuck this stupid heart.

I’ve been fucked in my heart AND in my head, but I can deal with being in my head because I can move those parts around easier to make it livable.  My heart is destroyed.

I’m sick of the rebuilding efforts.

Sometimes you just have to move away.  Sometimes you just have to accept you’re living in a god damned fucking flood zone.

How many ways can I die while I’m still alive?  I should write a book about the ways. I think it’s all I have to tell.

What is the point of continuing on to be in the light when you’re never going to get out of this place anyway?  What is the point even?

I don’t want any fucking answers either.  Because nobody has any fucking answers for me any other time.

All of this is too much for me.