Various Sorts

If you haven’t learned just yet, I love talking about me. Not because it’s great to tell everybody about myself, but that I really like the world of who I am. Shallow? That was my point. 

No, in all truth I like telling people (and myself) some background things. For some reason when you list things you like and things about yourself it feels like I’m at a slumber party taking a Cosmo Quiz or at camp again. I loved camp.

1. What was I doing 10 years ago? 
Ten years ago I was 14 so that’s hard to say, but here’s what I remember:

• I was in the eighth grade and had just become good at playing sports (finally). 
• I made the basketball team, track team, soccer team and played in the band. 
• I put away my grunge clothes and started being more preppy. 
• I had bangs.
• I had braces still.
• I wore Ralph Lauren Sport like it was water.
• I had a crush on Stephen and then dumped him foolishly for a player named Lee. 
• I had another crush on a guy named…I want to say Josh, but I think it was something else. He was younger and played Sax in the band. Foolish kid didn’t like me back. Chris! I think that was his name.
• I finally got into the popular crowd only to realize it wasn’t worth it.

 

2. What are 5 things on my to-do list today? 

• Take dogs to dog park.
• Go to dinner with Amy.
• Take movies back to Blockbuster.
• Go to the State Fair with co-workers.
• Eat desert.

 

3. Snacks I enjoy:

• Any type of candy, but mainly Jelly Belly’s.
• Starbucks
• Doritos
• Harry’s frozen Custard
• Hot chocolate when I’m at work.

 

4. Places I’ve lived: 

• Kentucky
• Texas

 

5. Things I would do if I were a billionaire:

• Get out of debt.
• Have no more debt.
• Give 10% away to a church.
• Help my loved ones get out of debt.
• Save some.
• Stop renting.
• Move to London.
• Buy my own hospital to own.

So, if you feel like joining in, let me know what you would do if you were a billionaire.

50 Things You Mom Should Know

Okay, no…this post is not about “50 Things Your Mom Should Know” or maybe it is. I don’t know; I don’t know your mom so maybe this list will be something she needs to know. Your call.

In all truthfulness, this is a list of “50 Things I Like About Myself”. In a effort to improve my own reflective image I am going to do a little self praise. Before I start I would like to take this opportunity to thank God for all the follow gifts/great things. I wouldn’t be who I am without His hand. 

Here we go (in no particular order):

1. I appreciate all things, people, situations, settings and ponts of view. I think there is beauty in everything and that, though I may not agree with every thing or everyone, I appreciate them and what they have to offer.
2. I see the big picture. I’m constantly trying to figure out how it is going to play out in the big picture of life.
3. I set people high. When I first meet you I set you at the highest you can be. I believe you can do no wrong, are incapable of deceit and are perfect. It’s up to you whether or not you move up or down.
4. I’m brand/team loyal. I will hold on to a team/brand forever just because I can’t quit the team and will always push through the bad times.
5. I love humor. I would rather laugh than cry/think any day.
6. I’m a hard worker not because you deserve it but because my spirit won’t let me not be.
7. I’m strong in person, emotion, mind and spirit. Though often weak by life, I have a personal strength that even amazes myself sometimes. 
8. I love things from certain decades (late 1800’s-1970). I love the styles, the hair, the music, the movies…I love it all.
9. I love to be challenged beyond my own mind. I want things to be hard and really difficult so I can surpass them. 
10. I’m competitive. I’ve played sports, been in band, was in all sorts of social clubs and had various jobs. I love that I look for a competition.
11. I love that I have dark features. I’m not a partly blonde, partly brunette, but I’m dark brown. There’s no hair dye here, 100% naturally dark. Love it!
12. I have the gift of words. Sometimes this can be good or bad, but I love that my words are strong and can cut to the quick in arguments. 
13. I’m 100% honest. Even when I don’t want to be, I can’t lie.
14. I desire to do good for others rather than for myself. I want to help others and don’t care what I look like doing it. 
15. I love my excitement when I walk into a hospital. I physically, mentally and emotionally get excited.
16. I get so happy when it rains. It makes me come alive.
17. I don’t have to wear make-up all the time. I don’t always have to look nice. 
18. I know how to understand people quickly and call their card (personality type).
19. I waited until I was 21 to drink like an idiot.
20. I no longer want to smoke cigarettes!
21. I love classical music and how it makes me feel creative and relaxed all at the same time.
22. As much as I didn’t like it as I was going through it, I like that I’ve had an eating disorder. I know now what people go through in addiction and have sympathy that I never thought I would have for people I don’t know and do know.
23. I have confidence beyond my own understanding. 
24. I love music with a passion. I can’t make it, sing it or do anything but live through it.
25. I’m bold. 
26. I’m driven.
27. I love to cook. I love that I can actually cook, too!
28. I’m not afraid of confrontation.
29. I stand out.
30. I was Homecoming Queen my freshman year of high school. I actually tied with a girl that was very, very popular. I couldn’t believe it happened. I was a band dork with a quirky personality that was Homecoming Queen as a freshman. Weird.
31. I’ve been in love twice (David, Amy), been in lust/love twice (Taylor, Anna). 
32. I have a passion for London. I love everything UK!
33. Candy is my weakness and coffee is my air.
34. I’ve been a dreamer my whole life. I dream when I sleep. I day dream all the time. I use to play make-believe (sometimes still do) when I was a kid all the time. I loved living in the made up realms of my mind.
35. I would rather spend money on dinner with friends than drinks at a bar, movie tickets, theme park adventure or travel. 
36. When I actually workout, I can workout forever! I love being healthy (when I do it).
37. I am apart of Susan G. Komen because breast cancer took my Grandma.
38. I can not live without God.
39. I can handle Tequila.
40. Friendship is not something I’m looking to just check off a list. I’m always looking for depth in people and am not satisfied until I find it.
41. I’m a risk taker. Sure, certain risks I’m not able to do, but on the majority I like to jump.
42. I love to feel everything in my soul.
43. I’m better among a group of strangers than I am with people I know.
44. I move furniture around because I get tired of seeing things always the same.
45. I’m very, very self-aware.
46. I’m figuring out that life is a complicated, joyful mess that doesn’t always make you happy at 24.
47. I’m naturally social. Always have been, always will be.
48. Fall in love with the disadvantaged.
49. I graduated in four years without using a single credit. Not one credit was wasted.
50. Being nervous propels me forward versus making me want to hide.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

Concert Uniform

Right now, I’m at work waiting for a event we’re hosting. We’re just sitting around waiting for the clock to move before we head over to our venue and start setting up. As I sit here, a co-worker refreshes her make-up, the other changes and one completes some work, I feel like I’m back in band. 

I’ve played the flute from 4th grade until I graduated from high school. I was apart of band all through out middle school and high school. I loved it often and hated it mostly. I hated having to practice sometimes and I hated having to get up early for marching band. More often than not I loved concert/performing time. I loved that feeling of your stomach in knots and your mind wraping over every note as to not mess up. Marching band I was never worried about. I didn’t care if I played or not, I just wanted to march. 

If you’ve never been in band or did even the marching side of it, you won’t really get the joy of it. Sure, Hollywood has painted kids in marching band to be nerds and socially awkward, but that’s far from it. In fact, more kids that were in the band were being elected Prom Queen/King, Homecoming Queen/King, StuCo President and top athletes. I hate to turn on the lights to my own markee, but I was Homecoming Queen and an athlete. Hell, I was even in Student Council. Ha! Take that Hollywood and your Lohan by products!

Anyways, I loved the bright lights, loud cheering and strong echo each note would make on the steel stands. Loved the pressure of “what if you fall” or “what if you miss a note”. What I loved more was the rush of being in front of people.

Ah! Got to go!

So It Is, I’m You

About a year ago, I sat in a high school auditorium, really early for church. I had mis-remembered the time and showed up at the end of what I thought was the beginning of the first service. After the closing of the first service and people started to leave I realized I had it wrong. I was new and searching for a place to worship. So, because I was there and not about to admit defeat, I stayed and waited. As I sat there for twenty minutes I read the handout. I never read those things because I’m in either too much of a hurry or just don’t want to. Seeing how it had my full attention for twenty minutes before I started scoping out the church hotties not with girlfriends, I read.

On the front cover was a story about this woman and her past. It started out in such a way that grabbed my heart. She was angry, constantly angry. She fought with her husband and her children. Yelling, throwing things and causing huge scenes. It wasn’t until one morning when, during one of her rages at nothing in particular, she saw her past threw her daughter’s eyes. On the floor, cornered away by the fridge was a crumpled piece of her daughter trying to be as far back as she could be. Crying and trying to remain unseen from her mother’s rage, she saw herself as a little girl in the same way. It took her back to her childhood and the pain she had from her father. Her story was much different than mine, but all the same her father played a big part in her break down. In years of counseling, she came to a place with God and herself where she felt safe, safe enough to confront her dad with the pain he had caused her. When she came to him in love, and truth he denied having ever hurt her and that she was making it up. He, after many years, never caved, but she moved on, let go and became less angry.

This story stumped me that I kept it around. I kept pushing it around my dresser, throwing it in the back of my Bible because I knew there was something about it I couldn’t throw away. I felt like I knew her. I knew, even then, that I was destined for this sort of break down/realization of what kept drowning me.

Have you ever watched “James Bond” and saw him go through a metal door? You know the kind, the ones that open in one quick steel-knife motion and close just the same? That’s what I think about when I hit college. Spring of my freshmen year, I walked away from the love of my life, my major and future plans. I don’t remember exactly when, but shortly after all those changes I felt the blade of the steel-knife like door close me from the rest of the world. My happiness, joy and hope walked out and anger, loneliness and broken spirit entered in.

Just ten minutes ago I had that moment. The moment that I saw myself and could have cried.

A little under a month ago I got a second dog (Pippa). She came to me not as I expected her to. She was dirty, sick and smelly. She was scared, very scared and completely un-teachable. I had rescued her from the same people I had gotten my first dog (Molly). Molly was a walk in the park, but Pippa was another story. I was patient with her and quick to start teaching her the rules. She soon got better and learned that inside is not the same as outside. Since I’ve added a second dog, Molly and Pippa have not stopped playing. They love each other and Pippa does what Molly does. I’ve noticed, though, that since the addition of the not so perfect dog I started training wrong. Snaps on the nose replaced time out and loud “no” replaced better correction. I kept thinking my quick to anger was related to everything else and that once I got over the many hills I had been on, I would be better. Well, I also thought that once Pippa learned to go outside we would not be doing accidents inside. I was wrong on both accounts.

Tonight was the pentacle of pottying inside. Twice I found pee spots (one old and one in action of). The second one I found myself very angry. I disciplined her quickly and put her in her crate. I was so angry because I knew she understood outside was good and inside was bad. What made me more mad was that she didn’t even let me know. She has thing to let me know she needs to go and I got nothing. What sparked this similar experience as with the woman I mentioned before was after I had put her in her crate, cleaned up the mess and what not, I went to her crate and just stared her down. My brain couldn’t wrap around anything but anger. I just sat there, said nothing and stared. She knew she was in trouble because she wouldn’t meet my eyes. It hit me when I realized I wanted her to feel bad. Yes, she’s just a dog and ten seconds after she did it, she had no idea why I was staring her down. I get that, but I can’t help but think the behavior I have towards my dogs is the kind I will have towards my children, so this discipline is very important to me.

I sat there and watched her eyes, her throat and her body. She didn’t move. She swallowed slowly and her eyes constantly looked to the left. Once I saw all those things I saw myself.

(That has to be the worst way to describe oneself as when they looked at their dog they saw themselves, but work with me; I’m going some where I promise.)

I saw myself after every fight I had had with father. I saw myself motionless, fighting tears – never looking directly in the eye. I can remember the “I’m sorry” after every hurtful word, after the time he grabbed me and threw me out of a room. I can remember him asking for forgiveness because of what that made him feel like inside, but knowing he would do it again in the future. I remember hurting and never letting it show. I remember thinking “one day…I won’t ever let him do that to me again.”

Today…tonight, in my anger, I became him. I wanted her to feel pain through my eyes. I wanted to deep within my person react in a higher, angry way, but (because I don’t abuse animals) I separated myself from her. I took a step back and realized I couldn’t use “house, family, job, etc.” as excuses to pretend my anger was just misplaced. I have no place for it. I need no place for it. Luckily, she is a dog and won’t remember that in ten minutes, but what if that had been my child? What if I had stared, yelled or displayed over the top anger to my child? I would have been repeating the cycle I never wanted to repeat. Sorry is great, but doesn’t cover the words you said or the hurt that they felt.

I am glad this is something my therapist and I are working through, but I never realized this until just these past couple of months. I never thought of my dad as a bad dad, but rather me as a bad child. I never wanted to see my dad wrong because he was my dad. I will say my dad is human as we all are and I can’t be angry at him forever. There are a lot of great things he did amidst the bad ones. It’s the just bad ones that burned more; caused more tears and the need for better healing techniques.

In terms of Pippa, well, she’ll have accidents (hopefully less than more). She will be out of time out soon and hopefully all the wiser of her potty behavior or cause me to steam clean my carpet, yet again. Ugh…dogs and carpet. The worst pairs in the world!

It’s Amazing How…

I have managed to keep my blog a secret from people I know (minus a few I don’t mind knowing) until today (possibly). I think one of my co-workers found my Twitter and then found my blog and then found me. Oh well.

What is also amazing is how I wanted to get a new French color from the Paris collection from OPI, but (being that I’m broke) decided to look in the old nail polish library for an old, personal classic. In my find I rediscovered Marquir d’Mauve. This color is a soft, metallic amber with a little bit of coral hue in it’s light. Funny.

Something I’ve been pondering ever since I re-watched “The Seven Year Itch”: How in the hell did the ladies of the day get away with NOT washing their hair every day AND have it still look so clean? WTF? I am a firm believer that if I haven’t worked out or sweat I don’t take a shower every day. The longest I will go (when having to be in public) is two days. That means I will either re-straighten my hair, do tight curls (hides day two shine) or tease the shit out of it and pull it back. These are my only options right now, but I’m just curious how these ladies did it. I do NOT have blond hair so it’s harder for me to get away with certain things without it looking dirty, but I would love to know a few 1940-1960 tricks of the trade.

I really don’t think there’s anything wrong with not showering every day. I don’t stink or (hopefully) look nasty, but my skin can’t take the “every morning shower” routine. I have all these dry skin problems (yeah, it’s cool to be me) which means I can’t shower every day without being so dry it hurts. In fact I have to wax (when I can afford it) because my skin hates me so much. I hate those girls who have blond little leg hairs that are hardly noticed and can’t stand to not shave every day. Bitches. Try being full English with dark, Native American hair that grows proudly like the Italians. Yeah, that’s me. Oh well, it’s me. That’s what I should say-right?

I think it’s so funny how, as little girls, we’re taught that beauty is a painful process that should be done every day. I was never one of those who couldn’t leave the house without make-up on. In fact, I haven’t been able to wear in for the longest times because my skin is so dry. My mom was completely opposite, though. My mom reminds me of Monica’s mom from “Friends” when she asked her “what are you wearing” during a black out. Yeah, my mom would want to make sure I was prime for viewing even if the whole city had no lights. In fact, she never left the house without make-up for many years. Don’t think unless she was going to Bible Study or some sort of morning woman’s thing she was always wearing make-up.

I never understood the girls that wore make-up when they worked out either. Some times I know you can’t help it and it’s just left on from work, no problem. But, what about those girls who put on make-up to work out? I know I haven’t been to the gym lately and my plan for dieting was telling my parents I am bi, but I do have a gym downtown with plenty of male hotties. Yeah, some of them (most) are gay, but some most certainly are not and I’ve seen some ladies. Tight little workout clothes, hair pulled back and makeup fully on. Ladies, it’s 6:30 in the morning and you had to have gotten up so early to have gotten ready for the gym. I don’t get it.

I just had a thought as I described the girls that workout at my gym and how I also wrote bi in the same paragraph. I wonder, readers, if you’re thinking if I’m reacting to things like that? Funny you should ask, but I would love to tell you my type: not that type. I’m a mans-man kind of girl and I like my women just the same. Wow, that was weird to say, but it’s true. I love men who are men, but not afraid to be honest about who they are. I love women who are more like men. I can appreciate a woman for her beauty typically because I’m jealous of it. If I’ve ever looked at woman and thought “damn” it was because I wanted a rack like that and wished my legs looked that good. It’s very, very, very, very rare that I would be attracted to that. I guess I’m a straight bi girl. I guess. Whatever.

What’s also amazing is how quickly this house this could be happening. I’m not God and things could easily fall through, but I’m hoping it’s in the process of no return. I meet with my Realtor tomorrow and I meet with the money next week. EXCITED.

Ya’ll, Don’t Fight

My therapist told me to start recording my dreams because he believes my subconscious is telling how to fix my problems and focusing on things that are really bothering me. (I told him about the dream concerning my dad a couple days ago and this is where he said, “start writing them down. Because (I know you don’t start a sentence with “because any more, but whatever) I’m interested I am going to.)

Last night’s dream is titled “Ya’ll, Don’t Fight”. It went a little like this:

There were two groups of people: teenagers and cops/adults. I was first at a camp working with these teenagers so I had earned their friendship. The leader of the group was a guy named Brandon (funny enough my co-worker’s boyfriend Brandon whom I’ve never met). They were a rough group of teenagers and were always looked down upon by the cops/adults. I understood them and knew that they just needed attention and a listening ear. At one point it became a little “West Side Story” with the teenagers being the Jets and the cops/adults being the Sharks. They all wanted to brawl, but I stepped in and talked to the groups first. I said that the teenagers were just wanting to be heard and understood while the adults just wanted to be respected. Once each group realized the others need the fighting stopped and they went on with their lives. The last part of my dream was I became a nanny for a family with a little boy. It’s like after I saved the day, I went to their house really early in the morning to start taking care this family. 

Dreams are so weird. I wish I could remember what my dream was about the night before, but it seems to be happening more often. I dream EVERY SINGLE NIGHT, which means I don’t sleep well. Suck.

Chair Dancing (Not The Naughty Kind)

Okay, since I’ve been Debby Downer I’ve decided I will do a little post on things I love currently.

Here we go (not in any particular order):

1. I just ordered a new book from Amazon called “I Was Told There Would Be Cake” and am very excited about reading it. Thanks E. for sharing the book!
2. I have found a really good councilor and am excited about meeting with him today!
3. I must, must get into the Healthcare world. I realized last night was draws me to it is it’s fast-paced world and challenge. I would always have to prove myself and constantly be competing (two things I love doing). Plus, I want to help people.
4. I have found a realitor that, conwincidentaly, is referred to me by two completely different people. I plan on meeting with her this next week and getting started!
5. Pippa has finally understood we tinkle outside and not inside.
6. I got Starbucks this morning and it was delicious.
7. I did paint my nails last night so I do feel one step closer to being girly again.
8. XMU (on XM Radio) is rocking out! I haven’t had to change it yet because a song I don’t like came on.
9. I get to meet with my Career Councilor tomorrow!
10. I am completely alone with no one to talk to and, right now, it doesn’t feel so bad. 
11. I’m all caught up with Grey’s Anatomy season four. 
12. It’s Wednesday and the weekend is almost here!

Let Go

You know that beating in your chest that seems to suck all the air out of your lungs and tie your stomach in knots? I get that every single time I talk to my parents. Ever since that conversation I can’t breath when they call , send emails or whatever. I don’t want food, drink or comfort. I freeze. 

Last night, I dreamt about my Dad. The dream first started out as he and I buying ice cream. We were in Hawaii and he had to spend some ridiculous amount of money on ice cream that I wanted. We were heading back to this place where my family was staying. Once we got there, we walked into a room full of people with my mom in the center. All of sudden my dad was in a meeting with these people and they were mad at him. Because my dad never takes the blame, he looks over at my mom and starts yelling at her it was her fault. In front of all these people he’s yelling at her and saying very hurtful things about her to the point where she’s crying and having to leave the room. I couldn’t take it anymore. I started yelling hurtful things back. Things that stung and made him more mad. He starts putting blame on me and yelling that I cost him so much money, that I was so spoiled. I keep yelling and saying things that get him to react physically. He pulls out a gun and tries to shoot me, but instead shoots himself. There were no bullets, so no one died, but he just wanted to get a reaction out of me that was full of fear. I woke up and was so angry. 

Dreams are weird, but that one hit a little too close to home. 

When I was a kid my dad and mom would always fight. Like I said, he couldn’t take the blame nor have a conversation so he would get angry at her. Right in front of us, he would say hurtful things. I hated it and would yell back at him to make him stop talking to my mom that way. Of course I got in trouble, but I didn’t care. 

When I returned from college my dad generously gave me my mom’s car. It was a four year old Lincoln and I loved it, but it was falling apart. It cost more money to fill up and maintain than it was worth it, but he wouldn’t give me the title so I could sell it for something more affordable. So, one night I went into the den and started talking to him about apartments. I wanted out so bad and just didn’t want to get in over my head. He starts yelling at me, telling me I have no idea what the real world is like and I have my head up my butt, so I was in for a world of hurt on my own. This made me mad. I have been the most responsible person (minus credit debt) and knew I wasn’t going to fail. I started back at him and said something about if I didn’t have that stupid car, I would be able to move out sooner, etc. That made him so mad, that he picked me up by the arm, threw me out of the room and yelled (for the whole house to hear) “I was an ungrateful bitch”.  He also took this time to shame me for my relationship with Anna and slammed the door in my face. That wasn’t the first time I’ve been called a bitch by him, but it still evoked tears and hate. I moved out within three weeks. I took the first thing that would take me. 

This morning I got an email from him about a devotional by Max Lucado. Nothing against Max Lucado, but the message angered me. When my dad was telling me how much he didn’t approve of my life he kept saying “God is black and white. You’re either right or your wrong.” Go figure that this devotional is about the same thing. I believe that God is black and white and you’re either right or your wrong, but you can’t just call a spade a spade when your whole body aches in hurt over what to do. 

Maybe it’s Satan telling me to focus on my anger for my father and use it to keep him at bay, but I have deep rooted hurt from this man. No person is perfect, but I made him out to be. He could do no wrong and I was always wrong next to him. I don’t like this mindset anymore. 

I hate it. Every time I talk to him (through email, phone or in person) I always walk away doubting myself. Regardless of how wrong or right my life is, isn’t it mine? Shouldn’t be allowed to figure it out for myself?

Last night, before I went to bed, I was praying and discussing things over with God. Well, I was discussing and He was listening. I was talking about everything that’s going on right now and I started to feel claustrophobic. I couldn’t sit still within my own skin. I wanted to run away and leave everything behind me. I started thinking I needed to leave the city, I needed to change my phone number, I needed to turn everything off. I wanted out of my own skin!? Does that not seem crazy to anyone else? 

I’m glad I’m meeting with my therapist today, but seriously…there’s not much more of this I can take. I feel powerless and completely unable to do anything right. I don’t have hope or even joy admits all of this. I’m exhausted once I come home that I just watch hours of stupid TV (on my computer) and then go to bed. I toss and turn, without real sleep and can’t seem to get up in the mornings. 

I want to say I can get through this, but it just doesn’t feel like I can. Now I know why people do drugs. It would be nice to just sit back and not have to deal with anything. That’s why my brother started smoking pott and while he depends on it today. It’s why my mom drinks more than she should and struggles with it today. 

I want to run away and blame everyone, but then that would make me just like my dad. 

God, please give me the strength just to have hope. All I’m asking for is hope, okay? Keep the joy and just let me have hope that it’s going to get better and I’m not going to screw myself up anymore? Sometimes I feel I’m my own worst enemy.

Silently Breaking

They have no idea,
They can not see why,
Every time you put the phone to your ear and secretly want to cry.

“Why are you so down”,
“Why are you sick”,
“Why are things different with you?”.

I’m silently breaking.
My heart is pulling apart.
They’re making me walk away from the love of my heart.

I don’t know how to stand there,
Pretend like things don’t change.
I wear every emotion on my sleeve.

Silently breaking,
I can not say a word.
They have no idea who she is or why she steals my mood.

“This or That”

In the last couple of weeks I’ve been shaking myself loose from the mental break down I had in the presence of my parents two Sundays ago. I’ve mentioned that my parents wanted to talk to me about my decision to come out to them as “bi”. I, thinking I’m ever so strong, agree to meet them on Sunday for a little discussion. “Little” is hardly the word and “discussion” is not what happened in the slightest. I was, rather, told “wrong” ,”saved”, “don’t approve”, “struggle”, “sin no more” and “we love you”.  Hmm…

After that little two-hour me sit there and they yell situation, I left, picked me up some McDonald’s and went home to plunder away at a large fry and McNugget combo. There were tons of tears. There was tons of anger and sadness. 

Since then I’ve not been the same, good and bad. I’ve pulled away from my relationship with Amy, my parents and generally anyone I was close to. I’ve become more like a air-tight liter of Coke that’s been dropped on the floor one to many times. My lid is about to explode and my reaction is about to be every where. 

In an effort to build some meaning out of my existence I’ve been seeing a therapist. At first, when I found him through Psychology Today I thought he seems to be too mellow for me. As I was desperate for a councilor that was not with the Christian crusade of America (I have no idea if such a crusade really exists) I settled for at least one appointment with him. I had to get all that anger, emotion and confusion out of me before I pushed it into the deep parts of my mind to just poison my thoughts with “what ifs” and “I hate you’s”. Turns out this guy is amazing.

I titled this blog “This or That” because of another blog I read shared to me by Amy. It’s written by an amazing personal bloger named Kristy. This blog she wrote was about her figuring out the path of her life and where she wanted to go. She mentions being married before to a man that she could see her future clearly with. Children, career, life, all of it was visible in the distance. It wasn’t until her mother became ill that she realized she didn’t want any of it. It wasn’t what she wanted for herself at 25. Marriage, mortgage and children were not on her agenda, so she started over on her own. She now, at 32, is coming back to this place of marriage, mortgage and children with a renewed self and more focused mind. She says she couldn’t have been a good mother then as she would be now. Unfortunately, her ovaries are no longer functioning. It’s becoming more obvious that she will not be able to have children. Towards the end of her blog she says words that describe me right now. She says, “I don’t think I’ve made a mistake, living this life. I know I’d make a much better mother now than I ever could have been ten years ago. But by waiting, did I lose my opportunity? By having “this” did I miss my chance at “that”?” 

Mistake. That word is one I hate to know personally. I always want to win, choose the right side and do the right thing. I hate being in the wrong, the bad or the guilty. Funny how when you sit in your own life, overwhelmed by everything else, the wrong is blurred and the right further away. I don’t know what the right or the wrong is for me and I would care for you not to tell me either. I boil at the very chance to mess up, to some how throw myself down the stairs of life and break every possible future bone in my path, but I hate taking it one step at a time, too. I hate that life can’t just be something I LIVE rather than something I talk about. I’m over people telling me what I should do and what I shouldn’t. I think, sometimes, I would much rather live on a island all on my own. Absent from people and communication, but then I think I would be far crazier than I am now. 

Every night I sit in my bed, pondering my mistakes, my failures and my direction for the morrow. I would call myself an optimist minus my brain. How, in all the years of good times and up beat emotions, have I come to this place of empty? I keep thinking if I do “this” or “that” I will better be able to answer those hard question pressing in on me. Funny how “this” or “that” don’t really help me, but further complicate my life and add to the need for something else to distract me. 

Did I mention I wanted to run? Yes, last week I sought a councilor to help me answer just one question, “do I leave?” I wanted out of my parents hand. I wanted to get away from people that knew me and knew my family. I wanted to do my own thing and exist in my own person absent of those knowing anything about me/family. But, in all things complicated there was also this need to stay. This need to teach my mind that running wasn’t the answer and establishing strength next to the things that break me down was far more important than lovely weather and new faces. So I’m staying. Staying to the point that I’m looking for a home. I’m tired of the renting game and hate owing the rental man. I’m hoping within the next two months I’ll be living in my own place with new possibilities. 

That’s my focus right now. That’s my time line. What seems to not care is my heart. What do I do with feelings? What do I do with Amy? 

Before my lovely chat with my parents I was head over heals smitten for her. Feelings haven’t changed but the safety of expressing them has. I don’t know how to go back. I don’t know how to feel those safely or exist in a relationship with her safely. My mind, my parents, my co-workers, the world is heavy upon my heart and I don’t know how to win under them. Remember…I have to win. 

I can’t just close my eyes and jump in, taking every sharp wave with stride because I’m scared. Fear surrenders me motionless, I will drown. “This or that” is something I seem to bounce back and forth on. I hate bouncing. I hate being beaten about like a basketball missing the rim. One side grabs me, fails at the free throw line and the other team tires equally as unsuccessful. I’m the ball the teams don’t realize I’m the reason they’re playing. Without me there would be no game. Without me there would be no reason to compete. Without me there would be no need to play without concern. 

I’m tired of being played with. I’m tired of being something for a reason versus a person with a heart. My soul is none of anyone’s business, but my heart is capable of being crushed by anyone. 

I also don’t want to be that person for Amy. I want to be careful, highly careful with her heart. I don’t like playing this role. I don’t like being the person saying “hey, there’s a small chance I’ll ever have the strength to actually take the big step, but if you’ll wait it might be worth your while.” She doesn’t run and I don’t want her to, but I wish she didn’t love me. Only because I love her and the whole thing isn’t fair to her. I just don’t have answer. I don’t have an answer today and who knows if I’ll have an answer tomorrow. 

I’m tired of not having the balls to just make a decision and stick in it. I’m so afraid of missing “this” for “that” it becomes harder and harder to do anything. I’m a risk taker and love making that jump, so why am I so afraid? I have never had this type of fear with anything. I’ve just done it. 

You know what I’m also tired of? Being 24 and having to have it all figured out. Since when does a 24-year old have to know what’s going to happen for the rest of her life? I blame my dad. He’s always been like “where’s your plan” and “what are you going to do”. It’s great in considering a house, a job or something NOT related to your heart. 

Dad, I don’t have an freaking plan! I don’t and won’t. I don’t care to find one and I don’t care to make one. I want to be smart and not hurt people, but I don’t have a plan. Sure, sure, it may end up biting me in the ass but I’m tired, very tired of walking that tight rope for you. I’m tired that I have pretend to have it all figured out in order to talk to you. Did you ever know you’re scary? Yeah! You’re not the same guy you were when I was a little kid. Perhaps you’re more concerned now with our well being and just want to make sure we’re okay, but you’re scary. You either think you can scare things out of us or be mean and we’ll just do whatever you want. That’s how you’ve beaten me down before and, I’m sorry, I don’t want to do it anymore. There has to be a break in our relationship. You have to now be an adult because I am now an adult. No, I’m not as learned as you nor have I gathered the many years of wisdom you’ve obtained, but you did it on your own, why can’t I? You moved a million miles away from your family for job and sanity. I’m not moving because I’m facing you, but I will not allow you control me. I’m an adult and it’s high time you treat me like one. 

I’m going to make many, many mistakes. I’m going to fall down and have a hell of a time getting back up, but as long as God gives breath in this body I will get back up. I will do things as you wouldn’t. I will do things as you would. Either way, I’ll be doing them, not you. 

I don’t even know how to talk to you anymore. I would love, love to send these words to you, but you’re so damn defensive that you wouldn’t even read the truth behind them. I’m tired of having to have a plan for you. I don’t live on your dime and I’m not under your roof. My plan is my own and if I do decided to live it absent of your hand, then you must sit back and be thankful I’m able to do it on my own. 

…

I can’t wait for my therapy.