Temporary

Hello long, lost blog. Hello and all apologies for being so absent. I have treated you like a fair-weather friend, but in the reverse, as I only spend time with you when I need something from you... when I need some sort of piece of mind or translation of my thoughts and feelings. I only come to you when I need help navigating my own mind, or finding answers to questions that keep coming up unanswerable otherwise. I treat you like my last option, my back-up, my therapy dispenser. I suppose it is a good thing you are not a living thing, and therefore not hurt by my neglect. One could argue that by being my outlet, the neglect I burden you with is actually neglect unto myself. One could argue it... and they would be right. I don't spend enough time processing and sorting and defining, at least not in the way I am able to here. Not like I can when I write. I can think for years, but it never comes to the same end as it does on paper. So, I am here.

Neglect... boy that word can mean and stand for so many things. I think we all envision a starving or dirty child when we hear that word. But doesn't it also describe someone starved for love or affection? Doesn't it also include someone not looked after or thought of? Doesn't neglect envelope so much more than the basic needs not being met? We don't like to use it for these things, despite its perfect definition as such, because then we have to face what our actions actually cause, both physically and emotionally. Everyone knows neglect brings terrible consequences, so if we define something under it, then we have to see that it has left scars or open wounds where before we thought all was healed. This was, and probably still is, the hardest thing for me to realize in my life... the hardest thing to accept. Because if I admitted that all of these things were neglect, in every single sense of the word, then I would have to see that there were results and pain and fear and that I was, in fact, affected. I keep using that word, right? Affected. I just feels heavy to say it in my head, let alone trying to say it out loud. Why? Because I have never struggled with my story. I have never questioned the accuracy of what I recall or the turn of events that has been my life. But what I have struggles with was the acknowledgment that I was harmed, changed, molded, and enlightened by all of it. I was affected. I didn't get out unscathed or impervious. I thought I did. That is why that word means so much. Because I have never been so wrong.

Everyone that is neglected is affected. Period.

There are no what-if's or not-all-the-time's about it. It may be a tiny or unnoticed scar, but everyone who experiences neglect carries with them a souvenir of that journey. It may change how they react to something previously not bothersome. It may make them cling tighter to something previously unimportant. Or it may leave them feeling scared to let in something that was once welcome to come in whenever it chose. When you neglect to show someone you love affection, they may be scared to show it to others as well, since those people may withhold it like you did.  When you neglect to tell someone how you are feeling, they may think you are feelings someway you are not, leaving them to carry the burden of confusion or hurt. When you neglect to ask how someone's day was or tell your wife she is beautiful or tell your brother you love him... what does that do? What does that leave them missing?

It is easy for us to remember how badly the obvious instances of neglect can harm someone, but what about the little ones that happen more often? If you stack a penny every day, eventually you still end up with a dollars worth. It just takes more time. And it takes more time for them to realize that what they are getting is neglect. You could say, that might even be worse than sudden and severe neglect. That it might make for longer lasting and deeper scars.

For anecdotal sake, and lord knows I can provide plenty of evidence of this through more avenues than I care to count, let's look at how I went from wide-open to shell shocked, and hopefully am rounding the corner back to free again. Anyone who knows me would have no trouble saying that I was absolutely affectionate in my teenage/early twenties years. I hugged a lot, I told people I loved them a lot, I touched my bf/husband a lot, and I cuddled a lot. I had no fear. Well, let me rephrase... I had fear, but it was that I would leave people feeling unloved like my mother did. So, I made sure everyone knew that I adored them or liked them or appreciated them. I tried to anyway. I am sure I failed in some cases and there is someone out there right now who thought I was a bitch for some reason or another. The point is, I never thought twice about showing my feelings. It wasn't until I put my heart in the hands of someone right after my divorce and he played with it like play-do that it all started to change. He was nice to me in private, but in public he almost ignored me. Touching him could mean pushing him away. He told no one about us but made me feel loved when we were alone. I began to be scared to show my affection for him with people around, because it often made him withdraw. I know now that it was because he had no intentions of us every really becoming US. But at the time, that neglect left me feeling like my desire for acknowledgment and titles and public affection was unreasonable and needy.

And in true heartbroken fashion, I went after or accepted the advances of guys who acted just the same way for the next majority of my relationships. Eventually, it left me feeling like they were embarrassed of me, that I wasn't good enough, and that I was clearly just temporary. They didn't starve me or leave me out int he dirt or cold. But I was neglected. And I was affected.

As much as I have done well to know myself and recognize the things I am carrying onto the next stop in life, this is the lasting effect I have the hardest time shaking in new relationships. No matter how much I try not to make the next person suffer for the pain caused by the one before them, I have repeatedly caught myself struggling to remember that touching them or reaching for their hand won't send them running. I almost come into new relationships with the acceptance that they are likely ashamed of me and that I should let them set the pace for everything from affection to commitment. I still want to be sure they know I care, but I am scared to do it first. It is not fear of rejection so much as it is fear of neglect. If I reach for their hand and it pushes them away, they will withhold more than they already do. Or leave altogether. It sounds silly to say, write, and read... but it is the scar left after years of allowing myself to feel responsible when I loved someone neglectful.

For the first time in a long time, I am not scared to want someone... to need someone. I am not scared to touch them or smother them in kisses. I am not scared to tell them I miss them. For the first time in years, I feel like I did when I was a kid and all I wanted to do was make someone happy and protect them and make them feel so, so loved. It is a good feeling to have. It isn't all sunshine and roses... she is taking her time telling important people in her life about us and even though that is okay, it is hard for me not to default back to those feelings of not being good enough or being an embarrassment. It is hard to not feel temporary. It is really hard not to feel temporary. The circumstances are different, but the results can still be the same. I may know the reasons why, or at least the ones given to me, but the way I am affected won't waver much if the position of the players is the same. And frankly, even the reasons I am given will only be good reasons for so long. Some of them already no longer make a whole lot of sense.

The thing is, before, I looked at each new time I was being neglected as a chance to prove I could change it... and it just ate more of me away each time. It left me affected, but in two ways. I not only came out of it with fear but I also came out of it with knowledge. And that knowledge will prevent me from ever letting myself take responsibility for someone else's issues again. I may have taken a long time to see that I am Affected, but I am seeing that not all consequences are bad.

Being affected isn't always bad.

Not Mine

Somehow, I have failed to realize that I was not the only one to compartmentalize everything that happened growing up in an effort to make it 'not so bad'... failed to realize it until a certain conversation with my sister. I have long been troubled that my sister didn't seem troubled at all by what happened to me and what I went through. I told myself it was because she was young, or because she didn't have the full picture, or because she was brain washed by Bill herself. I couldn't understand why she managed to remain close to him when, if our places had been traded and he had hurt her, I would have needed 50 men to stop me from killing him. It made me feel like she didn't care... or worse... like Linda... she didn't believe me.

Then we talked one day and I said just what I have said here. I told her that if he had put her through one day of what I went through for years, I would want to wrap my hands around his neck. I told her that I didn't understand how she could hang out with him, let her girls around him, love him. Yes, she was young when all hell broke loose, but she is older now and capable of understanding. Yes, I refrained from talking for a long time because of how it was handled when I first came forward, but she knows now. So, how could she act like it was just my problem when I am her sister? I know she loves me, but how does she not want to make him responsible for being a monster? I asked her and she said something that seemed logical at the time, but didn't sink in until a few minutes later.

"Yeah, but he is still my dad"

At first, you would think this makes some sense. I know, because I justified it all the same way myself for so long. Bill is her dad and I shouldn't tell her how to feel about him. He isn't my dad, he is hers and that is hers do deal with. I told myself that her relationship with him only depended on the interactions she has had with him, and to my knowledge, he has not hurt her like he hurt me. But a few minutes later it hit me....

He was my dad then too. I have gotten myself to this point where I no longer look at him as my dad, and so has she... but she has forgotten that when he was hurting me he was MY dad too. And he was the only one I had. He wasn't some stranger or family friend. He wasn't the guy that married my mom. He was my dad. It is so easy to look at it now and see he is her dad and I have my biological dad as mine. It is so easy to compartmentalize how bad or disturbing it is based on what Bill's relation to me is... it is easier to look at a man as still your dad if you convince yourself that the little girl he touched and hurt and manipulated wasn't also his daughter. It makes it easier to see him as safe if you convince yourself he doesn't hurt his children, and that the child he hurt is not his child. I get it, because it is how I dealt with it as well. I escaped having to face the fact that my dad hurt me by making him not my dad. Then he becomes just some sick man. And he loses a little bit of the largeness of what he has done. A man who hurts a little girl is horrible, but one who hurts his daughter is just unspeakable.

And without realizing it, my sister and I both have excused a little part of how horrible he is by taking that dad part of it away, and letting him be just a man who hurt a kid. But he is not just a man who hurt a kid, he is a man who hurt his daughter. He adopted me, he raised me, I trusted him, and I had no one else. He made sure I had no one else. He was my dad and I was his daughter, and that did not stop him from giving me backrubs with my top off, touching me, sexualizing other women and me, exposing me to alcohol and drugs, and treating me a surrogate wife all before I was out of middle school. When Bill was hurting me, I was his daughter as much as my sister was his daughter. To say any different is to say that it is okay to hurt an adopted child because they are not your own.

So, now I realize that my sister doesn't see him as her sister's dad who hurt her, she sees him as just her dad. I see why she is able to put the two men in different boxes. And in a way, it makes me even more mad at him. Because it means that his actions has screwed up someone I love even more than I already knew they had. It means either my sister never comes to grips with the reality of it, or she does and she hurts all over again just like I did when I finally faced the fact that what he did WAS that bad. No one wants to lose their dad, so it makes sense that to cope and protect what she has, my sister has made the man standing before her someone different than the man who puts his hands on and in me when I was a child. But he is not different. He is the same man who hurt me.

He was OUR dad. 

 

something that we suffered

I am reading a book, one that a friend thought might help me on the journey I have embarked on. I’m not sure it’s the book for me just yet, but I am pulling from it what I can… partly because I paid $15.99 for it and I would like to get something out of it worth roughly $16 or more, and partly because I would like a book that is for me, so I figure I should give all applicants a fighting chance. 

As I was reading today, I came to the part where the author talks about admitting that you were abused. I don’t think I had given it much thought before then, whether I could say it out loud or the feelings attached to it when I did. I am pretty outspoken and forthcoming with what I am feeling, generally. I suppose you could say it is a handicap. I am sure I accidentally alienate people sometimes or give TMI, but it is me. Maybe it is over-compensation for growing up in an emotional vacuum, but that’s another day’s work. At any rate, there are plenty of people I might accuse of knowing me well, and they would attest to the fact that I am rarely embarrassed or scared to tell you that I am hurting, mad, confused, or excited. I learned while young the power of words, so I try to express myself with others’ feelings in consideration, but I definitely express myself.

So, when I stopped to think about how I feel admitting I was sexually abused, I was kind of shocked to realize that I feel embarrassed. In fact, the thought of just saying it as a declarative statement makes me feel naked and exposed and like I am part of some group that everyone stares at, pities, and whispers about. Of course, I have discussed it before, though never in full detail and almost always as an answer rather than a statement. There is some embarrassment when the answer to a question asked is an affirmation of my past, but the thought of just saying “I was sexually abused” makes my stomach turn. It is too real, too defining… too permanent. It lets the abuse become something big enough that it has to be acknowledged and given a sentence. It has to be given a moment, part of my life that was supposed to be free from it.

To declare it is to say that my mother was wrong to ignore it and to deny it. It means I can’t wish it actually didn’t happen anymore. It means that the things I told myself were not abuse were and that the magnitude is, in fact, worse than I was trying to tell myself it was. I am no different than so many other people. We justify it so we can keep it small. We call it something else, play it down, or deny it altogether. We say we do it because it isn’t important, but really, we just want to keep it little… not so bad… keep it okay. It is easier to let it be something that just happened than it is to let it be something that we suffered.

So, my step today is to make it real, to take the power from my mother who wanted it to be my fault, and to take the confusion from Bill, who wanted me to think it was okay. I need to take it and make it what it is and nothing less. No more limbo or misguided hope. Just truth.

I was sexually abused by my adoptive father.

Image

Linda used to be nice when people were looking. She smiled, laughed, and acted involved when there were witnesses. My mother knew how to be nice and knew that it was what others expected. I cannot excuse her by saying she didn’t know she was being mean; she knew enough to only do it in private. I cannot say she was just unhappy nor had a short fuse; she controlled her mood just fine when she had to. She had the presence of mind to think “I am around people so I can’t call my daughter a slut.” This was obviously a very self-centered rationalization. She cared about the opinions of others, not the actual effect of her actions. She knew it was wrong, but the why was misconstrued. If it was no longer hurting her, then there must not be any pain to consider.  

And if her methods were questioned of she felt the need to justify herself, she would not hesitate at all to throw her children under the bus. She gave reasons why we deserved it, lists of things we did to her, and talked about how unfair we were to her. Often, this trash-talking to other people was knowingly said within earshot of us kids. We could hear her talk about how bad we were and how unhappy we made her. We could hear her lie, exaggerate, and attack us. And I am not talking about older children (not that it matters), but young… very young. I was in elementary school when I remember distinctly listening to my mother putting me down and talking about how bad of a kid I was when I was sitting just down the hall from her and whoever was with her. 

How does a child’s self esteem survive listening to their mother put them down to save her own image. How does a child hold onto the thought and feeling that their mother loves them when she throws them to the wolves to be chastised and disciplined rather than defending them. My mother was that mom who, instead of questioning the problems a school is giving her child after a deadly illness caused absence from class, decides she is more concerned with looking bad and therefore helps blame the child during the conference that is held with teachers and the principal. She is the mother who not only does not question why her daughter is being treated unfairly, but adds her own lies to jump on the band wagon to take the heat off of the fact that she is unsupportive, uninvolved, and has no clue who her daughter is or what is going on in her life. She lied to save her reputation with no regard to the fact that she had just assisted in the destruction of what had been a promising education and record for an intelligent and hopeful child.

The sense of abandonment in that moment that I felt cannot be put into words. I was not only alone, but cornered, and my mother was there backing me in. The frustration… the loneliness… the helplessness of that moment is still tangible. I can still put myself in that seat and feel like the most lost child in the world more than 10 years later. You do not just forget or get over it. It is profound and defining when you realize that you do not have an advocate. Your mother will never tell someone to shut up for putting down her kids; she will join in with them. She will not tell teachers to go to hell; she will nod with them and lie to hide her uselessness. Your mother is not that mother bear, she is a snake in the grass.

I catch myself being short with my son sometimes. I catch myself acting in a way my head tells me later is not how I want to act. Of course, my moments of frustration are minor in nature, but I have no desire to welcome even a hint of irrational impatience into my relationship with my son. No matter what I know, I never learned how to do it differently. I never learned how to be a parent who understands children’s imperfections. I had no well of knowledge to draw from, so I have to teach myself. I work hard to talk myself through not being what I have seen. The way you do thing without thinking, I am predestined to have a short fuse. But unlike my mother, I am concerned with the pain other than my own. I do not want my son to hurt or be scared or be ashamed. So, I try to learn. I monitor my own actions and change course the best way I can when automation tries to take hold. I see myself getting impatient, but I have no intention of letting that be me. That was Linda and it does not have to spread to me. The thought of making my son hurt makes me nauseous. So, I put in the work. Because the thought of abandoning my child emotionally is terrifying, and the thought of my son thinking he needs to defend himself against me is unimaginable.

We all, as parents, have moments were we later look back and wish we had handled things differently. We are human and have days where things annoy us more easily or where that question does actually bother us the third time it is asked. We all have things about our parents we want to change in our own parenting styles. Obviously, in some cases, breaking cycles means more work and more vital changes, but we all have those lessons we have to learn ourselves. I will forever wish my parents had given me even a remote foundation to build on when it came to being a good mom, or even a decent one. But the love I have for my son is what sets me apart from them... it is what makes me think of his little heart before mine. I make mistakes, but I will never stop being a mother bear.

Disconnected

Photo by Angelina Williams

We think we have moved on. We think we are strong. We think being strong means that we are not affected, we are not hurt, we are not damaged. We think surviving means never looking back… never hurting for the past… never crying over spilled milk that is 20 years old.

I spent much of my late teens and early twenties thinking I was amazing because I had survived and had done so while remaining strong and positive and… unaffected. I could not think about it. I could separate myself from it until thinking or talking about the events of my life felt like a surreal story of some stranger and not myself. I still feel that way sometimes, but I have come to this point where things are starting to feel real, and mine. I am still strong, but I cry out of nowhere just driving down the road or thinking about what I want for breakfast. I don’t have breakdowns over driving or avocados, but little bits of ownership sneak up and kick me in the heart for not acknowledging them and dealing with them before. It’s like the memory that I have had a million times all of the sudden comes with an emotional companion other than anger or self deprecation. 

I have talked about my story, but I always feel like I am talking about someone else. I can't look people in the eye when I talk about it because I feel like I am lying.  I shake. I shake so hard I can’t make myself stop. And it doesn’t stop for hours. But it still doesn’t feel emotional. I don’t feel like crying or in pain, there is just that physical reaction as evidence that it is in fact my story.  Talking about someone else’s abuse does not make your body shake violently. It doesn’t. There are times when I question whether I am pretending it was bad when it really wasn’t and that shaking is my only conformation to myself that it was real, and it was not ‘not that bad’. I still feel disconnected; a coping mechanism I am sure saved me from some serious problems more immediately during and after my younger years, but more and more every day I am realizing that I didn’t make anything go away, I didn’t forget anything, and I did not get out unaffected. I am starting to connect dots and accepting that that voice screaming in my head has all rights to do so. I know I am at the doorstep of what can only be a lot of pain and hard work for the rest of my life, but I am clearly not sitting with my back to the door anymore. And that isn’t to say that disconnecting that way was all bad. I am not sure how I would have dealt with things had I not been able to smile and compartmentalize and cut connections. But it can’t last forever… not if I want to be any different than the people who put that pain there to begin with. That voice has a right to be screaming, but if I keep not listening to it then there is no telling how mad and unhappy it will make every other part of my soul.

In a way, I have felt so disconnected that I felt like a fraud if I acted hurt or talked about it as if it was horrible. How do you talk about something you know people will tell you is terrible and NOT feel like a fraud if you don’t feel the pain you should if it was really that terrible? How do you feel like your story is worth anything, believable, or profound if you can’t put the emotion with the story that you think should be associated with it? You can’t. But I am starting to make associations that show me that I am not a fraud and that pain is there… and that story is real. Because I dream of not being able to move. I nearly lose it in my foster parenting class. And because I cry driving down the road.

Palpable

Sometimes I dream about Linda, my mother. I don't call her that anymore, though. Not unless I am explaining to someone new who she is in relation to me. My mom is Debbie, my dad's wife. I feel her love more in the first 5 minutes of my visits than I ever did in a life time of being Linda's child. But I digress... my dreams...

Just like many things in my life lately, this is another thing that has been screaming at me to think about it, but I have somehow missed the intent. I brushed them off as products of past pain and never thought that they might be telling of the present. But then again, until just a few months ago I was still lying to myself about being unaffected. Of course I didn't think the dreams meant anything about now; I thought I was fine right now. They are, however, my present. Every single dream that includes Linda plays out the same way. The stories are different, but the progression of emotions is the same. And let me tell you, these dreams are one of two types of the strongest dreams I ever experience. One type is for discussion some other day. But these dreams, my god, I FEEL them. 

Regardless of the story playing out, eventually Linda enters the dream. We are getting along at first but it quickly becomes some situation where I am doing something that I think she will like or approve of and she either ignores is or dismisses it. I can feel the need to see her smile at me or touch me or acknowledge me in a positive way. It isn't like most dreams where it is like you are watching a movie. I feel the ache like I am awake and standing there in the flesh. Then things turn. She always says something that hurts or does something terrible and I begin to try to tell her how mad I am, but she doesn't hear me. I mean, she hears me but she acts like what I am saying is the equivalent of telling her the time of day. She is completely unrattled or unmoved by my expression of hurt and sadness. So, I progress to this level of anger that becomes hatred...pure hatred. There is no other word for it, and I feel it like it is happening in real time. I hate her through every part of my body and I feel like I am going to explode. My stomach is in a solid ball and I can feel the pain in my fingertips. I am always just trying to get her to see that she has made me hate her. I am screaming at her and feeling this hate and all I want is for her to see what it is and realize how strong she has made it. But in every dream she is oblivious and nothing I am saying is getting in. Every single dream with Linda in it happens this exact way and has for years. I always wake up still feeling that hate, that need for her to just hear me and not just hear the words. For her to see me, not just look at me.

Waking up from a dream that strong, you can't describe it to other people who have not experienced it. Even nightmares don't feel that real. Emotions don't normally run through straight to your bones and your gut when you are dreaming, not like that. I have woken up scared before, but I would trade a million nightmares for one of these dreams where I wake up trying to make someone see that I hate them. Or that all I was ever trying to do was love them. Trying not to be invisible.

I struggle with why my mother never protected me. It makes me hate her more than I hate the man who put his hands on me. Don't get me wrong, the woman was abusive as well, if not worse so. But the reason that I seem to keep coming back to her is because she left me to the wolves more than once. I don't ever dream about Bill. Never. But I dream about Linda a couple times a month at least. And she still doesn't see me or the pain. I just wish I could stop screaming at a ghost. I just want her to understand, to feel. I want all this weight I have to come down on her so she can really know it. It is impossible. Linda will never understand or feel responsible or truly see the carnage she left behind. She will hear blame and refuse to listen to the pain. How do I get my dreams to realize what my head knows... that Linda is never going to be my mom in any other sense than a name on a birth certificate?

Forgiving her is suppose to be what will save me, but how do you forgive someone who can't acknowledge what they have done... who can't apologize with any amount of actual sincerity... who thinks they have done nothing significantly wrong? How do you stop hating someone in your dreams?

frozen

I am not sure why I am here or what I am going to say, I just know I feel like I need to talk... to tell someone how much I hurt right now. No one is going to understand it, so there is no one to talk to about it anyway, but it doesn't stop me from wishing it wasn't 1:31am so I could at least unload to someone, regardless of whether they understood or not. I feel like I can't breathe. For a few minutes I couldn't, but now I just feel like I can't. I have no right to feel this way is what my head keeps saying, but my gut and my heart, and my lungs, and every inch of my body is not in agreement. It's like a death, or a loss of some sort. It is like a life time is taken from my hands, only it wasn't actually in my hands anymore... I am talking in circles. I don't know how to put this into words. I am not sure I have been in this kind of pain before. I am not saying it is the worst pain I have felt, but it is the only pain of its kind I have ever felt. Knowing what that means and what that says just makes the pain even stronger. It makes me scared that nothing else will ever get so close to me that it would hurt this bad to finally lose it. It makes me scared that this is the only thing that will ever hurt me this way because nothing else will be able to be this... vital. I have fallen in love once in my life. Just once.

Diary facebook comments

I spent my whole life watching people close to me let themselves become dependent on others… losing themselves along the way. I watched them cripple themselves and blame it on someone else, or claim they could not get out or away. I watched as they laid down and accepted the kicks that life dished out, letting each blow change who they were and what they could be. I refuse to let that be my fate. I fought hard from a young age to never fall down that hole. I came close a few times… real close. I lost a lot, got a lot back, lost it again, and clawed my way up and out of the hole a few more times. I will not let someone else determine my tomorrow or what  can have today. I will not let someone else change who I am or who I care about or where I am headed. I will not wait for anyone else to catch up or come along. I can do it on my own, as I have been for so long. I learned a lot from my childhood… exactly what I never want to be or want to allow. And that putting myself into a corner and crying about not being able to get out is useless and debilitating. By blaming someone else… by looking outside of yourself for a crutch… you only hand others the power to help hold you down. I could go on about how Bill destroyed my trust and faith and how he fucked my whole ability to connect fully, I could talk about how my mother single handedly made me feel like the least loved person on earth, or how my ex-husband ruined me financially, or how that one man left my heart in shards on the floor… I could blame a lot of people for sucking throughout my life. But by doing that I give them the power to say they made me. I will not. I made me. I took myself aside and made me look at what my parents really were. I made myself be different. I told myself it was okay to stop loving Joe and letting him pull me into his hole. I determine who I am, and though I learned from my past, I refuse to give it the satisfaction of being my lifelong sickness.

I have people in my life that didn’t make it out with the same feelings. They let themselves be victims. There are people no longer in my life that have let it eat them into hollowness. They are shells. Their insides are a vacuum, and the only way they know to fill the space is to attach to someone else and continue the cycle.

I miss a lot of people, but more than that I miss what I thought they would be to me. I was in love with the idea that they were going to be answers, pillars, and rocks… but they were not. They could have been… could be… but they lack the desire to be anything more than hollow. They don’t want to feel because it might hurt. They don’t want to stand on their own because they might fall. And they don’t want to be strong enough to let anyone lean on them because they might drop them. I have spent a long time handing people excuses to use so that I don’t have to see who they are. I created their handicaps in my mind so I didn’t have to walk away or give up… so I didn’t have to miss them after I let them go. But it really is what it is.

Let me just say…. It is fucking lonely when you hold people accountable, when you refuse to let them be your crutch, and when you can’t stand to watch them cripple themselves. There are so few left that want to stand on their own and be responsible for who they are… and even fewer who don’t hate you when you tell them the truth that they try so hard to ignore. Nobody wants to hear that the reason their marriage sucked was because they let the man walk all over them. They don’t want to hear that their kids hate them because they were weak and cold. They don’t want to hear that they lost their family because they spent too much time worried about themselves, or that they don’t hear from their friend so much anymore because they used or betrayed them, or that the reason they attract losers if because they feel better when they save people.

Yeah, that last one is all me. Yes, I feel better when I save people. I grew up wishing someone would save me, Laura Mae. I wished for it like you wouldn’t believe for so long. But I didn’t reach out for it, so I am partly to blame. I didn’t make someone come help, so we suffered more. So now, when I can help, I help…. Because I know someone is out there wishing someone would save them and I could be the person that never came to save me. So, I let people in that are going to take advantage of me because I see that they have a need… and I just want to help. I spent a lot of time blaming them for sucking at life enough to do me wrong… to talk behind my back… to take with no intentions of supporting me back. Even my own family… I let myself become the person who only matters when I have something to give, and not when I need even the tiniest bit of support myself. I blamed people for being shit, but I let them in.

No more. I live life for me. I give when I can because I like to, but no more rescuing those who do not want to rescue themselves or at least use the rescue for something worth while for themselves.

Life is not what is done to you…. It is what you do with it. I came from shit, got trampled, buried, and chewed up.. and I did it. I am tired of hearing others say they can’t or that someone else made it impossible. Shut the fuck up about someone else. If you want it, get it.

Now, with all that said and out of the way…

My dad sent me an email with a link in it to an article that talked about how gay/bi people were mentally ill. My real dad, the man that I admire a lot, basically sent me an email saying he thinks I am sub par. God love him, I just don’t think he realized what he was saying by sending that link. I am sure he thought he was being helpful, because he really does believe it is something that can “go away”. I just thought I would mention it because I was thinking about it.

Another thing I was thinking about… fears. I have fears. I am scared to get involved with anyone. I am scared to have a child with anyone else. I would rather have a child by myself than risk a man taking my time with my child away when we ended up splitting up down the road. My experience with my son has me scared to share my children with anyone else. I am scared to compromise again. 

I am scared that I am running out of time, but I have no fucking clue while I feel that way. Why do I keep thinking I need to tell someone what to do if anything ever happens to me? Who the hell thinks about that shit when they are 28?? Why do I feel like I am not doing shit fast enough? I am scared that I lost the love of my life because I am so hell bent on owning my life that I made choices I knew they were not happy with. But fuck them if they don’t like them.

I am scared I will never have more than a couple friends. As it is, every time I turn around, I see another person who disappears when I fall down.

I want to punch people when they say their childhood was horrible and they go on to describe what sounds like heaven to me. I know it is relative and they may have felt like it sucked, but how do you not get mad when someone tries to say their lack of hugs is the same as your stomach wrenching abuse? I wish I could be more understanding, but they don’t really know hell and it isn’t fair that they think they do.

You know, it would be nice to hear from someone who really knows where I came from that I have done well. I know people have said it before, but it is different if it comes from someone who didn’t just hear stories, but saw it. Trouble is, no one saw everything. No one who really knows will ever be able to tell me that I did fucking good, because they don’t exist. THAT is the hell of going through such shit when you are a kid… that no one at all will ever know exactly where you came from enough to tell you that you did good and have it really land right where you need it to. No one is ever right there with you. It is like being in a bubble that people can touch you through and talk to you through, but it never feels like they are sharing the same air with you.

They don’t really see you. Not all of you.

They don’t see just how bad betrayal really hurts you. They don’t see how much being taken advantage of stings you. They know it is not good, but they don’t really know how bad it is for you. Someone who wears their heart on their sleeve may not carry grudges, but their bruises take longer to heal. While those who have taken advantage of them move on, they are still there trying not to bump into anything with their sore heart.

Why can’t we just hit reset and erase the game’s memory?

Why do people cling onto those that hurt them and let those who never would fall to the way-side? Why do they put those who care less about them on higher pedestals than the ones who have never let them down? Why do they think it is okay to let the people who are really there for them think that they don’t see them or care that they are there?

Why do people who blow money on stupid shit win the lottery and not the people who would use to help people? Why do strong people have to prove how strong they are all the time?

And why the hell do I have to be the person up at 230am thinking about this crap?

Play me....

... to sleep.
I sometimes remember what it was like to listen to someone play a guitar until I fell asleep.  So simple. So pretty. There is no better way to drift off than the sound of someone taking time off from themselves to play for you. Rarely have I ever felt as loved.

Never Change

A man I loved once told me, long after I realized that he had slipped away, that I was an amazing woman and that I had better never change.

Sometimes I feel like a shell of the woman he was talking to way back then.

Check-list of love

He (or she) will know I am amazing…He won’t be intimidated by my drive and ambition; to him it will be sexy. My independence will be okay and he will give me space to be me… but NEVER pass up the chance to hold my hand, touch my cheek, or kiss my forehead…because even strong girls are fragile. I will be beautiful in his eyes… when I am dressed to the nines, waking up in the morning, and dragging myself to bed at night. He will be floored at the size of my heart…and will never be jealous of the time I put in for other people…because he will know that he is HOME to me. The fact that I have friends of every shape, color, and personality will intrigue him…he will see me for the well rounded person I am and strive to be. Me being smart is an asset…and me being a smartass is even better…because it will make him laugh and feel challenged all at once. Not only will he think my causes are great, but he will join in when he can…just to be next to me and a part of what I believe in. He will know when to kiss me gently…and when to throw me up on the kitchen counter. He will encourage, support, and sometimes push me… because he knows how proud I will be of what I accomplish…and how hard I am on myself when I don’t. The fact that he is everything to me AFTER my children will be okay…in fact it will be perfect. He will want to take classes with me…to learn to dance so that we can lose ourselves in each other even if it’s in the living room…to learn to scuba dive so we always have something to do on a boring day… and just to learn for the sake of learning something new.He will call just because he can’t get me off of his mind. He will stand up for me even though he knows I can do it myself…because I shouldn’t have to.Family will mean the world… and holidays will ALWAYS be a big deal. Adaptable and intelligent… at home at a bon fire or at a black tie party. He will run to be by my side when I feel lost…and running away when it gets tough will never cross his mind. Public affection isn’t a problem…it’s encouraged…because he is SO proud that the ass he is grabbing is mine. The fact that I can cook rocks. When I am too tired, too dirty, or too stressed to feel sexy… he will tell me how beautiful I am without pressure…because he knows how well it will pay off when I finally get a shower and some sleep :) He will draw my bath for me…he knows I will come up with every excuse on my to-do list not to take the time otherwise. He knows he can trust me…so he talks to me…even when he feels like a whimp for it. When I complain, it won’t annoy him…he knows it takes a lot to get me to do it, so I am probably not bluffing. When I am sick he will take care of me, even when I tell him I don’t need him to. The fact that I do it for him and our kids will mean tons. He won’t think I am weird because one day I am in a suit and heels and all woman, and the next I am in sweats and a tank top and filled with girlish energy. I won’t have to speak…my eyes will give it away…but he will never tire of my voice. He will at least tolerate my dogs…my cats…my fish…my snake…and anything else I have running around. And the fact that I can keep up with all of them makes me that much more amazing. He will know the best way to end a fight is a hug. You don’t have to say I am right…but if you walk out it says you don’t care. I will cool down more in your arms than I will out of them. His promises will be as solid as concrete. Breaking them is NOT an option…because trust is the end all and be all of what we have. And I will keep mine. He is a great Daddy. And his promises to them are the only thing more important than the ones to me. He knows they need direction and structure… and a good roll in the mud every once in a while too. He will teach them to care…even if others don’t. He will show them how to push themselves, but feel good about how they are today…and how to appreciate every bit of life from a beetle to a bear. He will show them how to look for the sun but always be ready for the dark. And bedtime stories will take priority over any football game, night out, meeting, or client.
He (or she) probably doesn’t exist… but if they do God will bring them to me one day. And they won’t see the wrinkles under my eyes either ;)

Another myspace post from awhile ago...

I am my own psychotherapist
Using pen, paper, computer keys, and random thoughts as a vehicle
A personal version of therapy and self analysis
I will send myself the bill… and an excuse note to my past
Giving me permission to let it go

Karma is no different than God… just flipped
When shit hits the fan we damn God, but for the good we gladly take credit
And good karma happens to good people, but no one wants to accept bad karma as their own consequence
Funny
Confession : I have been in long relationships… I have only fallen once… I didn’t marry that man
I want to do it again
Fall
A tragic word with such a beautiful meaning
An amazing feeling
Felt familiar
Your heart and stomach are wrapped in invisible hands that sweetly wring every bit of resistance out of them.
Lucky to get it once
If I get it twice I will consider every good deed repaid ten-fold
Everything that is not it feels different
I have to turn off or dial down parts of me to be what they desire
Falling rips you wide open
Dark corners to hide in become non-existant
Free to love what you love, hate what you hate, dream what you dream
Show what you are
He was the only one who ever saw my soul
And I didn’t feel like I had to protect it
When he destroyed it
I put it back together
I offered it to him again
He shattered it
I put the remnants in his hand
He threw them at me

That alone is the origin of the fear that knots my gut
Makes me wary
Not any of the minor
And insignificant
Run-ins with cheaters and liars
Amidst all the pain is hope

If I could just catch a glimmer of that familiarity
The safety of being where I am supposed to be
Then I could let the wall crumble

With my luck I will find it with someone more scared than even I….

Its my life
Like how I am helping along something that I wish I could stop
Like it’s a train bearing down and all I wish I could do is put on the brakes
But I am not the engineer
So I just sit and watch it… hell I delivered the fuel for the damn thing
And the wreck that is eminent is with something that I want for myself
And I would never leave it laying on the tracks to get run over
But my hands are tied by the fact that I have no business even stepping foot on the train let alone stopping it… and I know better than to let its path become my personal problem
It’s not my wreck to stop
But I wish I didn’t care so much
Does caring earn me good karma?
Or does helping damn me?
The only thing breaking is my heart

I wonder if he feels the same way when he looks at me as I do when I look at him

Why is strength so lonely?
Everyone thinks that saying “you can do it” means something
I know I can damn it… I can do anything
BUT I AM TIRED OF FUCKING DOING IT ALONE
Yes, I can buy a house
Yes, I can go to school
Yes, I can keep my head up when my life gets turned upside down
Yes, I can hold back tears
Yes, I can climb higher, fight harder, stand stronger, believe more
Yes I can blow everyone’s mind
But who cares
Who knew success could be such a hindrance
Maybe I should just sit around, take antidepressants, and drain every last bit of passion from my being
And once I am a dependant shell of a woman
Then someone will come along that doesn’t go running for the hills
And my ex-husband would no longer be an asshole because he wouldn’t think he let the best thing that will ever happen to him go

Idiots

I am 26
Why do I feel like I am running out of time? Constantly
Like a quiet desperation to achieve every goal I have or will ever have before the first of next month


Why does my ex-husband think he is the only one allowed to love my son?
Fuck him

It is so oxymoronic to be a perfectionist
Cuz you want things so perfect that you will put off doing it until you can do it right
And in the process it is left not done at all
Which in turn stresses you out

Extenze says it can make your cock bigger… but can it make you kiss me like you’re going to die if you can’t have me right now?
Passion is the magic word of the day

Benadryl makes dogs sleepy sleepy sleepy
And now I am sleepy

Motivational Metabolism

What happens when we get into committed relationships? Does our motivational metabolism suddenly slow down…sometimes to a sludge? I would like to think that two intelligent, ambitious individuals could get together and create beautiful success and charity and change; but even the most determined of us still seem to fall victim to the same malady… we just like each other’s company.
...
Sure, while he is working on his website I could easiy be working on a book, my blog, or drafting… but I would rather sit and watch; and then beat myself up for it later. And when I finally want to do something myself, you better believe he is not far away, always asking questions about what I am doing. I suppose it is the nature of love, or even admiration at the beginning level.
...
So, should us smart folk stay single and productive; or shack up and try not to fall into the pack of poor souls that look back at what they “could” have done? Would the sweet feeling of accomplishment actually take the place of a sweet kiss?
...
I would love to believe that my love for my significant other would encourage me to encourage them…but I just want to cuddle. Maybe this is only a symptom of the honeymoon stage. Maybe by this time next year I will not care if we are on opposite sides of the house. I doubt it…but I am still in the honeymoon stage so I am not claiming immunity from being biased. Is the possibility that extra ciricular activities can create jealousy real and tangible? Can you want someone to succeed yet not want them to trade time with you for the steps they need to take to get there?
...
Is talent like a lover? Do we have to sneak off to love them and tend to them? Is it something that can’t be done in the presence of your partner because it may make them feel left out? We are like to say “I just want you to be happy” but when it comes down to it… what selfish ultimatums do we tack on? Happiness on our terms.
And when our partners begin to lose themselves; when they can’t smile and don’t know why… will we look to ourselves, first? The first reactions is always “what did I do?”, but maybe the question is “what did I not let them do?”
...
I was married and somewhere in that 7 years I lost myself and became miserable. Of course, there were lots of reasons to feel that way.. I was married to an alcoholic, drug abusing man who couldn’t see that his selfishness was disassembling our love brick by brick. But most of all, I lost me fr the sake of loving. I stopped writing unless I was mad or hurt…then I stopped doing it then too. I stopped drawing. I stopped walking in the rain. I stopped sitting quietly and just listening and thinking. Most of all…I sopped learning; mostly about myself and who I wanted to be.
...
He never said “stop writing”. But I let my love for him become the end rather than the support. It was the dynamite instead of the trussel. I never told him to stop drawing…in fact I loved it about him. You could argue that the drugs, beer, and parties told him to stop… but I m done with excuses.
...
So, do we unknowingly sabotage our relationships in the name of strengthening our relationships? What happens when you love that she is a painter, but you never let her paint or tell her to paint? One day she will no longer be a painter. She will have lost a piece of herself… and so shall you have lost a piece of her.
...
This should not be confused with blame games. I do not have to be told not to write. I willingly watch him rather than write without any coercion, whining, or snuggling.
Maybe love means locking them in a room with a computer, canvas, pen, or drafting table and then leaving them alone.
...
Maybe love means a little less lovin’.

Changes

The real me isn't so stressed out that I don't smile! I am known for smiling...but I'm not doing it nearly as much now. The real me doesn't yell until I have been pushed way too far... I am not grumpy or snappy or complacent. I don't stress out when things break or when I get behind. I bounce around, sing, and laugh until I cry.
...

It doesn't help that my life is nothing like it was a year ago. I miss being outside with the dogs all day and joking with people and having friends. Even if they weren't real friends, I am starting to feel like it was better than feeling like I have none (or very few anyway). You always hear people say that they would rather have just a couple true friends than a handful of fake ones...but they are obviously not anyone who has ever had to go through actually finding out who those true ones are. I may have been walking around in a fog, surrounded by people who didn't realy care...but I was happy. Everyday I felt blessed for my life...for my job... and for my future. I got doggie hugs all day, told dirty jokes and played around at work, and felt the sun or snow on my face...it reminded me that I was alive and real. Now...I am on a hamster wheel trying to get somewhere... and I don't even have my hamster buddies to keep me lauging while I run anymore.

...

I need to rebuild...but where do I start? I can't go back there... and who do I let back in? And why do I feel like there isn't one single person who really understand how hard this is? It is nothing like what you have gone through...not to say that you haven't gone through bad stuff or even "worse" stuff...but it is NOT the same. This isn't about just losing some friends or changing your job... This is about having your world flipped upside down with no power to turn it back over...all I can do is adapt. But I can't FIX it. It is about feeling lonely. I can't call up old friends and reconnect or go visit... they are GONE. I can't go back to my job... I can't even use my own fucking name!

...

I could go back and try not to hear them, or let it get to me... I could be headstrong as usual... but which of those two evils is the lesser?

...

Done whining for now I suppose...so much for staying positive this year! Sorry to be such a downer guys...
...

Just a reminder...

Genius usually walks hand in hand with insanity...especially if it goes unchallenged, unappreciated, and unoccupied for too long.

Get me out of here...

Double Life

How can I put into words what it is like to have your identity stripped from you?

You have to be someone else most of the time... to save yourself the headache. But how much of the headache is saved when trying to be two people hurts your head? ... and your heart?

It kind of goes against everything I have ever stood for. I am not ashamed of me or anything I have done. So, why now, must I hide from the most positive, influential, and life-changing contribution that I have made to this earth for the sake of answering a few less questions?

Have they no idea what they have done to my life, my home, and my trust?

This is why I do my what I do :)

"This will be our last Christmas as just the two of us, and we wish to thank everyone ... for their fabulous efforts in helping us become parents and for helping make our dreams come true, finally. Yeah!!!!!!! You should all feel very proud to be doing what you are doing, as well as feel rest assured in the knowledge that you have genuinely made a difference in the world. So ThankYou, from the bottom of our hearts."

~Intended Parents

Myspace Comment - Laura's Page

I don’t care what is said
I know who I am
And why I am
And what I am not

You need to give your page a facelift
Cuz there’s some bitches draggin it down

I’m really pale
But it’s me untainted
Now my hair is another story

Never thought what I do would mean so much to those who don’t do anything
Should write a book
And make them wish
I didn’t care what they did when I knew them

Friendship means shit to so many people
I will hold you up, why do they put you down?
How do you fuck your friend’s man?
How can you throw stones at someone
When it is you who has failed them?

Baby weight sucks
Coffee is amazing
My job is to create happiness
So I choose to surround myself with it
All else can fall away
I wash it away

He makes me feel like when you wrap yourself in a warm towel after a bath
Pretty babies one day
Snow is still pretty
When it stays

Loyalty and respect
Word
I bought a recorder
Because my girl has an agent
That doesn’t know who I am or who I know
But knows what I am
And wants me to write about it

Wow
School starts in a few weeks
Can’t nobody hold me down

Wish you were here to hang out with me and Brayden
Don’t ever come back Laura
This place eats souls
And brain cells
And integrity

Kit-Tan likes the fridge
Hopefully he stops liking it before he dies in it

I am a vegetarian now
Well I eat seafood
So I am a pescetarian

I am in love
And not with a boy
Or an idiot

This message is long overdue
And likely that it will be talked about
By more people than we might ever know

Sentencing Dec 30th
I love tangerines
And hate palm trees and humidity
Buddy loves him too

I feel like if I write about it
I will have to relive it
That’s not true
But it’s a scary thought
Cuz I made it disappear

Poof

>Insert new life here<

So she’s isn’t scared to say it to my face?
Then why did she not say anything to my face?
Until after I threw her own feces into hers?
At one time I thought she was something
Man I have learned so much in the last year

The lights along the river
Look like nyc lights from my window
If you ignore the trees and pretend you are in a 60th floor apartment

“you pay five dolla” – China man in Times Square
“30 dollars!” - Laura
“Why did he give you boobs and not me!?”- Laura

You remember sitting in that room with all that family, happiness, and warmth…
Surrounded by real people with real hearts?
She asks me about you

Im still so tired
I think it cuz I don’t have a workout at work every day anymore
I miss those dogs something absolutely terrible
I wish the people hadn’t ruined it for me

Im going to piss some people off
When I write about it
IT = EVERYTHING

You ever read my blog?
Its my baby
But it’s a newborn
Sure to be a good read
For those with any kind of real brains anyway
So most of these fools need not bother

I like that I laugh when the laundry soap spills
I like that I write on my fridge
I wish I didn’t find pleasure in leaving them behind

I need to do something good again
I have to make a difference in lives
Because mine is bigger than me
I know it
I feel it
Like it is just what I am
I feel lost when I am just living
Fill the holes with books and lessons and work and words
I am here to do things
Not just “something”
But “some things”
Im just getting started

I hope you are still around to see it
When I change something big
Help people
Leave my footprint

I hope you are a part of it
When I make my life one that I look back on with a smile
When I fight for something impossible

I know I will
And I will write about it
And they will talk
And hate me
Because the only person they know how to help
Is one that will never say thank you

Tangerines are good
Tangelos are better

Bitches on your page… draggin you down