Peace the fuck out, Portland

Off to California, kiddos. There will be lots of burritos and In n Out. Hot Pants will be meeting, well, everyone. There will be beach time. And most of all? There will be vacation!

Don't miss me too much (like I ever post anymore anyway)

Da-amn

I live across the hall from the college guys. I have yet to befried these young dudes, but my roommate has been in their apartment (being the former manager) and can attest to their typical college male style.

The other day, I got home from work as I always do, and walk down the long driveway from my car to the front door of our apartment building.

Said guys are gathered on their balcony, which is just above and slightly left of the front door. Meaning I feel like I'm walking under the peanut gallery itself.

As I walk, they're elbowing each other and issuing calls of, "DAMN! She got some long ass legs!" And "AW YEAH!"

As if they worked in construction instead of paying good tuition for a higher education.

It immediately reminded me of this:

Mad TV Can I Have Your Number? - More amazing videos are a click away

One of TV's most brilliant moments to be sure, mostly because it's so true. SO TRUE.

Back to the story, what's a girl to do but point out the obvious?

"I can hear you," I said to the balcony without making eye contact. To which they scattered like roaches in a kitchen.

Sigh. I fear for the next generation.

Admissions

You may have noticed that I've been having some anxiety lately. I haven't been totally happy and I've come to think that's my fault because I've let go many of the things that make me happy. Amateur move right there.

So it's been a slow crawl into crazy town, lemme tell ya.

For one, I'm not in therapy anymore so it's not like I have a coach in my corner keeping an eye out for any stumbles. Not that I want to need a therapist for the rest of my life, but I was maybe not ready to lose that help. When I was in therapy, I was doing great! I was making progress and healing and learning and growing. I had cut my visits down dramatically. Also, I used to take anti-anxiety drugs (more on that in a minute), which my therapist helped me taper off of. By the time I moved to Portland, she was confident I'd be fine.

Except I didn't keep up all the good skills I learned there. I wasn't nurturing myself. I wasn't continuing my personal growth at all. And my anxiety just popped right back up.

I have to say it was a bad sort of manic feeling. Not manic exactly, because I wasn't swinging from the rafters one minute and then hanging myself from them the next (sorry to make light of that). But my anxiety episodes would feel sort of manic, like out of control. Once I felt it, I couldn't stop it. And the more I tried to stop it, the worse it got.

I'm positive, too, that a lot of this is due to once again putting my heart on the line and really letting myself fall. Now, we can't blame any of this on him, because he is a fucking trooper for dealing with my array of shit and I wouldn't blame him if he ran the other fucking direction, leaving flaming tracks in his wake. But he seems to love me, so he pushes back. Which, in the moment, makes me feel awful, but in truth, is probably good.

Nonetheless, heart outage is scary yo. And he'll meet my family in like two weeks which is MAJOR scary. Not that I'm worried they won't like him, because they will and even if they didn't, I wouldn't care. It's mostly that I just want things to go smoothly, but also because this is a big deal. Big. For me, anyway.

So yeah, I can't believe I didn't see all that anxiety coming and that I was arrogant enough to think I could just manage it on my own.

And yeah, the drugs. Xanax helped me in the past. A lot. I could never take a full dose anyway, because I felt like a damn zombie. Plus I never wanted to stay on it because, HELLO! my mother is a prescription drug addict and putting chemicals into my body for extended periods of times scares me more than I can express. But I haven't taken any in almost two years and I was doing splendidly.

Until personal demons and twelve o'clock!

Yeah.

And I've been acting irrationally for absolutely no good reason and out of the damn blue. Well, not totally out of the blue. There's always a trigger, but it's never anything to get worked up over. The real me would just get annoyed and then decide whether it's worth worrying about or just letting go. I'm a big fan of letting things go because life is just too damn short and I spend enough of it worrying anyway.

But last night, I was a crazy bitch. I flipped out on Hot Pants because he fell asleep. Yup. Criminal right? Sleeping is bullshit. How dare he. Sarcasm font.

I can't believe he didn't dump my ass right then. Who needs a crazy bitch flipping out on them for stupid shit? Nobody, that's who. But he didn't.

And I didn't see it right away, but after an insomniac night of sort of loathing myself and wondering if I'd gone off the deep end (Which I'm told is a sign of sanity. Crazy people never wonder if they're crazy right?), I sort of had enough. It wasn't quite an epiphany, but more of a feeling of being fed up with my own behavior.

So I called my old therapist today (lard love her) and had a long talk about everything and she reminded me about what I used to do to find outlets and feel happy and creative and nurture myself. She also talked me into trying some herbal remedies that have worked for some of her other patients for controlling anxiety and mood. So I'm gonna try that. Everyone cross your fingers.

Plus, I'm getting benefits at Le Job and so I'm going to find a new therapist ASAP.

And of course I apologized to Hot Pants and he forgave me, like the awesome guy he is. I only hope he acts crazy one day so I can return the favor. Wait, I take that back.

Truths

I am hypersensitive sometimes. Other times, I can let things roll off my back. You won't know which times are which.

I don't take criticism well when it's about a personal matter. I always end up feeling attacked and demeaned and sometimes rejected. It's stupid, but don't tell me that. If you must point out a shortcoming, please do it as gently as possible.

I can be a great listener and a good shoulder to cry on. That said, I can also be insensitive when it matter most. I sometimes don't know when to do which.

THAT said, once you're in my circle of those I love, I'll defend you no matter what. I'm fiercely protective of my loved ones.

There is a good chance I'm actually crazy. My mom is batshit, so who knows. It's my biggest fear and when I start acting irrationally, I hate myself so much that I make it worse.

When I feel confident about something or in a situation, though, watch out. I'll kick ass and take names. And then I'll make myself a huge gold star and hang it where everyone can see how awesome I was. Because I need that kind of validation. 

I require a lot of sex. When I haven't orgasmed in a while, I get really unpleasant.

I miss therapy. It was the most functional time of my life.

I am happiest and kindest and most reasonable when I have creative outlets. When I have no time to express myself artistically in some way, I become very unpleasant.

I can be antisocial. By this I mean that I can be social up to a point, then I need down time to recharge.

I am more afraid of hurting feelings than being dishonest.

I'd rather make other people happy than myself. But then I often don't give myself permission to be happy enough.

I have a perfection complex. Don't worry, not about you. You can be as imperfect as you'll allow yourself. But I can't allow myself that. I have a hard time accepting when I fall short. Which is often.

I'm brilliant about a lot of things. I have a sharp mind. I excel in many areas and I absorb new knowledge with unparalleled pleasure. 

But then sometimes I come close to retardation when put on the spot. I'll have no idea what to say and completely shut down. Like a little child. It's ridiculous. I hate that about myself.

And if someone talks to me like I'm stupid or tells me I'm dumb, I'll be deeply wounded. Because smart is the one thing I need to be.

I'd rather live in pain than take a bunch of pills.

That said, I'm a wuss. I hate being in pain.

I want a baby. I may not be able to have a baby. I also might be a horrible mother. But I want a baby. I promise not to start stealing babies. Promise. I'm not THAT crazy.

I often write blog posts that I never publish because I'm afraid of hurting feelings. They just sit in the queue, collecting dust. It's sad, really.

Being vulnerable is hard for me. If I do let my guard down, please be kind. It's not gone well for me in the past and each time I get hurt, I build the armor up more. Pretty soon, no one will get in. Not even me.

I like the word fuck. A lot.

I hate the phrase, "a lot." Yet I use it improperly all the time. This is why I hate vernacular.

I am a lifelong insomniac. Yet I require lots of sleep to function. This is another thing that makes me feel like a crazy person.

I miss smoking. A lot. But I cannot start again (why the fuck does everyone in Portland smoke?). It's not easy.

I feel like a doormat so much of the time, but when I stand up for what I want, I feel like I'm unreasonable and demanding. Guess I can't win that one.

I hate when I gain weight, but love food too much to really do anything about it. I have the potential to become really huge I tell ya.

Therefore, I really need to start dancing and running again. I guarantee I'll be a nicer person then too.

I hate this blog sometimes. Hate it.

I really need a break from myself.

Tawnya

It was the first day of Kindergarten and I couldn’t have been more excited. Brand new things to learn and new people to meet. Energy leaked out of me with every bounce.

We all mingled in the first room, taking in the toys and books and tables and carpets and SO MANY THINGS! Some kids cried, while I physically pushed my parents away. “You can go now!”

And then I saw the prettiest girl I’d ever seen in my life. What else could I notice first but her pile of espresso curls upon curls upon curls? That many curls a girl could only pray for, especially a girl like me with ashy brown, pin-straight hair. Nobody would die for my hair. But hers?

She was dark and beautiful with huge brown eyes and a bashful smile. I wanted to be just like her, I just knew it.

I don’t recall how I approached her, but I must have pounced. Eventually, or suddenly, I said, “Let’s be best friends.” To which she smiled and replied, “Okay!”

And then we were.

We were completely opposite, yet joined at the hip. One of us shy, the other precocious, both of us quick to giggle. We both wanted the other’s hair. I was sure she was insane for wanting mine, naturally not understanding the challenge of such a mass of curl.

Yet while I had always thought we were poor (and by most standards, we were), her family lived in near poverty. They moved often, between trailers and hotel rooms and even unfinished houses her father was building. She often stayed over and her family spent many holidays with mine.

I was too young to understand how much older than me her life made her. All I knew was I wanted her to be happy and, over the years, I did my best, constantly hamming it up to make her laugh.

My childhood is a blur of memories with her. Sitting next to each other on field trips as we whisper back and forth. Sleepovers where we cackle late into the night, waking my mother over and over and over.  Getting our faces painted. Sharing clothes. Endless games and make believe. Cheeks pressed together for a photo.

About the sixth or seventh grade, she pulled away. Who knows why? Maybe I wasn’t cool enough for her anymore or she found new friends or maybe I just knew her too well. I mourned our friendship for far too long. Such losses are devastating, let alone in junior high where even the smallest snub meant the end of the world.

I see her now on Facebook, her children with the same big eyes and gorgeous curls. She looks happy. That's all I could ask for.

This was a post for the RemembeRED prompt: Your assignment for this week is to write about a memory of yourself WITH someone else. Remember, it’s MEMOIR, so it needs to be about YOUR experience with this person and it needs to be TRUE. Let’s keep it to 600 words or less.

Fears

I'm scared of lots of things and I'm not scared of much. Little things? Piece of cake. I'll probably jump out of an airplane one day (finances willing) or off a cliff into the Mediterranean or whatever. I get a little thrill of the typically scary things.

But the big things? Terrify me. Terrify me to the point that I worry these fears dictate my decisions or freeze me to the point where I make no decisions at all.

However, there are exceptions. I'll give myself that. I did quit my steady job to move a gathousand miles (okay, not quite that much) to live somewhere new where I only knew maybe 4 people. I was chasing happiness but it was definitely scary beyond my normal comfort zone.

And I do love learning new things. Things are awesome right now at le job because I'm getting so much new stuff thrown at me. I just eat that right up.

But my fears are deep, deep, deep. I'm so scared of becoming someone I don't want to be. I'm scared that because I try so hard to not be that person. To not be crazy, to not be a burden on others, that I might become its equally destructive opposite.

I'm scared of becoming my mom. I'm scared of drug addiction and inviting addiction into my life. I'm scared of her crazy, of it infecting me, of losing my mind. I'm scared of being cruel and narcissistic.

What if she's made it impossible for me to be a good mother?

"For a mother to be expected to show up sane and reliable is the least any kid deserves."

I read that in a book the other day and it slew me. I started bawling, in between bites of salad, sitting outside next to all the other workers on their lunch breaks, I just cried at the truth of my life.

But I'm also scared that I blame everything on her. I'm scared that it's impossible for me to be an adult because I can't get over this huge thing of my past. At what point can I just let it go and just be ME? Who am I even really? How much of me is my past anyway?

And what if I can't ever move past this? What if I'm so damaged that I can't ever conduct myself normally in a relationship or be a mother or what have you? I have no idea what I'm doing half the time. I'm just bumbling through hoping I don't fuck myself over yet again and again.

What if I just go the other way and end up this pathetic doormat to life? Afraid to ask for or take what I want because that would be too narcissistic right?  I'm afraid of not finding that balance. Of not knowing the difference between what's important to stand firm on and what I should just let go.

In short? I'm just damned afraid. And I'm damned afraid that I don't have the skills to be the person I want to be or even think I'm capable of being or deserve to be.

In my professional life? I can kick ass. I'm confident and brilliant and can take whatever is thrown at me with gusto.

In my personal life? I have no clue what the fuck I'm doing. Ever really. Winging it. Constantly.

But I don't know how else to be. Don't know who else to be.



But at the end of the day, these are just fears and I know that. It doesn't make them any less scary, though. Nevertheless, I'm nothing if not stubborn as all fuck. Lots of people have given up on me, so I figure someone should stick around. Might as well be me.

the kind of girl

I’ll admit that I was beginning to have feelings even though I’d told myself I wouldn’t.

He really wasn’t my type and we really didn’t have anything in common, including a common city. The 2 hour drive definitely made things difficult, but I was just beginning to feel it was worth it.

I’d held back as long as I could but was beginning to crack, to let him in, to really care.

He’d been in town the weekend before, which had been good. Blissful even.

I went for a run and came back sweaty and happy. Sprawled out on my living room floor, my head pulled to my knees, really deep into the stretch, my phone rang.

A smile immediately found me. “Hey, you.”

“Hey.”

We shot the shit for a few minutes. Talked about our days, work, the weather.

“Sooo when will I see you next?” Flirty, yes.

“Look. Things are getting busy at work and I don’t think you understand how demanding my job is. I’m a busy guy and you work a lot too, I know. You’re a lot of fun though. It’s just...”

It suddenly dawned on me what was happening. This wasn’t my first rodeo. “Are you dumping me?”

“I guess I am.”

“Over the phone? Seriously?”

“...”

“I just thought I deserved a little more than that. You were just here and you waited until now?”

“Look, don’t get crazy. I thought we were really getting along.”

“Um. Yeah. I thought so too. So I don't understand...”

“You’re a cool chick, totally fun. But you’re not the kind of girl you have feelings for.”

Despite my best efforts, a small gasp escaped me. Not the kind of girl you have feelings for? How does anyone hear that and respond?

In that instant, he stripped away from me my worth and tossed it aside like a dirty rag. Left me naked and broken. 

He spoke finally. “Look...”

I sucked up every last bit of strength and dignity. “I’m done here.” And pressed end with my thumb. End indeed.
 
Not the kind of girl you have feelings for. Two years later, it still haunts me.

This was a post for the RemembeRED prompt: We all have them. Memories that we wish we could forget…things that we wish we could banish from our minds. Imagine that writing down your worst memory will free you of it. What is it? Why does it haunt you? What could you have done differently?
Write it down and let it go. Let’s keep it to 600 words or less.