Happy Fucking Holidays....A Rant, of Sorts.

Let's start from the beginning and state for the record, that I have shed more tears in the last 2 weeks in December than I have in an entire year.

It all started on the 15th.  I had a 3 day weekend.  I started it, by breaking down in tears in the office of my daughter's doctor;  trying to get the point across that, when I say that if I am not there prompting her constantly to do things, it doesn't happen.  Because I did what she suggested for an entire week;  and NOTHING happened.  She didn't go to school for 5 days.  She didn't shower for over a week.  She didn't change her clothes. She didn't get out of bed.  She didn't eat.  I feel like I have tried everything that I possibly can, and nothing is working.

Fast forward to Saturday.  I got a new dryer.  That was fantastic.  It was not fantastic however, that my house was a disaster and it was the first time in almost 2 years since I have had a man in my house other than my son and my dad.  Leading to the food for thought:  who dates someone for 18 months and doesn't even flinch at the fact that they've never invited you over to their house?  The story behind that is for a different post;  long story short, it was very bad for my anxiety.  I made my son go to the town dump with me and he did it.  Every single thing I asked him to do all weekend long had to start with a 5 to 10 minute lecture and screaming fit about it first (on his part, not mine.).  My daughter barely got out of bed.  Nothing got done around the house because I had no energy to do it.  I was in so much pain I could barely stand.  The day before, I had it in my head all day long to check the oil tank and call for a delivery because they delivered M, W, F in my area and I didn't.  I checked it when I was downstairs and low and behold, I was almost out and if I called them I didn't think I was going to have enough until they delivered Wednesday.  My sister called me to chat out of the blue and I was just done with the day already.  I told her what was going on, and she said for Christmas that she would give me $100 in oil and that she would call and have it delivered.  I burst into tears.

Onto Sunday.  Still no kids participating in life, let alone basic human decency.  It was my son's potluck and Yankee swap for Boy Scouts that night and he was on edge making sure that we had all the ingredients to make the mac and cheese that we signed up to bring.  He was acting like a 50 year old impatient man of the house from a stereotypical sitcom set in the 70's.  By the time rolled around to bring him, I was so fed up with the universe that I dropped him off and left.  The second my tires hit my driveway, I was swimming in hatred for my life.  By the time I called my aunt and she answered the phone, I was drowning in tears of frustration and sadness.  What parent genuinely hates their kids?  At that moment, I sure as hell did.  I sat in my car for an hour in the freezing cold, bawling like a someone who just watched their dog get run over.  Because that is what happened:  I wake up with a little cloud of hope, and some jackass always seems to find suck all the air right out of it.  I called my dad and asked him to get my son and bring him home.  I didn't want to see another person on the planet.  I went to bed and stayed there until work.

Monday came and I tried to keep my hate and discontent to myself.  I made it through the day without swearing at anyone.  My son called me after he got home like he always does.  To tell me....wait for it:

that he had just taken the bottles back (a never-ending battle in my house...and they get to keep the fucking money if they do it!).  And asked me if there was anything else that he wanted me to do.

When I got home, I was greeted with a hug.  All the clean laundry that I had done was brought upstairs and the clean dishes in the sink were put away.  He said he had let the dog out like he was supposed to.

The whole night was like I was in the Twilight Zone.  He asked me how to show him how to work the new dryer, so I did.  I also showed him how to work the washing machine.  Then he proceeded swap laundry three times.  Now make no mistake, I am not complaining.  It's just that we have lived in our house since 2009, and every time I have tried to show him how to use the washing machine, he says he can't remember how the next time I ask him to do it.  WE HAVE THE SAME FUCKING WASHING MACHINE....  Then he was super impressed with the dinner that I made.  And he made me a cake....by himself, not asking me for a single thing....just reading the directions on the box.  And shoveled the porch off.  And then, he put the Christmas tree up all by himself.

I was so busy googling which alien species might have taken over his corpse that I couldn't even enjoy the moment.

Thursday at work was fantastic.  It was the Yankee Swap at work and I got a $20 certificate to the local casino and we snacked throughout the day.  I made sugar scrubs and lotions out of coconut oil and a coworker ordered some off of me.  I ended up making a bunch and selling it to other people, made almost $100.  We closed early and barely had any patients that day.  That evening it was the Star Wars:  The Last Jedi premier.  It was amazing.  If you haven't seen it yet, YOU MUST!!!  It was like the Super Bowl, but for nerds.  Jesse was over the moon that he got his picture taken with both a Storm Trooper and Darth Vader.  John had picked up tickets for Jesse and I to go to a different showing than the one that he was going to with his ex wife, her husband and their oldest daughter to avoid "conflict".  Don't get me wrong, I get it....but I also don't.  Again, another post.

And then on the way home, my son;  who regularly pushes me to date/get married/find him a dad, but doesn't really talk about his own, asked me questions about his dad.  As fate would have it, I was talking with my therapist about this very same thing happening the day before.  I answered his questions, not really knowing where he was going with this;  and then he says "You do realize that you just gave me everything I need."  I asked him to clarify.  He made it clear that the information that I gave him was all the information that he would need to find him on the internet.  The person that he has not seen since he was 3 years old.  11 years ago.  The person who was court ordered in our divorce to maintain contact with them via phone twice a week if I was to allow visitation, and hasn't called since 2009.  The person who has not once given me a penny of child support.  I slowed my brain down a tad, and just made him promise me that he would not do anything like that until he was 18.  And he promised.  And we left it alone.

The next day, was all planned out, or so I thought.

I was supposed to go to Bangor, do my Christmas shopping for the kids and then go home, get ready to go to my grandparents, and have a great evening.  I had worked a couple of extra shifts that were supposed to give me overtime for Christmas.  What really happened, is that I woke up to half a pay check in my direct deposit.  Upon calling the payroll department to find out why, apparently the coworker that my manager assigned to update payroll when it was due didn't read my slip and 2 days didn't get factored in, and I was missing a bunch of vacation time.  She wasn't sure that they could get it corrected in time to cut me a check, and I was beside myself most of the day.  I went to Bangor and shopped for my son's stuff and some random things that I could think of.  My daughter just wants money.  She doesn't know what she wants until she actually sees it.

Things eventually worked out, I found some cute stuff and everything on my son's list at Home Depot came in under $50.  I got home, carved up the ham and put it in the crock pot.  My aunt was planning to meet the kids and I at the waterfront gazebo to take our pictures for cards and other things, but I couldn't find the battery charger to my camera.  Then the kids wouldn't wear what I wanted them to wear.  And it was freezing cold.  They were miserable, my daughter wouldn't smile because I wouldn't let her wear her hair in a scarf because I love it when it's combed out.  And then, when we got something that was good enough, my son locked the keys to the car in it.  We waited outside in the freezing cold for 27 minutes before the garage that was 10 minutes up the road could show up.

 I got to my grandparents in one piece and in a relatively good mood.  Hanging out with my mom's side of the family always puts me at ease.  Aside from the exception that my mother was not there.  That too, is another post.

I love my dog, dearly.  However, he seems to operate under the belief that it's his sole duty to be the most disgusting animal on the planet.  On the way home from my grandparents house, the crock pot was not put in the back of the car right and it fell over, spilling ham and pineapple all through the back.  When I got home, I did my best to clean it out, throwing it all off to the side of our driveway and the crock pot fell out of the car and the drippings got all over the driveway.  The kids go to the house and let the Jack out, and he immediately bee lined it for the ham mess before I could see him.  He rolled in it like it was the best thing ever.  Then, he picked up a piece of ham almost the size of his head and thought he'd play "my precious" with it while I chased him all over the yard with it.  I was finally able to entice him with a smaller piece that I "traded him" in order to get him back in the house.  He ate it on the dining room rug, and then proceeded to roll himself on the rug before I could get to him.  I had to pick him up, grease-ball and all, to give him a bath - which he loves, by the way.  He gets himself as disgusting as possible, and jumps into the bath tub grinning from ear to ear.

I get up Saturday, again, with a plan.  It was going to be great.  I ran to Belfast to grab my check and get it deposited.  My son had breakfast one on one and it was fun as always.  I had ordered prints online for my step dad for my siblings "covert operation" for our Christmas present to him.  You see, my mom had taken all of the family photos with her when they divorced and they used to be all over the walls.  So I, got the idea that my siblings and I would get an 8x10 picture of our own families taken and framed, and that I would sneak over to his house and hang them up when we were all over at my brother's celebrating.  I get to the Bangor Walmart, and the kiosk is completely closed.  I flagged down an employee who said they couldn't help me because all the systems were down.  Even though my pictures were probably sitting in one of the drawers.  I was upset, but it was not the end.  Again, I am determined to make a great day.  I called Brewer Walmart to see if their systems were working.  "Yes, absolutely.  Come on over", said the representative who was working AT THE PICTURE KIOSK.  I get there, fortunately I had the pictures that I ordered on my phone also, so I hook it up and place my order for the 1 hour photos.  I do my shopping and get to the checkout isle.  My card is declined.  Weird, I had just deposited a check that was drafted from an account AT THAT SAME BANK.  I call the branch on Broadway that is usually open until 4, no answer.  I said screw it and decided to drive back to Bangor to discuss this with them - it's 2pm by that time.  I show up at the branch, and it's closed.  I proceed to completely break down in front of my son.  I called my sister to tell her what was going on.  I was ready to just give up and go home.  She wired me $200 via Western Union - both of our banks were closed, insisting that I don't give up and trying to do everything that she could to help me all the way from Virginia.  That money wasn't made available in my account until Wednesday.  I get back to the Brewer Walmart, I get to customer service where they were holding my stuff for me and I paid for it.  Then I get up to the back of the store where the picture kiosk is.  There is a line halfway through the store to that desk, and one person is telling everyone that because they were so backed up, that our pictures were going to print sometime during the week and that they would call us when they were finished.  I didn't get home until 4:30 and I was supposed to be at my brother's at any time.  I got there at 6.  The rest of the night was good.  It was the first time that both of my dads were celebrating a holiday together.  My mother was not there.  No call. No text.  Absent;  like a shadow you can feel in the back of your mind when you're watching a suspense thriller.  Like that dark secret you try to figure out the heroin has.  I did my best to ignore it and move on with the day.  I got stuck in my brother's driveway and had to be pulled out of his ditch by my brother and dad.

I worked Christmas Eve.  That was a nice break from the chaos.  Christmas day the kids were happy with what I got them.  We stayed home.  It was quiet.  Nothing went wrong for a change.

But there's my daughter, who is going on week 2 with no shower.

Oh 2017, I am so glad to leave you right where you are.

The Holidays

"Every morning I jump out of bed and step on a landmine.  The landmine is me.  After the explosion, I spent the rest of the day putting the pieces together"  

~ Ray Bradbury

I don't need to be fixed.  I just want a place to rest my broken thoughts until I don't feel like I need to be repaired.

~Cynicallovebird

Before I even attempt to get out of bed I pep talk myself on my attempt to get ready for the day "Hello you goddess, you are gorgeous AF.  You are doing amazing things.  Who cares what others think because I'm proud of who you've become.  Don't be stressed, you've got shit to do.  Keep slaying and remember;  ZERO fucks today!!"  Some days, you've gotta be your own biggest fan;  but it never works out that way.  I give all the fucks, all the time.

Even when I say I give zero, I mean more like 30% is still hanging on for dear life.

I agree with the voice of my mother in my head telling me that nobody will ever love me because it's easier than admitting someone might.  It's easier to believe that I need no one than to hold onto the hope that someday I will need someone.  It's easier to believe that I am a broken hot mess than a whole person who's worthy of good things.

The fall has always been a hard time for me.  September and October have always been my favorite time of year.  Suddenly the week before Halloween, I get this ominous black cloud swooping over my universe.  A lot of bad things have happened in my life surrounding this time of year;  illness, surgeries (3 of them), pregnancy, birthdays of some of the worst people on the planet, mental breakdown...I could go on, but the list would require a scroll.  And then if I did put it on a scroll, all kinds of weird things would go on and it would just look like something out of The Lord of the Rings, and my anxiety can't handle that right now and I'm too pretty to turn into the weird troll guy who's all "My Precious".....So I'm writing this, here, instead.  I knew it was coming.  I could feel the crushing pressure of anniversaries coming like an arthritic person feels a rain storm in their knees.

Something suddenly happened to me over the past two weeks that I can't really explain, but it feels like Superman swooped in and disintegrated the big flat rock that was turning me into a spiritual pancake.

The "Holidays" are hard for some of us.  Here's to everyone walking laps around the block, drinking in the basement, hiding in the bathroom, staying home because they can't put on the act anymore.  I salute you, all those who will keep silent to keep the peace, all those who've finally had enough and call them out, all those who walk away, drawing once last line the sand.  Some people get lucky and have functional families.  Then there are the rest of us, left here wondering why things have to be this way.  Having my mother gone makes some of this better.  Some of it, worse.

I will say with a definite burst of joy that this Thanksgiving was the best that I've had in 10 year, at least.  Both of the kids made their pies.  I've discovered how to make a new dessert:  Piecaken!  If you've never heard of it, look it up.  It's revolutionary! My combo was a pumpkin pie (made by Reighan) and carrot cake.  Also a new family favorite side that I made, stuffing muffins.  I had Thanksgiving day at my aunt's.  It was nice.  For once, nobody was fighting with someone.  Everyone talked and it was relaxed.  We all sang karaoke like we always do when we get together.  It was nice that my kids got to experience what I had when I was a kid - after all the stressing that I spent wondering if that was gone forever.  The kids even sang with everyone.  My heart was so happy that I the second my head hit the pillow I ugly cried.

I spent Friday dead to the world because of stupid autoimmune crap.  Then Saturday I had dinner at my brother's.  My niece Aurora turned 1, her party was Sunday.  Are parties for a 1 year old even for the kid?  Let's face it:  it's more of a celebration of keeping a tiny human alive while you were so sleep deprived that no other human would be functional.  I'm still pulling for it to be mandated that every new parent be given a rug washer upon leaving the hospital.  My spawn are 14 and 16, and I'm still getting my money's worth out of that thing.

And I've been reflecting on why my little Grinch heart has swollen so big this year, given that under the surface I also feel a tad like a volcano;  but that's for another post.  And then, sitting on John's couch it just fell out of my mouth:  "I feel a lot better once I learned to stop being a people pleasing pain in the ass."  And for anyone who knows me prior to this past 18 months.  Before right now, I was constantly worried about everyone except my own happiness.  I made sure everyone had what they needed before I would take a second to recharge my own batteries.  I've stopped apologizing for things that I didn't do.  I stopped caring - not on an asshole level, but on the no longer giving energy to anything unnecessary level.  I feel like once I started giving my energy to what actually mattered and started paying attention to what I need, everything else is just falling into place.

But then there is the giving of all the fucks.  All the time.

The Motherless Mother

Something that is missed sometimes as a writer is the toll it takes on the mind to have so much to say, and it can't be said without ripping out my heart entirely.   Acknowledging that feelings have an existence in my being leaves my heart feeling like a squished grape.  The past 18 months have been hard for two very specific reasons, and the other day in therapy, I was given a homework assignment to write about this one.  My mother.  This time of year has been hard for me, because the holidays were the one consistent thing throughout my entire life.  No matter what place our relationship was in, no matter how much she imagined she hated me at the time, the holidays were the most important thing on the planet to her and everything had to be perfect;  and because of that, they were mostly the same. And now they're not.  Because she isn't here.

Mothers are all slightly insane. It just so happens that mine is more so than others.
~ JD Salinger

If my Facebook news feed is an accurate representative sampling, my friends fall distinctly into two categories: those whose mothers are alive and well, and those whose mothers are neither. Mine however, is alive but unwell. She is here but gone; physically present but absent in every way that counts. And as I have learned the hard way, nobody throws a wake or sits Shiva for your ambiguous loss. There are no well-wishers, no little black dresses, no bringers of casseroles; you can’t eulogize a woman for living when she never died.  She just sort of, left.  Both physically and mentally.  My relationship with my mother has always been one surrounded by control and was anything but stable.  At 36 years old, my mother went from someone that I would talk to several times a week and shop with at least once a month, to someone that I saw 4 times in a year.

My mother is broken.  Borderline personality disorder, broken.  Extreme up and down, broken.  There are things surrounding the early years of her life that if gone into detail anyone would understand, but I won't.  I am most definitely not one to poke fun at mental illness of any kind (I myself inherited more than just my mama’s good looks). But my mother is not seeing a therapist, taking meds, or conscientiously managing her mental illness. If she were, I would see her as a survivor to admire, she would be someone I could talk to, someone with whom it was safe to have a relationship. My mother refuses to treat her condition, to her own very real detriment and that of those around her, despite the devastation she leaves in her wake.

And growing up with an emotionally unstable person who says to you the worst things that no child should ever hear from anyone, let alone the one person who should never even think them about you does a number on you that you won’t soon forget. When you become a mother yourself, the impact of growing up with a mother who has mental illness becomes more clear.


1. You will always feel like an impostor.

Being a motherless mother, you permanently feel the sting of being the odd one out. You are forever the last kid picked in gym class. You will listen, somewhat incredulously, to your friends swap stories of their mothers’ support during their pregnancies, labors, and other momentous kid-related events. You will, much like Chief Brody sheepishly eyeing his appendix scar in Jaws while Hooper and Captain Quint trade shark attack tales, stand awkwardly to one side, lacking a frame of reference for even comprehending these narratives.

I never told my mother anything until I didn't have a choice because I could never count on the reaction I was going to receive.  My pregnancies were discussed only after someone else already said something.  I told her about my marriage;  to which she flipped out and cut me out of every picture she had with me in it.  She didn't approve, or have a hand in controlling my decision; I was dead to her.  It never mattered if it was where I chose to work or if I was OK with my son's choice to go commando for the day.  Do people call their mothers about these things and not die spiritually?

2. Nobody taught me how to do mom things.

I don’t live in squalor, but my domestic skills lack finesse. I don’t have a natural barometric gauge when things are clean or dirty because I was screamed at if I left a shirt on the floor.  Hell, if I can walk through your front door without climbing over a waist-deep obstacle course, it looks great to me. People have teased me my entire adult life for loading a dishwasher like it’s a precarious game of Jenga and for not knowing how to mince garlic until the ripe old age of 30. Growing up, I was something to control, and I was never taught the basics of life - how to balance a checkbook, how to pay taxes, how to manage bills.  My mother didn't work when I was growing up.  When she did, it was babysitting out of our home.  She doesn't know what it is like to bust your butt all day and then find the energy to cook and clean and make sure the tiny humans are in one piece.  She always had someone there to help her - my aunt came to live with us when my brothers were babies because she couldn't handle 4 kids on her own all day.  She was always in a relationship.  She's never experienced what it is like to have to work your ass off for everything that you have.  I was kicked out the second I turned 18 halfway through my senior year because my aunt needed a nanny, and tag, I was it.  I sometimes have to take a step back, take a deep breath, and extend myself some grace. Nobody taught you how to do this, lady. You’re doing just fine. But I have a lot of anxiety about imparting this particular set of life skills to my child when I perpetually struggle with it myself.

3. You won’t have anyone to call when things are really, really bad.

I'm a single mother.  I was working full time with an infant and a toddler.  Alone.  I couldn't rely on her support to watch them when I was sick or needed a break.  I considered returning them, but the warranty had expired.  Now, they're 14 & 16.  I don't know what to do or say to them half the time, and I sure as hell wouldn't say anything that she said to me as a kid.  She did take my daughter to get her first bra, but that was around the time that things started to really go downhill.

And you know when you’re a kid and your world is imploding on itself, and it all fades to black, and you just want your mommy? Yeah, I get that too, only my mommy is usually stuck up her new boyfriends ass and coming into my house when I'm not home like a stalker, and fighting with me through text message about how "insert family event she wasn't invited to because she abandoned everything and everyone for her new life and hasn't spoken to anyone for months".  I have had to rely on my own lousy instincts, and Facebook crowdsourcing, and sometimes my aunts. When my son’s fever spikes to 103 degrees, I have no one to call to ask how high is too high and whether or not I should I go to the ER. I have never had that person, and sometimes (every second, of every damn day) it sucks like a whorish Hoover.

4. …or when they’re really, really good.

Conversely, I will never have a mother to call about the good stuff. She wasn’t there to hear about it when my kid successfully had a sleepover. She refused to read anything about my daughter's diagnosis of an ASD until 2 years after she got it because she was so hell bent on painting me as a horrible mother that she wouldn't see that the problem wasn't me.  She won’t be there to ooh and ahh over their prom pictures. She wasn’t at my wedding; I doubt she’ll be at theirs because she has alienated them so badly with her control and random bullshit statements that kids don't need to hear from someone who should (but doesn't) have any idea of how to love someone unconditionally. She is too busy pursuing the extravagant desires of a broken mind and doesn’t give the flyingest of fucks that by doing so she has jettisoned everything that really matters.

And you can reassure yourself all the live-long day that it doesn’t matter, that you don’t miss her, that you didn’t really need anyone to call and tell that funny-gross story about the mishap in the bathtub. And you don’t. You’re tough. You will get by. But sometimes? It’d be nice. Because no one would appreciate a good mishap-in-the-bathtub story more than the mother you don’t have.

5. You will fear for your children and question your own decision to procreate.

It should go without saying that mental illness has a biochemical basis and a major genetic component. Mood disorders and schizoid-spectrum disorders in particular tend to cluster in families. Every time you look into the big beautiful eyes of your sweet baby, you will be overcome with the irrational fear that they too, will go crazy.

Will he inherit the family curse? Is he a ticking time bomb waiting to detonate? What kind of life have I wished on this poor innocent child? And perhaps more fundamentally, was it selfish of me to bring a child into this world knowing I could be passing on such a terrifying legacy? And even if it was, what can I possibly do about it now? But the full-scale horror of the as-yet-unknown—ay, there’s the rub.

6. You will fear becoming your mother.

When you aren’t worrying about your child becoming your mother, you will be worrying about you becoming your mother…and leaving your child to pick up the broken pieces. That time that you got so stressed out that the idea of just up and leaving everything sounds so wonderful - but wait, your mother just did that.  And then the pain of everything that you've gone through catches up to you and everything snowballs and before you know it, you're at Target buying your son that game he begged you for a hundred times and you refused, but look at you being the awesome mom.  The thought of your kid coming to resent you the way you resent your own mother is heartbreaking enough. Couple that with debilitating lifelong guilt for feeling the way you do about her and the logistical nightmare that is the care and maintenance of a psychotic adult, and you’ve potentially bequeathed your kid one hell of an inheritance.

7. You will have very little from your childhood to share with your child.

When your childhood memories are steeped in chaos and trauma, it doesn’t mean that no good things ever happened to you. It does mean you have a very difficult time recalling them. And when your primary caregiver was as neurotic and unstable as mine was, family traditions went by the wayside and day-to-day survival was all that mattered.

Both of my parents were in long term relationships after they divorced, so holidays were spent with every branch of my family.  It was chaos, but it was wonderful because my mother was so focused on making good face, that I was allowed a little freedom to enjoy myself.  There was always small traditions that my mother held onto.  Each of us kids had our own ornaments that were seperated and we took turns putting them on the tree at Christmas.  Some of the decorations she used to have I have now and every once in awhile, when things get really bad, I take out the candle holder that she passed down to me and smell the old wax.  It never changes, the faint hint of cinnamon that I've smelled since I was little.  It's also, the only time I let myself be sad about how bad it sucks that she's gone from my life. I can't listen to Christmas music without getting angry.  And then crying because I'm angry.  Or being happy.  And then feeling guilty that I'm happy.  And then crying because I'm happy.

I don’t have a cherished “Mom’s German Chocolate Cake” recipe. For a highly creative person, I’m rubbish at making up holiday traditions. I almost feel like I don't want my children to feel like they're being forced to do what I want to do.  I want to pass these things down to my kids, but I keep coming up empty-handed. Manufacturing a whole new childhood for someone else from scratch is hard work.

8. Your kid is missing a grandma.

My grandmas were both pretty badass.  They both love me fiercely and I can talk to them about anything.

My kids, on the other hand, will always have a gaping hole in their life where they are missing 100 percent of the whole grandmother equation. I can’t tell them she died. She didn’t die. She simply has no interest in having a relationship with them, and even if she did, she is toxic and unsafe for them to be around.  Unfortunately, both of them came to that conclusion long before the "big change" and my son cut as many ties with her as he could beforehand.  How can you possibly explain to the bright eyes and precious dimples peering up at you and asking the hard questions that while some people’s bodies are broken, Nana’s brain is broken? That she doesn’t love us in a healthy way because she can’t?

9. You will learn that it’s OK to question yourself as a mother.

In time, however, you will learn to forgive your own mother (albeit imperfectly) for what she couldn’t give you and, more importantly, forgive yourself for what you were not given. This is not to say you will absolve yourself of doing better by your child; you will make it your paramount priority. But you will eventually shed the layers of hostility you feel toward yourself, although perhaps not all those you feel toward your mother.

You will learn to treat yourself with a little kindness; you will learn through trial and error that you yourself, as much as anyone else in the universe, deserves your love and compassion. You will learn that you are not a failure for having failings, and that the very fact that you are questioning yourself as a mother means you are already a good one.

Lately....

I have been told that I have a glacier surrounding my heart.
Take a closer look
It's paper mache.
~ Cynicallovebird

Being in my shoes isn't hard;  it's terrifying.  And the creepy clown waiting in the gutter is the knowledge that with one wrong move I'm going to fail at everything.

I've been a mess.  I've come to figure out that I've got many different types of messes.  I compartmentalize way too easily;  and it bothers me.  Lately though, I think my "piles" are now look like the desk of a mad scientist rather than the organized, perfectly put together June Cleaver type that I'd like to project.

This chaos in my brain has left me wishing that this was Nightmare Before Christmas and I lived in Halloweentown, because then if I popped off my head and traded with someone else for awhile, much like I want to do right now, it wouldn't be weird.

Something about transitioning times of year that have been espeically hard on me since I was a kid. I'm not going to lie, I've been having a tough time lately understanding the difference behind what I'm feeling;  is this thing that's taken my breath away PTSD, anxiety, depression, fibromyalgia.....what is my problem really.  I think that taking the time to actually evaluate my problems and feelings have actually caused me more pain and anxiety than doing the old fashioned "just putting it away".  I know I've reached the point where it's something that I'm no longer capable of doing. 

There's more, but I think this is enough thinking for now.

Coworker

He was the perfect specimen of man that her soul desired.  Even in passing as a complete stranger in the halls she wanted to know him.

One evening shared was the awakening that she wasn't even aware that she was waiting her entire life for.

She had never been so honest; he wasn't just some toy to play with.  He was different.  Special.  Settling.

Slowly but surely, contact dwindled.

Her soul craved their connection, knowing it wasn't to be.

"Don't shit where you eat".  Isn't that the saying?

She didn't collect people.  She no longer desired empty connection.  Unfriend button hit.

Why?

Because he stopped talking to her, and she got tired of wanting him to.

Shitty People

I have been single now for 2 years, and I would like to know just one thing:

What the fuck has happened to the idea of human interaction while I was out of the dating pool for 7 years?

I mean, come on!!!

Since when is it okay to treat people like they're amazing one minute and then just randomly stop talking to them the second that you find something better?  Whatever happened to honesty and integrity?  Since when is it okay to not put any effort into getting to know someone before jumping in the sack with them?

I'll tell you:  we've become a society of convenience.  We do what's easy.  There is no need for effort, because the second you get in a fight with your significant other, right there on any social media platform you choose there's a person ready to step in.  And then whenever you get sick of them, you can start the dance all over again.  Hookups are easier than taking the effort to become emotionally attached to someone.  Coming from someone who was a big slut for years because of all of my emotional baggage, I am totally familiar with how it works.

And I'll tell you what;  when you are no longer in a place where you want what's easy, and actually want something meaningful, the world fucking sucks.

It.  Sucks.

People are just shitty to each other.

I've been writing.  Nothing that I'm ready to publish yet.  Stay tuned.

Breaking Point

When you finally reach the point where your place inside that you stuff everything into just to make it through the day has breached it's breaking point,

And everything bubbles up to the surface because there's no other place to put it;

Things really suck when you take a moment to actually experience what you've been putting away.

More later.

I just can't right now.

Inevitably

So what if you think I talk too much?

I'd rather be a burning mess

of expressive chaotic passion

than a Pinterest perfect coward.

That,

and I'm doing my best to keep my cool when my entire being wants to

break the sound barrier to get to you

and kiss that face that won't leave my brain. 

But instead

I'll put another coat of paint on my door and wield my hammer

in the name of mindless busy work

to avoid the inevitable....

Thinking of you, that is.

                         

                      ~Cynicallovebird

Irrational

Whenever I get super stressed out, sometimes I do something productive to get rid of the nervous energy that goes along with it.  The weeks shit-losing session ended in me doing all the laundry.  All of it.  Cleaned the bathroom.  Did all the dishes.  And then cleaned out my black hole that is my refrigerator.  With gross teens, that's a lot of groady.

I keep wanting to write an open letter to teenage girls about dating and boys.  But I won't.  I don't have real advice to give, other than DON'T DO IT.  That in itself is all the advice you need, really.

They say this soul mate hunting will cost me my mind....
I say I'd go insane if I stop.
You might wonder how much you can hate someone you once truly loved;
But how can you not:
When they squander your kindness
And make you feel miserable most of the time.
When they flatter you out of their own convenience 
And disregard your needs
And shrug as they glance over their shoulder rather than take heed.
The real question begs: how could you have fallen for someone like that?
I have a tendency to ramble
And if it doesn't hit my ears sweeter than Cole Porter I don't want it anymore;
I was never really one to enjoy playing the part of the whore.
I'm still figuring out my place on this big blue marble
And then I remember the one place that always made room 
for my jagged edges.
Forgive me;   you.
It was always you.
I hope you know that you are loved.
Bizarrely and irrationally,
But loved entirely nonetheless.

~ Cynicallovebird

Sweaty Palms

I used to imagine what it would be like to wake up next to you.
To hear you fight off sleep as your feet hit the floor.

I showed you exactly how to love me.You lacked attention, not ability.

I have finally unpacked myself from the box you tried so hard to keep me in and
My heart isn't broken because I never got to experience the privilege,
But because you have no idea what my pancakes taste like.

~ Cynicallovebird

I never get nervous when I have to do public speaking or a huge event with lots of people.  Dating, on the other hand, creates the sweaty palmed, "Oh my dear Lawd what in heavens have I done thinking I could leave the house looking like this hot mess" thing.....  I have to go in alone.  One on one, with another adult, who is judging the crap out of me.  Judging whether or not I'm worthy of seeing again.  No buffer of a friend to distract me.  Just me, in all my awkward, nervous talking, inappropriate joke cracking, hot mess glory.  Shit your pants crazy scary for me.  

That's when I have to stop and remind myself who I am.  I am a fucking bad ass.  I mean, come on;  raising two kids on your own is not for the faint of heart.  Throw in the fact that there is no co-parenting battles, child support or help of any kind, and you've got ME.  Just me.  I don't need to impress anyone.  I look fucking hot as hell in the dress that two weeks ago I bought on a whim and so fucking what I have a gut?  I can do this!  I don't need a buffer to win someone over.  Yes, my pictures of my great boobs might have helped a little, but it's my humor and my smile that'll keep the right one, eventually.  And it's not approval or validation that I seek;  it's connection.  Always connection.  Conversation.  Someone who wakes up thinking about what I might say next that they can't wait to hear.  

And you know another thing;  bitches get stuff done.  Most men claim to desire driven, independent and confident women.  Yet when confronted with one, they can't handle it.  I was told once that I was intimidating.  I shut that shit down immediately.  The person who is intimidated by me, the least intimidating person on the planet, who would die for someone to love her even enough to cover her pinky compared to the amount that she loves and gives of herself, is EXACTLY the person that I don't have time for.  The time waster.  The game player.  How about being a game changer for once?  I am never going to be one who isn't afraid to put you in your place, but I also expect to be put in mine.  

Whenever I'd put up my tough-girl shell, and sometimes I still do, I keep telling myself, "Damn J, tuck in the crazy just a tad...Too much.  Tone it down".  But here's the truth:  whenever I got dumped or called a bitch it was from a situation where I was making others uncomfortable with my own security, and I am done apologizing for evolving past your comfort zone.  I have busted my ass to have everything that I have.  I am resilient and persistant.  I have opinions.  I am not sorry for being a strong woman.  

There is a metric shit ton more to write about this, but my brain is fried from the past 48 hours and my body decided that it was way past my bedtime around lunch, so.....

I came across a meme that said "My next relationship is either going to either be my last relationship or my first murder charge because y'all not going to keep playing me like I'm average."   I'm pretty sure I don't need to say anything else... 

Maybe

I am done walking down the mid-line of my feelings afraid to pick a side 

between love and leaving

because I know that you don't care about either outcome.

I'm done with what doesn't bring me peace.

But you do,

And maybe that's my problem.
I never believed in maybe until you came along.

~ Cynicallovebird

Weird Dreams And Missing Him

Dear Stress,

I know you're totally in love with me and all, but let's break up.  It's not me it's you.  Go find someone else to stalk, like maybe a black hole.

Sincerely, Me

My anxiety has been rearing its ugly head much more often than I enjoy or am willing to acknowledge.  I can feel the seeds of overcompensation sprouting....

I couldn't sleep for crap the night before.  Thought I'd be clever and put in some headphones and play some tunes to zone out to.  At some point, it got switched from my white noise playlist to my cardio playlist filled with the Beastie Boys, The Clash, David Bowie and the Rolling Stones and I ended up dreaming about break dance fighting cops and robbers making out with clowns.  How it all got to that point, don't ask.

I'm a pretty low maintenance person.  If you wanna be my lover, you gotta be down to watch documentaries  with me at midnight while we're both covered in cheesy popcorn.  In case anyone was wondering how difficult it is to strike up a friendship with me, you literally just have to message me and like, "Hey, we're friends now" and I'll be "Hell yeah" and then BOOM, we can go thrift shopping.  I know that I've said in more than one post that for me, the "signals" we all give pertaining to human relationships are more complicated to me than hieroglyphics.

You know what's hard about life at times?  When so many people need so many things from you and all you want to do is be nothing to no one for awhile.  It's not being selfish, it's being human.

I have no more room in my phones memory and as I was trying to make more room, I realized that I could never let anyone go through my gallery.  There are way too many odd screenshots and saved things that I have no valid explanation for.  Most of it are things that "inspire" me in the moment that I take the screenshot, and then later I try to figure out if I was slipped something in my coffee at the time because, well, who needs a recipe for frozen grapes?

I've been kind of all over the place lately in my head, but it keeps bringing me back to the same place.  The one I keep avoiding, but know that I can't any longer.  I am lonely.  And it sucks.  And it led to the really huge fight with a person that I will write something different about later, ending in me spewing "Screw you" a dozen times uncontrollably like I had verbal diahrea.  It was almost comical (after the fact, now that I'm semi-removed from the situation).  I had so much in my head that I was wanting to say, and it was the only thing that fell out of my face and I couldn't stop it.  I stood up for myself, but also find myself at the end of a path and I don't know which way to turn.  It led me to write the following this morning:

I have late night conversations with my dog.  He tells me how much he missed me when I was away and I tell him about you and how I want to take back the secrets I told you so I can decide now whether or not to tell you them again.  I want to take back the piece of me that lies in you, to see if I truly miss it.  I want to take back at least half the confessions, because I would feel safer.  I want to shake you and tell you that you're an idiot.  I want to get it through my damn head all the things you said.  I want to show you how unbelievably contradictory you are.  I want this up and down to stop.  Just Stop.  If you're going to push me away, I want you to truly be gone.  I want to punch you.  Hard.  I want this hurt to cease.  But I can't.  I made a promise to myself that if you can live without me, that I would live without you.  I deserve better than your half measures.  And even more, I deserve better than my reaction to it.  I won't apologize for evolving past your comfort zone.

If I knew that that was going to be the last time I'd ever touch you, I would have hugged you so much longer.  I don't think I would've ever let you go.  And if I knew that was the last real conversation we were ever going to have where we shared our dreams and laughed and were real with each other without a string of obscenities flying out of my mouth, I would have never stopped talking.  If I knew that you weren't coming back, I swear I would've told you that you were the only person I have ever felt connected with and that you were my home.  I would have told you that your face was my favorite movie to watch and that your voice was my favorite song and that I could listen to you talking to me always.  That your kiss felt like a resuscitation at the end of a bland day.  But would that have made a difference?

I want to do silly things with you and not have to pretend;  just have fun and go with it.  Kiss a lot and hold hands and make fun of everyone in the movies because we're better than them and then take you to the other room and fuck you like there's nothing left in the world but you and I.

I think about it all the time.  What I want.  How scared and intimidated I am to go after it.  The embarrassment of fumbling through stupid formalities of dating.  Can't they be bypassed altogether?  I would just rather move past the banter that has no bearing on anything meaningful and communicate non-verbally and maybe talk afterwards instead.  At this moment, I want to be completely consumed by sensory overload.  I want to touch every inch of you, silently celebrating everything I see as imperfections within myself.  I want to taste myself inside your mouth.  I want to see you in all its existence;  your fears and desires, your lust.  I want to feel you hunger to bite my neck.  Sexual release brings such emotional resolve for me.  You'll comfort me by reassuring me that you've found peace in my mania.  That my anxiety is a riddle you don't mind taking the time to solve.  We find familiarity with each other in your depression.  One day I'm just going to get straight to the point and tell you that you give me butterflies in my vagina.

Lately I've been feeling like I've fallen into the junk drawer of my own existence;  in the way that I don't know what to do with myself.  It's almost as if I'm some oddball key you found somewhere but you have no idea what door it goes to, but you're certain it's something important so you can't get rid of me or a doohickey that goes to something you have long since chucked but one day you'll need that one piece...  I'm still unlearning the behaviors of staying angry and needing to protect myself.  I'm learning to breathe again.  I may not fully understand and know love, but I want to and I'll stop at nothing until I do.  I've always overlooked important connections because I was preoccupied with surface level reactions to immediate stimuli.  Growing up, I didn't feel much peace.  I always had an outward shell of self protection, but not feel a sense of unconditional love.  My time at home was filled with gaslighting and being treated with contempt for existing.  My past is one wrapped in uncontrollable emotions inside that were never far from the surface of my always smiling face.  I'm bothered and bewildered by the fact that I have to actively assess my words, thoughts, and behaviors to make sure that I'm (both inward and externally) communicating properly my desire to love;  even when I'm not entirely certain what it is.

Screw You

The thing is, I never tried to change your mind;  

I tried to open it.

And the same can be said for your heart.

There's a possibility I figured out it's love because I felt myself transforming alongside you and in your hands.

Suddenly, I was an escape artist without a trap door 

and a homemaker trapped in a place I couldn't make into a home.

I stopped being able to tell how much of that was you 

and how much was me.

"No" is the sweetest stance my mouth has ever tasted.  

It was once something I thought I didn't have the palette for.  

That moment hit me the hardest;  

the realization that I've got a sweet tooth for all the words 

I have been dying to say to you.

I found myself cradling an ache between my palms that has found its way out of me but I cannot bear to set it free in your direction, fearing my tongue be the sacrificial lamb.

Let's claw at each other tonight.

I want a memory tomorrow that will make me bite my nails.

Whenever you cross my mind the thoughts are of you are so palatable

I can still taste you on my tongue.

You're the first one who didn't need to convince me that being alone is not better than this.

I had hoped that those words would be an incantation 

that would change everything between us.

There were yield signs and flashing lights and yelled warnings,

and I ignored them all.

What a painful ache it is;

to want more than you are wanted.

To need more than you are needed 

and to be forgotten when all you can do is remember.

I don't know how to be rid of my love for you without losing you.

There's a frustration here 

- feeling like straddling a pinpoint that I can't pinpoint.

You have hung sweet touches and conversation

and memories like paintings and dreamcatchers

on every inch of the home you've made in my being

and then told me not to miss you when you were gone.

I am making assumptions when we ought to be making connections.

I find myself holding my breath when I should be losing it.

If these lackluster sparklers are all there is

And all this magic was only by chance a once in a lifetime accident,

please forgive me when I tell you 

that I wish you had left your lighter at home.

Screw you, and your false hope.

~ Cynicallovebird

What "Surviving" Really Looks Like

"You just do it.  You force yourself to get up.  You just force yourself to put one foot in front of the other, and God damn it, you refuse to let it get to you.  You fight.  You cry.  You curse.  Then you go about the business of living.  That's how I've done it.  There's no other way.  ~ Elizabeth Taylor

I'm finally at work after a failed attempt to get ready for the day.  I’m sitting here, writing this over the course of the past 5 hours, trying to think of something to email my boss to sugarcoat what I’m feeling, to really drive home the point that getting out of bed today was unbearable for me and that I don't see myself doing it tomorrow when I have to work either.  In my inability to get up after only sleeping for an hour I got out the door in 5 minutes;  my unwashed hair pulled into a ponytail, teeth unbrushed and no makeup on.  Thank the heavens that my room is still organized enough so that I can grab clothes and go and look good enough to leave the house.  You see, if it was the flu or a bad head cold this would be easy.  I would simply relay the symptoms and be excused with a general “feel better” and a hidden relief that I wouldn’t be getting anyone else sick.  To make a phone call saying I just had to take a breather on the side of the road in Searsport because my lungs felt as if they were collapsing and my body was shaking so badly that I had to pull over because I could hardly drive doesn’t do the trick.

Yesterday was great.  I had time to shower and looked great for work.  I went flower shopping with my aunt and made her cake for her elopement last night.  I took pictures, engaged in conversation like nothing was ever wrong.  I went over to my other friend's house (the one I'm dating) and watched some TV and hung out for a few hours.  For once, the battle that rages in my mind between functional and afraid was quieted.  

Every time I feel my chest get heavy, my hands get sweaty, my vision become disconnected, I tell myself to suck it up;  that it’s all in my head.  Maybe it is.  That’s certainly where this monster lives - this unwelcomed existential dread about nothing in particular paired with a fear of what's in the shadows.  Not able to shake the feeling that I'm being watched or followed;  telling myself that it's over now and it shouldn't ever happen again.  But tell that to my body when I’m home alone at the bottom of my shower, unable to move or think or breathe when I can't remember if I locked the front door and I heard a nonexistent thing creeping through the house - and I know how irrational I feel, but I can't do a thing to stop the wave from coming. Tell that to my ears that simply decide to stop hearing and scream with hollow ringing that disorients me to the point of defeat. Tell that to the girl who has sat on grimy floors in restaurant bathrooms who had to take a second to rest her overwhelmed mind and procrastinated the day away in bed because, for a few moments, she can’t remember how to exist.

I'm learning how to trust the world again.  It's really hard to do that when everything you thought you knew about those closest to you turn out to be less than ideal.  Yes, I'll put it that way for those who don't know.  Not everything is everyone's business.  In November when the "I'm fine" mask started to malfunction and pretty much quit entirely I took 3 weeks off from work to get help.  I started therapy, which has been my saving grace.  I am on medication as needed for anxiety and have learned to ride the waves enough to not take it every day.  Mostly out of my sheer refusal to do so.  I don't allow myself to take anything if I know that life is requiring me to be functional.  But I'm a single mom of 2 teenagers with 2 jobs....life is always requiring me to be functional....and that's the damn problem.  

My big girl panties are permanently welded on, I cannot pull them up any higher.

Things weren't always this bad.  I've always had some low lying depression throughout my life, but explainable by the circumstances surrounding me.  Over the past 18 months there have been a lot of changes and things going on that have thrown my mind into full blown "Can't take any more crisis" mode when it's something that I've always been able to take in stride;  no matter the situation or what "it" was.  They say there’s a science behind it.  That it’s just how I work now.  How am I supposed to love my mind if I constantly doubt its ability to decipher reality from fiction?  I don’t know how anyone enjoys that high.  It makes me sad, the lowest I’ve ever felt, feeling incapable of performing in my day-to-day life without an artificial aid.  But I’ve come to terms with the idea that sometimes there is no other option.  I hope one day I’ll be okay with that.
   
I fear having to tell the people in my life that I’m on medication because the second I do, I see my fears written across their faces.  The fact that I have to take a dose of something just to make me feel like I’m residing on some middle ground that makes me capable of mandatory human function, I fear, immediately sets off alarms that I am a lesser person; lacking independence and radiating unpredictability. All of a sudden I’m the crazy, mentally unstable girl completely incompetent and incapable of any mundane task in front of me.  I can't shake the notion that in the eyes of others, it makes me a liar.  Lazy.  Inadequate.  Delusional.  Crazy.  None of that could be farther from the truth about who I really am.  And then if I have enough strength in me to tell them what caused this mess, I have to relive everything through explanations (my "script" has been written in my mind and in the office of my therapist) and then suddenly everyone becomes either sympathetic or needs to tell me the story of the time it happened to someone they know.  There is not one person that I have told that hasn't been completely perplexed about how I hide it so well.  How would they know?  It's not like I walk around with a huge sign over my head.  Hell, some even suddenly become a doctor and tell me I'm fine, or want to know about meds and my treatment and therapy and what coping skills I'm using....they push for more information or shut down the discussion right away because actually acknowledging the fact that bad things happen is just too much.  And then there are the "detectives" who think that they need all the information about it, and try to tell me all the legal advice they picked up on television - thanks to CSI everyone is a forensic scientist.  Thanks for that, not.  Most of the time I don't bother to say I have a diagnosis because, frankly, society has been conditioned to think I’m either a deranged psychopath or I’m faking it because I’m simply too fragile to face life like a normal person.  Do they think I find this fun?

I’ve begun to believe it myself.  I can’t even convince myself I’m not insane.  I can’t get over the possibility that every trigger, every panic, is rooted deep in my overactive imagination who happens to be a spiteful little bitch that likes to see me squirm.  It’s in the calm moments I feel it most. When I’m finally content and that sharp jab of terror hits the sweet spot in the middle of my throat, closing in until I’m choking on what I thought I saw in the shadows. It’s so vivid I can see the muscles contracting, my body starts to itch as I fear…what? What is it that I am so afraid of? It’s the imaginary evils that sneak up and get me in the moments I least expect it.  It’s the seconds of doubt that turn into gut-wrenching reservations and claustrophobic mind racing that drives me right back under my sheets until a glimmer of light breaks through the shades and my alarm goes off for the fifth time after hitting snooze in avoidance of having to screw the smile on and place nice with others.  It’s the darkest days and the brightest nights because there really is no good time I can escape it.   
   
My only saving grace is that because I explained what happened to me, my doctor's believed me.  That I have a job that I've been at long enough to qualify for family medical leave so that when I'm have "a day" I can get through it and not worry about my job being something I don't have when I finally am able to snap myself out of it.  I’ve officially been categorized, embossed, labeled with the word, “PTSD" and "Situational Anxiety.”  I feel like a sick scam. Who am I to say I’m hindered when there’s nothing visibly wrong with me; when some days I function at 110 percent and nothing can hold me back.  I swear I am most productive when I am so exhausted that no other human would be conscience, let alone functional.  There are many who have it much worse than me, and because my vices cannot be seen from the surface (because I don't allow the beast out of its cage for all to see) they’re perceived as fake.  It’s a bittersweet sentiment knowing my flaws are something that I'm able to process in a way that allows me to pretend they don’t exist while someone is watching.  I thrive in the precious moments I spend being normal.  I cripple in the instances I must try to explain the place I’m coming from, the place no one will ever truly understand until they feel their heart stop beating in their chest only to accelerate far past a normal rhythm.  

 I'm getting better at deciphering/navigating/predicting what I need.  I refuse to let myself give in to the impulses that I used to follow without hesitation.  I have dyed my hair twice, once in November (I was hoping mid-way through my leave that it would help me feel better and of course it didn't), along with chopping 8 inches off and a couple of weeks ago.  I'm very much a "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" kind of person.  And aside from what happened, my life is pretty much the same;  but I'm not.  There just simply isn't calm in the familiar any more.  Despite being completely happy with the career that I have currently, I have applied for and accepted a job in the Oncology dept. of the same hospital I currently work at.  I hope to still stay per Diem where I work currently.  I thought that by keeping the same routine that things would fall back into place where they were before and that everything would be back to fine after a while.  I need a change.  As fearful as I am that it's not going to get better, I'm realistic that it's not going to be an instant fix.  Hope is more powerful than I could have ever imagined; and I have a lot of it.

I’m a fighter.  I hate the guilt I feel every time I have to plan my day around the amount of anxiety I've become programmed to anticipate and needing to to gauge whether or not I'm going to need something to get through it.  But I want to succeed.  I want to be truly happy without the after effects of it being more painful than exorcising a demon.  Every day I find something to be happy about and cherish;  and it's always paired with the overwhelming "what if?"  What if this never happened to me?  What if I am never going to be the same?  Then paired with "Do I even want to be the same?"  I'm done just doing the bare minimum just to get through the day.  I want to live, and not just in a shell of a body with blood pumping through it.  I would love nothing more than to get past this mess and be done with it.  That's my dream.  Here's to hope.

Disney Lied.

Disney is a farce,
And I'm kind of pissed.
I've been left wishing with my entire being 
That we had never kissed.
Love is dead.
No prince to swoop in when I fall and bump my head.
Heart is hurting.
My ego, bruised.
Wishing I could wear someone else's shoes.
No butterflies,
There's no eternal love story.
Only common sense in all its glory.
Alcohol is the only magic potion around here.
And it doesn't make one more beautiful,
More rich,
Or more dear.
If you grab and kiss the girl without permission
It's assault you're going to see.
A meet cute?
What's that?
You've got to be kidding me.
Acting like a floozy is trashy
But standards and an opinion, 
A horrible thing.
Wishing it was cute for me to lose my mind 
And randomly dance and sing.
No acts of kindness from random woodland creatures.
You were so beautiful to me,
You made me feel I was more than my features.
Falling for you I felt was rational,
But it left my sanity fractional.
The use of my brain I didn't forget this time.
But still allowed my walls to unwind.
Wounds gaping open I've never shown;
The pieces of my heart back together you had sewn.
Never needing to rush,
You always knew just how to make me blush.
You were always so understanding,
Accepting and kind.
But the Beauty doesn't get her Beast this time.
There's no magical carpet,
Not an ancient wishing well.
You sir,
Can burn exactly in Hell.

~Cynicallovebird

Well Shit...

The less you say,
the more deafening it is.
I intentionally aim my words to fall between the lines
you clearly don't know how to read.

Words are living creatures;
for if you leave them unspoken,
they will decay and fester.
They become a gory wound 
and they will never cease to gnaw the brain
and poison the blood until they are set free.

I struggle to choose them wisely.
The ones I know you don't want to hear from me, 
to avoid the ones that I know I can't bare the thought 
of hearing from you.

I guess I'll just keep throwing myself "out there"
into a trust fall,
mentally playing Plinko with my heart;
knowing you'll always be too busy texting to catch it.

~ Cynicallovebird ~

If I May...

If I may be so bold
as to interrupt the sanctity of the post-coital cocoon of silence,
I must say this moment is something I have become accustomed to craving.
This time the happiness has overwhelmed me to the point of silence.
There isn't much these days that stir my soul the same way your touch can.
It's as if your hug is my straight jacket on my worst of days.
My lips cracked and dry,
thirsting for connection.
For someone, anyone to understand me on my level.

"He gets me..."

What a tall drink of water those words are.
How satisfying it is to wet my whistle with such deep appreciation;
curling up in the curve of my lips.
A tangle of arms and legs.
Ears searching for breath sounds to ensure the other survived the whirlpool 
of simultaneous surrender and combustion;
of the push and pull of animal magnetism.
You sir, have calmed my calamity.

~ Cynicallovebird ~

Life/Mom Log #9

I find myself at the intersection of trying to live my life and trying to run from it.

I'm pretty sure after spending last weekend doing pretty much nothing but laundry catch-up from working for 2 weeks straight that I've come to the conclusion that the hardest part of doing it is resisting the urge to douse it in gasoline and set it on fire.

Last week was February vacation.  Let me just say this:  School vacation when you have teenagers is a vacation for no one.  They're bored out of their mind, but every time you suggest you all do something they don't want to because they're "busy" doing nothing.  They just kind of mope around, eating everything in sight and leaving a trail of whatever they were last holding in their hands that managed to be discarded to the floor in their wake.  The trash can has become a guideline rather than a rule for disposal.  You come home from work to your house smelling like a locker room because they forgot that the shower exists - like, the entire frigging contraption at all.  It's a part of your bathroom that doesn't exist anymore.  The laundry hamper?  What the hell is that?  Long gone are the days of being entertained by the snow;  now they're just zombies with electronics glued to their faces.

Thursday afternoon, I did my usual, sit in the car and play around on social media for a minute, while I brace myself to walk through the door and find a magical mess-making tornado had visited.  Because, you know, paper towels place themselves on the floor and food magically walks itself upstairs into the children's bedrooms where it doesn't belong....  I could hear them yelling at each other from my porch when I came home from work.  As soon as I walked through the door and got a pleasant "Hello Mom" from my son and my daughter yelled "thanks", I realized that it wasn't angry yelling.  They were giving each other tips on what to do and where to find stuff  in the video game on their tablets; that they were playing against each other, from separate rooms of the house.

Deep breath.  Mentally added to the things that if I did as a kid, I'd be dead.  Get over my generational outrage that they're interacting with each other electronically.  They're getting along.  If this is how it has to happen, then so be it.

Over the past month off and on I've been battling anxiety attacks that put me in a strangle hold and won't let go.  It has been Hell.  Hopefully things are turning around, I feel much better over the past couple of days.  I think it helps to take a minute and realize what I need to get through it and just go with it.  If your body is telling you "let's lay in bed and eat ice cream and watch New Girl on Netflix until your eyes feel like they're going to fall out of your head", and that's what you need to do to reset your mind, do it.  When there are times when your mind won't stop and nothing you do will reset it, leave your environment and do something else.

I've pretty much stopped taking selfies.  I don't know why.  It almost feels like my arm is missing and it freaked me out when I realized about two weeks ago that the last selfie that I took and posted to social media was on Thanksgiving....it used to be daily.  I chopped 8 inches of my hair off in November when I went back to work.  I had to, it was breaking off and falling out in clumps.  I've missed my hair.  It's growing back in stronger though, I'm glad for the reset.  On an observational note though;  when everyone freaks out about your new hair "because they really like it!!  It looks soooo good!!", did it look that bad before?

I deleted my POF account.  This time for multiple reasons, and not the same reasons that I did it the last time.  Frankly, I'm not in the market for pointless attention.  I don't need it anymore.  There was a point where I couldn't function without it and now I find myself not wanting attention of any kind unless it's coming from someone that means something.  Someone who calls when they say they will.  Someone who's actually met me.  And maybe a little bit because I don't want attention from anyone but the one person that my brain shuts off around.  Like seriously, I mean an actual, real, live, breathing person.  Whom I sit down next to, and the world literally STOPS.  One who, when they're around, I feel calm and calamity colliding all at once.  Trying to wrap my head around that one....

If you don't have goosebumps, you should.

Anyways, more on mental health and relationships to come.  Be good to each other.  Peace out!

Questioning The Questions

I woke up fully loaded with questions today and every single day for the past week about the same things.  Just thought I'd throw that disclaimer out there before you proceed.

Are relationships allowed to have existential crisis's too?  Or could it just be considered a reevaluation of what a person's existence in our world is.  Is it a good thing?  Are we bringing each other something of value to the table?  I think that if we can't take a moment and appreciate a person for who they are and what they bring to our lives, even if it's just cheez-it's, then we are doing the relationship entirely wrong.  And let's face it, cheez - it's are pretty damn great.

At what point do our shells crack?

You know the one.  The one that we put up around ourselves in self preservation to, for lack of a better term, avoid what we're really experiencing.  For some, it's the "I'm fine" statement, the "my life is perfect/great/wonderful" posts on social media, it's the "I can do it all, look at me doing it".  For me, it's pretending that what I'm experiencing isn't even happening.  That is, until it's impossible to ignore.  And here we are.....

When we're in a relationship that is clearly (and hopefully) not ending any time soon, at what point do we allow what they other wants to eclipse what we need?  When the hell did I become the soft boiled egg?

When my last relationship ended, I thought it might be better to be alone than to seek out what I knew fully that I wanted.  Not because I thought I'd be happy alone;  it was because I was (am) afraid that if I allowed myself to be in love and it fell apart again, I might not make it this time.  What if I drop my walls and allow someone in, and like it, and lean on it and curl up inside?  What if I shape my life around it and it all suddenly falls apart?  Losing something you love might as well be losing a limb.  The only difference between that kind of pain and death is that it could go on forever.  I'm pretty sure that I've decided that I'm through wincing in anticipation of it.  **as I wince while typing that statement...figure that one out**

I'm not the kind of person who can just run my finger down a person's soul and jump to my favorite parts of them.  It is my biggest pet peeve of human behavior.  Pigeon-holing.  Putting people in boxes.  I hate it when people do that to me, and I want no part in doing that to others.  I want to read through every chapter and take my time doing it.  Taking comfort in the dog eared pages of what inspires them the most;  hearing all about their favorite memories and creating new chapters.  I'm the kind of person that has a heart with a corner in it that's all yours once you're allowed access.  And I don't mean for now, or until I've found somebody else;  I mean forever.  What I mean to say, is that even if I fall in love a thousand times after you are gone from my life; if you ever are, there'll always be a small quiet place in my heart that belongs only to you.

Much to the chagrin of my ego/pride/heart/brain....I have caught feelings for someone;  but I fear that telling them may burn my world to the ground.  I'm cool as a cucumber on the outside.  Inwardly, I'm terrified by his ability to weaken me.  Why am I so scared that it's not the right thing?  That I'm putting too much pressure on them for there to be more.  Which I haven't put any pressure at all on them, because I haven't said anything.  Or maybe I've said things, when again, I can't not say what I'm thinking anymore.  Frankly, I think I'm ok at the moment with how things are;  at least for now, but I also can't get rid of this scratching in the bad of my mind begging the question to be asked if things could be better.  Maybe it's just the part of me that wants to wake up next to someone in the morning for a change.  To look forward to going home to.  I feel like a complete and total chicken shit around them and I have no idea why, yet he is the one person I have never been anyone but myself around from the second I met them.  That has never happened in the history of me having a crush on anyone.
I almost feel sorry that my feelings have invaded his personal space.  And then I get kind of angry because is that really the kind of thing that you should ever have to apologize for?  All I really know right now is that I'm happy and when it comes to them I feel...settled.  However, my brain and heart feel like a couple of break-dance fighting ninjas are having their way at the gates of Reason and LaLa Land.

If I've learned anything over this year of Hell, is that if I want the crappy things to stop happening then I have to stop accepting crap.  And yet, here I am;  not that I'm saying that I'm accepting crap, but I feel like I'm maybe accepting something that's less than what I want.  Or maybe I'm just not patient enough to realize that what I want is right in front of me.  That maybe, just maybe something really great could be experienced if I let my shell crack.  And maybe stop trying to hold it together with duct tape.  Maybe.