Entries Tagged 'living in the past' ↓

If I were to be completely glib, we’d be playing the I Never game right now and I’d totally be drunk. Instead, let’s go systematically. Oh and men? You probably don’t want to read this one. (Don’t say I didn’t warn you)

Myth #1: I am such an artiste that though you cannot see a trace of makeup on me, my skin looks flawlessly even right now and has all day. Or it just is flawlessly even-toned and I don’t require makeup.
Fact: I’m so fucking pale at the moment, I’m as white as a sheet. Why? Because some fucker decided that since the miscarriage last spring, my period would get worse and sooner every single month – meaning I now have a 18 day cycle that requires me to take iron supplements or I might pass out if there’s some chance that I can even move from the pain-crumbled position the first two days of it are made of.

Myth #2: The nuance in my lower stomach is just the gentle contractions that a lot of women feel during menses, and are completely painless – more so a reminder of the wonder of the female form and all of its splendid ability.
Fact: There is a stabbing in my lower stomach on the left side that I’m pretty sure is my ovary exploding or cancer. Maybe it’s cancer. That would be okay because then I could definitely go for a hysterectomy, which would nullify myth #1.

Myth #3: I did not sleep with my ex boyfriend.
Fact: My back hurts. And I need a sofa. And hard wood floors are not good for coupling at the pace of 17 year olds who might get walked in on by a parent at any moment.

Myth #4: My body, as a result of my newly reformatted eating style, is completely balanced and feeling wonderful.
Fact: There is an open box of Monistat in my presence and I don’t think it’s going to do the job. Also, every day between the hours of 2 and 8 pm, it’s a struggle to stay awake if I’m not constantly moving.

Myth #5: I’m positive that Isobel’s teeth are not the purest white that toddler teeth should be as a result of her wheat allergy.
Fact: I’m terrified that it’s because of our lackadaisical dental habits for the first 32 months of her life. She’s 32 months and 5 days old, as of today.

Myth #6: Eating a wheat and dairy-free diet has meant that Isobel is eating whole, low-sugar, healthy foods every day.
Fact: The prepared snack foods that she eats frequently? Super high in sugar. The kid’s probably getting more damn sugar than all of your kids put together, between the Enjoy Life Coco-motion bars, EnviroKids Koala Crisps, Taste of Nature Exotics organic fruit and nut bars, Silk soy milk and fruit.

Myth #7: I’m confident that because of her diet, appetite, personality and activity level, Isobel will grow up healthy, strong and completely enamouring.
Fact: I’m terrified that she’ll grow into me. At seven years old she’ll be mentally unstable, unliked by all of her peers and chubby.

Myth #8: I’ve used the time offline productively and I feel good about all that I’ve gotten accomplished.
Fact: I’m still slacking on the work. I’m still behind. I’ve still got a tiny disorganized apartment, with boxes that should have gone down to the storage locker three months ago and a toilet that is growing something that might be useful toward this raging yeast infection. But I do have labels on my spice jars, now.

Myth #9: I’m making smart, educated decisions about our future, where we live and how.
Fact: I’m trying. But not doing it so well. Money is always tight, except for when it isn’t, which is when I overdo it, making it even tighter than usual. I need new shoes and have for months, need to go to the dentist, need a bigger space and furniture. But I haven’t done any of those things because I can’t afford to – because when I can afford to? I blow all of our money.

Myth #10: I am a baking master.
Fact: I stick to the easy recipes because I can’t stand having the chance to fail.

Myth #11: I am at peace with my decisions.
Fact: I think I’ve done little right in the past three years, part of which includes deciding to stay pregnant. I was so not ready to be a mom and every day, I see more of how I can’t handle shit and how my morals about certain things – like even TV watching – have gone out the window as a means to settle for less so I’m not constantly tortured by my shortcomings.

Myth #12: I miss my father. I wish he’d gotten to know and love Isobel.
Fact: I’m glad he’s dead. I hope there is a hell and he’s fucking roasting. I think the way he died, the fear he had at the end, the pain he went through, is all karma and I’m not sorry about it for him. I’m so glad that I never have to keep her from him, as a means to keep her head as screwed on as it can be. I’m terrified of how much like him I am and how that will affect Isobel’s self-esteem growing up. I can’t move on and this weekend, I plan to throw out almost everything of his that I own, except his ashes. Which will be packed into my storage locker, next to the vacuum.

Regardless of your life, your childhood, your genetic predispositions, who you had sex with, where and whether you said no or not, there is one thing you can do to overcome all. Own it.

I wouldn’t be as me as I am, if I hadn’t unintentionally started doing so.

There are tales I’ve told, details shared, that pull gasping reactions and pats on the back. That’s not what I’m here for, though. I’m not looking for someone to tell me that what I’ve done, conquered, blocked out, is okay. That I’m strong or a survivor.

I’m not trying to wave a flag of prior abuse and a wear a sash proclaiming me an abuser because I want people to learn from me. I don’t think people much learn from other people at all. I am simply, like I said here, someone who chooses to see a “line and step over it, just in case someone needs to see a friendly face on the other side.”

We all make mistakes. We all fuck up – it’s the human condition by definition: evolving through learning from mistakes. It’s what we do about those choices we made, how we go forward that affects our future karmatic deficit.

Yeah, I feel like a shitty mother for yelling at Isobel. But I choose to not feel like a shitty person because I explain to her exactly why I’ve yelled and what it is that she can do differently to lessen the frustration or panic I felt to bring about my raised voice.

Yeah, I treated JDawg like shit at points. But I’ve never constantly treated him like shit. When I didn’t, even when it was excessively undeserved, I’ve been the model of best friend to him.

I’ve said goodbye to friends easily, harshly and publicly. And from those good-byes, I’ve not carried forward the same mistakes and mistrust into the other friendships I’ve made. And I’ve never not acknowledged my part in a scenario.

In any scenario.

So, point is.

I was abused, emotionally and physically by my father. But I chose to let it continue.

I took the really bad drugs at a really young age. Because I wanted to be fucked up.

I started an eating disorder at seven that would continue – depending on your viewpoint – forever, and it’s cost me more than nearly anything else could. But it’s made me really fucking candid about everything else, because when you wear your pain everyday, it’s not possible to hide the stories that go along with it.

I got raped because I said no at the last possible moment. It took me a few days to walk, then I told the fucker off. Six months later, I kicked him in the balls.

I found out my father was dying and I pretended as if our relationship was unmarred. And it made hating him after his death so much easier.

I cut my mom out of my life a decade ago. Then I let her back in nearly two years ago. But with some distance.

I’ve been bipolar for more than half of my life and repeatedly attempting suicide was the salvation I needed. Every single time. Now, it’s not anymore, because of those times.

I’ve grown amazingly close to people I’ve never even met in person. Closer than most I have. And I don’t regret it for a fucking second.

I don’t regret any of it, really. Because it made me me. Screwed up, emotionally unavailable, at times needy and untouchable, shrinking away from hands and embraces, self-degrading, unable to accept a compliment, quirky, sarcastic, an ear, a source of advice, self-absorbed, a bookworm, a writer.

I am, at my most simplest of forms, a culmination of everything that’s happened to me and that I’ve caused to happen. And the next steps afterward.

But what I haven’t been willing to do, ever, is simply be a victim. You will never catch me professing wan attitude over lives not being ruined, acting as if I have the sole right to hurt about it. If I ever attempt to help someone by telling my story about fucking people over, shoot me in the head because I really don’t want to be that self-important.

The day I wake up and think that my drama is fucking wisdom to other people and that I have a responsibility to share it, at the risk of negatively impacting several others, just to help even one? A cleaver – right in the chest.

Because that me that I am? Is a blogger, man. I’m no fucking more important or smart or talented or wise than anyone else. And I’m certainly not willing to rip people’s hearts from their chests to demonstrate it.

Einstein said “Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results” and it’s perfectly true. I’ve learned and moved forward to be able to own my shit because I’ve done different things, expecting different results. And gotten them. In fact, I’ve been most surprised in life when I’ve gotten the same results from different actions.

If I was being deceitful and frankly a manipulative bitch, I’d expect to be treated like one. And I’d deserve to be, until I repaired the damage. The way that is most appropriate to the damaged parties, not my spiteful, self-serving, flaky self.