This is not a fire drill. This is real life.

Crap. Welcome to Friday. I have a splitting headache and I mean that literally and punnilly.

For a little while I thought I had it all together. Having all the baskets in the same egg and everyone is one and all is everyone. And now I am again standing alone, just one and all others are sleeping under the dome. But I’ve grown. These feelings are itchy and uncomfortable. Jealous of myself strangely, it’s true. Everyone loves Isa but me, I’m left out by the door.

I have a stronger sense of self than the rest. Think that’s from all the time I’ve spent with mop in hand cleaning spills. And now I’m here, alone, again, working to shut off the blaring alarms that have been sounding for a few days now. If I give Isa an inch, she’ll run and take the whole mile and keep on going.

I’m frustrated. I’m reading over the journals and freewrites and checking on work and it’s like reading something from somebody else. I know she wrote it and I know she is ‘me’ in a sense. It’s a pretty big mind fuck. I’m her opposite and it shows. When I show up, people tend to get really offended.

I’m not trying to upset them. I just want things my way and I don’t really bend on that. It’s the constant clash of authority that drives me nuts. And worse is the inability to stay put. I don’t even count the hours missing anymore. I count in days and months and lucky if I can backtrack moments.

I used to think I only came out when there was trouble. Cause Isa leads with her heart every time and there is always a mess to clean up after that. Normally I’m putting her shattered ass back together again, just like I always have.

This time, tripped five massive Red level alarms in the space of hours. A couple of ’em I hadn’t seen tripped in, oh my – a few decades at least. I know my protocols. I know what I am to do. And I know I’ve been in this very spot before. This time, I can feel.

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I’d rather look forward

I almost forget today is Friday. I’ve skipped / ignored quite a few of them already. You know there is something special about gratitude and taking the time to express gratitude. For a moment I’m not looking backwards finding negatives but searching for positives. And it is the positives that I need listed and reminded of far more than most things in my life.

Right now I don’t want to face something out of my past. I just wish I could forget it, bury it back under as I’m struggling with dealing with the emotions of it. But I wonder, is it possible to be grateful of the future as much as one is grateful of the past?

Or is that what hope is made of? Gratitude for and of the future?

I’d like to explore this thought, how to carry gratitude into the future, how to face the future with gratitude. I won’t feel so much like I’m driving life backwards through the rear-view mirror.

I’d like to start plotting my course forwards.

 

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Does size matter?

Daughter:  Your brain is small.

Mom:  What?

Daughter:  Yeah, your brain is small. Too small for the big ideas and inspiration.

Mom:  My brain is small?

Yeah: Yeah. Do you know dog and cat brains….

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Musings

I woke up this morning an’ popped out of bed feeling okay about myself and things. Expressing myself helps.

Despite what we are, I found something funny. I learned what kind of pains are good and what kind of pains are bad. And for an emotional masochist to say this, I think is very good progress. I think I’d rather be wearing stripes on my skin than what I feel inside.

Not all pains are created equal.

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Thinking Thoughts

I didn’t want to change him. I knew men don’t change. They are who they are. Either you accept them flaws and all or you don’t. It’s the don’t part that hurts the heart first. Then I made my own mistakes. I attempted to change me into something I’m not. That was my biggest mistake.

And now I’m nursing heartaches on heartaches. I helped in my own destruction. I battered down my own walls. I beat myself up, hard and for all for what? For a smile. For a atta-girl. Just to feel his pride settle down on me. It never will. It never did.

I refused to let pleasure-seeking be the thing that decides the flip of the coin. Logic as I understand it, granted I need to be careful of logical fallacies and exercise it to a greater degree, is what I choose to operate on. At least while I’m running the show. Emotions are such wayward things – impulsive, short-sighted and too often destructive.

I refused to ask so many things. I refused to confront so many different issues. I don’t believe it would have changed a thing. I wasn’t ready to accept that breadcrumbs are just breadcrumbs. I was starving thinking I was eating.

He once told me, he wanted to show me how amazing I am. I don’t feel amazing. I’m still waiting to see it. Rather I feel quite ordinary. But I was feeling low that day, very low and it was a hell of a boost to the id. I remember the smile it brought to my lips. It still brings a smile.

I didn’t want to change him. Still don’t want to change him.  There is some good there.  But right now, I’m worried that I hurt him. I don’t have a clue why I’d think that way or even feel that way.  Why would it matter that a cog popped off? It’s replaceable.

Or maybe I just wish I had hurt him. The thought of just being a cog in his eyes tears me up. An emotionless cog is how I felt in his eyes. Anything less than love an’ devotion was unworthy to spend a moment’s time on, a decision made to please him that ended up hurting me somehow. I’ve made massive mistakes.

What walls do I need to build up? Oh, right. I have a right to make a choice. I have a right to say no. And I also have a right to say yes. Oh, I have the right to make these choices of my own free will and in my own time.

It’s not such a little wall. It needs time.

 

 

 

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When the world changes

It took a single moment to plunge us into a whole new world full of terrors. From once we were in a place unfamiliar and strange but comfortable to a battlefield with the colors drained away. And so here we are standing in chaos as war rages around us and each of us sandbagging the walls. I’m calling out the orders. This place is destroyed. Just bare earth and the only other living things here are us.

This is the inner world we live and exist in, reconnect to each other in. What happened to us? Is this just the reality that illusion was keeping hidden? Or is this just an illusion?

Last few days I’ve watched as Isa has torn apart her Minecraft sky island. She tore it down to the bottom and is bricking it up again. Adding layer after layer of stone and dirt, making it thicker and more impervious to creeper blasts. I watch and wonder as the monotony of placing brick soothes her. One single distraction and she’ll fall off the edge.

Shoring up defenses, huh? I don’t want to live here in this place. It’s lifeless and full of pain. I miss the bleachers. I miss the cuddle rug. I miss the library. And I miss the days I dreamed I had. What’s the plan?

How do you transform a war-zone into a place of life?

 

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I finely feel safe.

It’s weird. I feel safe. After all this time, I’ve got tears of joy running down my face and I feel happy like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. I finally feel safe.

I hate doing relationship autopsies but this case it’s needed. I said goodbye and this time I feel free. I am free. And it’s because I feel safe. I couldn’t express this before. I didn’t know this feeling. I’ve been puzzling over it and I’m sure this is what safe feels like. Yeah, I feel safe.

It’s only recently I learned that each time I run, he deletes everything. So my address, my phone number, my emails, all gone, deleted. He has only one way to reach online and that’s it. He can’t find me. He can’t show up at my home. I’m beyond his reach now. I feel free and safe.

Weird right? I don’t know if it was a mind fuck gone wrong or what. Maybe it’s something left over from PTSD, I just don’t know. I’m working on figuring it out. I had to get strong enough to break a promise. I rarely make promises and all he’s ever seen of me is a string of broken promises. But I broke this one and I’m good with that. I made peace with myself over it. It stings and it will forever. It’s not something to forget. But I made my peace.

Early days, he wanted me to move in with him. There was a lot of talk, even of coming up to grab me and no one knowing what happened to me. I know that set in the terror. It scarred me. I ran then too. But I went back. I just didn’t know how deeply it scared me. All my life I’ve dealt with those kinds of emotions. For me they are normal. Or well they were normal.

I kept going back. Fighting my fears, fighting my reluctance and fighting him too. I tried to express that something was wrong but I never had a good grip on what it was. So I couldn’t say it like I’m doing now.

Even with the pee penny, my body had to teach me what I was feeling. I was supposed to put a penny in the toilet every time I peed, then fish it out. Okay, I can do that. I don’t get the squrrmies over it. I’m a mom, I cloth diapered my kids and hand-washed them. They had sensitive bottoms! So pee and poo don’t both me. My toilet stayed super clean. I switched to my non-dominant hand once I started wearing contacts again. But then my body learned to always poo when I pee. No longer was I fishing out a penny. And that had us going WTF? Why did that change?

Why was I resistant? If he let up, I’d backslide every time. You could count on it. Without him cracking the whip, things got much worse before they got better. It became the pattern. I hated it. This time, I knew my stuff was deleted. This time he left me not knowing if he’d ever be back. On one hand, it hurt like hell and on the other it was like okay fuck it, what are we going to do now? And I found I refused to do anything for him. So my life is going to shit. Fuck that shit, fuck that all to hell. My life, I’m doing it for me.

That’s what I needed. I started to chase my happy. Which also coincided with massive masturbation sessions. Nothing like a good daily pick-me-up to put a smile on your face.

I still had to face him, tell him. Didn’t want him wasting money on something I just won’t do. I gave up long ago trying to explain my problem. I gave up trying to figure it out. It was either him or me that was the problem. And it turns out, it was me after all. I didn’t have a lot of words for him. If I said more, he’d find a way to back me down and I’d collapse in again. If I’d said more, he’d poke holes all in it and I’d feel stupid for even attempting to be heard. If I said more, it would turn into an argument that does no one any good. If I said more, I’d bend and back off, back down, say I’m sorry and I’d still be there.

It’s odd. I think he might have guessed what the problem was. He mentioned a whole thing about ‘if I ever felt trapped, it was done’ as in over. Oddly that terrified me ever more as I often felt trapped. So I set to work on redefining that emotion. Still felt it.

But I walked. He was kind to me. Far kinder than I expected. I admit I cried. That kindness I had not felt from him and only feel when it’s over? It hurt and pissed me off even as I appreciated it. I had not known how much I really needed kindness shown to me. And in the after, this feeling, this amazing feeling is what it is to feel safe. I had never known what that feeling was before. Now I know what it is.

And I have him to thank for that. Thank you.

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