kitterztoo
A personal journey of discovery...
Nicole aka kitterztoo
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Skeleton 7: Infatuation Online
This skeleton is painful for me. I won't lie. It affected me recently, and I need to just set it free. I thought I would just throw this skeleton in the closet and sit with it. I am starting to hate secrets more and more. The more recent it is, the more I want to just get rid of it and walk away. I debated whether or not to give this some time. Unfortunately, there is no good time to get rid of pain and secrets. I can't learn from my mistakes that way. This skeleton is simple. I seem to be having my share of "crashing and burning" recently. I think I was looking for the wrong thing and stumbled across something that was positive. I'm sick to think it's all over.
I actually met this guy on Twitter, and noticed he was struggling in his life. Call it intuition, but I can just see these things. I decided to see if he wanted to instant message me on Yahoo, and soon, a message popped up. After about a half hour of talking, I could just see this guy was testing me to see if he could trust me. I just cut through the crap and just told him what I saw about him. Pain and screaming loneliness. That along with some other points of insight seem to have surprised him. That's how it all started.
We talked a lot after that. I didn't exactly expect to have feelings for him. I tried desperately to ignore them, and concentrate on a friendship. I wanted to make sure I wasn't just starving for attention. He was my intellectual equal, accepted me for who I was, and actually liked me. I felt I didn't have to pretend or guard myself. I trusted him, completely.
That's how infatuation starts online. I knew that's what this was. He lived several states away from me, and I knew that a relationship would have to remain virtual as long as I was still married. He was convincing. I wanted it. He made me feel like a better person. I started to believe in myself. Started to grow as a person. I will never forget him because of that.
Without actually meeting a person in real life, realistically you can't say you love someone. That feeling of infatuation is so sneaky. It just starts invading your life and tricks you into thinking you may love someone. Rationally, I know this isn't true. It's rationality I didn't want to feel, but it nagged in the background as a warning. I was far from rational. That's what happens when you don't meet someone face to face. It's so addicting talking to someone, seeing the pictures of their smile or seeing them on webcam. It's the illusion of being close while still being safe. This also is a double-edged sword. You truly don't know if they're telling you the truth. It's whatever they can present to you as truth. Unfortunately, that's the risk. They could lie.
Finally, after noticing some distance, and a couple of "white lies" wrapped in an excuse, I confronted him. I hoped it was just my insecurity, but alas, it wasn't. My intuition was correct. The next day, I got the email everyone dreads. It's the "I love you, but" letter. Realization staring me in the face. He'd found someone new, closer to where he is. I was devastated.
The "I love you, but" letter hurt me so much. I thought I was in love with him. I trusted him. I was genuine with him. It didn't matter. He wasn't ever going to be available. He wasn't willing to wait for me. I didn't matter, and that's the most painful. He had needs that obviously I wasn't ever going to fulfill. Everything felt like a lie. It felt like all the happiness in my life died. What to believe and what not to believe? It doesn't matter. The result is the same. Devastation. Pain. Hurt. Sadness. I want to just rip my heart out of my chest so I don't have to feel this. My first true heartbreak after my marriage failed. I sense there's going to be many more of these in store for me. I just want to curl up and protect myself. Fall back into the pattern of holding people at arm's length so I don't get hurt. Shut down every possibility of happiness to prevent the other shoe from dropping. That's the safe Nicole, the pattern I learned and mastered. I don't want that pattern anymore. I'm going to throw it away and fight to not use it again. I just wish this didn't hurt so much.
I'm struggling with my foray into online infatuation. I feel like I lost a friend. I lost someone I felt good to talk with. Someone whom I thought cared about me. It hurts. But like much of the growth in my life, some of it requires risk. Not all of that risk means you succeed. There are some risks that end in pain. The difference is, I'm learning how to get up, just brush off my jeans, and go on. I realize that sometimes not everything is my fault. I can't be the one that's flawed. I'm not unlovable. I'm really a wonderfully caring, loving, and understanding person. Sadly, he's never going to know how much I was worth the wait.
Beginning of a Transformation
It started with a t-shirt. It was a simple fix to cover a swimsuit. The problem wasn't the swimsuit it covered, but rather the person in the swimsuit. It didn't matter which t-shirt I used as long as it covered a vast amount of the scars on my arms. Nothing could cover the scars on my legs, but I figured if I was going in the pool, I doubt people would be staring at my legs for any length of time. After all, they would most likely notice how big I was first before they noticed the scars. I told myself, "Just get in the pool and get over the fact people are going to stare." This t-shirt, I'd hoped, would at least throw the attention off the arms. Two years ago I had been to this particular pool, when someone asked why I wore the shirt. I was so flustered I didn't have an answer. I knew why but I wasn't ready to deal with that yet.
The fact is, I'm a recovering self-injurer. I injured daily to multiple times a day for 23 years of my life. On June 25, 2007, I went to SAFE Alternatives, which was in Texas at that time. The journey is outlined in Skeleton #2 (graphic). When I came back, I decided it was time to change my life. I learned how to feel, and got in touch with who I wanted to be.
In the Fall of 2009, I sought treatment for my major depression disorder which I'd had for my entire life. I had to fall apart to start to put the pieces back together, but not in the way someone else told me to. No, this time it would be the way I wanted it to be. I'd never known what I wanted for myself. I've discovered I want love and intimacy. I want to feel that no matter who I'm with, they will accept me for me. Scars, weight, health problems, mental illness, are what I chose to hide for years believing I was flawed, worthless, and not worthy of acceptance let alone love and intimacy.
So, when I started talking to C. on Twitter, I was shocked to hear that it didn't matter what I looked like, what I weighed, or the scars all over my body. I was more than just what I looked like. I decided I didn't need the weight to hide behind anymore. I joined an athletic club with a kick ass pool. I began to swim, and wore the t-shirt over an old swimsuit. Talking more and more to this person, I slowly began to realize that I'm not the person my husband made me think I was. It started a process I was unsure I was ready to make.
I'd gotten a new swimsuit, and Monday evening in the changing room, I put it on. Looking in the mirror, I slipped on the t-shirt over the suit. The fabric fell to my hips, and it felt so safe. Familiar. Protective. As I entered the water, something just didn't feel right. I figured I wasn't accustomed to the new swimsuit. I tried to ignore the feeling as I stretched, but it just got worse. The fabric didn't feel right in the water. I just didn't feel right. I began to try and figure out what it was about the feeling. A thought popped into my head: Hiding. That was it. I was still hiding. I was spending so much time trying to work on the emotions, that I didn't realize I was still hiding physically. Shame. Self-loathing. Flawed. Worthless. Hiding. Those were the same emotions and behaviors I experienced when I injured myself. This was going to stop. Nearly three years after I began this journey, I was still hiding.
In one quick movement, I stood up and flipped the wet t-shirt off of me and tied it around my water bottle. I turned and began to swim to deeper waters. Despite my self-consciousness, a feeling swept over me. It was water on my shoulders. I suddenly had a memory of when my sister and I would spend the night on our private beach of Lake Michigan. She and I would go swimming naked at night. The feeling of being free gliding through the water was the same sensation I was experiencing now. Freedom, strength, being vulnerable, and transformation all rolled into one.
So, as I approach June 25th, I can say I'm not going to hide in shame anymore. And in a dark fuchsia swimsuit, I don't think I could.
Thank you CS. Your words have meant a lot to me.
Longing for Something More
Lately, I've been seeing the same couple in the pool and at the private changing areas. Both are in their late 50s to early 60s, and I know they're married because of the matching rings on their left hands. He must have had a stroke, but it seems it wasn't recently. He can walk fairly well with assistance, and she is right there by his side. That's not quite what captured my attention. It's not the typical caretaker role I see most common by many couples. I'm quite familiar with that role as my husband assumed it for quite a number of years. What I saw is so much different with this couple.
He moves along the edge of the pool and she is right behind him. Even when they glide across the length of the pool, she is gently behind him. Their conversation together always fascinates me. Of course, I have to pretend I don't hear them because I don't want to appear like one of those creepy, nosy, staring ladies. Trust me, there are plenty of those elderly women in my aquatics class without me adding to the mix. As the couple glides along in the water, they discuss trips they've made, movies, flowers in the garden, and family. She is there with her head on his left shoulder blade sideways as if in a tender embrace.
Then it hits me. This isn't just care-taking. It's love. Tender, gentle, eternal love throughout the trial of his recovery from stroke. It's as if disabilities and time had been erased. As I watch them covertly, I feel as if I'm intruding on private moment between them. Intimate. Loving. Caring. Tender. I could feel the blush spread across my face and I dove below the water to try to abate it. I wanted to cry. I knew why.
I was ready for intimacy and love in my life. I didn't have it. Sure it's just a word to people. To me, it's a feeling, a strong desire to be shown love. Empathy. I was ready and willing to receive that in my life. I wanted it. I'm not talking the false desire given by infatuation. This feeling is so much deeper than that. I long for it. Crave it. Wanting to give that to someone who could truly return it sincerely.
I watch on Twitter, a different couple's interactions with one another. It's how I identified what it was I was seeing in the pool. @grnladybug and @uanmeintn are a married couple on Twitter. I have watched their genuine love for one another for many months. Through health problems and struggles, they are the epitome of what I long for in my life. I know I shouldn't envy them, yet sometimes I ache when I see what I don't have.
I know I can easily get stuck in this place of longing for something more. Seeing only what is missing and mourning. I realistically know my marriage is most likely broken beyond repair. I know I must learn from my mistakes so I don't repeat them in the future. Seeing these couples interact, I'm beginning to realize what I want for myself. I haven't ever given myself that opportunity. It was always what others said I deserved, what I should do, or my misguided belief that it was all I would ever get.
It's the longing for something more that seems to be pushing me forward. It feels like sticking a toe in the water, feeling the temperature, and determining whether to jump in. It feels foreign, but I'm not shying away anymore. I deserve something more.
BFD Award
I got this lovely award that came from, Julio, AKA @Darkwulfe on Twitter. His blog is Musings of a Madman. I couldn't bribe...uh...ass-kiss him enough to bestow this honor on me. Instead, he handed me this award without incident. Seriously, though, I enjoy his blog as he seems to be able to take any argument and tear it apart logically. And well...I'm jealous as hell he can do that! I can't look at any issue logically unless it's a how-to manual. Everything is so emotional, and shades of gray on how I see life. So you can understand why Julio fascinates me.
When he passed the award on to me, I was very touched he would choose me. But, much like awards and chain letters, I forgot about it. I feel like total crap that I haven't fulfilled my duty for this new award moniker, the BIG FUCKING DEAL award. As I was told, I must tell you seven things about me you probably didn't know. Since my life is an open book on this blog, this task was difficult. Here goes.
1. I hate dust bunnies.
This isn't just a mere mom's irritation by not being able to keep up with all the cleaning. Oh no, this is worse. Nothing can compare to the horror of sweeping with a broom, or dust mop and seeing that string of gray and who-knows-what on the end of the broom. It will send me into full-fledged gagging. I assure you, the retching from just seeing the dust bunny can be heard from every corner of the house. I can deal with blood, vomit, and shitty diapers, but just don't get me near the dust bunnies. It's not a fear. That would be easier to deal with. Instead, dust bunnies are a great way to make me throw up anything I'd eaten in the 15 minutes prior to seeing the scum at the end of a Swiffer mop. So you can guess who gets that job? Anyone but me!
2. I'm afraid of latex balloons.
My brother seemed to derive great pleasure in popping balloons when I was little. I'm not sure if he did it on purpose in my face, but I'm sure if I asked him, he'd deny everything. Even being around them and listening to anyone squeak them, or manhandle the balloons would cause me to plug my ears. I just knew they would pop. As I got older, it extended to them being blown up as invariably most people don't realize you don't blow them up until they look like this:
There's no reason why the neck of the balloon should be distended. It looks like a pear and a sure guarantee it's going to pop when it touches a hot light source, usually found in restaurants. It took me a long time to stop myself from plugging my ears, but I still recoil waiting for them to pop. If you want to get me a balloon, make it Mylar.
3. I'm intensely curious about how people sound/talk when I can't see them in person.
Being in the online world a lot, I always wonder how people's voices sound. I look at their picture and I think of how that person will sound in real life. I can hear it on the phone, but it's not quite like hearing it in person. I think of what sort of inflection they will have, the character of their voice, and whether they will have an accent. It's an added puzzle piece before meeting a person in real life. I enjoy it.
4. I write erotica.
I write quite a bit of erotica, but it's mainly just stretching myself creatively. It's not your mainstream erotica from what limited knowledge I have of published work. I know it's not the romance novel kind either. One of these days I'll have to put on this blog one of them. It's an "outside the box" sort of stories. I like to write knowing a little about the person I write about. I find that to be very enjoyable because I can tell what that person likes and customize it. I can explore an entire scenario in my mind including the dialog, if any. Most of the time it is while I'm driving two hours across the state. It's a way of being able to tell a story from the aspect of someone who feels, senses, and has an emotional impact. It's not "just sex". It's a work in progress.
5. I never considered myself a true artist until this past year.
I was, as my mom put it, "crafty". From the age of five, I had a needle and a passion. I sewed by hand, then learned to embroider, and then cross-stitch. I knew I had a talent. My mom said I was so much like my paternal grandmother. I should have listened to that voice in my head as a child. Mom made it sound like I was talented, but that it was not something worth pursuing. In her defense, she did not have any talent for sewing or any fiber art. Her creativity was in cooking. She was damn good at it, too. I just didn't think I was the drawing/painting type. I thought that's what an artist was. It wasn't until college that I started to think I was on to something. When I met my neuropsychologist, Dr. Branca, I knew I had a kindred spirit. She is also an artist. I guess it takes an artist to see the potential inside another artist. Finding Nichole, AKA @sillyfozzy on Twitter, has been so exciting! She's also an artist and a huge cheerleader, driving me to explore that artistic side of me.
6. I don't read many books, but I listen to a lot of music.
The only books I read are art-related and provide technique, instruction, and patterns. I feel left out when people quote passages from books, or mention authors I'm unaware of. This drives my oldest sister crazy since she owns a bookstore. Music, on the other hand, is the soundtrack to my life. It changes based on my emotions at that minute, and sometimes I hear certain songs in my head during certain interactions or experiences. It changes daily, and spans a wide range of genres. Anything from Opera to Trance/Progressive is in my playlist. Sorry, Country music fans, I just haven't been able to really find something that speaks to me that is essentially "country". Don't worry, I'll get around to it eventually.
7. I smile A LOT!
When I talk to people, I smile a lot. I'm surprisingly outgoing despite the fact I'm relatively introverted. Yes, I know that's a contradiction in words, but it's true. I can swing both ways and slip into each role easily. People feel at ease when they meet me, and I do smile quite a bit. It's genuine. Nothing's worse than people who give you that fake smile and nod their head. There's a time and a place for that and it's during really bad dates, and those oh-my-God moments when you just pray you can extricate yourself out of a conversation. Better to smile, nod, and then back away...slowly!
Alright, I wanted to pass on this award to seven awesome people, but I think Julio mentioned many of the people I would have chosen. I know there should be seven! Damn it, I'm sorry there's only five! I know this Big Fucking Deal Blog Award should be passed on to seven people who's blogs are a big fucking deal, not five! I promise I'll get it right next time there's a big fucking deal!
So, with that, I shall pass the BFD torch on to:
@crazySAHM I love how she can find humor in the most trying of times!
@allconsoffun A wonderfully sensitive an amazing woman. Start writing again!
@grnladybug I love her poetry! I never read a lot of poetry before reading her blog. I keep coming back for more.
@MajorBedhead A life rebuilding! She asks the same questions of herself that I ask myself.
@cjaxon Her photography blows me away!
When he passed the award on to me, I was very touched he would choose me. But, much like awards and chain letters, I forgot about it. I feel like total crap that I haven't fulfilled my duty for this new award moniker, the BIG FUCKING DEAL award. As I was told, I must tell you seven things about me you probably didn't know. Since my life is an open book on this blog, this task was difficult. Here goes.
1. I hate dust bunnies.
This isn't just a mere mom's irritation by not being able to keep up with all the cleaning. Oh no, this is worse. Nothing can compare to the horror of sweeping with a broom, or dust mop and seeing that string of gray and who-knows-what on the end of the broom. It will send me into full-fledged gagging. I assure you, the retching from just seeing the dust bunny can be heard from every corner of the house. I can deal with blood, vomit, and shitty diapers, but just don't get me near the dust bunnies. It's not a fear. That would be easier to deal with. Instead, dust bunnies are a great way to make me throw up anything I'd eaten in the 15 minutes prior to seeing the scum at the end of a Swiffer mop. So you can guess who gets that job? Anyone but me!
2. I'm afraid of latex balloons.
My brother seemed to derive great pleasure in popping balloons when I was little. I'm not sure if he did it on purpose in my face, but I'm sure if I asked him, he'd deny everything. Even being around them and listening to anyone squeak them, or manhandle the balloons would cause me to plug my ears. I just knew they would pop. As I got older, it extended to them being blown up as invariably most people don't realize you don't blow them up until they look like this:
There's no reason why the neck of the balloon should be distended. It looks like a pear and a sure guarantee it's going to pop when it touches a hot light source, usually found in restaurants. It took me a long time to stop myself from plugging my ears, but I still recoil waiting for them to pop. If you want to get me a balloon, make it Mylar.
3. I'm intensely curious about how people sound/talk when I can't see them in person.
Being in the online world a lot, I always wonder how people's voices sound. I look at their picture and I think of how that person will sound in real life. I can hear it on the phone, but it's not quite like hearing it in person. I think of what sort of inflection they will have, the character of their voice, and whether they will have an accent. It's an added puzzle piece before meeting a person in real life. I enjoy it.
4. I write erotica.
I write quite a bit of erotica, but it's mainly just stretching myself creatively. It's not your mainstream erotica from what limited knowledge I have of published work. I know it's not the romance novel kind either. One of these days I'll have to put on this blog one of them. It's an "outside the box" sort of stories. I like to write knowing a little about the person I write about. I find that to be very enjoyable because I can tell what that person likes and customize it. I can explore an entire scenario in my mind including the dialog, if any. Most of the time it is while I'm driving two hours across the state. It's a way of being able to tell a story from the aspect of someone who feels, senses, and has an emotional impact. It's not "just sex". It's a work in progress.
5. I never considered myself a true artist until this past year.
I was, as my mom put it, "crafty". From the age of five, I had a needle and a passion. I sewed by hand, then learned to embroider, and then cross-stitch. I knew I had a talent. My mom said I was so much like my paternal grandmother. I should have listened to that voice in my head as a child. Mom made it sound like I was talented, but that it was not something worth pursuing. In her defense, she did not have any talent for sewing or any fiber art. Her creativity was in cooking. She was damn good at it, too. I just didn't think I was the drawing/painting type. I thought that's what an artist was. It wasn't until college that I started to think I was on to something. When I met my neuropsychologist, Dr. Branca, I knew I had a kindred spirit. She is also an artist. I guess it takes an artist to see the potential inside another artist. Finding Nichole, AKA @sillyfozzy on Twitter, has been so exciting! She's also an artist and a huge cheerleader, driving me to explore that artistic side of me.
6. I don't read many books, but I listen to a lot of music.
The only books I read are art-related and provide technique, instruction, and patterns. I feel left out when people quote passages from books, or mention authors I'm unaware of. This drives my oldest sister crazy since she owns a bookstore. Music, on the other hand, is the soundtrack to my life. It changes based on my emotions at that minute, and sometimes I hear certain songs in my head during certain interactions or experiences. It changes daily, and spans a wide range of genres. Anything from Opera to Trance/Progressive is in my playlist. Sorry, Country music fans, I just haven't been able to really find something that speaks to me that is essentially "country". Don't worry, I'll get around to it eventually.
7. I smile A LOT!
When I talk to people, I smile a lot. I'm surprisingly outgoing despite the fact I'm relatively introverted. Yes, I know that's a contradiction in words, but it's true. I can swing both ways and slip into each role easily. People feel at ease when they meet me, and I do smile quite a bit. It's genuine. Nothing's worse than people who give you that fake smile and nod their head. There's a time and a place for that and it's during really bad dates, and those oh-my-God moments when you just pray you can extricate yourself out of a conversation. Better to smile, nod, and then back away...slowly!
Alright, I wanted to pass on this award to seven awesome people, but I think Julio mentioned many of the people I would have chosen. I know there should be seven! Damn it, I'm sorry there's only five! I know this Big Fucking Deal Blog Award should be passed on to seven people who's blogs are a big fucking deal, not five! I promise I'll get it right next time there's a big fucking deal!
So, with that, I shall pass the BFD torch on to:
@crazySAHM I love how she can find humor in the most trying of times!
@allconsoffun A wonderfully sensitive an amazing woman. Start writing again!
@grnladybug I love her poetry! I never read a lot of poetry before reading her blog. I keep coming back for more.
@MajorBedhead A life rebuilding! She asks the same questions of herself that I ask myself.
@cjaxon Her photography blows me away!
Lose the Battle, Win the War: Part 2
I can either sit here stuck or I can try to make something of myself. I can sit here like a victim and be paralyzed the rest of my life and just take it, or I can fight to allow myself to become something. I can continue to beat myself up and keep the labels my self-loathing and husband give me. What example would that set for my girls who are supposed to learn how to be secure, strong women? I can't allow myself to just literally kill everything that is inside me, essentially committing emotional suicide. They're going to see it and then repeat it. The cycle must stop with me. I know the girls will learn by example. What I do from now on will not only affect me, but also the girls.
So I made a list of what I wanted to do with my life. Suddenly, I sat back and started to cry. I grieved over the wasted years not knowing who I was or what I wanted in life. I'm not talking about the few years at the beginning of college. I'm talking years and years of being stuck. Trying to create an identity that just feels right is difficult. I know I'm gifted with the ability to do many different things. Just thinking of the myriad of options causes me to freeze. I'm overwhelmed and confused where to begin. So, I just started somewhere. I began to dream a little; just like I did when I was a little girl living in the woods while laying on the ground staring up at the stars.
I joined an athletic club with an awesome pool. There are so many different things I love about this place, but it will require time before I can use all it has to offer. It's one step toward losing weight. I'm in an exercise swimming class three times a week. It's the only exercise I can do for a while.
I want to go back to college for a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Textiles. I clearly have a love for fiber, cloth, yarn, thread any every variation thereof. I know the college I want to attend, but I've maxed out all of my student loans. It's also across the state at Eastern Michigan University. Many hours are required in the studio to fulfill requirements. I'd need to stay over near the university and then commute back on the weekends. It's a bold move to make It'll be new for me, and once again I'd have to make it alone.
I need a job. I may not be able to work full time given my physical limitations. Thanks to Jeff (@bbg05 on twitter), he gave me an idea to do medical transcription at home. I clearly am medically knowledgeable, so it's not inconceivable that I could do it.
CREATE! Make something, damn it! I have been frozen and not creating as a way of punishing myself. I was so depressed, I couldn't find my way out. The next excuse was, my studio is a mess. Well, I'm going to get that rectified. In the meantime, I've taken classes in natural indigo dyeing, and my ongoing floor loom weaving.
I'm not going to silence my opinion, and I'm going to fight back. I've already started living as if R wasn't my husband. I'm exploring my dreams, stretching my boundaries. Strangely enough, R has been supportive. He has paid, willingly, for my art classes and for my travel expenses to go to BlogHer in August.
Now I have goals. I have a life that I want to live! I just have to go out and fight for it...without him.
Lose the Battle, Win the War: Part 1
For those of you who don't know, I have had chronic migraines for many years. Add to that some painful conditions on top of that, and you can pretty much call it It-hurts-like-hell, Please-make-it-stop Syndrome. I was on quite a lot of morphine from my college days, right up to getting pregnant. Two children, and Fentanyl patches later, I had to go to a special migraine hospital wing to strip all my medications off and start over. It sucked. Physical withdrawal is nasty, but in the end it sure as hell was better. No more narcotics for me. What I didn't expect was to "wake up" to my life again. I felt I was in my 20s instead of late 30s. My development was arrested from all the narcotics.
I soon realized I had a husband who was more of a caretaker than a partner. I blame myself for that happening. It was a role he didn't ask for, let alone want, but he accepted it. It was a matter of survival. When I started becoming more independent and functional, it scared him. I really don't think he was ready for it. When I got my depression under control last summer, he soon realized I had a personality. I don't think he was ready for that either. Who was this woman he was married to?
It was as if I woke up back to my life in my mid to late 20s. I was defining who I was, deciding a path to take. This hasn't sat well with my husband, "R", who really needs to control things, not from a domineering aspect, but from an anxiety aspect. If he can control all the players in his life, he won't be uneasy. I've recognized this in him for at least five years now. He never wanted to see it, or get help. I can't make a person do anything they don't want to do. In all fairness he did go (unwillingly) to a therapist for his severe anger issues. That took work, and I am very proud he has gotten control over that. He then promptly stopped going at the same time he bailed on marriage counseling that he wanted me to go to. The result is I'm still not an equal partner. I have no access to money without asking permission. I can't go anywhere without telling him (usually more than once). I'm constantly told what to do, how to do things, and I have to repeat what I'm going to do several times. The way he treats me and the things he says about me are biting. I'm feel wounded and then I avoid fighting back or even standing up to him. The result? I found myself stifling every aspect of my personality. I became a non-entity. I had no voice. When I did express an opinion, I was ridiculed. I started to wish he'd hit me so I could leave. Fuck that. I'm not waiting.
I warned R I was going to see a lawyer to determine my options. He immediately went to therapy again. That's great. Seriously, it is a good thing for him. Unfortunately, I was done. The damage is unrepairable. I set the appointment with a lawyer to see what my options were. R, of course, went along since he was the only one who had access to all the bills and accounts. Walking into the office, I could feel my heart racing and pain in my chest. I knew I was nervous, but I didn't let that show. All that showed is "unfeeling bitch" exterior. I hadn't pulled that one out in nearly 20 years. Dusted it off, and made it look like I didn't care. No emotion showing, nothing. I was going to follow this through, because I was serious. It wasn't a joke or an idle threat.
When I sat down in front of the lawyer and began to tell him I was looking for options for separation or for divorce. R pulled out a copy of the budget, including debt and assets. Slowly it became apparent alimony would only be 3-5 yrs in a step down scale. I had no job, and no assets. Having joint custody would require me to pay for child support. Since I wasn't paying the mortgage, he would get the house. I started to feel panicky. The lawyer mentioned government assisted housing, and food stamps. I soon realized there wasn't any assets, and there was debt I didn't really know about. The lawyer tried to figure out a way to do even do a legal separation including filing for bankruptcy. That didn't seem to work either as he earned too much money. Then the conversation turned to health insurance. I would suddenly have none. I believe his insurance has a clause that wouldn't cover legally separated spouses. With no income, there would be no way for me to live on my own. I was screwed. I knew Medicaid didn't cover 3 of my most expensive medications, and they didn't approve/allow one of my doctors, if not two, that I currently see. As I stood up to leave, the lawyer shook both our hands and apologized that there wasn't anything more he could do to help. R turned to him and said "That's okay. I didn't want a divorce anyway." It was a knife twist in my gut; The final "Fuck you."
I walked out the door into the rain, wanting to get into the SUV as soon as possible. The rain gave me an excuse. I sat there behind the wheel, stunned. I was screwed. I knew I was stuck. I said the words out loud, "He won". He called my bluff and he won. I began to sob uncontrollably. I knew exactly what this meant. At this moment, the only way out was to be homeless on the street, and off of all my medications. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry out and ask the universe why I was forced to stay in the marriage. Was I being punished? As I struggled to breathe, the tears began to sting my cheeks while I drove home. I just kept saying over and over, "I'm trapped. I'll never get away." I fleetingly thought about driving full speed into the concrete overpass, but knew my girls needed their mother. I don't remember the entire drive home. I only remember the urgency to get home mixed with thoughts of just driving until I ran out of gas. Unconsciously, I held my breath as I tried to pull out the emotional and physical pain in my chest.
As soon as I got home, I tossed my notebook on the couch, dropped my purse on the floor and kicked off my shoes. I headed straight to the bedroom and literally flopped onto my stomach on my bed. Burying my face into the pillow, I screamed. It was the most guttural scream of desperation. The same scream I wanted to express as a child, but couldn't. I was trapped in that house as a child. I couldn't escape until I turned 18 years old and went to college. Once again, that feeling was here. I hated it. Loathed it. Wanted it out of me. I never wanted to feel trapped in a situation ever again.
As I cried all of my pain out, I made a plan. My favorite quote of all time is by George Eliot.
"It's never too late to be what you might have been."
It's so true. Knowing that, I decided I was going to try and live a life with a voice. I was going to become essentially, me. All of the things I was suppressing, I was going to allow to exist. I know what it is, my rebirth. Allow my real self to come out. Experiment and find out what my passion is in life. It requires strength to stand up for myself, and fight for what I want. I'm willing to do that. I have to. R was not going to control me anymore. I'm not going to let him. I may have lost the battle, but I'm not giving up on winning the war.
To be continued...
Read the Fine Print
One of the things I try to do is accommodate my girls when their request seems reasonable and fair. I don't think I read the fine print of my youngest daughter's request for a birthday treat for her class. She brings this recipe to me, the afternoon before her classroom birthday celebration. I look at it, and it says, "My Grandma's Thunder Cake". I think the word, thunder, should have been a clue of what was to come, but I never listen.
I look through the ingredient list to see if I needed something that wasn't on there. My eyes begin to scan the list:
shortening
sugar
cake flour (great, I only had regular flour)
cocoa
baking soda
salt
eggs
cold water
pureed tomatoes
That doesn't seem so bad. Then my brain catches up with my eyes. Wait a minute! Tomatoes? What the hell? I rescaned the list and got to the same part: pureed tomatoes. That can't possibly be right. I read down further to see what else was going to be odd. It's a two layer cake. I figured I might be able to make cupcakes, but I couldn't get past tomatoes. Here's how the conversation went down:
"E, I can't make this. There's tomatoes in this. Where did you get this recipe?"
"But you promised! It's from a book that we were reading in school. My teacher copied it for me. Please?!"
"Has your teacher had this cake? Has anyone had this cake? I can't make a two layer cake for class. I'll have to make cupcakes." I knew by the look on her face, I should have braced myself for the impending meltdown.
"Yes, she's had this. I want it just how it looks in the picture!"
I look at the picture...
Wow...so appetizing...
"Please, Mommy! I know you can make this." My heart melted, as I knew I was about to give in.
"Do you know what kind of pain in the butt this is going to be for me to make?" I asked, matter-of-factly.
"No, but I can help!" Great. I don't need that kind of help.
"Uh, that's OK, honey. I can do it by myself."
That said it all. I was screwed. I said I'd do it without reading the fine print and I was stuck with that promise. There was not much more I could say. It didn't really matter. The recipe's title should have read "My Daughter's Pain-in-the-Ass Cake" instead.
I dug right in and started making the cake. I wouldn't have been so bad except I had to beat egg whites stiff to fold into the batter which clearly was a lard and sugar mixture. Why don't I just fold foaming hand soap into bacon grease instead? Probably would have gone together easier. I spent more time swearing to myself than actually mixing the batter. When it came to adding the tomato puree, I seriously thought to myself that this would be the worst cake ever! I tasted the batter, but I wasn't convinced it would be that chocolaty once baked.
I knew the only thing that would cover it was my favorite frosting recipe. I'm not a fan of canned frosting. It has this eau du plastique taste to it. I've been making chocolate frosting since age 12 so it's no big deal. I pulled the cake layers out of the oven, and couldn't really tell how it was going to taste.
Then it hits, an aura for a migraine. What was I going to do? Make frosting at 2:00 AM and then have to be up in four hours? Anything for my little girl. It was going to get done. Ear plugs in hand, I fired up the mixer and got to work. I finally was done with the entire cake by 4:00 AM. Left a note for my husband to take her and the cake to school, and then I crashed.
My reward came as I heard her squeals of excitement that afternoon. Everyone loved the cake and even put it in the announcements to say that I was a great cook. The things I do for warm fuzzies. I warn you though, read the fine print. Or not. Depends on how much you want to be the superhero, even if it only lasts five minutes.
My Grandma's Thunder Cake
Cream together, one at a time:
1 cup shortening
1-3/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
3 eggs, separated
(Blend yolks in. Beat whites until they are stiff, then fold in)
1 cup cold water
1/3 cup pureed tomatoes
Sift together:
2-1/2 cups cake flour
1/2 cup dry cocoa
1-1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
Mix dry mixture into creamy mixture. Bake in two greased and floured 8-1/2 inch round pans (I used 9") at 350ºF for 35-40 minutes (or for 9" pans, 30-35 minutes).
Frost with chocolate butter frosting. Top with strawberries.
Trust
I've been thinking a lot about trust. Why do I trust people easily at some times, and yet at other times, I can't trust them at all? Once the trust is broken by the other person, how do I heal the situation and not be vindictive? Am I too naive at times, trusting too easily? I've really been struggling with those questions recently.
I usually have intuition and can tell when someone or something "just doesn't seem right". You know that nagging uneasy sensation you feel when someone's just not quite "right"? They're "off" somehow, and you can just tell you need to distance yourself from them. When I meet people for the first time, 9 times out of 10, I can tell whether the person is going to be trouble for me or not. I limit the information I reveal based on that.
For example, I met a man at a wedding who was involved with a group my husband belongs to in his free time. All that was done was introductions, and mild pleasantries. After he left, I turned to my husband and said, "That guy is trouble. You don't want him on the board of directors. Trust me." Did he trust me? No. Did they put him on the board of directors? Yes. Now they can't get rid of him and it almost has been the downfall of the organization as a result. I warned him. Yet, my husband didn't trust me enough to at least consider what I'd said. Turns out I wasn't the only one who didn't feel right about that guy being part of the decision making team of that group. I was just the only one who spoke up.
I trust my physicians to have my best interest in mind when they treat me. I don't consider them infallible though. I do my research, too. I just have to. I also trust my daughters' school to keep them safe when they're at school. I trust the teacher to be kind while teaching. I trust my stunt mom (aka sister) to drive safely when the girls are in the car with her. I trust the school bus driver to get my girls to school safely. Yet with all of that trust, I'm stuck, mired in the trust I can't give.
I don't trust people with my feelings. I constantly think I will either be judged, or have them used against me. The only exception of this is my neuropsychologist. That didn't come easy in the beginning. I've lost trust in my husband. I know it shouldn't be absolute, and I should keep an open mind, but the damage is like a wound that just hasn't scarred yet. It's as if, just as it starts to heal, he rips the scab off and cuts deeper. I don't know how to feel trust in him now. There's only so many times I can be burned over and over and not think, "Fuck this. He doesn't deserve my feelings." I know being bitter doesn't help heal a relationship. I also know I don't deserve to be treated that way, no matter what. Honestly, I've given up trying.
I know I have self-worth, and self-esteem problems. I know it because I get reminded of that fact constantly with my own thoughts. I just seem to not believe the proof to the contrary regarding my negative thinking. I had a friend recently say to me, "I think it should tell you something about yourself, that maybe you didn't realize. That maybe you are worth being loved, just as you are. Maybe you needed to know that." I want to believe it. I want to trust that feeling. I want to believe I'm worthy of being loved. I want to trust the person who says they love me. I want to trust it isn't just a token phrase to placate me.
I want to believe the people I encounter online as friends are telling me the truth. I really want to trust them. No body language, no tonal inflections of their voice, nothing to give me that clue I need so desperately to separate the proverbial wheat from the chaff. I'm not so stupid that I don't realize people deceive all the time. Yet I long for a connection with people. It's terribly lonely at times not having anyone with my same interests to talk to. No one to really laugh with other than my children. I know I need to get out more and meet new people. What stops me is the constant pervasive thought:
"If people knew the real me, they wouldn't like me." If that wasn't enough, I would wish people got to know me before they made judgment based on my weight. It's a strange internal dialog of Hades going on with me all the while I struggle with trusting a person enough to know me.
I stepped out of the shadows to try and trust people more with how I feel. It's excruciatingly painful being this vulnerable. It's draining to force myself to do this. It seems so damn foreign. I still work at it, because I'm hoping the more I'm vulnerable, the easier it will be. Many people trust me with their inner secrets and struggles, yet I don't trust many with my feelings. This blog contains my secrets, but they don't contain my intimate feelings to an extent. It's just parts of me that I choose to show. Trust is something I want to do so much, but I've spent my whole life learning to do the opposite. It's been proven over and over again throughout my life, that trusting people with my innermost feelings, dreams, and desires just results in pain, disappointment, and disillusionment.
I don't have the answers. For once I have no wonderful insight. I am afraid to trust people with the "real me". It's all I have left, and I guard it for all it's worth.
Skeleton #6: Cinderella Can't Go to the Ball
I have horrible guilt. This skeleton is very painful in the sense that there isn't anything I can do to change this situation. I hide the pain inside and try to avoid confronting it at all costs. I have a sister that is handicapped. The term I heard growing up was "minimal brain dysfunction/emotionally impaired with severe learning disabilities". This diagnosis was made in the 1970s, and my parents never had any of it updated. She's never had a CT scan, an MRI, nothing. I suspect she is closer to some sort of high functioning autism, but her people skills are so much different than autism. Her routine is so regimented, it reminds me of Rain Main with a little obsessive-compulsive disorder, but she is different in some ways. I'll never know the truth.
My sister is four years older than me. It was essentially like growing up with someone your own age, and then later, like a younger sister. We didn't have the same relationship as "normal" sisters would have, and I'm glad our relationship unfolded the way it did.
As you've probably read in Skeleton #1 we didn't have the best of parents. My sister had behavioral problems growing up by throwing temper tantrums. I have the clear memory of trying to go to sleep, and they were holding her door shut and trying to lock it with the skeleton key. My sister pulled her chair over and took her hands and pried the top of the solid oak door, and could pop the mechanism open. This was only if my father didn't lock the door. All the while she is screaming and crying hysterically, begging for them not to lock the door, and I'm sitting in my room writing in my journal everything being said. Why did I do that? I did it because I know it happened, and I wanted to remember it happened. It was like documenting it to prove it happened. I prayed to God to give us new parents. I cried for her. I cried for me. I cried for the both of us trapped in that house with only each other for comfort.
I used to be jealous of her when I was little. She got to ride horses in a handicapped horseback riding program. She competed in the local fair and won trophies and first place ribbons. I was sort of forgotten. Shoved aside. I wanted to ride horses. I wanted to compete. One day when I begged my mom and said it wasn't fair C got to ride horses. My mom flatly said,
"This is her turn to get attention. Trust me, when you're older, you will be getting more attention and your sister will be in the back seat. You will drive, and she won't be able to. You'll have events to go to, and she won't be able to participate. Be patient."
I don't know why that clicked for me at age ten, but it did. I was happy for C and all of her awards. We had each other. We would survive together.
We spent hours over the years, exploring the woods where we grew up. I taught her how to ride a bike, and soon, we were exploring places further from our house together. It was so much fun. Of course I'd dare her to do things, only after I did them first. She never wanted to get into trouble, but she never told on me. We were secretive and no matter how much she was grilled and threatened, she would never tell on me. Never.
When she would get slapped or dragged by her hair up the stairs, I was there to comfort her. When I was locked out of the house, she unlocked a window so I could get back in. I remember our second story bedroom windows where angled such that we could talk to each other, even if we couldn't see each other. When she or I were locked in our room, we'd open our windows and comfort each other through the screen. We would talk about our dreams, and what we were going to do the next day.
When I went off to college, I knew eventually that I would take care of C. I wanted to. In my second year of college, she came up and spent a week with me in my apartment. We had so much fun together! Rented movies, took her to Pinball Pete's in downtown East Lansing, and had take-out pizza. It was like we were together just like old times. She and I were so close, that when I got married, she was my maid of honor. I wouldn't have it any other way. Over the years, I started to notice something odd.
After I got married, I would ritualistically have her come up to stay with me twice a year. Every time, I would call and ask my parents, specifically my mother, for permission, I was met with the usual, "Well, if your sister doesn't get off her ass and clean her room, she's not going anywhere." More and more the excuses became bizarre, "Your sister has to quit her mumbling and get the housework done," or "She bad-mouthed me yesterday, so she's not going anywhere."
Seriously, at that point my sister was in her 30s. It was like Cinderella had work to do and couldn't go to the ball. I knew the abuse was continuing at home. I'd seen her get slapped or my mom gouge her nails in the back of my sister's arm. I can't even go into the emotional abuse. I wanted to do something about it. I wanted to become her guardian. I soon found that the abuse is difficult to prove when the county comes in and interviews my sister in front of my parents. I was stuck. I could get a lawyer and make a huge mess and try to have her yanked out of that house. I knew this would be difficult to do because of my own health, the fact that I don't have a room for her, and the cost of a lawyer. Then, take into effect my sister's emotional well-being. She loved being near the lake. She loved gardening. She loved the woods. What would I have to offer? How would she feel if I took her away from mom and dad? She would need counseling. How would I integrate her into our family with my children?
I had to admit defeat. There was nothing I could do. I left her behind in that mess. She just turned 44, and I'm scared to even think about what will happen if one or both of my parents die. It will be a legal nightmare involving an ex brother-in-law (millionaire and guardian of my parent's and her estate), my own brother and sister-in-law, my other estranged sister, and myself. It's a fucking mess, and just thinking about it, I feel such a sense of despair. I feel physically ill with widespread pain everywhere. I literally hurt for her. Even when I call her, she says she misses me. She asks when I will see her next, and why don't I see her more often?
The fact is, I am trying to stay away from my parents. They're pathological, and I'm struggling as it is to prove to myself that they don't run my life anymore. Now, they have my sister as hostage. They control her comings and goings. There's always an excuse why she can't come see me. Always an excuse as to why I can't talk to her. It's getting to the point where I'm going to have to create a mess and demand visitation. I just don't have it in me. I'm afraid of the fight. I'm afraid of the horrible mess it will cause. I feel trapped and guilty.
I can't free Cinderella. I'm not her fairy godmother. I wish I had the magic wand. Then it wouldn't hurt so badly. She is my secret pain. My guilt of leaving her behind to still live with them. I am so scared if I even tried to fight through the court system for her, she eventually wouldn't choose me. So every time I see her, I say a silent prayer for peace, and sit down for a game of Monopoly with her. I've never won a game yet. She always kicks my ass.
Why?
I have asked this question many times over the years. Sometimes it took the form of "Why me?" and other times it was just plain old "Why?" Today I was reminded of my two year stint as a hospice aide. I have been following the story of Layla Grace on Twitter and on their site for a few weeks. Each time I'd read it, I think "Why?" Why did such a beautiful little girl have to be saddled with stage 4 neuroblastoma? Why do children get cancer? Why can't there be anything done to fix it? Why am I alive and she is not?
I know none of these questions have a definitive answer. All I can do is cry for a child that isn't mine. I mourn for the parents, as I have only been witness to those who have lost children. It breaks my heart. I am so frustrated that these things happen to people. Who do I have to ask to get answers?
I know realistically the risk factors, genetics, environment, and predisposition of acquiring any number of things that can cause premature death. The scientist side of me knows this, but my heart bleeds for those who have to experience it. I saw it every day while I was working in college. I would pray to take the suffering away, and would cry at night after work for their struggle toward the end. All I could do was dig within myself and find the strength for those families. I did what I could. In my mind it never seemed enough. I always wanted to do more.
Right before my wedding in 1992, my future father-in-law was diagnosed with cancer. It was never determined where it originated. By the time he was diagnosed, it had spread throughout his lungs. It wasn't caught early. There wasn't much that could be done. I was so angry that such a caring, loving, quiet man would eventually succumb to cancer. My husband was an only child, and very close to his father. I had to be the strong one.
When he came home for hospice care, I spent many hours just sitting in the living room cross-stitching. He would wake up and occasionally talk to me and shared with me memories of his life. Life events with his son, as a family, and his wishes for the future. I couldn't let him know I knew the end was near. I remained strong, loving, caring, for him and my husband. Inside I was angry that I would only have a month with him. He would never see the children I would later have. He was the father I always wanted, and longed for. As the end neared, I prepared my husband in the only way I knew how. "Don't ever let things be left unsaid. Say them all, good or bad. Never leave your life with 'what ifs' or 'if only I had'."
When I got the phone call in the middle of the night at college that he had just died, I felt like a zombie. I had to tell my husband and call the priest to go to my mother-in-law's house until I could make it there. I had to find strength in which to comfort a mother-in-law that had never lived on her own, and a husband who never experienced loss before. Shortly thereafter, I had dreams of my father-in-law. It was like he was trying to tell me something in them, but the message was never clear. My husband and I started finding coins everywhere. They were always in twos. Not just one penny, but two. We referred to them as pennies from heaven.
When our daughters were born, we told them about the grandfather that would have loved them dearly if he were alive. They, too, started finding coins on the ground. We referred to them as "Pennies from Grandpa". It was the only way to keep his spirit alive. He will have been gone 17 years this June, but it feels like yesterday. He truly was the father I always wanted, and I miss him terribly.
So I ask why? Why do these things happen? It's not fair. Beautiful children and amazing adults shouldn't have to suffer and die. I know this is the cycle of life, but why? Why them? Why this way? All I can do is gather up my girls to kiss and hug them. I am truly blessed. My heart breaks for Layla Grace's family dealing with the loss of their child, their sister, their granddaughter. May you find peace.
If you wish to donate to Layla Grace's family to cover her medical expenses, please go to their website at http://laylagrace.org/
