My niece will be THIRTEEN in a matter of months and I can't believe it. I remember the day she was born and now she's a "tween" (god, that term is horrible). She got an assignment last week to write a letter to her future self and it got me thinking about what one might write to their thirteen-year-old selves. I barely remember thirteen anymore, for a number of reasons. But the year after that a lot of stuff began taking off in my life. I know I grew up too fast but it wasn't because I was forced to by family pressure or because something traumatic happened to me (that would be in a letter to twenty-year-old me). I was just in too much of a hurry. I thought fifteen was such a big age to be, so close to being grown up. So that's what I wanted to be. I decided to write my own letter to me, but then realized that young me would probably not even open the envelope because he was too damn stubborn (hey, some things never change). My friends have taken this idea and turned into their latest obsession and not a day goes by that someone doesn't start a sentence with, "Dear Me..." and then adds something they thought was gospel during their youth, but they later found was not. And it's been hysterical. Everyone's shame from the 90's is making its way to the surface and it's fantastic. Below are examples of some of our ridiculous claims.
Things they said I should write to my younger self:
"Dear Me, Little less whoring around. Love, Me."
"Dear Me, Step. Away. From. The. Lemonade."
"Dear Me, Do not EVER, under ANY circumstances, put a ring on it.*"
*(He followed this up with, "Term yet to be created but will come to you by way of something called a Beyonce.")
"Dear Me, Just say no! (P.S. This applies to both drugs and lady friends. And weekends in Vegas during college)."
And examples of what some of them would write to themselves now.
"Dear Me, Do not claim that Color Me Badd are truly talented and will outlast all other boy bands."
"Dear Me, Get off your ass, you ain't all that and a bag of chips...speaking of chips, stay away from those too."
"Dear Me, Do yourself a favor and drop out of med school before you go to med school."
"Dear Me, Run towards the chips and away from anyone named Marco. Also, don't tell the guy you meet in 10th grade Lit that the only living thing that will ever marry him is an ugly ass monkey. Cuz...well, you'll end up being the thing that marries him. And you'll never live it down (the comment, not the marriage). "
"Dear Me, don't wait to come out until Thanksgiving. Your family won't care either way."
"Dear younger, think-you-know-it-all Me - You don't and you never will."
"Dear Me, Someday you will realize that you dodged a bullet by not sending Britney Spears that marriage proposal. Dodged. A. BULLET."
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
And I Don't Even Know My Last Name
My cousin's wife was telling me something about a survey that was taken asking people what they think of women who keep their last names after getting hitched. Apparently it's taken every 10 years or so and the number of people who frown upon a woman keeping her maiden name has increased in the past ten years. Seriously? It's more common now than ever for someone to keep their name or hyphenate their name or even come up with a new name together (although that last one is far less common and weirds me out a bit, but to each their own). I don't see why it's anyone else's business, to be honest. Most of the women I know who have gotten married have kept their maiden names, at least professionally. My cousin's wife has done this for the past decade and it hasn't been a big deal. My sister has said several times she would keep her maiden name if she ever married her partner and their kids have both of their names (although they only use his). And another cousin who married one of my best friends put off her decision about a name change for a year before finally deciding to drop her middle name, move her last name over and take his name. You do what works for you.
I think my perspective on this is slightly different though because my own name is a product of an unconventional arrangement. My grandparents had a lot of stuff trying to get between them when they got married; he was a Baptist, she was Catholic and he converted prior to marriage. (In hindsight, we all wish they'd taken grandpa's religion). Even bigger than the holy factor though was the racial one - grandma was Mexican and grandpa was white. And this was in the early to mid-50's when interracial stuff of any kind was really a no no. My great grandparents were not thrilled with the addition of a white son-in-law in what had, up until then, been an all Native American and Mexican family. My grandparents couldn't even have an actual wedding because of the supposed "shame" and were married by a Justice of the Peace in the dude's living room. Grandpa wanted to make things as easy as possible and suggested ditching his very white last name in favor of adopting the very Spanish family name. I guess this move eased tensions a bit and thus, that is how I got my last name (my mom gave us all her name, not our father's, and rightfully so). And it kinda worked out because it's a better reflection of my heritage than grandpa's name would have been since I'm only about a quarter of what he was. His last name is still in the family though; my cousin used it as her son's middle name and one of my uncles changed his name (the one who doesn't come around all that often).
If I were to ever take a walk down an aisle not located in a grocery store, I would have no expectations for what my Mrs. would do about her last name. I've heard of dudes pressuring their wives to take their name and even going so far as to say they will not marry them unless they agree to the change. Seriously? This is not the caveman era anymore. I can't believe some chicks actually give in to that pressure. If changing a name is a deal breaker then you have problems, my friend. It doesn't mean she's any less committed than you are or that she wants to distance herself from you and the marriage. Names are our identities and some women live with their last names for decades before they get married. It's hard to part with anything after that much time. All that said, I tend to be drawn towards women who are very independent and most of them said at one point or another that they would not change their names, or they would hyphenate. Change or no change, it's the actual relationship that's important. And as long as you're both comfortable with it, it shouldn't be a big deal.
I think my perspective on this is slightly different though because my own name is a product of an unconventional arrangement. My grandparents had a lot of stuff trying to get between them when they got married; he was a Baptist, she was Catholic and he converted prior to marriage. (In hindsight, we all wish they'd taken grandpa's religion). Even bigger than the holy factor though was the racial one - grandma was Mexican and grandpa was white. And this was in the early to mid-50's when interracial stuff of any kind was really a no no. My great grandparents were not thrilled with the addition of a white son-in-law in what had, up until then, been an all Native American and Mexican family. My grandparents couldn't even have an actual wedding because of the supposed "shame" and were married by a Justice of the Peace in the dude's living room. Grandpa wanted to make things as easy as possible and suggested ditching his very white last name in favor of adopting the very Spanish family name. I guess this move eased tensions a bit and thus, that is how I got my last name (my mom gave us all her name, not our father's, and rightfully so). And it kinda worked out because it's a better reflection of my heritage than grandpa's name would have been since I'm only about a quarter of what he was. His last name is still in the family though; my cousin used it as her son's middle name and one of my uncles changed his name (the one who doesn't come around all that often).
If I were to ever take a walk down an aisle not located in a grocery store, I would have no expectations for what my Mrs. would do about her last name. I've heard of dudes pressuring their wives to take their name and even going so far as to say they will not marry them unless they agree to the change. Seriously? This is not the caveman era anymore. I can't believe some chicks actually give in to that pressure. If changing a name is a deal breaker then you have problems, my friend. It doesn't mean she's any less committed than you are or that she wants to distance herself from you and the marriage. Names are our identities and some women live with their last names for decades before they get married. It's hard to part with anything after that much time. All that said, I tend to be drawn towards women who are very independent and most of them said at one point or another that they would not change their names, or they would hyphenate. Change or no change, it's the actual relationship that's important. And as long as you're both comfortable with it, it shouldn't be a big deal.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Okay Ya'll, Get...Ready...To...PANIC!
You ever watch those documentaries on Nat Geo and The History Channel? You know the ones I'm talking about. They're less creepy than TLC's documentaries (read: "The Virgin Diaries" scarred me for life) and much more informative. The past few years there have been a bunch on the end of the world and since network TV sucks nowadays (doesn't that make me sound old? "Back in my day, tv was actually good!" [removes dentures and lies down for afternoon nap]), I tend to get sucked into these specials. I'm sure the number of these docs will only increase since we're only ten months away (get excited!) from the supposed End of Days.
I caught the last half of a show about people prepping for The End and found it...comical. This particular episode of was about a chick in her twenties who lives in Houston and was trying to pass herself off as a hardcore "prepper", as they call themselves. Her plan: When it all comes down, she was going to hunker down in her apartment for two weeks, where she had food and water to last (first mistake: she only had cans of like veggies, no protein). Then, she was going to leave under cover of darkness with a backpack of her stuff and a bunch of guns and ammo and head to a car she'd hidden. After that, she would drive to Mexico. Yes, Mexico. Because there's NO crime there now so of course there will be none when the world goes mad. Some sort of doomsday experts rated her plans and watched her do a run through of her procedure. Her walk from her apartment to her car, that she estimated would take 4 hours at most, took 6 hours and she barely made it. The experts told her that her car wouldn't even hold enough gas to get her to Mexico and she said she was banking on being able to barter with people along the way to get more gas. That is leaving an awful lot up in the air and essentially putting your survival in the hands of other people. People who will not be thinking rationally because they will be trying to save their own lives. The so-called experts told her she was not prepared but she thought she would be just fine. Two months later they checked in on her and she'd enlisted in the Marines, I'm thinking because she turned on the news and realized Mexico is already a war zone and will only get worse when the end is here. Plus, it meant she no longer had to prep for anything. (The scariest part of this chick is that she has two cats and told the camera that, when the time comes, she'll just put one of her guns to each of their brain stems and kill them because they won't be "useful". And she said all this while holding one of them and petting it. Fucked. Up.)
Look people, if the world is going to end then the world is going to end. And if it is a cataclysmic event like the asteroid that contributed to the demise of dinosaurs or a solar flare (which is due to happen later this year), then no amount of guns and ammunition or bunker in an undisclosed location in the woods is going to save you. Sorry to be a downer. But if the end is as devastating as has been predicted, then the world as we know it is a goner and you'd have to be in your bunker for decades and, most likely, hundreds or thousands of years. You can't stockpile that much food. I don't even think there is that much food in the world. And that's the best case scenario. Still, you'd eventually die just like everybody else, except you'd die of thirst or starvation or maybe your bunker mates would go cannibal and eat you. But you're still gonna die. So all that preparation was for nothing anyway. On the other hand, there are people who seem to think the world could never end. There were some people interviewed on one of these specials about how they think the world will end and they scoffed at the notion that it could even happen. But everything that begins eventually ends and the world is no exception. But maybe those people just don't want to believe it, which is understandable. Ignorance is bliss sometimes. And there is no sense in living in fear about it. Or spending the better part of your life preparing for something that might not even happen. But people will do what people will do I guess.
[Written from my bunker in the woods, located in an undisclosed location. ;p]
I caught the last half of a show about people prepping for The End and found it...comical. This particular episode of was about a chick in her twenties who lives in Houston and was trying to pass herself off as a hardcore "prepper", as they call themselves. Her plan: When it all comes down, she was going to hunker down in her apartment for two weeks, where she had food and water to last (first mistake: she only had cans of like veggies, no protein). Then, she was going to leave under cover of darkness with a backpack of her stuff and a bunch of guns and ammo and head to a car she'd hidden. After that, she would drive to Mexico. Yes, Mexico. Because there's NO crime there now so of course there will be none when the world goes mad. Some sort of doomsday experts rated her plans and watched her do a run through of her procedure. Her walk from her apartment to her car, that she estimated would take 4 hours at most, took 6 hours and she barely made it. The experts told her that her car wouldn't even hold enough gas to get her to Mexico and she said she was banking on being able to barter with people along the way to get more gas. That is leaving an awful lot up in the air and essentially putting your survival in the hands of other people. People who will not be thinking rationally because they will be trying to save their own lives. The so-called experts told her she was not prepared but she thought she would be just fine. Two months later they checked in on her and she'd enlisted in the Marines, I'm thinking because she turned on the news and realized Mexico is already a war zone and will only get worse when the end is here. Plus, it meant she no longer had to prep for anything. (The scariest part of this chick is that she has two cats and told the camera that, when the time comes, she'll just put one of her guns to each of their brain stems and kill them because they won't be "useful". And she said all this while holding one of them and petting it. Fucked. Up.)
Look people, if the world is going to end then the world is going to end. And if it is a cataclysmic event like the asteroid that contributed to the demise of dinosaurs or a solar flare (which is due to happen later this year), then no amount of guns and ammunition or bunker in an undisclosed location in the woods is going to save you. Sorry to be a downer. But if the end is as devastating as has been predicted, then the world as we know it is a goner and you'd have to be in your bunker for decades and, most likely, hundreds or thousands of years. You can't stockpile that much food. I don't even think there is that much food in the world. And that's the best case scenario. Still, you'd eventually die just like everybody else, except you'd die of thirst or starvation or maybe your bunker mates would go cannibal and eat you. But you're still gonna die. So all that preparation was for nothing anyway. On the other hand, there are people who seem to think the world could never end. There were some people interviewed on one of these specials about how they think the world will end and they scoffed at the notion that it could even happen. But everything that begins eventually ends and the world is no exception. But maybe those people just don't want to believe it, which is understandable. Ignorance is bliss sometimes. And there is no sense in living in fear about it. Or spending the better part of your life preparing for something that might not even happen. But people will do what people will do I guess.
[Written from my bunker in the woods, located in an undisclosed location. ;p]
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Thinking & Knowing
It has been four days since I've blogged and I have missed it so. Actually, it's been four days since I've written anything and that's quite a feat since I usually write everyday. So what's new?.Let's start with this - the mother of my child eloped with her boy toy of five minutes and now my daughter has a stepfather. Awesome. I found out about all this after the fact and I'm of course livid but have decided it's not my problem. Obviously there will be some big changes now but it's all on her to decide how things proceed from here since she knows my terms. I found it hard to keep a straight face when she went on and on about, "when you know, you know" while trying to explain her new marriage. She's been married once before and was coming off that (like, literally had just signed papers) when we began dating. She's also been engaged two other times. So...yeah. I give it a year (if that).
However, the ex's actions have sparked a conversation amongst my people (that's right, I have people) about that whole "when you know" thing. Although I was dead wrong about the chick I actually proposed to, I know with all certainty that I have had that knowing feeling before. Had she not had to go away, I would've married and had a family with the first girlfriend I was in love with and been perfectly content. At least, that's what I used to think. But now I wonder if we would've made it since we were so young and so...let's say, passionate. Even though we knew what we had, and how lucky we were to have it, we also weren't ready for it and thus we broke up and reconciled a lot. We may have just become another statistic, the numbers are not good for people who marry young. But my sister and her partner have been together for 13 years and are still going strong. They had a stumble about seven years ago but chose to work through it and have been disgustingly in love ever since. My bro-in-law has always told me that he knew immediately that he would never love anyone else, but he's not sure how he knew. My sister...well, she needed more convincing. She wouldn't give the poor lad the time of day in the beginning and only went out with him so he'd leave her alone. And now they have three kids. Years ago I knew a couple who met and married within two months and seven years later, they have four kids and are very happy. My cousin and his girlfriend got married 10 months into their relationship and will celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary this fall. So I guess sometimes you can just "know".
One very vivid memory I have from my childhood is of hearing about a member of the extended family getting married to a guy she'd been dating six months. They were 23 and everyone felt they were rushing into it but we all went to the wedding and had a great time, (they're still married, btw). But I remember my mom saying something about it that stuck with me, which was basically that if it's real love, then why rush? As a result of that comment I always said I'd have to be with someone for years before I even considered marriage. Then I proposed to someone I'd been dating six months. And now...I don't think time matters as much. You love who you love and you move at a pace that suits the both of you. If it takes you ten months or ten years to walk down an aisle, or if you choose to never take that step, then that's how it's meant to be. Marriage is a crap shoot nowadays anyway but all relationships take work. My sister gets annoyed because people seem to think her relationship and the time it has lasted "don't count" because they're not married. As if they're doing less work because they've chosen not to walk down an aisle and there would be no consequences if either of them checked out tomorrow. They have a life and a family together and they're happy, that's all that should matter.
One of my best guy friends was thinking about proposing to his then-girlfriend and asked the group for advice. He kept saying he thought she was the woman for him, but could never say with complete certainty that she was. Looking back, I think his situation was very similar to the circumstances that led to my engagement, except he was more willing to settle because of his age. I certainly didn't think the chick I proposed to was "the one". All I remember thinking is, 'is this it?'. But she said she wanted to marry me and I was so depressed and lost that I jumped at the chance that someone wanted to be with me. Ignored the doubts, put aside my feelings about wanting kids (at the time) since she didn't want them and forged ahead. All because I thought it was good enough and I was willing to settle. It was the same thing for my friend and, fortunately, he did not propose (and he later found her cheating in his apartment). So the moral of the story is that if you're lucky enough to just "know", then you have really stumbled onto something great. Wouldn't it be nice if we could all get it right on the first try?
However, the ex's actions have sparked a conversation amongst my people (that's right, I have people) about that whole "when you know" thing. Although I was dead wrong about the chick I actually proposed to, I know with all certainty that I have had that knowing feeling before. Had she not had to go away, I would've married and had a family with the first girlfriend I was in love with and been perfectly content. At least, that's what I used to think. But now I wonder if we would've made it since we were so young and so...let's say, passionate. Even though we knew what we had, and how lucky we were to have it, we also weren't ready for it and thus we broke up and reconciled a lot. We may have just become another statistic, the numbers are not good for people who marry young. But my sister and her partner have been together for 13 years and are still going strong. They had a stumble about seven years ago but chose to work through it and have been disgustingly in love ever since. My bro-in-law has always told me that he knew immediately that he would never love anyone else, but he's not sure how he knew. My sister...well, she needed more convincing. She wouldn't give the poor lad the time of day in the beginning and only went out with him so he'd leave her alone. And now they have three kids. Years ago I knew a couple who met and married within two months and seven years later, they have four kids and are very happy. My cousin and his girlfriend got married 10 months into their relationship and will celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary this fall. So I guess sometimes you can just "know".
One very vivid memory I have from my childhood is of hearing about a member of the extended family getting married to a guy she'd been dating six months. They were 23 and everyone felt they were rushing into it but we all went to the wedding and had a great time, (they're still married, btw). But I remember my mom saying something about it that stuck with me, which was basically that if it's real love, then why rush? As a result of that comment I always said I'd have to be with someone for years before I even considered marriage. Then I proposed to someone I'd been dating six months. And now...I don't think time matters as much. You love who you love and you move at a pace that suits the both of you. If it takes you ten months or ten years to walk down an aisle, or if you choose to never take that step, then that's how it's meant to be. Marriage is a crap shoot nowadays anyway but all relationships take work. My sister gets annoyed because people seem to think her relationship and the time it has lasted "don't count" because they're not married. As if they're doing less work because they've chosen not to walk down an aisle and there would be no consequences if either of them checked out tomorrow. They have a life and a family together and they're happy, that's all that should matter.
One of my best guy friends was thinking about proposing to his then-girlfriend and asked the group for advice. He kept saying he thought she was the woman for him, but could never say with complete certainty that she was. Looking back, I think his situation was very similar to the circumstances that led to my engagement, except he was more willing to settle because of his age. I certainly didn't think the chick I proposed to was "the one". All I remember thinking is, 'is this it?'. But she said she wanted to marry me and I was so depressed and lost that I jumped at the chance that someone wanted to be with me. Ignored the doubts, put aside my feelings about wanting kids (at the time) since she didn't want them and forged ahead. All because I thought it was good enough and I was willing to settle. It was the same thing for my friend and, fortunately, he did not propose (and he later found her cheating in his apartment). So the moral of the story is that if you're lucky enough to just "know", then you have really stumbled onto something great. Wouldn't it be nice if we could all get it right on the first try?
Friday, February 17, 2012
I Don't Wanna Be There When You're Coming Down, I Don't Wanna Be There When You Hit The Ground
Addiction is a bitch. And the spotlight has been put on it this week because of Whitney Houston's death (although we don't know officially how she died), as well as a number of other high profile deaths the past five years involving prescription drugs. Obviously this is not a new problem but deaths from various combinations of pills and booze seem to be the 'in' thing right now. And it's causing some pretty tragic deaths. It seems as though illegal drug addictions and alcoholism have long been recognized as diseases and are treated as such, but prescription meds are just getting their time in the sun. I don't think some people realize how easy it is to become addicted to them and it's so unfortunate. I heard something today about how people who have used illegal drugs for eons are still alive and kicking but people who developed a taste for pills are dropping like flies. And while most of it is accidental, I can guarantee you that a lot of those accidents are the result of intentional misuse. I know because I've been there.
I've made it no secret that I had myself a little problem sometime ago, but thankfully it never got to the addiction level. I most definitely intentionally misused the drugs that were prescribed to me and I'm VERY lucky I did not have to pay for it with my life. I got several warnings about how much to take, not to mix alcohol with any of the pills and so on. And I listened. For awhile. But then I realized certain drugs numbed me completely and that's exactly what I wanted so one day I doubled up. If one is good, more must be better, right? But the effect was too much and I was visibly intoxicated and it freaked out the people who loved me. Instead of stopping, I scaled back so I could function and seem "normal" (if still depressed and in the midst of PTSD). When that was no longer enough, I started drinking most days. The drinking didn't seem out of place since I was still in college at the time it began. But then I graduated and it became more obvious so I went underground and started drinking either when I was alone or when I went out (when I inevitably ended up hooking up with someone). And on and on it went, experimenting with different (legal) drugs and alcohol in various combinations. I picked it up and put it down whenever it suited me, I never needed any of it. I'd go days or weeks without taking anything and then dive back in for awhile (which I later learned was really playing with fire). In hindsight, I think I was just bored and I know I was depressed. Almost all of this was on the low because I became a fantastic liar during that period. I had no enablers because no one knew I had a habit. Until they did. Slowly the people I loved started to notice something was amiss but no one person knew everything I was doing. Most knew about the drinking and the hook-ups, only one or two knew about the pills, but they were all concerned.
I was slowly starting to realize that was no way to live and began scaling back on the pills. Then I got news that my surrogate grandmother was found unconscious and rushed to the hospital as a result of mixing pills and alcohol. She died a week later and I flew home to pick up some stuff she'd left me. It snapped me back into reality and I threw out everything I'd been self-medicating with. But that wasn't enough for my family, who couldn't be sure I'd actually stopped since I'd been able to keep it a secret for so long. I'd constantly get questions about where I'd been and if I'd been doing something I shouldn't be. I understood it was all out of love and concern but it got annoying so to appease them I turned to a friend who specializes in addiction and is also a therapist and we started working everything out and finally treating the depression and PTSD as it was supposed to be treated. And it wasn't all smooth sailing and was harder than I expected it to be (because I had to relive both accidents, etc.) but I'm SO thankful I did it. It helped me realize that I do have self-destructive tendencies but I can keep them in check and that's the most important thing. And as time's gone on, my family has stopped asking all the questions I found annoying because they no longer have a reason to.
As I said before, I got very lucky. I played with fire and only got singed. But it could have very easily gone another way. It's not uncommon for someone who's gone through a traumatic experience to turn towards pills and booze and then that becomes their life. I think it was only my stubbornness that kept me from ending up like that. Even when I was using there was this thing in the back of my mind reminding me that addiction runs in my family and when that voice got too loud, I stepped back for a minute. I had control of the drug instead of the drug having control over me, and that is so rare. No one knows why some people shake that stuff after one (or five) tries and others can never get over their habit. But it's a scary thing to get into. The line between using those drugs as they're intended and misusing them is so thin and before you know it, you can develop a nasty little habit that you may never shake. Regardless of what the cause of death is determined to be for Whitney Houston, I hope people choose to remember her at her best and not dwell on the bad years. I would also hope they remember that addiction is a disease and she did try and get help for it. But sometimes the battles become too much and you end up losing the war.
I've made it no secret that I had myself a little problem sometime ago, but thankfully it never got to the addiction level. I most definitely intentionally misused the drugs that were prescribed to me and I'm VERY lucky I did not have to pay for it with my life. I got several warnings about how much to take, not to mix alcohol with any of the pills and so on. And I listened. For awhile. But then I realized certain drugs numbed me completely and that's exactly what I wanted so one day I doubled up. If one is good, more must be better, right? But the effect was too much and I was visibly intoxicated and it freaked out the people who loved me. Instead of stopping, I scaled back so I could function and seem "normal" (if still depressed and in the midst of PTSD). When that was no longer enough, I started drinking most days. The drinking didn't seem out of place since I was still in college at the time it began. But then I graduated and it became more obvious so I went underground and started drinking either when I was alone or when I went out (when I inevitably ended up hooking up with someone). And on and on it went, experimenting with different (legal) drugs and alcohol in various combinations. I picked it up and put it down whenever it suited me, I never needed any of it. I'd go days or weeks without taking anything and then dive back in for awhile (which I later learned was really playing with fire). In hindsight, I think I was just bored and I know I was depressed. Almost all of this was on the low because I became a fantastic liar during that period. I had no enablers because no one knew I had a habit. Until they did. Slowly the people I loved started to notice something was amiss but no one person knew everything I was doing. Most knew about the drinking and the hook-ups, only one or two knew about the pills, but they were all concerned.
I was slowly starting to realize that was no way to live and began scaling back on the pills. Then I got news that my surrogate grandmother was found unconscious and rushed to the hospital as a result of mixing pills and alcohol. She died a week later and I flew home to pick up some stuff she'd left me. It snapped me back into reality and I threw out everything I'd been self-medicating with. But that wasn't enough for my family, who couldn't be sure I'd actually stopped since I'd been able to keep it a secret for so long. I'd constantly get questions about where I'd been and if I'd been doing something I shouldn't be. I understood it was all out of love and concern but it got annoying so to appease them I turned to a friend who specializes in addiction and is also a therapist and we started working everything out and finally treating the depression and PTSD as it was supposed to be treated. And it wasn't all smooth sailing and was harder than I expected it to be (because I had to relive both accidents, etc.) but I'm SO thankful I did it. It helped me realize that I do have self-destructive tendencies but I can keep them in check and that's the most important thing. And as time's gone on, my family has stopped asking all the questions I found annoying because they no longer have a reason to.
As I said before, I got very lucky. I played with fire and only got singed. But it could have very easily gone another way. It's not uncommon for someone who's gone through a traumatic experience to turn towards pills and booze and then that becomes their life. I think it was only my stubbornness that kept me from ending up like that. Even when I was using there was this thing in the back of my mind reminding me that addiction runs in my family and when that voice got too loud, I stepped back for a minute. I had control of the drug instead of the drug having control over me, and that is so rare. No one knows why some people shake that stuff after one (or five) tries and others can never get over their habit. But it's a scary thing to get into. The line between using those drugs as they're intended and misusing them is so thin and before you know it, you can develop a nasty little habit that you may never shake. Regardless of what the cause of death is determined to be for Whitney Houston, I hope people choose to remember her at her best and not dwell on the bad years. I would also hope they remember that addiction is a disease and she did try and get help for it. But sometimes the battles become too much and you end up losing the war.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
We Were Created and We Foundeth Each Other
I don't usually follow advice that well. (Ok, I rarely follow it at all.) And yet, the powers that be have seen it fit to bestow upon me all kinds of people who are still willing to dish it out, solicited or not. My best friend and I got into a little battle this week, which is somewhat unusual since we don't fight much. But when you're close to someone for 31 years, you're going to fight sometimes and you learn to pick your battles. I was telling another friend about this and they reminded me how lucky we all are to have people who love us and care about us unconditionally. She had a great quote about how these people aren't always going to like you or your decisions but they will always love you, and that of course goes both ways. Because that's what loving unconditionally is. I don't use the word often but you are incredibly blessed if you find a couple of those people, forget the two handfuls that I have in my corner. My inner circle has been with me in the trenches when I couldn't get out of my own way and was putting myself in danger by self-medicating. They figured out how to support me while also trying to smack sense into me. I'm sure they hated who I was then, or at least hated seeing what I'd evolved into, but they still loved me. They were there with champagne when I got engaged and they were there with pitchforks and torches when I got un-engaged. Highs, lows, crazy nights in and laid back nights out (I'm sure you're thinking those last two should be reversed but no, that's just how we roll). They make me laugh, they make me think and they're there for every vent and every excited rant. Out of however many billion people in the world, we all found each other. That's pretty awesome when you think about it. Even when they are threatening to take conservatorship over my life (and me over their Avon and reality TV addictions) and lo-jack me to prevent me from not adhering to their advice, I still love 'em. Even when I don't take it (and I often don't) and feel the effects, there is never an 'I told you so' because they would rather I not have to find out the hard way. And the reverse is true (although 99% of them, and probably the human and animal populations, tend to follow advice better than I do). We definitely don't always like each other. But we do love each other. And because our friendships are apparently life sentences, we'll always have each other. And that's pretty awesome when you think about it.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
There's A Holy Man In My Pocket
It's hard to shake that stuff. Everyone I know who used to be Catholic (or is an occasional one) talks about it and it tends to rear it's head this time of the year more than any other. My grandmother was a hardcore Catholic and my mom, aunts and uncles always tell stories about how they couldn't eat meat on Fridays (year round, not just during Lent) and had to be very active in the church. I didn't understand why my grandma was so invested in her faith until I came to terms with my own, which I leaned on heavily to get through the dark ages. She had six kids and one more on the way when she became a widow at 29, you have to believe devoutly in something to navigate that because it's a lot. By the time she became a grandma (a minor miracle when you consider all the things half her own kids did to try and give her heart attacks), she'd chilled out a bit and still did the church thing but had lifted some of the stricter bans like the year round no meat on Fridays rule. Her beliefs had a tremendous effect on me, but I didn't realize it until much later.
I was 9 when my grandma died and it was a big hit for the entire family. It shook us all for years and during those years some of us were estranged, but others got closer. As I got older I started questioning the Catholic beliefs I'd been raised with, especially after I left Catholic school. I declared myself no longer Catholic after an agitating conversation with a friend in my first year of high school and I've never looked back. That same year I told my mother I wasn't going to give up anything for Lent because I didn't have to do that anymore and she told me different and...well, I gave up something for Lent that year. Once I graduated high school, I decided I was really not going to give anything up for Lent anymore and planned to sever as many ties to my former religion as I could. The same day I said this, the fam and I went out to visit the grandparent's graves and could not find them ANYWHERE, even though we went to the exact place they'd always been. We had strangers helping us try and locate these graves for an hour before we gave up and left. The girlfriend and I stopped at the store on the way home and were talking about the cemetery incident and I was reiterating my plans to go completely non-Catholic when a car cut their turn in the parking lot too close and sideswiped us, breaking off the driver's side mirror. We exchanged insurance information and this woman who had hit us had the same first name as my grandma AND the same initials. Point. Taken. I've given up something every year since and have never had anymore trouble finding the grandparent's resting place. (Hell hath no fury like a Catholic, Mexican matriarch. Well played grandma.)
While part of my reason for giving something up is that parking lot incident, a lot of it now has to do with other beliefs I have. Plus, it's not going to kill you to give up something you've grown too attached to for forty days. The problem this year is that there's no bad or so-so habit for me to give up. What's that you say? Don't I drink too much coffee? No. I've actually lightened up on the coffee lately because I don't have as much of a taste for it. Candy? Don't eat much of that anymore either. I don't drink much soda. I'm considering latching onto this thing that my mom has done for years, which is picking up a good habit rather than giving up a bad one. I guess I could take up running, or start meditating again (or both). I don't know. Still wrapping my head around Lent being one week away. How did I miss that? If you have any suggestions grandma, feel free to give me another (but please less expensive) sign. After all, it could be my last Lenten season with the Rapture being right around the corner and all.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Didn't We Almost Have It All
I don't remember a lot about my childhood, just bits and pieces that come and go. But one very vivid memory I have is of my mother's music collection. It was massive and consisted of records and these things called cassette tapes (sidenote: I said 'tapes' to my teenager a minute ago and she had no idea what I was talking about. That was fun.). I remember her having at least a hundred records on shelves in the dining room and the one record on the end that was completely visible when you were walking into the room was Aerosmith (don't remember which album, it was red). But off to the side were three boxes of tapes, most of them in black plastic with clear covers, with the exception of two. One was in a bright red cover and another had a bright blue cover and they were both often at the top of the pile because my mom played them so often. The red one was Whitney Houston's debut album from 1985 and the blue one was the follow-up from 1987, simply titled "Whitney". As I got older those tapes introduced me not only to the most amazing voice I'd ever heard but also to Clive Davis (whom I wanted to be as a kid) and to the Grammys (which I wanted to win as a kid). It was such a big part of my falling in love with music. Maybe that's why it's a memory I still have when so many others are lost.
Of course as time went on, everyone would know her as just Whitney. You didn't need to say anything more, really. Adele, Mariah, Beyonce, none of them have careers now if Whitney hadn't paved the way. I don't know a single person who doesn't love at least one of her songs and there are so many amazing ones to choose from. She crossed into film and did that well, "The Bodyguard" soundtrack was awesome. But then she fell in with the wrong crowd, married a scrub, had a daughter with him and eventually went down the all too familiar drug and rehab path. And her voice deteriorated and her career tanked and she became a punchline (although she was brilliantly and respectfully parodied by Maya Rudolph, who ironically hosts SNL next week) and we all started to get that feeling that this was not going to end well. But there was hope for a comeback and the man who discovered her all those years ago tried to revive her career with minimal success. I think the majority of people wanted to see her kick her habits for good and get healthy and resurrect some form of a career, most likely in film since her voice was pretty much shot. But I guess it wasn't meant to be.It's not often I'm affected by celebrity deaths or compelled to write about them. (One death that seriously threw me off was Heath Ledger's and I wasn't sure why until I realized that I was dangerously close to ending up where he did.) But I haven't talked to anyone tonight who isn't a little emotional about this one. The general consensus is that it's just so sad. So much talent and so much more seemingly ahead and it's all gone, just like that. The music lives on but you get a little sad when you listen to it now. I grew up on Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston and at a time when there were entertainers and not just record company created, auto-tuned people who are in it just for the fame. Back when it was about wanting to be on stage and grab a mic because it was what you loved and what you truly felt like you were meant to do. And when you had jaw-dropping talent. Sadly, those days are long gone and, perhaps even more upsetting, so much of the talent from back then is departing this world amidst whispers of drugs and bankruptcy. It would appear that having it all isn't all it's cracked up to be.
On a related note, I just had an interesting conversation with my mom about the pre-Grammy party going on in the very hotel where Whitney Houston died. I made the point that while I wasn't surprised the party was still on, I thought it in bad taste. I'm sure it's less of a party now and more of a memorial but it just seems so morbid to have that happen three hours after the death, especially when the person you're memorializing is still in the hotel. My mom thinks there was no other option but to go forward with the plans and mentioned that people celebrate at funerals all the time, so what's the difference? I see her point but I still think it's all way too morbid, and that's saying something since I tend to have a morbid fascination with death in general. Agree to disagree on this one, I guess. Either way, RIP Whitney.
Friday, February 10, 2012
And Times When You're Alone, All You Do Is Think
Well I'm not a cowboy, nor on a steel horse do I ride, but the lyric seemed appropriate nonetheless. I've done too much thinking lately so it was nice to start today with a laugh (more on that later). I've been obsessed with great lyrics since I was a kid. Obsessed with words in general, I guess. I remember getting new CD's (which are to kids today what records were for us growing up; what old people used to listen to music on) and hoping the album booklet included the lyrics. I'd tear open the packaging as soon as we got to the car and start reading the lyrics before I heard any of the songs. Then once we got home, I lose myself for hours in both the lyrics and the music. Of course, no one buys CD's anymore (except my mom, on occasion) so no one prints album booklets, at least none more than a few pages long, (and somehow digital booklets just aren't the same), but I can still zone out and pour over lyrics for hours. I'm sure down the line we'll all just think of an album we want to buy (provided they still exist) and the album art will just pop right into our brains, including the lyrics if we so choose.
The one thing that's always driven me crazy is lyrics that don't make sense. In high school (and college, actually), friends would be raving over some pop song and how it was the greatest thing they'd ever heard in their lives and I would be the one pointing out a line (or twelve) that didn't make sense. That's not to say I didn't like the song, I usually did, but it would grind my gears every time it came to whichever line(s) didn't fit. As a kid, unfortunately for my mom, I often knew what songs were about because I listened to the words (my sister's always been more about the music, which is probably lucky for mom since I was a very perceptive young lad). She thought I was too young to pay attention to them until we were all in the car one day and "Lola" by The Kinks came on the radio. The song is about a transvestite but they don't come right on out and say it in the song, it's all alluded to. About mid-way through the song, my mom says I broke the silence in the car by yelling, "She's a man, fool!" in a very agitated and 'duh!' kind of tone. She had to pull the car over, partly out of shock and partly because she couldn't stop laughing. And that story made her realize that I pick up on things just a second quicker than most and from that day on my music listenin' was carefully monitored. (Example: I couldn't listen to 2Pac or LL Cool J, particularly 'Hey Lover' when they came out. I couldn't even own their CD's. But there were ways to work around that and I definitely worked 'em. Sorry mom.)
It would appear that my fascination and perception have been passed on to the next generation of music lovers in the family. My niece turns 13 in a few months and has always been very sensitive to music. She's been raised right and prefers older stuff (which depressingly also includes the 90's music her parents and I so love) to any of the crap out today. But her peers listen to the music of the moment and apparently much of that is about sex (see how old I am? I don't even know what today's music is about). Another family member borrowed my sister's truck and left the radio on some station that only plays current stuff and my brother-in-law started the engine just in time to hear, "Love me, hate me, say what you want about me, but all of the boys and all of the girls are begging to if you seek Amy". Yeah, remember the minor uproar about that song? He changed it immediately but then heard her say something about the song being about sex. My bro-in-law, shocked and mortified, asked his eldest child (and only girl) where she'd heard that song and she said at a friends' house and he told her not to listen to that song anymore, nor any other "post-crazy" (as he calls it) Britney Spears music. End of discussion. But it wasn't. They argued for a few minutes and then he called the Mrs. so she could listen in on the conversation and that's when their daughter mentioned there's another Britney song with a line about 'living in sin' and that that's what mom and dad are doing, so why can't she listen to that? (Enter me, via threeway calling, which is fantastic when you hear what my sister said next). My sister said the song is also about a threesome, so that's why she can't listen to it. The bro-in-law reminded the kid that she's being raised in a Buddhist/Catholic household but she leans towards the former so what does she care if they're hitched or not? Her reply? "Wait, what's a threesome?". My reply; "Yeah, [bro-in-law's name], what's a threesome?". (Exit me, via an authoritative hang up.)
In the end, nobody answered anyone's questions and her parents decided she can't listen to music anymore. As in ANY music (jokingly, of course). After the incident my sister called and filled in the parts of the story I'd missed and I found it even more hysterical. So did she, but obviously she's not looking forward to going home and having more conversations about it all tonight. Then, the bro-in-law called and the first thing he said was that he blames me and my "smartass genetics" for his kids being so sharp. (I said thank you but apparently it was not a compliment.) I started to make light of the situation and he said he was glad I found it all so entertaining and thanked me for my input in the moment (I said you're welcome but apparently it was not a genuine thank you) and I joked that he should've had all boys. Then his tone changed to a really happy one and he started laughing and I asked what was so funny now. He proceeded to remind me that I also have a girl, and only 9 short years before we're having a similar conversation. Right. . . damn.
The one thing that's always driven me crazy is lyrics that don't make sense. In high school (and college, actually), friends would be raving over some pop song and how it was the greatest thing they'd ever heard in their lives and I would be the one pointing out a line (or twelve) that didn't make sense. That's not to say I didn't like the song, I usually did, but it would grind my gears every time it came to whichever line(s) didn't fit. As a kid, unfortunately for my mom, I often knew what songs were about because I listened to the words (my sister's always been more about the music, which is probably lucky for mom since I was a very perceptive young lad). She thought I was too young to pay attention to them until we were all in the car one day and "Lola" by The Kinks came on the radio. The song is about a transvestite but they don't come right on out and say it in the song, it's all alluded to. About mid-way through the song, my mom says I broke the silence in the car by yelling, "She's a man, fool!" in a very agitated and 'duh!' kind of tone. She had to pull the car over, partly out of shock and partly because she couldn't stop laughing. And that story made her realize that I pick up on things just a second quicker than most and from that day on my music listenin' was carefully monitored. (Example: I couldn't listen to 2Pac or LL Cool J, particularly 'Hey Lover' when they came out. I couldn't even own their CD's. But there were ways to work around that and I definitely worked 'em. Sorry mom.)
It would appear that my fascination and perception have been passed on to the next generation of music lovers in the family. My niece turns 13 in a few months and has always been very sensitive to music. She's been raised right and prefers older stuff (which depressingly also includes the 90's music her parents and I so love) to any of the crap out today. But her peers listen to the music of the moment and apparently much of that is about sex (see how old I am? I don't even know what today's music is about). Another family member borrowed my sister's truck and left the radio on some station that only plays current stuff and my brother-in-law started the engine just in time to hear, "Love me, hate me, say what you want about me, but all of the boys and all of the girls are begging to if you seek Amy". Yeah, remember the minor uproar about that song? He changed it immediately but then heard her say something about the song being about sex. My bro-in-law, shocked and mortified, asked his eldest child (and only girl) where she'd heard that song and she said at a friends' house and he told her not to listen to that song anymore, nor any other "post-crazy" (as he calls it) Britney Spears music. End of discussion. But it wasn't. They argued for a few minutes and then he called the Mrs. so she could listen in on the conversation and that's when their daughter mentioned there's another Britney song with a line about 'living in sin' and that that's what mom and dad are doing, so why can't she listen to that? (Enter me, via threeway calling, which is fantastic when you hear what my sister said next). My sister said the song is also about a threesome, so that's why she can't listen to it. The bro-in-law reminded the kid that she's being raised in a Buddhist/Catholic household but she leans towards the former so what does she care if they're hitched or not? Her reply? "Wait, what's a threesome?". My reply; "Yeah, [bro-in-law's name], what's a threesome?". (Exit me, via an authoritative hang up.)
In the end, nobody answered anyone's questions and her parents decided she can't listen to music anymore. As in ANY music (jokingly, of course). After the incident my sister called and filled in the parts of the story I'd missed and I found it even more hysterical. So did she, but obviously she's not looking forward to going home and having more conversations about it all tonight. Then, the bro-in-law called and the first thing he said was that he blames me and my "smartass genetics" for his kids being so sharp. (I said thank you but apparently it was not a compliment.) I started to make light of the situation and he said he was glad I found it all so entertaining and thanked me for my input in the moment (I said you're welcome but apparently it was not a genuine thank you) and I joked that he should've had all boys. Then his tone changed to a really happy one and he started laughing and I asked what was so funny now. He proceeded to remind me that I also have a girl, and only 9 short years before we're having a similar conversation. Right. . . damn.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
I Miss The Days When I Wasn't Aware Of My Own Mortality
That is a phrase someone close to me used today and it is very appropriate. I miss my lack of mortality awareness now more than ever. My week has SUCKED. I've had blinding pain in my side that either means my anemia is out of whack and I have to go back on IV's (or have my spleen removed) or it could be a sign of leukemia. I have an ultrasound tomorrow and, possibly, another biopsy next week to determine what's going on. Today I got word that my insurance will not cover the IV's because they're considered "experimental treatment", so I'm already on the hook for thousands of dollars (that I don't have). I just feel awful; physically, mentally, emotionally.
I guess everyone gets their mortality check at a different time in their lives. From childhood and into your 20's, you think you're invincible and nothing can happen to you. There's no reason to think that, we just seem to be wired to have carefree and borderline crazy younger years that make us do the kind of things older versions of us ask, "What the hell was I thinking?!". Then we grow up and mature and get married and have kids and become suddenly aware of our own mortality because we now have something to lose. And, according to the younger set, that's when we become "boring" and old. I never had as carefree of a decade in my 20's as most since they started with a bang (and not a good one). I became very aware of my own mortality when I was 21 and died (technically). But I didn't really take it seriously until I found out I was going to be a father. That's a major game changer. I don't want to leave this earth now because I need to be there for her, for a very long time. And I worry constantly that I won't be.
I've had dreams and daydreams about my own death. Sometimes they're apocalyptic and I'm not the only one departing on that day. Sometimes, and this was mostly back in the dark ages, I had dreams about having mixed the wrong combination of pills and going to sleep and never waking up again. Once I had a dream about another car accident, but I don't recall the details. Awhile back I was dating someone with a VERY jealous ex and I started having terrible nightmares about him flying off the handle and shooting both of us. (These spooked me so much that they factored into our break-up a little.) Never, ever thought I might end up with some other medical condition though. And obviously nothing's confirmed yet so I'm trying to be positive. But it hasn't been easy. I'm freaked out . . .
I guess everyone gets their mortality check at a different time in their lives. From childhood and into your 20's, you think you're invincible and nothing can happen to you. There's no reason to think that, we just seem to be wired to have carefree and borderline crazy younger years that make us do the kind of things older versions of us ask, "What the hell was I thinking?!". Then we grow up and mature and get married and have kids and become suddenly aware of our own mortality because we now have something to lose. And, according to the younger set, that's when we become "boring" and old. I never had as carefree of a decade in my 20's as most since they started with a bang (and not a good one). I became very aware of my own mortality when I was 21 and died (technically). But I didn't really take it seriously until I found out I was going to be a father. That's a major game changer. I don't want to leave this earth now because I need to be there for her, for a very long time. And I worry constantly that I won't be.
I've had dreams and daydreams about my own death. Sometimes they're apocalyptic and I'm not the only one departing on that day. Sometimes, and this was mostly back in the dark ages, I had dreams about having mixed the wrong combination of pills and going to sleep and never waking up again. Once I had a dream about another car accident, but I don't recall the details. Awhile back I was dating someone with a VERY jealous ex and I started having terrible nightmares about him flying off the handle and shooting both of us. (These spooked me so much that they factored into our break-up a little.) Never, ever thought I might end up with some other medical condition though. And obviously nothing's confirmed yet so I'm trying to be positive. But it hasn't been easy. I'm freaked out . . .
Saturday, February 4, 2012
You Know Me, How Troubled I Can Be
I can't sleep. I did fall asleep watching tv but then woke up with shoulder pain, took some Aleve and now here I lie wide awake. It's not so much the pain anymore though. It's all the random thoughts going through my head. A friend of mine blogged the other day about how they only seem to write when something is troubling them, never about the good things that happen. My blog began as an outlet for the bad things but has evolved into much more than that. Long after I'm gone the people I love will be able to go back and read what I wrote, good or bad. Hopefully by then it's a ratio of 90% good to 10% bad, but I have a ways to go until I hit that number. My friend is onto something though. Why is it so hard to embrace the good stuff? Not just in your writing but in general.
Accepting happiness as it comes has been a problem for me in the past, not so much now. But tonight I'm on...a low, for sure. Everybody comes with a past and with some sort of "baggage", emotional or otherwise. Our parents fucked us up or someone screwed us over or we spent too much time dabbling in the wrong things in our 20's. People are estranged from family, divorced and affected. You make mistakes, you learn and you grow. That's life in a nutshell. S*** happens so hold on tight and enjoy the ride. But is it possible to come with too much baggage? I'm not sure. I've dated (let's be honest) a lot of women and they all came with pasts; divorces, babies, family drama. And sometimes it affected the relationship and sometimes it didn't and things went on to be successful (I define a successful relationship, romantic or otherwise, as one you learn something from). Of course, few of those relationships were serious so we only had to deal with each other's baggage for a short period of time. When it's over, you move on and maybe you gain some extra baggage and maybe you don't.
I've dealt with and moved past the majority of my relationship baggage. That said, I know I can be a handful. I'm not at all blind to my own faults. I'm stubborn. I'm occasionally moody (and the steroids aren't helping in that area). I over-analyze. I can be insensitive. I have a knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. I'm highly emotionally contained, but when I get overwhelmed emotions can come flowing out with a vengeance (which can be good and bad, depending on the emotion). I can seem apathetic when in fact I'm actually quite sensitive. Maybe too sensitive sometimes. So much is going on beneath the surface but I can't always express it right away. On top of all that, there's my past. Which includes brain damage (literally), the loss of someone I loved a great deal, the dark ages, a failed engagement and many other failed relationships. And the drama with my brother. It's a lot. But I never wondered if it was too much to deal with until now. I mean, I have to write basic crap down sometimes because otherwise I'll forget in ten minutes (and I'm not talking shopping lists, I'm talking about reminders that something's on the stove or that I need to finish or send something). Who's gonna wanna live in a place where post-it notes are found in various rooms? I'm sure it's annoying. Obviously that's just one minor example but...I don't know. I don't want to think that there's no one who will be able to handle all of that. Maybe that's why I sometimes push people away, because I think it's too much. So maybe there's still a happiness acceptance problem after all.
Accepting happiness as it comes has been a problem for me in the past, not so much now. But tonight I'm on...a low, for sure. Everybody comes with a past and with some sort of "baggage", emotional or otherwise. Our parents fucked us up or someone screwed us over or we spent too much time dabbling in the wrong things in our 20's. People are estranged from family, divorced and affected. You make mistakes, you learn and you grow. That's life in a nutshell. S*** happens so hold on tight and enjoy the ride. But is it possible to come with too much baggage? I'm not sure. I've dated (let's be honest) a lot of women and they all came with pasts; divorces, babies, family drama. And sometimes it affected the relationship and sometimes it didn't and things went on to be successful (I define a successful relationship, romantic or otherwise, as one you learn something from). Of course, few of those relationships were serious so we only had to deal with each other's baggage for a short period of time. When it's over, you move on and maybe you gain some extra baggage and maybe you don't.
I've dealt with and moved past the majority of my relationship baggage. That said, I know I can be a handful. I'm not at all blind to my own faults. I'm stubborn. I'm occasionally moody (and the steroids aren't helping in that area). I over-analyze. I can be insensitive. I have a knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. I'm highly emotionally contained, but when I get overwhelmed emotions can come flowing out with a vengeance (which can be good and bad, depending on the emotion). I can seem apathetic when in fact I'm actually quite sensitive. Maybe too sensitive sometimes. So much is going on beneath the surface but I can't always express it right away. On top of all that, there's my past. Which includes brain damage (literally), the loss of someone I loved a great deal, the dark ages, a failed engagement and many other failed relationships. And the drama with my brother. It's a lot. But I never wondered if it was too much to deal with until now. I mean, I have to write basic crap down sometimes because otherwise I'll forget in ten minutes (and I'm not talking shopping lists, I'm talking about reminders that something's on the stove or that I need to finish or send something). Who's gonna wanna live in a place where post-it notes are found in various rooms? I'm sure it's annoying. Obviously that's just one minor example but...I don't know. I don't want to think that there's no one who will be able to handle all of that. Maybe that's why I sometimes push people away, because I think it's too much. So maybe there's still a happiness acceptance problem after all.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Now There's Nothing Left, But To Keep Dancing
"Death pushed me to the edge. Nowhere to back off. And to the shame of my fears, I danced with abandon in his face. I never danced as free. And Death backed off, the way dark backs off a sudden burst of flame. Now there's nothing left, but to keep dancing. It is the way I would have chosen had I been born three times as brave."
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
"The One"
What is this "the one" business anyway? I mean, I understand it in theory but I'm not so sure I buy into it. I used to though, a long time ago. But then in the aftermath of '02 it was just too depressing to think like that, to believe there's only one person out there for everyone. Because if that were true...well, my "one" was gone and that was that. Nowadays I believe everyone comes into your life for a reason and that goes for friends and lovers. Some are meant to stay and some serve their purpose and move on. In my opinion there is no "one" out there for me, but there could definitely be someone I want to be with for the long haul. But I don't know if I believe that it's all preordained. Relationships are work and even if you find that person, it doesn't all magically fall into place and stay fairytale forever. But the good should outweigh the bad and if it doesn't, then you cut your losses and find something better.
Obviously some people still believe in "the one" and are very reluctant to let go of someone they think fits the bill. Case in point, the sister of a close friend. She's been with some dude for around a year now and from what I understand it's been a pretty rocky road. He's got jealousy issues and he's insecure about their age difference (she's 25, he's 40) and suspicious of her hanging around with an ex-boyfriend. A month ago, their tumultuous relationship hit a breaking point and they broke up. And then the S.O.B. (rarely use that turn of phrase but trust me, it applies here) made her call every member of each of their immediate families and tell them that they were breaking up because of her being 'emotionally unfaithful'. He stood there as she made the calls and listened to every word. All of this for supposed emotional cheating, which was really just his knowing she'd wise up someday and leave him for someone who was good to her. She moved her stuff back into the family home and that was that. Except it wasn't the end. Now they're back together and she's claiming she can't break up with him because he's "the one". Yet, she still complains about the relationship and the family has to hear about it constantly and the more they say, 'leave', the more she seems determined to stay. Not to mention none of them can stand the jackass after what he made her do. I don't get how you just go back to being a couple after something like that.
One of the things discussed during 'The Lemonade Incident' was my habit of dating older women, which led to a discussion on age differences in relationships. The friend who spiked my lemonade claims that there is no such thing as 'security' for either party when there's an age gap. Because someone will always be a little insecure about it; either because they think they'll be left behind for a younger model or that they won't be ready for major life stuff when their older partner is. Her theory being that such insecurity adds stress to the relationship and contributes to the downfall, and she cited my past experiences as proof (yeah, was that ever a fun evening for me, spiked kool-aid and analyzing of my past lives). However, only one of those relationships ended because of age-related issues and it was because she couldn't handle the whopping 5 year difference. I felt insecure about age the first time I dated the mother of my child, when she was 35 and I was 23 but that was a significant gap. Since then, everything's been within an 8 year range and no one's had an issue. Once I settle in I don't even think about the difference anymore because it is just a number. If you click, you click and that's what's most important.
I don't think there should be any insecurity about anything if you're really with somebody, if it's a good relationship. But it seems like both of them are insecure people in general. And I know that anyone who really, truly loves you would not be able to make you call the people you love and expose all the dirt on your relationship. I've heard of ugly break-ups before (I like how I just wrote that as if I've never been through one myself) but this was way over the top. If you're not happy and you think she's going to just find someone else younger, who treats her better, then just end it and move on. There was no reason to tell her to make those calls other than to boost his own ego. At the end of the day, it doesn't seem to matter though since they're back together as if it never happened. I hope they're not back to stay though. I shudder to think about it continuing and then kids being brought into the mix someday.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)