Thursday, October 23, 2014

Found Out About You

Two years ago today, I stared at a computer screen full of emails at work—not thinking about or comprehending much of anything.  Two years ago today, I was (admittedly) numb. Two years ago today, I wrote my very first blog introducing you to a very sad girl, in a very mixed up place, at a very dark time.

I know that I said I would never write about this again after Little White Lies, but these two years have really changed me.  I feel that I am ready to tell you the truth about what happened (if you don’t already know), and touch on the transformation it caused within me.

In the Spring of 2012 He Who Must Not Be Named and myself moved in to a home (that was thankfully owned by him), and began renovations on something we were proud to call ‘ours’. For six months, we worked diligently to make the home our own—and I was more than excited to be on our own, starting some kind of adult life.  During that time, we were often on different schedules, making it difficult to see each other.  However, because of the job he had, I knew it would be difficult. As time went on, and work on the house slowed down, I started to notice changes that I really never said anything about. He Who Must Not Be Named worked afternoons, and would sometimes go out with people from his shift afterwards.  There would be times, I’d wake up at 4 in the morning—and he wouldn’t be home.  I’d check my phone to have a text “Hey! Went out with some coworkers, and don’t really want to drive home (or don’t feel comfortable driving home) so I am staying at so-and-so’s house.  See you tomorrow, love you!”  Most of the time, I would let these things go, but when I did say something, it would spark arguments, so I never really liked to bring it up.  I could tell, deep down, that he was disenchanted with us.  He wanted to be young—but I wanted to force something that probably was just no longer there. 

During this time, I had gained probably 20-30lbs (which, in the end would contribute to a total of 70lbs that I had gained while we were together).  I was taking antidepressants, all the while quietly dealing with the loneliness I felt every single day (since I was so far away from family and friends).  I couldn’t figure out why I was gaining so much weight, and made an appointment with the doctor to see if it was perhaps a thyroid problem.  When the test came back, everything was fine.  There was no thyroid problem.  There was a ‘me’ problem.  So I called He Who Must Not Be Named to have a conversation that we’d had numerous times before throughout the course of our relationship:

Me: The doctor said everything is okay. I think I just have to diet and exercise.
Him: Yep, that’s what you have to do.
Me: I’m really going to try and make an effort this time.

He didn’t really say much.  I know why.  We had many a conversation like this during our 6 years together.  I was always fighting the battle---and every time I made some headway, I would just let go.  Consistency had always been my downfall, and when you hear someone say they’re going to do something over and over again (and they don’t)….you just kind of stop cheering them on. We had just celebrated our 6 year anniversary the month before, and attended 3 weddings that year.  There was a great deal of silent pressure coming from me---but a lot of expectation and questioning faces from everyone else.  Every time someone asked “When are you getting married?”  I would always say “We’re waiting” or “We’re not ready”.  In the past he would always say “We’re on the 10 year plan” or “I want to wait and see how we do when I start my job (because of the difficult schedule).”  I honestly didn’t know what to say, because I was ready---and I guess he wasn’t. Moreover, I didn’t want to push the issue---because forcing someone to marry you never ends well for anyone.

The night we had that conversation, he was quiet when I got home.  I took a shower, and sat down next to him on the couch. The air in our house was so thick; you could cut it with a knife.  Sad thing is I just could feel something was wrong the moment I walked in the door.  When I sat down on the couch, he was folding laundry.  The following conversation ensued:

Me: What’s wrong?
Him: Nothing.
Me: No, something is wrong, I can tell.

LONG PAUSE & AWKWARD SILENCE

Him: **Sigh**---well, I think that we should think about taking a break to figure out where this is going.  You just, you just don’t seem happy, and I think you need some time for yourself.
Me: No, please, I don’t want to do this.
Him: I think that you just need to figure out what you want, and I think some time apart would be good.  I think we both need that.

More conversation happened after this, but honestly, I can’t remember it.  I just packed all of the clothes I would need for a week, grabbed the dog, and went out to the car.  He put my bags in the car, and said:

“I think you just need to really reflect, and take some time. I am sorry”

He kissed me on the forehead, and went back into the house.  I just kind of stood there.  Got in the car, and went to my parent’s….not really knowing where things stood.

The next day, I called the Employee Assistance Program that we had through work.  If this was on me, if I wasn’t happy, then I was going to work on myself.  So I made an appointment with a therapist.  That morning, He Who Must Not Be Named emailed me and said:

“Do you want to have lunch? I think we should talk.”

So I agreed.  When I saw him, he gave me a big hug. Told me this isn’t what he wanted, that he wanted to work things out. So, me being me, afraid to be alone, and afraid to live life without him, agreed.

No more was said about this incident after that. He didn’t bring it up. I was afraid to bring it up, and really thought it was a bit weird that he never brought it up again.  So we went back to our normal lives.

A week passed—and that following Saturday was Sweetest Day. He brought home an Edible Arrangement as a gift for me, and although I was happy, it just seemed, again, like something wasn’t right.

Monday, October 22, 2012:
It’s a brisk cold evening, and the sun is about to set. I am literally walking out of work when the phone rings. It’s him.

Me: Hi baby! How was your day?
Him: Hey. Listen, this just isn’t working. I don’t think we should be together anymore. I wrote you an email.  I want you to read it. We can discuss when I get home tonight.

Speechless, I hung up the phone with an “OK”.  So I opened the email and read.  The email was titled ‘Letter’ and was a forward from an email that he had written to himself the evening before. 

So I read….

In it, he basically said he didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore.  Didn’t know if he wanted to get married because of his parent’s divorce, didn’t know if he wanted to have children. He just didn’t know.

He then went on to split all of our assets, in a manner that he saw fit. He essentially got everything, and I got the dog (whom I love dearly).  He explained that he planned on selling the house in the Spring, and that was that. He asked to temporarily keep the couches that my parents gave to us as a gift, as it was easier for him to sell the house with the room furnished.

There was more to it.  However, the fact of the matter was, in the five minutes it took for me to read the email I realized three things:

  • He’d been thinking about this for some amount of time.  It was too organized and calculated
  • In 6 paragraphs, he basically summed up 6 years of our lives
  • It was over. For real.

So I went back to our home. The home we shared. The home we built, I packed a week’s worth of clothes, and the dog (again), and I left. This time knowing that I would only return to pack my life up.
During that time, he called me to see if I read the email.  I explained that I would not be home when he returned from work.  At the end of the day, sitting in that house for 6 hours waiting for him to get home wouldn’t do me much good.  As always (in our relationship) he had made our decision, and it was final.

In the aftermath of all the wreckage He Who Must Not Be Named caused, I felt so many things. Two months after he emailed me, he started dating someone else.  Then a year later, he got engaged to her. Hence, Little White Lies.

I felt betrayed and taken advantage of. I felt alone. I felt discarded.  It took a good year for me to actually just let it go.  I don’t write about this now to dwell on it, and I don’t write so that everyone can know what he did.  Moreover, I don’t write so you can feel bad for me. I’m over that. I write because, I think I can finally say I’m thankful for what he did. As sick and twisted as that sounds, the manipulative manner in which he did things taught me so much about him, myself and life in general.  I found out about him, and found out about me. Everything I closed my eyes to, really came to light—and I realized that I’d been living complacently for quite some time.

There were a lot of tears. For a long time, I put the entire onus on me. I took the blame. I wondered and wondered.  Then there came a time, when I just let go.  I reasoned with myself, and realized that it takes two to make something work—and the two of us just couldn’t do it.

Then something miraculous happened. I was able to use this whole situation to create a new me. I created a woman who is no longer dependent on someone else. I’ve burned off my frustration, sadness, anger (and whatever else I’ve felt).  I’ve used it to shed nearly 50lbs. The weight of him, and the weight of it all has slowly been lifted off my shoulders---and I am not nearly done yet.  

Last month, I participated in my very first race.  It wasn’t any old regular race. It was a 3+ mike obstacle race known as ‘The Spartan Sprint’.  It was muddy, and it was tough towards the end.  There were at least 3 times towards the end of the Sprint, where I literally said ‘I cannot do this, I am too tired’.  There were tears, and there was swearing---but I crossed that finish line.  I crossed that finish line and then I hugged my friends.  I hugged Jules, and just sobbed.  Sobbed because, I did something I never would have been able to do otherwise.  I did something athletic, and difficult, and challenging.  I did it---and in a way, I showed myself (and him—even though I didn’t really ‘show’ him), that I am a completely different person.  Closer to the person I want to be. The person I should be.

After the race, I was on an extreme high.  Then it kind of faded, and my brain caught up with me.  I told myself I should have done better, should have been stronger, should have been faster, I should look thinner, should be more toned. I should, I should, I should.  At the end of the day, I am telling myself, that I need to learn the hardest lesson there possibly could be: appreciation.  Losing nearly 50lbs in a year is amazing.  It takes hard work. It takes sweat, and blood and tears and sometimes those moments of doubt.  Nevertheless, I need to learn to accept where I am at, and appreciate that if I continue on this path, I can be where I want to.  These changes I am making take time, and unfortunately undoing what I did to myself for the course of those 6 years is not an easy task. 

So as I set my sights on the future, and attempt to decide what I’ll take on next, I remain thankful for everyone that’s cheered me on along the way.  I appreciate that I can look back two years, and understand the pain I felt---but also feel thankful for it.  That pain, was the catalyst for the very person I am at this moment.  I don’t know what the future holds for me…and no one does.  If they did, I would sort of feel sorry for them.  I think Sandburg said it best:

“I’m an idealist. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m on my way.”

A.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

The Facts.

It’s been an entire summer, and I haven’t written a damn thing. I’ve mostly been running around here and there---just keeping myself occupied as much as possible.  However, in these summer months, I have learned quite a bit.  Most of these learnings are probably simple ‘known facts of life’—and I've probably learned them before (but perhaps I have been expanding upon my current knowledge).  Alas, I have been pondering the following:
·        

  •  We are not invincible.  We are not impervious to death.  We are human, and as such, time and fate both catch up with us all.
  • The damage you do to yourself---isn’t always most visible to you.  Even though you think it might be, it isn’t.  It can often be best viewed by the outside world.  Often times, you’re too late before you realize what you’ve done to yourself.  There’s always a way to fix it--to put the pieces back together…but it’s not always an easy and short road.
  • Letting go is important on multiple levels (yes, I know I’ve mentioned this before).  Yet, in my opinion, letting go can help trigger a whole mess of things.  It might just start a reaction to get you moving in the right direction.

Invincibility:
I learned about death at an age where I was just old enough to fully grasp and understand the concept of a person departing this earth.  When I was in the 4th grade, my great grandmother (who was 95 at the time) passed away.  It was the first funeral I can remember.  I don’t remember really crying.  I don’t remember much.  I do, remember that my mother made my sister and I stand next to the casket to take pictures. Which is extremely strange.  It reminds me of those old photographs from the 1800’s where you see children standing next to caskets of dead people.  Yikes.

Nevertheless, I did not want to turn my back to the casket---for fear that she would somehow wake up out of her dead state, grab my shoulder, and use me as a balancing mechanism to climb out of the casket.

I even had a wild imagination then…

At the time, I recall being more interested in the logical part of death, the preservation, the burial.  I even asked her “Mom, is Grandma wearing shoes? Does she have underwear on?” To me, that seemed like a big deal.

I suppose the concept of death really didn’t hit me then.  Nor did the concept of heaven, or angels or even coincidences that really proved someone was watching over you after departing this realm. 

It wasn’t until my 18th year of life, that I really grasped the concept of human mortality---the idea that you could say “See you tomorrow” to someone in the evening, and less than 7 hours later, they could be gone. I suppose I never really understood how a young person could be taken away so quickly, and what seemed, so unjustly.  I felt a whirlwind of emotion at the time.  Sadness, confusion and most of all, anger.  Anger from a lack of understanding. Anger from being unable to answer the question: “Why her?”  I lived with that for a long time.  It burned inside of me like a tiny flame—never really extinguishing fully.

As time went on, and I started to grow, I began to feel guilty for being able to live life.  To age, to go to school, fall in love, graduate and get a job. Yet, all of the things I just mentioned---are part of life. Part of living as a human being. Little by little, as things started to happen to me, that burning anger, that lack of understanding slowly started to diminish.  There have been too many occurrences in my life for me to call it all a coincidence. The thing is, we're given this life for a reason, I guess.  What's taken away from one, might be passed on to another.  The undying question I keep asking myself is this:

What are you going to do with it?

What am I going to do with it?  I understand that some are here longer than others, and that's just a sad fact of life.  Regardless of that, immortality doesn't exist (something I ponder every birthday).  There's a reason we're all here breathing. So, even though we're not entirely sure of our time here--I say, make the most of it.  Not to be cliche, but Carpe diem.  Do something that matters.  Even if it doesn't matter to others, make sure it's something you wanted.     

Damage & Letting Go:
I recently had an interesting conversation with one of my best friends.  We were out drinking, and, mostly talking about the 'rating' system that guys often have for girls.  1-10, with the number (1) being on the 'yikes' scale, and (10) being on the 'outrageously hot' scale. I mean, depending on what kind of person you're in to, the rating scale is different for everyone.  Either way, we got to talking about people, and their ratings.  The entire time, I thought to myself 'Dear God, I wonder what I would be rated'?  Who knows why I care, because really I shouldn't--I guess it was the curiosity of it all.  So I asked. The answer was "7". Then he said:

"You know, Alex, I'm mad at you. I'm mad that you let go. You used to be this petite little thing, and then you got comfortable." 

Funny thing is, when he said this, I agreed with him. I wasn't even offended, and I'm not offended now. He's right, and although I talk about this all of the time, I feel like I need to reflect on the path that brought me to the journey I'm on today. 

That comfortable girl, was also the world's most uncomfortable girl at the same time. She hid under a facade in order to hide her deepest insecurities. She invested all of herself in another human, and lost any and all remnants of an individual personality. She folded into herself in so many ways---and so often. She folded until there was nothing left. 

It might seem melodramatic, and reading it back now, does sound quite melancholy in nature. Alas, I have to accept that behavior, and I have to move on from it. That's where letting to comes into play. It's also where learning comes from as well. 

From this, I've learned to become the person I am today. I've learned to accept my flaws and weaknesses---which is THE BIGGEST challenge I've faced ever. Yet, I've also learned, more than anything, that I don't have to settle with those flaws and weaknesses. I can work to remedy them. Your weaknesses do not define you, I mean, they shouldn't. Thus, to take on those pesky traits that perhaps bring you down, is probably one of the greatest battles you could fight for yourself. 

So, my advice to you, and to myself, is to embrace the weaknesses, and take them in stride. Beat them down, until they no longer matter. That's what I'm doing. 

In late September, I'll be running a Spartan Sprint. I'm scared shitless. I'm afraid of failure. Yet, when I cross that finish line, I'll probably cry hysterically. You know why? Because it's something I never imagined I could or would do. Ever. In my lifetime. I'm going to show myself differently. 

I would like you all to know, that at the end of the day, I'm something I never really thought I could be again. Happy. Yes, I said it: Happy. It isn't just a singular happiness, and it lives and breathes off of so many pieces of my life. It's me, and my job, and my beautiful family and friends. It's just life---in all it's simplicity---and it doesn't rest on any one person or thing specifically. It just is what it is. Pure and simple happiness. 

A few months ago, I wrote about the snow globe, and I said I felt as though I was running to keep up with life. Some days I feel that way (I mean....not every day is rainbows and sunshine)---BUT now I run because I want to. It isn't a physical race, and it isn't a metaphor for 'going through the motions' it's just me, figuring out who I am......letting go of the old me day by day. 

And this run---while it may be long---is an amazing journey.

Thanks for running with me----


A.


Friday, May 23, 2014

Mirror, Mirror

The mirror. It's my worst enemy, and my best friend. The other morning as I tried on clothes for work, I found myself both frustrated and happy at the same time. I've lost weight, yes. Bought new pants, yes. Yet, everything still fits so awkwardly. For the past few weeks, there's only been two true instances where I looked in the mirror and I thought to myself, "Wow, you look great. Ya done good, kid." To say this, is pure insanity---and to admit it might even be more insane. 

Two weeks ago, I journeyed to the mall In order to find a dress for my friend's graduation. I went from store to store, settling on the dresses that were on the racks. Doubting, still, that I would be able to fit, and look good in anything at a normal store. I stood there, looking in the mirror after trying on dress after dress with a look of nothing but disappointment on my face. After three stores and 6 dresses, I walked past teenage couples awkwardly holding hands and kiosk vendors, choking back the tears. All the way saying "You're not gonna cry, you're not gonna cry." 

And I didn't. I got teary eyed. Very much so. I got back to my car, and when I was just about to let it out---I realized that nothing was happening. I couldn't cry. Didn't have it in me. So I pulled out of the parking lot, and drove home with the windows down, all the while listening to "One of These Nights" by The Eagles. Now, first question is this: What 26 year old woman has this kind of reaction to a bad shopping experience? Secondly, who chooses their 'emo' song to be "One of These Nights" by the Eagles? Seriously, let's call MTV, because this drama queen needs a show. 

I laugh at this reaction to my lackluster shopping experience (now). However, in the moment, it was pretty heartbreaking. I went again the next day, and after trying on two different dresses at one store, I found one. You're probably wondering why this topic is one that I focus on often---and why I perseverate on weight loss so much. For me, losing weight has been a perpetual journey over the course of my entire life. Even when I weighed 130lbs, I always thought that my short, stubby body could use some major assistance. 

At the end of August, I weighed more than some of my guy friends. Do you know what that feels like? As I stood on the scale after my 26th birthday, I'm not really sure the number shining up at me hit home. It wasn't until I participated in the biometric screening at work, that I really felt the pain of what I'd done to myself. I opened the large white envelope containing my results, and in the section with my weight information, I saw that I was categorized as 'obese'. Obese. At that point, it wasn't even so much about the way that I looked---it was about all of the diseases that I know I'm prone to. 

So I made a decision. After everything I'd been through, and out of all the things (in my life) that I had no control of, I made the decision to change. I made the decision to work on the things I knew I could control. It's been a tough road, and I still have a long way to go. There's been tears, sweat, bruises, and emotions galore. Sometimes, I'm full of pride---like I cannot believe I've come this far. Other times, I resent the journey. Resent the fact that I have to be on this journey---resent the fact that I know I HAVE to go to the gym in order to keep this momentum going. 

Then, when I rationalize the journey, I'm brought back down to earth. I think, "God, what were you working towards when all of the bullshit went down?" The answer is simple: I have no freaking idea. That's awful! If there's anything I've learned lately, we should always have something to work towards. Even if it seems (to you) to be the most trivial of goals. 

So...to finish my story....

I had the bad shopping experience. That was Thursday. I found the dress Friday. Saturday, I decided to weigh myself. 30.4lbs lost. I'm happy----but I know I've got that ultimate goal in the back of my mind. I'm not going to push it, because all of this has happened in good time---with tons of hard work. I just have to teach myself how to relish in the fact that 30.4lbs of me, is now gone. It's like a weight has been lifted off of me. I'm not even intending to be literal here. More metaphorical than anything else. 

It's funny, I was walking down the hallway at work a few weeks ago, and someone made the comment: "Here comes the incredible ever-shrinking woman." I just laughed and brushed it off.  I am told multiple times a week, "You look great."  Now I just need to learn how to fully believe it.  That's something that only I am going to be able to do.  

Someone once told me that a person's confidence can be their greatest asset, and also, at times their biggest downfall.  Some people are annoyingly overconfident, and some people are annoyingly insecure and not confident with themselves at all.  I lean towards the latter. It's probably the most annoying trait I possess.  However, I think, somewhere, in the midst of all this, I am gaining confidence in ways that I've never seen before.  It might not

be 100% visible, and I might be taking my time to gain it, but it's slowly showing itself.  


Just yesterday, as I was running (on intervals), I thought to myself:

"You go,  you're running at 5.0 speed right now, and even though you're running intervals, and you might only be running short distance at that speed--you're still doing it."

....and I'm still doing it.  Like I said, it might seem redundant, but feel like if I don't share this journey in some way, I wouldn't be able to grow from it as much as I am now. 

So...

The next time I hear a compliment, or I look in the mirror--I might actually take it to heart.  After all, the girl staring back at me doesn't really have to be my worst enemy.  She's been to hell and back---but at the end of the day...she's just like you and me. A little rough around the edges perhaps....but always looking for the next big thing.

A.



Monday, March 31, 2014

The Girl in the Snow Globe

When I was a little girl, my Dad used to pack my lunches for me.  Thinking of it now, his lunches were both the best...and hilarious at the same time. I remember being so excited to see what was in store for me each day. What kind of sandwich would I have? Would there be anything else of interest in the box? I would open my lunch box to a sandwich labeled with some kind of name: Dog Breath, Cactus Face, Snidely Whiplash (or some kind of weird nickname).  My sister, was always 'Little Weasel'. Even as I sit here typing these nicknames out, I am busting out laughing--because if you don't know my dad, then you don't understand what kind of person he is.  Thus, you would not find these names funny.  Sometimes, Dad would write interesting bits of wisdom on my sandwich bag.  Bits of wisdom, that would only come from either him or my Uncle Greg.  Bits of wisdom that are not for the faint of heart....or someone who is about to enjoy their lunch:

"He who goes to bed with itchy butt, wakes up with stinky finger."

Yes.  This was on my sandwich bag.  Yes.  The people I went to school with saw this bit of wisdom--and were either grossed or weirded out.  That's my dad, though.  Unique in his own, Willie J kind of way...and I wouldn't trade him for the world.  Ever.  

During this time (3rd grade and on---that I can remember), my dad often traveled.  Every Sunday morning, we would wake up and go to church.  Dad would pick us up from Sunday School, take us to the grocery store--and then go home and pack.  I can remember sitting in the middle of Mom and Dad's bed...watching him pack his single, brown leather backpack.  He would often ask me what I was going to do at school, and we'd participate in random banter.  When he was finished, he'd place his bag by the front door, kiss my mother, sister and I goodbye, put his black Reeboks on...and leave.  I would stand at the screen door, wave--and watch his green Cadillac STS drive down Deerpath Road. These were the days, where I really have to give my Mother mad props.  She did everything.  Made dinner, took us to practice, helped with homework, taught me how to ride a bike.  She was a one woman act when Dad was gone...and for that she is amazing.

I digress...per the usual.

So my lunches.  When Dad did come home from his business trips, it was back to sandwich  making.  Mostly because, Mom never really did enjoy making lunches.  She did it, but it wasn't her favorite Mom thing to do.  I remember Dad's lunches around the holidays.  I'd flip open the lid of my blue lunchbox to find candy in addition to my Diet Pepsi, sandwich and chips (yes, I drank Diet Pepsi as a kid...back off me).  Sometimes, though--there would be other hidden treasures in there, along with my meal.  One day, I opened the box to find a yellow Post-It with a note scrawled in Dad's all too familiar messy handwriting.  It took me a minute to make it all out, but it was simple, and special:

Merry Christmas Boo Bear.  Have a great day. Love, Dad. 

Underneath the Post-It was a small clear baggy with what seemed to be a necklace inside.  I quickly pushed aside the other items in my lunchbox, and picked up the clear baggy.  It was, indeed a necklace.  Undoubtedly purchased in an airport somewhere. Regardless, it was awesome.  Hanging, on a red string, was what seemed to me, to be a Christmas Mouse.  He had mittens on--and a hat...but that wasn't all.  This mouse, was inside the smallest plastic snow globe.  When you shook it, everything sparkled around him; and in that moment---everything was perfect.

Now, maybe I am analyzing this mouse in a snow globe too much.  However, there's about to be some more analysis up in here---so if you're not up for it...then stop reading......now.

For many years (I would say grades 3-5) I wore the snow globe mouse necklace around the holidays.  I really didn't care what anyone else thought about my mouse.  I thought it was awesome.  When I couldn't wear the necklace anymore, I placed it in my jewelry box--and every so often would pull it out and shake the glitter around--just to see everything come alive. I'm not sure where this necklace is now. I bet it's somewhere in my storage unit---sitting with the rest of my personal belongings. 

A few weeks ago, my Dad had a severe bloody nose. It bled all day, to the point where nothing would stop it. So, with tampon in nose, I took him to the ER. We sat there for hours, as the doctor attempted multiple remedies for his bloody nose. In between these different remedies, Dad and I would banter back and forth, per the usual. He then said something (and I can't remember quite what it was---so I'll give you the basis of it) that got the wheels in my head turning:

"I can't wait to have grandchildren, so I can teach them everything and then give them back to you...."

I just smiled and nodded. Deep down inside, it broke my heart. Not for me, but for him. I've always imagined that I would get married and have children---and that both of my parents would be able to participate in these joys. Yet, here I am, just starting over. Learning what it is to be young---because I was old for so long. I'm not sure if that makes sense---but it's the only way I can explain it. 

A few months ago, I wrote about the pressures I was putting on myself to find someone and settle down. When I really paused to think about the way I feel sometimes, the only way I could think to explain it---was to compare it to my snow globe necklace. I sometimes feel that I'm that mouse. Just chillin. Stuck inside the glass (or in the mouse's case, plastic), watching the world go on around me. In that world, people grow, they find new paths, they change. In my glass world, things stay the same---and yet I continue to watch. Everything seems monotonous....until, someone shakes that world up. The quake revealing nothing but glitter. A change. Beauty. However, eventually that all settles---and it's business once again. 

So I thought about this analogy. A lot. Some of it rings true. Yet, I could compare this to the life of anyone I know. A typical day-in-the-life is not all fireworks and acrobatics. It's life, and whether I would like to admit it or not, writing this post has helped me to realize something:

I am changing. More and more each day. 

I know I want many of the things that others have: love, a family of my own...but I've also realized that right now I need to have other priorities. The world may be moving around me, but I'm running just as fast to catch up with it. Perhaps, I need to find my own pace instead of trying to keep up with the world. 

I hope that someday, my Mother and Father will be able to experience the joys of grandchildren. I sometimes feel as though I let them down when everything fell apart last year. I pray, that my dad will be around to walk me down the aisle someday---and to dance with me on that special day. But, you know what? For right now, I'm going to be young. I'm going to keep making the changes that I see fit, in order to be able to enjoy myself, love myself, find myself. 

I'm already miles ahead of where I was this time last year. At this rate, I've broken through that glass---and have hit the ground running. I've kept a little glitter, though, because what's life without a little glitter?

A.

Thursday, February 13, 2014

You're Pulling the Trigger All Wrong....

In my last blog, I sort of left you all hanging.  Perhaps some of you weren't sure what you should do with your hands. 

**Inside joke...as always say (in awkward moments) 'I don't know what to do with my hands.'**

So what I am about to say, took awhile to formulate in my brain.  There have many thought provoking conversations....with myself...usually in the shower.  Yep, that's where I do about 65.7% of my thinking.  The rest is broken down during driving, and staring off into space at work during infrequent moments of downtime. In all honestly, I don't even know if I want to talk about this anymore.  Mostly because I feel somewhat fired up these days--and I am not in the right kind of mood....but, I must deliver---so here it goes.

I guess what I really want to talk about, is a certain aspect of character.  Or maybe I should call it a piece of human nature?  Either way you want to look at it, I suppose I want to talk about friendship.  How we build and maintain them, what goes wrong and what goes right.

In my last post, I told the story of my friend 'Jane.'  If you didn't read, the short version mine and Jane's story is that we were friends that grew up together.  We only got along on her terms, she was mean, I bent over backwards to try and be her friend---and in the end I realized it wasn't worth it and basically cut off all contact with Jane.  The end.  The truth of the matter is, we all encounter tough relationships at one point or another.  Unless you're a hermit, or a complete recluse, you've most likely come into contact with some kind of conflict with another human being.  In all honesty, who likes conflict?  It's uncomfortable, and, either one--or even all of the individuals involved in the disagreement are to blame.  It's tough and it can be tumultous...causing that firey feeling in your stomach. 

To me, friendships are important--because they're people you can turn to during some of the worst times. Not that I am discounting family--because mine has definitely been there for me this past year and a half. Friendship is different, because you build them based off of your identity. To me, you grow into your friendships, and, sometimes you unfortunately grow out of them. Much like that favorite shirt you once had as a child. It once fit you perfectly, and now it's too short, or too tight.  The fact of the matter is, it just doesn't fit you anymore--and that's that.

I'm not writing this because I'm currently in conflict with anyone.  I'm writing this because I've been very reflective (lately) when it comes to friendship--and how mine have changed over the past 26 years of my life.  You make friends in grade school, and when you get to high school, they act like they don't know you when you pass them in the hall.  You go to college, and you make friends in dorms and in classes--some of which you still speak to this very day. You get into a relationship with someone, and when things go South, some of those friendships are lost.  I've been very lucky on that front, however, because those continue to be very strong (with most). All in all, your relationships change, just as you change.  It's part of life. 

However, the dynamic of friendships do become very interesting (also) over time--much like a relationship.  You see, the more time you spend with someone, the more you get to know the true person.  Over time you get to see if they're loyal, honest and unfaltering.  Most of us are lucky to have friends like that.  Yet, sometimes you get the friends that are manipulative.  Those are the worst kind, because you never know where they're coming from.  Are they honest in what they're saying, or are they trying to find a way to use you to their advantage?  These people, will do anything in their power to make themselves look better--no matter what the cost--these people will always come out on top. Manipulative people, much like Jane was, are in their very nature weak humans.  They feed off of others, who might be vulnerable in their own way in order to make themselves stronger.   After Jane, I had a friend like this. A person with whom I had a connection through a mutal friend.  Most would think that I learned from my past friendship experience(s).  However, I mostly let this individual get away with anything.  Until one day, I wasn't really sad about the friendship and the way it was going.  I was pissed.  I didn't care if this person was in my life anymore because when it really came down to it, I could live without the constant back and forth.  I could contribute that to a lot of things, and many of the changes I went through the past year.  Even so, at the end of the day--I just didn't give a shit.  I didn't give a shit about this person, I didn't give a shit about our friendship--and honestly didn't shed any tears over the posibility of never seeing this friend again.   

I didn't give a shit, and I don't.

It's funny, because I used to.  I give a shit about many things--and I still let people get under my skin.  ALL OF THE TIME.  That's the person I am I guess. I have said it before: I care too much about what other people think.  I've been somewhat of a doormat--and I will be the first to admit it.  Yet, a recent situation forced me to really think about who I want to be and how I want to be perceived by others.  After much reflection, I came to a conclusion:

If I don't WANT to do something, I am just not going to do it. End of story.  Plain and simple.

I've never been a difficult person, and I will give you the shirt off of my back if you need it--and I care about you (as long as I am wearing a tank top or something--because walking around topless in just a bra is both weird and uncomfortable).  I have just come to the realization that, I don't have to do everything that a person asks, especially if I don't want to, and especially if it puts me out.

At the end of the day, the advice I can offer you is this:

Friendship is a beautiful thing, but it's all about give and take.  It's also about understanding the give and take--and learning how to balance each.  Without balance, resentment is inevitable. Either way, balance is always a good thing.  Give and take, win some lose some, etc., etc. 

Hope everyone has a fantabulous Valentine's Day.  I'll be reminiscing about Al Capone, and my blog around this time last year. Mostly, I'll be thinking about how much I've grown--and how proud I am of the person I am becoming each and every day.

A.

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Janie's Got a Gun---Not Really---but it seemed like a funny title...

When I was in grade school, I had this friend.  We’re going to call her Jane. When she wanted to be, Jane was a great friend.  She was funny and had all of the coolest stuff.  We had known each other since we were little, and often had the same teachers.  We were even placed in the same ‘hall’ at Woodland.

Jane was an only child, not by choice, but by unfortunate consequence. Her elder sibling was killed in an accident.  This affected her for quite some time. The accident in question involved a motorcycle—something she was very sensitive to.  I understand this sensitivity now, but at 11 years old, it’s somewhat hard to understand what a loss can do to a person.  For example, the word motorcycle couldn’t be uttered.  Ever.  If any of you know me, you know that I grew up in a household where motorcycles pretty much were part of our everyday lives (well, when it was warm outside).  Thus, many of my conversations were surrounded by my weekend activities—which often included motorcycle rides with my dad.   That being said, I often forgot that the topic was unmentionable around her—and screwed up, repeatedly.  After awhile though, the use of the word almost seemed as if it was a reason for her to get mad at me.  A reason for her to alienate and treat me badly.

I remember a specific conversation at lunch, although I am not able to repeat it word for word, I remember sitting at the table, talking about something when I said ‘Motor—cy----cl—‘

I realized as soon as I had said it, that I had made a mistake.  Her eyes got big. With one swift move, she turned her back to me, and didn’t speak or turn around for the rest of the lunch period. She continued the time, chatting with others, while I sat at the end of the table, speaking to no one. When things like this happened, it was almost as if she got enjoyment from pretending I didn’t exist. She did interesting things, like latched on to a mutual friend that we had---and then convinced her to torment me.  They’d write mean letters and leave them in my locker.  They would sit together on the bus for a field trip, in the seat right across from me—and point and laugh. Granted, I sat with other people, I wasn’t a complete loner that didn’t have any friends at all, but they still made a point to make it known, they were trying to be mean.  In the beginning, I was very hurt.  I would apologize for no reason, I would try overly hard to be her friend.  I would be sugary sweet…because I couldn’t stand not being liked.  It was like this fiery ball at the very bottom of my stomach, extending all the way to the top of my chest.  It was there, and I hated it.  As time passed, she continued to show her character. We’d go to these Friday night dances as a group, and then she would run away from me.  It was almost like a game. The dance would end, and I would run to my dad, who stood at the bottom of the stairs in front of the school.  I would cry all the way home.

She would tell lies about me, and tell her mother that I was a bad person.  So we’d be called into these peer mediation meetings, where I would pretty much get harped on the entire time.  I’m not sure when it happened, but something finally just snapped inside me…where I realized I didn’t want to her friend anymore…and that she was a terrible, mean little girl. So I lost it in one of these meetings---and told them, in a very polite, 11 year old way, that Jane was full of bullshit.


We eventually parted ways, and didn't speak to each other any longer. In 7th grade she moved away. Before she left, everyone wrote her a message in a card. I wrote: "I'm sorry we couldn't be friends, wish you the best of luck in the future."  The years went on, and high school came and went.  When Facebook became popular, she friend requested me one day. I accepted.  There was some communication back and forth---and then, one day, she just unfriended me.  Which really didn't upset me much.  It just confirmed that Jane was, who I always knew she was: A Psycho.

This is where I'm going to end this story----

You're probably wondering where this is going, and for a moment there, I did too.  Afterall, I have been writing this blog for like a week now.  Mostly because I am not sure how to say what I want to say.  So stay tuned.....

Hint for the second chapter of this blog...

Personal Character---and maintaining relationships with others.

A.