One of the things that concerned me, once I was able to be concerned about more than surviving, was who I was going to be when I transitioned into a normal life. I know what a normal life should be because I observed how other people lived and I watched movies and read books. The books were an essential part of that, as I was certain that I would eventually find a story that could be my own and that once that story was found, well, I would be better. This was one of my major concerns when I began therapy, although I was unable to share that until deep into the sessions.
I was certain that not being under all of that crap would reveal that I was not a nice person, that it was only the abuse that kept my not-niceness in check. I am not entirely sure who I am, or could be, but there have not been any basic changes in how I feel or behave or think. Comforting.
The truth is that I have changed in other ways. I am less supportive of some of the behaviors that others have towards me. I had a long afternoon with a friend on Thursday. She asked me for help with the problems her recently ended relationship caused. Unfortunately, the end came after years of what she shared were abusive behaviors of her boyfriend. Clearly none of us tell anyone until it is very late, or nearly too late.
It is a sad story, I did get the information she needed and during the process I discovered that she has misrepresented me, told me some truly vicious gossip about a mutual friend, and I think that we are finished. In the past I would not have done anything or stopped helping her, but I am changed in this respect. She has lied about me and, given the nature of the gossip, most likely has done this about our young friend. From my perspective, I cannot afford to have her in my life any more. The third friend I have turned out, something I should have done years ago. The new me does this and I have to admit that I am not entirely sure how I feel about this.
I am becoming a quitter. Friends, jobs, volunteer gigs. What next. Family?
I am disappointing to so many people lately. I do not immediately drop everything and help with whatever they need. I do not give money when someone asks. Well, sometimes I still do, but I am much more careful about giving away what I really do not have.
My therapist tells me that these things are part of regaining myself. Lordy. Just painful. Truth is that whilst I seem to be more protective about myself and my resources, maybe becoming more assertive...only internally so far...and feel that I have the potential to, gosh, not sure, but certainly live more effectively than I have been.
I had a dream last night about doing something social. In my dream I was confident and enjoying myself. I woke thinking that being able to live as I was in that dream would be so nice. I am often struck with how disabled my life is. Living in the cold and dark. Not spending time with my friends, the ones who turned out to be true friends, not going anywhere or doing anything. I received free tickets for the local home and garden show, that begins next week, from the woman who was the realtor for the house. I would love to go, just to see the demonstrations. There are two tickets, I could take a friend. I cannot bear to spend the money for gas and parking, probably less than $15.00. This sucks.
It is just one area where a few dollars could be spent, but I cannot bring myself to do it. I am living poor. I am thinking poor. I am manifesting poor. I am determined to stay hopeful, positive, empowered. I really am. I am thinking and believing that I will not be left with nothing. Maybe that needs to be stated more positively. I am thinking and believing that I will receive my fair share of our joint resources. I need to hold that thought, that I will be fine and just be fine.
In my heart that is not so, but I need to find a way to install a better belief system into that willing heart.
For all of those years I hoped. I never stopped believing and hoping that things would get better, that all the bad stuff would stop and be replaced with, well, maybe not happiness, even I knew better than that, but perhaps by something more benign. Then, I stopped hoping because I knew that it would only get worse, and so I got out.
But, I want hope. I want the belief that I will be fine. I am tired of disappointing myself with all of the negative talk. I say it to myself, some version of a little mantra about how I will be fine, I will receive my share, everything will work out. It will.
I am trying so hard not to say lordy.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Thursday, March 7, 2013
proactive
The last time I tried to apply for help with financial stuff, like food, housing, health care, things like that, I was $49.00 over the amount of income you can have in order to qualify for food assistance. I was $127.00 over for everything else.
So, I had this great idea, after the dismal results whilst apartment hunting, that I would investigate what is available for low-income folk like myself. Even though I am keeping my eye on things working out decently, I thought, heck, it could not hurt to take another look at what might be possible.
I went to the state agency web site and after the initial query part, it indicated that I would qualify for $20-40 in food assistance per month. Cool. So, I did the complete registration and application. The final page was to read and accept their policy statement and then enter my electronic signature.
Part of that policy statement listed the income requirements for receiving services.
I am now only $28.00 over the limit. Close. No cigar. Since I was on the last page, I finished the darn thing. Now I get to wait for the telephone contact from them telling me that I do not qualify. Great. At least I tried, yes?
I next went to another section of the site to look for what they offer in commodities. I do not qualify for that either, but they had a link to a cookbook that uses the commodity food items and I found a couple of nice recipes, so it was not a completely wasted effort.
What I can do is to go to the churches and retirement facilities that offer free lunches on the days when I do not have to work. They accept a goodwill offering, and I will see what they are comfortable accepting. You have to call the site the day before, and I will be doing that tomorrow morning for Monday's lunch. All I have to do is survive this current mess, and no matter how it turns out, at least it will be finished and I can find a part-time job to help with everything.
This should be depressing the hell out of me. It is not. Amazing.
You know what they say. I am strong. I am invincible. I am stubborn.
So, I had this great idea, after the dismal results whilst apartment hunting, that I would investigate what is available for low-income folk like myself. Even though I am keeping my eye on things working out decently, I thought, heck, it could not hurt to take another look at what might be possible.
I went to the state agency web site and after the initial query part, it indicated that I would qualify for $20-40 in food assistance per month. Cool. So, I did the complete registration and application. The final page was to read and accept their policy statement and then enter my electronic signature.
Part of that policy statement listed the income requirements for receiving services.
I am now only $28.00 over the limit. Close. No cigar. Since I was on the last page, I finished the darn thing. Now I get to wait for the telephone contact from them telling me that I do not qualify. Great. At least I tried, yes?
I next went to another section of the site to look for what they offer in commodities. I do not qualify for that either, but they had a link to a cookbook that uses the commodity food items and I found a couple of nice recipes, so it was not a completely wasted effort.
What I can do is to go to the churches and retirement facilities that offer free lunches on the days when I do not have to work. They accept a goodwill offering, and I will see what they are comfortable accepting. You have to call the site the day before, and I will be doing that tomorrow morning for Monday's lunch. All I have to do is survive this current mess, and no matter how it turns out, at least it will be finished and I can find a part-time job to help with everything.
This should be depressing the hell out of me. It is not. Amazing.
You know what they say. I am strong. I am invincible. I am stubborn.
poetry
I write bad poetry. I really do. I am a good poet, but my poems are, well, they are of the bad sort. They do not rhyme most of the time and they are about ordinary life and I am pretty sure that they are interesting only to me. I have shared them with a few people, those who understand the poem-writing-process and I get good feedback. I almost performed some of them once, but left the event before it was my turn, because I knew that strangers would see right through me.
Someone once figuratively compared them to a relatively famous poet, but I am certain that he was making sport of me. He was way too amused to be sincere. However, since the writing of stuff, poems included, is something that I simply have to do on occasion, his disdain and mockery really mean very little. It did not at the time, and even though I remember that, it still holds no energy for me. I think that is probably true for everyone else who just has to write.
There is a little coffee shop near to where I go for therapy, and when I have a bit of extra money I will stop in there for a truly excellently brewed cup of the hot stuff before my head-shrinking-maneuvering-remolding-reconstructing appointments, even when that money should more properly be used for paying the heating bill...oh, the horror that bill continues to be.
You can get a twenty-five cent discount on your coffee purchase by doing something different each day. One day is to answer a trivia question. The first time I went for that discount, the guy working there gave me a fairly complex physics question. I was not able to come even close to the correct answer, so no discount for me. I felt like a failure, seriously, until the next person in line was presented with a question about dogs, for crying out loud. I went from epic fail to wtf in record speed. I still tease the coffee guy about that.
But, Thursdays are sing a song and you save a quarter day. Now, I can sing. When my daughter was in high school she tried to get me to perform in some stupid talent thing, but I cannot sing in front of anyone, which is partly because my ex used to ridicule me for vocalizing around the house, but also because I am shy. Like, really shy. Monumentally shy. People who know me well, get that I am shy, but acquaintances and client never get that, for which I am grateful and because I work really, really hard on overcoming my natural tendencies and make great and sincere efforts to behave like a normal person when I am in public and have to actually interact with people.
So, when the coffee guy told me a few weeks ago that I could save that quarter buck by singing at least a bit of a song, I declined. I also said that I would always make sure to have enough quarters with me when I came to get coffee. I asked him if he just did that on a whim, or if that was the standard discount theme on Thursdays. He said that it was, and I expressed my regret at having asked that my appointments be switched to Thursday. He thought that was hilarious. Fortunately, I have not had the means to buy coffee since then.
I knew that I wanted coffee this morning, but I did not want to deal with not being able to sing, even soto voce. My solution was to write a little poem before I left the house and hope that a tuneless rendition would be acceptable. I mean, all songs really are is some kind of at least pseudo poetry set to music. Really. I wrote a haiku on a sticky note and hoped for the best.
When I got there, he asked if I wanted him to leave room for cream and I replied, no thank you, no cream, no singing. He laughed. He thinks I am funny, bless his heart. Thus heartened, I asked him if I could get the discount if I read a poem. He laughed and said that I could and I said that was great because I had written one just for him that morning. I read the poem and he could not stop laughing (it really was not all that funny, the poem) and nearly forgot to give me the discount. But, he did and I saved twenty-five cents plus tax.
The haiku is:
Coffee discount, sure
But, singing for it, scary
Always have quarters
That is the most I have ever made on a poem.
On a different note, I shared the highroad poem with my therapist this morning. You know, I wrote that thing in just a few minutes. I have read it several times since then, mostly just reading it, but doing so out loud a couple of times. One of the amazing things about us humans is that we often do not know what we truly think or believe until we vocalize it, write it down, or do both. It is often a pretty interesting revelation. Surprising. Often stunning or shocking.
Needless to say...although I guess I am saying...I was very surprised to find that reading it for her this morning was so emotional. I could barely get through it. My vision blurred, throat constricted and most of it was recited in a whisper.
I have done a lot of work in the week since the last appointment. I am not a goal kind of babe, although I imagine that simply trying to get through a difficult day can be manifesting a goal of some kind. But, I made a concerted effort to do some serious thinking, especially with the whole divorce wrap-up-going-nowhere thing. I have to make some decisions about where I am going to live, whether to stay here and struggle with paying the utilities during the winter or move and hope for the best somewhere else. Whether or not to unpack my crap and live the best way I can in this place until the weather improves enough to move. All that stuff.
I am trying to be proactive about the things over which I have any influence. Control, well, I never had that, it was always a tender longing of mine to have some control, some autonomy over anything in my life, but now I am able to make choices and decisions for myself, and I quite like it. I did some apartment searching on-line, although I am conserving gasoline and have not gone driving around looking for rental signs. It was just as depressing and disheartening as the first time, before I stumbled upon the sign in front of this place. I have actual standards for what I want now. It has to be on the first floor. An elevator would be nice, but those kinds of rentals are out of my price range. The landlord or rental agency has to allow cats, because I am not going anywhere without CoolCat. The rental fee has to include heat. It just has to. I lack the ability to assess the insulation factors that make reasonable heating bills possible.
Starting over again someplace new will be initially expensive, but lower utility bills should pay off over time, as when I landed here my expectation is that I would never move again. After much painful and fruitless searching, it might be in my best interest to stay here, save my pennies in order to properly winterize this place as much as possible, along with guilting my landlord into doing some of that himself, you know, being the magnificent tenant that I am and how could he possibly bear to lose me. Like that. Besides, there are so many things I like about this place, discounting the freakishly insane utility bills.
I just do not know.
I also went looking for inspirational stuff, even though that sort of thing repulses me most of the time. All that rah-rah, you go girl crap. Seriously. I had some time between clients yesterday and followed a link sent to me by that one-stop-serves-all business, employment, connection, networking site. Surprisingly, there were some cool things there. Sure, all rah-rah, but I just love me a good platitude, a clever cliche, some snappy chatter. I compiled a few and e-mailed it to myself.
Some of my favorites, although I must admit that most of them made it to the list because they amused me:
The latest on the court-ordered stuff is that my ex is being given one, final chance of manning up and doing the right thing or my attorney is going to file contempt charges against him, the investment companies and his attorney. You know, right from the beginning my attorney told me that I would get my share of our resources. And, I told her that it would not happen, that she did not know him like I did.
She was positive that all of this would work out. She continues to fight for me, and I am grateful, truly, but I have spent more than half of my half of the proceeds from the sale of the house on legal fees. She believes that had I been more forceful, or assertive, or some damn thing from the start, that he would not continue to be in non-compliance with the court orders. I am not convinced of that, because he is manifesting exactly the same behavior that he always has.
I knew all of this would happen. That is why I never refused anything that he wanted during this process. I also know how frustrating this has been for her, but I knew that nothing I did or did not do would change how he operates and it seemed best, still does, to do everything I could to facilitate this whole mess moving along as quickly as possible. The only time I have refused to cooperate is on his wanting me to assume half of the tax liability that he incurred by stealing from the investment funds. He expects me to help pay for his greed. Sounds like double taxation to me.
I have made a forward moving decision about some of this. I am no longer going to express, internally or otherwise, my belief that I will come out of this impoverished.
From now on, like from this very minute, I am stating that I deserve my half of our resources.
I am not accepting one cent less than half of the amount that was in those accounts at the time of the final decree and those final court orders.
I am expressing that I will receive those monies.
I am expressing that I will be in full control of this and that I will no longer have to worry about having enough money to live.
I am a strong, resourceful and deserving person (ah, redundancy, thou be my middle name).
Along with that, I am self-talking about how I will always have what I need and that I can handle any struggle or difficulty that comes my way.
Now, for something different and something that borders on shame, but in the interest of continuing to be honest with myself about everything, I have to admit that I know that success in the whole money mess will not go down well with my ex. Just being practical here. I know that he will become even more incensed than he is now, even though that might seem to be physically and psychologically impossible. I know that resolving this to my benefit has the potential to put me back into physical danger. I am not thrilled about that, but I do have to be concerned with my safety.
So, it is with a heavy and tender and sorrowful heart that I am going to take some actions to help protect myself. I will participate as fully as I am able in the self-protection class that is part of this new support group that I have joined. I am planning on taking an additional series of classes on self-defense. I will be having a discussion in the next few weeks with someone who teaches martial arts, where he will assess my physical condition and decide if I have the strength to take some martial arts training. I will be filing a report with the police department about the potential for harm that I suspect might be part of my life when this mess is resolved. Despite their ineffectiveness, I am considering have protective orders established. I am thinking about other things that I can do to keep myself safe; this aspect might mean that I have to move to a secure building. The thoughts I am having are making me ill. However, I will do whatever I need to do.
It is now after midnight and I think that today is International Women's Day. Bully for us.
Someone once figuratively compared them to a relatively famous poet, but I am certain that he was making sport of me. He was way too amused to be sincere. However, since the writing of stuff, poems included, is something that I simply have to do on occasion, his disdain and mockery really mean very little. It did not at the time, and even though I remember that, it still holds no energy for me. I think that is probably true for everyone else who just has to write.
There is a little coffee shop near to where I go for therapy, and when I have a bit of extra money I will stop in there for a truly excellently brewed cup of the hot stuff before my head-shrinking-maneuvering-remolding-reconstructing appointments, even when that money should more properly be used for paying the heating bill...oh, the horror that bill continues to be.
You can get a twenty-five cent discount on your coffee purchase by doing something different each day. One day is to answer a trivia question. The first time I went for that discount, the guy working there gave me a fairly complex physics question. I was not able to come even close to the correct answer, so no discount for me. I felt like a failure, seriously, until the next person in line was presented with a question about dogs, for crying out loud. I went from epic fail to wtf in record speed. I still tease the coffee guy about that.
But, Thursdays are sing a song and you save a quarter day. Now, I can sing. When my daughter was in high school she tried to get me to perform in some stupid talent thing, but I cannot sing in front of anyone, which is partly because my ex used to ridicule me for vocalizing around the house, but also because I am shy. Like, really shy. Monumentally shy. People who know me well, get that I am shy, but acquaintances and client never get that, for which I am grateful and because I work really, really hard on overcoming my natural tendencies and make great and sincere efforts to behave like a normal person when I am in public and have to actually interact with people.
So, when the coffee guy told me a few weeks ago that I could save that quarter buck by singing at least a bit of a song, I declined. I also said that I would always make sure to have enough quarters with me when I came to get coffee. I asked him if he just did that on a whim, or if that was the standard discount theme on Thursdays. He said that it was, and I expressed my regret at having asked that my appointments be switched to Thursday. He thought that was hilarious. Fortunately, I have not had the means to buy coffee since then.
I knew that I wanted coffee this morning, but I did not want to deal with not being able to sing, even soto voce. My solution was to write a little poem before I left the house and hope that a tuneless rendition would be acceptable. I mean, all songs really are is some kind of at least pseudo poetry set to music. Really. I wrote a haiku on a sticky note and hoped for the best.
When I got there, he asked if I wanted him to leave room for cream and I replied, no thank you, no cream, no singing. He laughed. He thinks I am funny, bless his heart. Thus heartened, I asked him if I could get the discount if I read a poem. He laughed and said that I could and I said that was great because I had written one just for him that morning. I read the poem and he could not stop laughing (it really was not all that funny, the poem) and nearly forgot to give me the discount. But, he did and I saved twenty-five cents plus tax.
The haiku is:
Coffee discount, sure
But, singing for it, scary
Always have quarters
That is the most I have ever made on a poem.
On a different note, I shared the highroad poem with my therapist this morning. You know, I wrote that thing in just a few minutes. I have read it several times since then, mostly just reading it, but doing so out loud a couple of times. One of the amazing things about us humans is that we often do not know what we truly think or believe until we vocalize it, write it down, or do both. It is often a pretty interesting revelation. Surprising. Often stunning or shocking.
Needless to say...although I guess I am saying...I was very surprised to find that reading it for her this morning was so emotional. I could barely get through it. My vision blurred, throat constricted and most of it was recited in a whisper.
I have done a lot of work in the week since the last appointment. I am not a goal kind of babe, although I imagine that simply trying to get through a difficult day can be manifesting a goal of some kind. But, I made a concerted effort to do some serious thinking, especially with the whole divorce wrap-up-going-nowhere thing. I have to make some decisions about where I am going to live, whether to stay here and struggle with paying the utilities during the winter or move and hope for the best somewhere else. Whether or not to unpack my crap and live the best way I can in this place until the weather improves enough to move. All that stuff.
I am trying to be proactive about the things over which I have any influence. Control, well, I never had that, it was always a tender longing of mine to have some control, some autonomy over anything in my life, but now I am able to make choices and decisions for myself, and I quite like it. I did some apartment searching on-line, although I am conserving gasoline and have not gone driving around looking for rental signs. It was just as depressing and disheartening as the first time, before I stumbled upon the sign in front of this place. I have actual standards for what I want now. It has to be on the first floor. An elevator would be nice, but those kinds of rentals are out of my price range. The landlord or rental agency has to allow cats, because I am not going anywhere without CoolCat. The rental fee has to include heat. It just has to. I lack the ability to assess the insulation factors that make reasonable heating bills possible.
Starting over again someplace new will be initially expensive, but lower utility bills should pay off over time, as when I landed here my expectation is that I would never move again. After much painful and fruitless searching, it might be in my best interest to stay here, save my pennies in order to properly winterize this place as much as possible, along with guilting my landlord into doing some of that himself, you know, being the magnificent tenant that I am and how could he possibly bear to lose me. Like that. Besides, there are so many things I like about this place, discounting the freakishly insane utility bills.
I just do not know.
I also went looking for inspirational stuff, even though that sort of thing repulses me most of the time. All that rah-rah, you go girl crap. Seriously. I had some time between clients yesterday and followed a link sent to me by that one-stop-serves-all business, employment, connection, networking site. Surprisingly, there were some cool things there. Sure, all rah-rah, but I just love me a good platitude, a clever cliche, some snappy chatter. I compiled a few and e-mailed it to myself.
Some of my favorites, although I must admit that most of them made it to the list because they amused me:
- Be Brave, Imaginative and Decent
- There Are No Make or Break Decisions
- You Can't Be Everything to Everybody
- Follow your instincts
- Make Sure Your Journey Is Worth Traveling
- Speak Even if Everyone Else Is Silent
- Feed the Eagles and Starve the Turkeys
- Three questions:
Are you happy with your job?
Are you happy where you live?
Are you happy who you’re with (that could mean friends, spouse, partner, etc).
If you answer Yes to at least two out of three, you found your spot for the moment.
If not, you need to make a change to one of them. - Do as you would be done by.
- Accept Responsibility, and Good Things Will Happen
- Be intentional
The latest on the court-ordered stuff is that my ex is being given one, final chance of manning up and doing the right thing or my attorney is going to file contempt charges against him, the investment companies and his attorney. You know, right from the beginning my attorney told me that I would get my share of our resources. And, I told her that it would not happen, that she did not know him like I did.
She was positive that all of this would work out. She continues to fight for me, and I am grateful, truly, but I have spent more than half of my half of the proceeds from the sale of the house on legal fees. She believes that had I been more forceful, or assertive, or some damn thing from the start, that he would not continue to be in non-compliance with the court orders. I am not convinced of that, because he is manifesting exactly the same behavior that he always has.
I knew all of this would happen. That is why I never refused anything that he wanted during this process. I also know how frustrating this has been for her, but I knew that nothing I did or did not do would change how he operates and it seemed best, still does, to do everything I could to facilitate this whole mess moving along as quickly as possible. The only time I have refused to cooperate is on his wanting me to assume half of the tax liability that he incurred by stealing from the investment funds. He expects me to help pay for his greed. Sounds like double taxation to me.
I have made a forward moving decision about some of this. I am no longer going to express, internally or otherwise, my belief that I will come out of this impoverished.
From now on, like from this very minute, I am stating that I deserve my half of our resources.
I am not accepting one cent less than half of the amount that was in those accounts at the time of the final decree and those final court orders.
I am expressing that I will receive those monies.
I am expressing that I will be in full control of this and that I will no longer have to worry about having enough money to live.
I am a strong, resourceful and deserving person (ah, redundancy, thou be my middle name).
Along with that, I am self-talking about how I will always have what I need and that I can handle any struggle or difficulty that comes my way.
Now, for something different and something that borders on shame, but in the interest of continuing to be honest with myself about everything, I have to admit that I know that success in the whole money mess will not go down well with my ex. Just being practical here. I know that he will become even more incensed than he is now, even though that might seem to be physically and psychologically impossible. I know that resolving this to my benefit has the potential to put me back into physical danger. I am not thrilled about that, but I do have to be concerned with my safety.
So, it is with a heavy and tender and sorrowful heart that I am going to take some actions to help protect myself. I will participate as fully as I am able in the self-protection class that is part of this new support group that I have joined. I am planning on taking an additional series of classes on self-defense. I will be having a discussion in the next few weeks with someone who teaches martial arts, where he will assess my physical condition and decide if I have the strength to take some martial arts training. I will be filing a report with the police department about the potential for harm that I suspect might be part of my life when this mess is resolved. Despite their ineffectiveness, I am considering have protective orders established. I am thinking about other things that I can do to keep myself safe; this aspect might mean that I have to move to a secure building. The thoughts I am having are making me ill. However, I will do whatever I need to do.
It is now after midnight and I think that today is International Women's Day. Bully for us.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
better
I am much less upset this morning. Less worried. Less scared. I am thinking that the mood-altering pumpkin bread I made for dinner last night helped. I ate half of it. Yeah. Food is my drug of choice.
Since last year I have been trying to set little goals, things that are achievable without stressing me beyond my ability to cope. This digresses, but I it is increasingly difficult to quantify how bad things were or are. I keep thinking about when it was worse or the worst or really bad and when that might have been.
I have experienced happiness, even joy and pleasure, during the past several decades. I do not think that I could have survived without that, those occasions, those moments. Part of that was just plain survival. If I was not sharing anything with anyone, then I had to at least appear to be a normal person with a normal life.
I did that, with varying degrees of success, and the thing that I bring out of that time is that I am a big, fat liar. I lied my ass off to appear like a normal person. I am not even sure what a normal person is supposed to be or look like. I did my best.
That life of deception, well, I am beginning to understand it, although accepting it is something that is not going to happen. It shames me. It makes everything I do and say suspect; maybe not to other people, but always to me. Or, maybe it does make me a liar, once a liar, always a liar, to others. If I was so good at hiding all of the bad stuff, went about my life without a lot of apparent difficulty, then one has to wonder what that was all about. Normal people get themselves out of the kind of life I had. I did not do that for nearly forty-five years. So, it could not have been all that bad, right?
It does not help that those sentiments and thoughts have been said to me. Surely, if it was so bad, you would have left. Certainly, it could not have been all that horrible if you stayed. Of course, no self-respecting person would stay under those conditions. Condescending. Pitying. Unbelieving. And, that is why, after I left and people asked me what it was all about, that I never shared anything beyond the conversations with those three people. I would simply explain the whole not living in my old house as that I was getting a divorce, and leaving it at that, even, most especially, if someone asked for more information. I had to cut a few people out of my life because all they wanted was the gory details. My suffering seemed to increase their satisfaction somehow. Maybe it was being able to compare my crap life with their lives and thinking that what they had was not so bad.
I would always be resolved to not share stuff with them, but when they started asking probing questions, I eventually caved. Not because of their skills at persistence, but because of my need to get some of that stuff out. I still have that compulsion, although I have learned to control it. After I was safely out of that situation I truly was compelled to share, to spew, to just about anyone. Totally inappropriate, and whilst it did not last long, it is another aspect of shame that I carry, that I was so needy and so desperate.
Whatever it was, it was not helping me. I felt used somehow, and those folk are gone. They cannot contact me because I have a different telephone number, they do not know where I live and when I run into them I am too busy, too rushed to have a conversation with me. I know that makes me a bad person, but it is what I have to do.
I am a late-bloomer in nearly every aspect of my life, but those three people bumped up my learning curve, and I have never made that mistake again, the mistake of trusting that people who I thought knew me and would support me, would be there for me. Huge fail and even larger learning experience.
The only safe places have been the (now) two support groups and therapy, and, maybe, two of my friends, but I am not positive about the friends. Oh, and here is a safe place, because this is so anonymous. Three on-line friends read here occasionally, and that is great. It should not seem as though having someone reading all of this crap would be important, but it is. It means that I am not just spewing into the ether. Even though those three people do not know me in real life, they do not judge me or what I am able to share.
So, big picture, I am better. I still need to keep setting goals, even it that is only to get through a difficult day. And, I did some thinking last night about how I want to handle the crap from my ex. My attorney is handling things well, fortunately, as I am unable to do that. Those people have this one, last chance to man-up before she takes it back to the courts. Great. I need the money to survive, but going back into court, the thought of it puts me into full-panic-mode. I swear.
So, I am thinking and one of the areas is how I have to stop self-medicating with food. Last night I could not eat dinner, so I made pumpkin bread, my healthy recipe one, but it is still pumpkin bread. It is mostly eggs and pumpkin, with just enough flour and spices to hold it together. I ate half of it. I am on the verge of eating the other half, but am going to wait until after I go out and shovel the most recent snowfall. We are supposed to get, and it is already looking like that will happen, at least seven more inches, and I have to remove it every time it gets to two inches because there simply is no place to put the stuff anymore.
Food. I have not been to the market for a week or so, and I will be eating from my pantry. When I get back in the house I will be making mac and cheese, and most likely eating more pumpkin bread whilst that cooks. And, the noodle thing reminded me of one of those happier times in my married life.
My ex would not eat many different foods. That meant that our meals were just what he wanted to eat. No deviations from the acceptable menu choices. I did add healthier side dishes and salads. He ignored or criticized those, but as long as the bulk of the meal was what he liked, we managed. Mostly.
Anyway, the elbow macaroni for today's lunch and dinner reminded me of those wheel-shaped macaroni things. I loved chili, insanely loved it, still do. My ex would not eat it, claimed that even the smell of it made him sick. One day I found that wheel pasta and thought that if I used those and renamed chili to cowboy stew, that maybe I could sneak chili onto the meal plan.
Well, it worked. Chili was still the recipe I liked and which had been soundly rejected by my ex, but the addition of those noodles made all the difference. Cowboy stew was a rounding success and he requested it regularly.
Now, that is a happy memory, one of the things that eventually becomes a warm and much beloved family story. And, to some extent it did, although once I share what I had done (eternally stupid am I), he never ate it again, but it pleased me that our daughter continued to like it and I still made it sometimes for the two of us when he was away.
That is cool, yes? Yeah, it is. It is a mostly happy memory, and it makes me want to honor more of those. I have plenty. Those stories carry the burden of grief and suffering, but they were, at least momentarily, light-hearted family stories of fun and happiness. I need to gather more of those memories. I need the perspective. I need to find a way to continue to forgive my ex. That is essential. I do not hate him and I cannot allow that to be a possibility. We have a daughter and hatred for him cannot be a part of my feelings, because even if I never express it to her, or anyone, strong and negative emotions are not helpful to anyone and most surely would eventually filter into my words and actions. I refuse to self-poison myself. I have had quite enough of that from the outside, I do not need to internalize hatred and allow it to erode my beliefs, my ethics, much less my behavior or words or behavior. And, that would happen.
So, I am off to move some more snow around, then inside for tea and a nice shower whilst the mac and cheese bubbles away. I read something, I think it was last year, about baking mac and cheese in a shallow sheet pan. It bakes more quickly and you end up with four times the amount of browned and chewy top and crispy edge pieces than you would in a regular casserole pan. I can hardly wait. CoolCat likes only the creamy and soft centers, so I will mound it up in the middle of the pan so that there is plenty for him.
Since last year I have been trying to set little goals, things that are achievable without stressing me beyond my ability to cope. This digresses, but I it is increasingly difficult to quantify how bad things were or are. I keep thinking about when it was worse or the worst or really bad and when that might have been.
I have experienced happiness, even joy and pleasure, during the past several decades. I do not think that I could have survived without that, those occasions, those moments. Part of that was just plain survival. If I was not sharing anything with anyone, then I had to at least appear to be a normal person with a normal life.
I did that, with varying degrees of success, and the thing that I bring out of that time is that I am a big, fat liar. I lied my ass off to appear like a normal person. I am not even sure what a normal person is supposed to be or look like. I did my best.
That life of deception, well, I am beginning to understand it, although accepting it is something that is not going to happen. It shames me. It makes everything I do and say suspect; maybe not to other people, but always to me. Or, maybe it does make me a liar, once a liar, always a liar, to others. If I was so good at hiding all of the bad stuff, went about my life without a lot of apparent difficulty, then one has to wonder what that was all about. Normal people get themselves out of the kind of life I had. I did not do that for nearly forty-five years. So, it could not have been all that bad, right?
It does not help that those sentiments and thoughts have been said to me. Surely, if it was so bad, you would have left. Certainly, it could not have been all that horrible if you stayed. Of course, no self-respecting person would stay under those conditions. Condescending. Pitying. Unbelieving. And, that is why, after I left and people asked me what it was all about, that I never shared anything beyond the conversations with those three people. I would simply explain the whole not living in my old house as that I was getting a divorce, and leaving it at that, even, most especially, if someone asked for more information. I had to cut a few people out of my life because all they wanted was the gory details. My suffering seemed to increase their satisfaction somehow. Maybe it was being able to compare my crap life with their lives and thinking that what they had was not so bad.
I would always be resolved to not share stuff with them, but when they started asking probing questions, I eventually caved. Not because of their skills at persistence, but because of my need to get some of that stuff out. I still have that compulsion, although I have learned to control it. After I was safely out of that situation I truly was compelled to share, to spew, to just about anyone. Totally inappropriate, and whilst it did not last long, it is another aspect of shame that I carry, that I was so needy and so desperate.
Whatever it was, it was not helping me. I felt used somehow, and those folk are gone. They cannot contact me because I have a different telephone number, they do not know where I live and when I run into them I am too busy, too rushed to have a conversation with me. I know that makes me a bad person, but it is what I have to do.
I am a late-bloomer in nearly every aspect of my life, but those three people bumped up my learning curve, and I have never made that mistake again, the mistake of trusting that people who I thought knew me and would support me, would be there for me. Huge fail and even larger learning experience.
The only safe places have been the (now) two support groups and therapy, and, maybe, two of my friends, but I am not positive about the friends. Oh, and here is a safe place, because this is so anonymous. Three on-line friends read here occasionally, and that is great. It should not seem as though having someone reading all of this crap would be important, but it is. It means that I am not just spewing into the ether. Even though those three people do not know me in real life, they do not judge me or what I am able to share.
So, big picture, I am better. I still need to keep setting goals, even it that is only to get through a difficult day. And, I did some thinking last night about how I want to handle the crap from my ex. My attorney is handling things well, fortunately, as I am unable to do that. Those people have this one, last chance to man-up before she takes it back to the courts. Great. I need the money to survive, but going back into court, the thought of it puts me into full-panic-mode. I swear.
So, I am thinking and one of the areas is how I have to stop self-medicating with food. Last night I could not eat dinner, so I made pumpkin bread, my healthy recipe one, but it is still pumpkin bread. It is mostly eggs and pumpkin, with just enough flour and spices to hold it together. I ate half of it. I am on the verge of eating the other half, but am going to wait until after I go out and shovel the most recent snowfall. We are supposed to get, and it is already looking like that will happen, at least seven more inches, and I have to remove it every time it gets to two inches because there simply is no place to put the stuff anymore.
Food. I have not been to the market for a week or so, and I will be eating from my pantry. When I get back in the house I will be making mac and cheese, and most likely eating more pumpkin bread whilst that cooks. And, the noodle thing reminded me of one of those happier times in my married life.
My ex would not eat many different foods. That meant that our meals were just what he wanted to eat. No deviations from the acceptable menu choices. I did add healthier side dishes and salads. He ignored or criticized those, but as long as the bulk of the meal was what he liked, we managed. Mostly.
Anyway, the elbow macaroni for today's lunch and dinner reminded me of those wheel-shaped macaroni things. I loved chili, insanely loved it, still do. My ex would not eat it, claimed that even the smell of it made him sick. One day I found that wheel pasta and thought that if I used those and renamed chili to cowboy stew, that maybe I could sneak chili onto the meal plan.
Well, it worked. Chili was still the recipe I liked and which had been soundly rejected by my ex, but the addition of those noodles made all the difference. Cowboy stew was a rounding success and he requested it regularly.
Now, that is a happy memory, one of the things that eventually becomes a warm and much beloved family story. And, to some extent it did, although once I share what I had done (eternally stupid am I), he never ate it again, but it pleased me that our daughter continued to like it and I still made it sometimes for the two of us when he was away.
That is cool, yes? Yeah, it is. It is a mostly happy memory, and it makes me want to honor more of those. I have plenty. Those stories carry the burden of grief and suffering, but they were, at least momentarily, light-hearted family stories of fun and happiness. I need to gather more of those memories. I need the perspective. I need to find a way to continue to forgive my ex. That is essential. I do not hate him and I cannot allow that to be a possibility. We have a daughter and hatred for him cannot be a part of my feelings, because even if I never express it to her, or anyone, strong and negative emotions are not helpful to anyone and most surely would eventually filter into my words and actions. I refuse to self-poison myself. I have had quite enough of that from the outside, I do not need to internalize hatred and allow it to erode my beliefs, my ethics, much less my behavior or words or behavior. And, that would happen.
So, I am off to move some more snow around, then inside for tea and a nice shower whilst the mac and cheese bubbles away. I read something, I think it was last year, about baking mac and cheese in a shallow sheet pan. It bakes more quickly and you end up with four times the amount of browned and chewy top and crispy edge pieces than you would in a regular casserole pan. I can hardly wait. CoolCat likes only the creamy and soft centers, so I will mound it up in the middle of the pan so that there is plenty for him.
Monday, March 4, 2013
neverending
This crap will never end. I can write all the self-empowerment poetry, think all the positive thoughts, release all of my fears and vulnerability and it will not make a fucking bit of difference.
The latest from my attorney today is that my ex is still insisting that I file joint income taxes with him for last year. I am not doing that, as I would have to pay for the tax liabilities he incurred by fucking me over with the investments. He continues to remain in non-compliance with the court orders...all of the damn things...and my best guess is that he is planning on my usual compliance, doing whatever he wants, however he wants it done, without comment or resistance of any kind.
Those days are over.
Unfortunately, taxes must be filed by the middle of April. Fuck.
Between the gutting of the investments and the insane amount of money I have already spent on attorney fees, well, all of this is so distressing. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckityfuck.
When the next utility bill arrives I will probably have a break-down. And, I found out today that I have to stop looking for a job (not that I have had any luck for the past seven months) because if I am gainfully employed before this is resolved that status could complicate things.
Complicate? This will never be resolved. He is keeping me tied to him with all of this stuff and will not be happy until I am destitute. I want to hate him so much and I just cannot get beyond the pain to a place where I can fully despise him. Not even a little.
Maybe I am improperly medicated.
And, I was trying to do something different, like make dinner using an actual recipe. Epic fail and now I have wasted those resources as well
The latest from my attorney today is that my ex is still insisting that I file joint income taxes with him for last year. I am not doing that, as I would have to pay for the tax liabilities he incurred by fucking me over with the investments. He continues to remain in non-compliance with the court orders...all of the damn things...and my best guess is that he is planning on my usual compliance, doing whatever he wants, however he wants it done, without comment or resistance of any kind.
Those days are over.
Unfortunately, taxes must be filed by the middle of April. Fuck.
Between the gutting of the investments and the insane amount of money I have already spent on attorney fees, well, all of this is so distressing. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckityfuck.
When the next utility bill arrives I will probably have a break-down. And, I found out today that I have to stop looking for a job (not that I have had any luck for the past seven months) because if I am gainfully employed before this is resolved that status could complicate things.
Complicate? This will never be resolved. He is keeping me tied to him with all of this stuff and will not be happy until I am destitute. I want to hate him so much and I just cannot get beyond the pain to a place where I can fully despise him. Not even a little.
Maybe I am improperly medicated.
And, I was trying to do something different, like make dinner using an actual recipe. Epic fail and now I have wasted those resources as well
Saturday, March 2, 2013
prioritizing
So, anyway, there is this thing called Wordle. It creates this cloud thing using words that you choose to enter or it will harvest the most commonly used words from a web site. Like this one.
I used it years ago to illustrate the tenor of the conversations on some of the medical sites I created for people. It is cool, yes, but it also is very telling in what kinds of words we use when the purpose of the words is to be part of the process of whatever the hell any of us are doing on-line.
I was surprised to accidentally stumble across it today, and decided to enter this site's URL and see what would happen.
Lordy. What a wake-up call. It was so alarming to find what a whiney bitch I am that the only recourse was to put it here. Make it public, relatively speaking. Take some responsibility for how I am not moving forward as much as I would like. Sure, this space is for unreservedly spewing, but I guess I thought that I was making some progress, or at least more than I actually have.
I recolored the most used word in red and then did the same for the words that I wish I had used more. The more hopeful ones. More productive. More forward-moving.
Nowhere on there is hope or belief or trust. I have looked and looked and love is not there. However, lobster is and I have absolutely no idea where the heck that came from. Not sure that I want to know, but I think it might have been when I was grousing about what the 'haves' have, as opposed to what the 'have-nots' like me do not have. Probably some class-ist babbling. Sour grapes. Like that.
Bottom line is that it is what it is. Simple as that. Will having done this, finding this information have any effect on what I write? Hell, no. It might be part of my consciousness for a while, but I will soon be back to the same-old same-old.
Besides, this is the only place in my life where I can get rid of any of this. My friends, even if I could afford to get together with them, are most likely sick of hearing the constant repetition of my crap. I will not burden my daughter with any of this. My siblings are out of the questions; I am the person to whom they come for help and to unburden themselves. We never worked out how to do it otherwise. I go to therapy once or twice a week and that helps, as well as a support group, but neither of them are the kind of safe places to share what I write here. Even here is not safe enough, all anonymous as it is, to share the really bad stuff. No one will ever hear or read any of that.
Anyway (one of the most used words, by the way), here it is. An interesting way to bare one's soul. I guess.
I used it years ago to illustrate the tenor of the conversations on some of the medical sites I created for people. It is cool, yes, but it also is very telling in what kinds of words we use when the purpose of the words is to be part of the process of whatever the hell any of us are doing on-line.
I was surprised to accidentally stumble across it today, and decided to enter this site's URL and see what would happen.
Lordy. What a wake-up call. It was so alarming to find what a whiney bitch I am that the only recourse was to put it here. Make it public, relatively speaking. Take some responsibility for how I am not moving forward as much as I would like. Sure, this space is for unreservedly spewing, but I guess I thought that I was making some progress, or at least more than I actually have.
I recolored the most used word in red and then did the same for the words that I wish I had used more. The more hopeful ones. More productive. More forward-moving.
Nowhere on there is hope or belief or trust. I have looked and looked and love is not there. However, lobster is and I have absolutely no idea where the heck that came from. Not sure that I want to know, but I think it might have been when I was grousing about what the 'haves' have, as opposed to what the 'have-nots' like me do not have. Probably some class-ist babbling. Sour grapes. Like that.
Bottom line is that it is what it is. Simple as that. Will having done this, finding this information have any effect on what I write? Hell, no. It might be part of my consciousness for a while, but I will soon be back to the same-old same-old.
Besides, this is the only place in my life where I can get rid of any of this. My friends, even if I could afford to get together with them, are most likely sick of hearing the constant repetition of my crap. I will not burden my daughter with any of this. My siblings are out of the questions; I am the person to whom they come for help and to unburden themselves. We never worked out how to do it otherwise. I go to therapy once or twice a week and that helps, as well as a support group, but neither of them are the kind of safe places to share what I write here. Even here is not safe enough, all anonymous as it is, to share the really bad stuff. No one will ever hear or read any of that.
Anyway (one of the most used words, by the way), here it is. An interesting way to bare one's soul. I guess.
 |
| Click on the image to get a better view of the spew. |
Lordy.
Friday, March 1, 2013
highroad
I may be taking the high road on the outside, but on the inside, I want your socks to be full of holes.
I want your undies to shrink.
I want your cable to stop working at the best part of the program.
I want your soup to be too salty.
I want the market to be out of your favorite foods.
I do not ever want you to know what it means to be cold every moment because you cannot afford to run the furnace.
I do not want you to have to count pennies to buy groceries.
I do not want you to be unable to see your daughter, your grandchildren, and their father because you cannot afford to put gas in the car.
I do not want you to never see your friends because of the same gas money issue.
I do not want you to live in the dark because having lights on at night makes you feel too vulnerable.
I do not want you to have had your sister make threats against your life.
I do not want you to be afraid to be outdoors when it gets dark.
I do not want you to experience the lack of love.
I do not want you to live in the kind of suffering you created for me for all of those years.
I do not want you to suffer the pain and loss of having every resource stolen from you because you finally had the courage...or maybe it was simply too much fear to stay...to leave.
I am taking the high road on the outside.
It is more difficult to do so on the inside, but I am working on that.
I live without anger towards anyone.
I am pleased to find ways to live with little money.
I am grateful to share my life with CoolCat.
I appreciate the moments when I can be with my friends.
I am more than grateful to have meaningful, productive and loving work.
I honor the life I now have, mostly because last year I escaped with my life intact.
I live the best I can.
I want your undies to shrink.
I want your cable to stop working at the best part of the program.
I want your soup to be too salty.
I want the market to be out of your favorite foods.
I do not ever want you to know what it means to be cold every moment because you cannot afford to run the furnace.
I do not want you to have to count pennies to buy groceries.
I do not want you to be unable to see your daughter, your grandchildren, and their father because you cannot afford to put gas in the car.
I do not want you to never see your friends because of the same gas money issue.
I do not want you to live in the dark because having lights on at night makes you feel too vulnerable.
I do not want you to have had your sister make threats against your life.
I do not want you to be afraid to be outdoors when it gets dark.
I do not want you to experience the lack of love.
I do not want you to live in the kind of suffering you created for me for all of those years.
I do not want you to suffer the pain and loss of having every resource stolen from you because you finally had the courage...or maybe it was simply too much fear to stay...to leave.
I am taking the high road on the outside.
It is more difficult to do so on the inside, but I am working on that.
I live without anger towards anyone.
I am pleased to find ways to live with little money.
I am grateful to share my life with CoolCat.
I appreciate the moments when I can be with my friends.
I am more than grateful to have meaningful, productive and loving work.
I honor the life I now have, mostly because last year I escaped with my life intact.
I live the best I can.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)