I really, really, really dislike going to the doctor. I hate being sick. I have several long upper-respiratory things every year. Mucus up the you know where. Yes, nose, sinuses and lungs.
Going there today was a pain. I just hate all of it.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Sunday, May 12, 2013
grace
Behaving gracefully is what we do when we are doing our best, manifesting that inner person that we hold as our ideal self and who we hope we can always be.
Every day brings plenty of opportunities to choose who we want to be. Life chips away at our ideal self. It picks at any bit of us that can be reached with a sharp word, a look askance, a sneer, a criticism.
How easy to just let it all go and avoid the struggle to be what other people, those you love and who love you, want you to be and what you want to be for them. Round and round, only the bumps of those few who think that grace is pure weakness. Meanness, triviality-laden and sour of spirit, they do and demand and take exactly what they want.
I am tired. I am worn out doing the right thing. I am not giving up, not letting go, but I am so damn tired. Just as I have decided to say 'no' to the dark, the fear and the passive, I am saying 'yes' to grace.
I am staying on the high road. I earned the right to be here.
That said, yesterday was not horrible, and I mean that in the nicest way. Coffee with friends turned into breakfast. A splurge, yes, but in that moment I was so weary of watching every single penny and I perused, ordered, ate and was satisfied. It was a very nice time, oh, but ordinary life stuff seems, well, it seems trivial and selfish and entitled, and I know that none of it is any of those things.
The things that interest my friends never bothered me before. They all travel and shop and go to the movies, see plays and concerts. All of that, except for a movie or two a year, have always been out of my budget. My traveling consisted of a couple of senior bus trips. My shopping is the charity shops and hanging out and watching my friends shop, which sometimes included a side trip for lunch. I never had the money for a social life, and when I did break out and do something, like those bus trips, there was always hell to pay when I planned them and when I returned.
I am trying to avoid feeling envy. I think myself to be a good and true friend and good and true friends rejoice at their friends' good fortune. I can rejoice with the best, so I do. It is just that even though I was a more joyful rejoicer before, I have to try a bit harder now. So, I am having trouble figuring out why I keep feeling these little twinges of envy. Not only for the trips and all that, but for having an ordinary, less fearful life than mine.
When I was still in my other life, I did not feel even the teeniest smidgen of envy or jealousy about anything. Now I do. It makes me feel small and mean-spirited. I hate it. I struggle. Lordy.
Time at my daughter's was divine, as always. There is not anything better than little boys who run to fetch one another, yelling "grammy's here...grammy's here...grammy's here!" Or a son-in-law who stops lawning (what the boys call mowing the grass) to give me a hug and a daughter who throws her arms around me for hugs and kisses. Because, you know, your baby is always your baby, even if she grows to be taller than you.
She loved her Ottlite, which she can use for her sewing and crafts, but mostly for when she studies at home. She has been using the chandelier light at the dining room table, and that set-up certainly worked, but it was a strain on her eyes. Now she has this full-spectrum light with a base that will hold all of her study stuff as until she finishes her degree and can be used to hold the craft and painting tools she needs. I was ecstatic when I found it on sale and I think she really likes it, too.
She and the boys filled a basket with some beauty stuff I would never buy and I love them. There was also some reduction sauce for meat and, best of all, a large bar of Godiva. And, oh, as for the beauty items, my son-in-law shopped for them the last time he was in England, and included a large tin of tea, which the shop folk told him was the Queen's favorite. And, he added, "See there...it says hearty breakfast. Who doesn't like breakfast?" He says things like this to me all of the time, with a straight face and it just cracks me up.
My daughter received one of her favorite presents. Lego. Yeah, those little stacking blocks that you can assemble into anything. Anything. She gets a set for nearly every occasion. When I left, she and all the boys were at the table, sorting out blocks and instructions and having a great time. Lego time is something they do several times each week, as it is an intimate activity that is tons of fun and brings them even closer together.
It was a nice day and I am pretty sure that I did not offend anyone. I just never know what is going to escape my filters and drop into conversation. I really was tired. I got drive-through food, greasy and delicious on the way home. Played with CoolCat and fell asleep on the sofa. I woke twelve hours later. Fell asleep an hour later, for another four hours. I have been up since then and since I have an appointment with my doctor in the morning, it will soon be antihistamines, zombii book, and bed soon.
Tiring, but it was a day full of grace, mostly unintentional, the natural kind that flows from one heart to another. Today, alone, was not half bad, either.
Every day brings plenty of opportunities to choose who we want to be. Life chips away at our ideal self. It picks at any bit of us that can be reached with a sharp word, a look askance, a sneer, a criticism.
How easy to just let it all go and avoid the struggle to be what other people, those you love and who love you, want you to be and what you want to be for them. Round and round, only the bumps of those few who think that grace is pure weakness. Meanness, triviality-laden and sour of spirit, they do and demand and take exactly what they want.
I am tired. I am worn out doing the right thing. I am not giving up, not letting go, but I am so damn tired. Just as I have decided to say 'no' to the dark, the fear and the passive, I am saying 'yes' to grace.
I am staying on the high road. I earned the right to be here.
That said, yesterday was not horrible, and I mean that in the nicest way. Coffee with friends turned into breakfast. A splurge, yes, but in that moment I was so weary of watching every single penny and I perused, ordered, ate and was satisfied. It was a very nice time, oh, but ordinary life stuff seems, well, it seems trivial and selfish and entitled, and I know that none of it is any of those things.
The things that interest my friends never bothered me before. They all travel and shop and go to the movies, see plays and concerts. All of that, except for a movie or two a year, have always been out of my budget. My traveling consisted of a couple of senior bus trips. My shopping is the charity shops and hanging out and watching my friends shop, which sometimes included a side trip for lunch. I never had the money for a social life, and when I did break out and do something, like those bus trips, there was always hell to pay when I planned them and when I returned.
I am trying to avoid feeling envy. I think myself to be a good and true friend and good and true friends rejoice at their friends' good fortune. I can rejoice with the best, so I do. It is just that even though I was a more joyful rejoicer before, I have to try a bit harder now. So, I am having trouble figuring out why I keep feeling these little twinges of envy. Not only for the trips and all that, but for having an ordinary, less fearful life than mine.
When I was still in my other life, I did not feel even the teeniest smidgen of envy or jealousy about anything. Now I do. It makes me feel small and mean-spirited. I hate it. I struggle. Lordy.
Time at my daughter's was divine, as always. There is not anything better than little boys who run to fetch one another, yelling "grammy's here...grammy's here...grammy's here!" Or a son-in-law who stops lawning (what the boys call mowing the grass) to give me a hug and a daughter who throws her arms around me for hugs and kisses. Because, you know, your baby is always your baby, even if she grows to be taller than you.
She loved her Ottlite, which she can use for her sewing and crafts, but mostly for when she studies at home. She has been using the chandelier light at the dining room table, and that set-up certainly worked, but it was a strain on her eyes. Now she has this full-spectrum light with a base that will hold all of her study stuff as until she finishes her degree and can be used to hold the craft and painting tools she needs. I was ecstatic when I found it on sale and I think she really likes it, too.
She and the boys filled a basket with some beauty stuff I would never buy and I love them. There was also some reduction sauce for meat and, best of all, a large bar of Godiva. And, oh, as for the beauty items, my son-in-law shopped for them the last time he was in England, and included a large tin of tea, which the shop folk told him was the Queen's favorite. And, he added, "See there...it says hearty breakfast. Who doesn't like breakfast?" He says things like this to me all of the time, with a straight face and it just cracks me up.
My daughter received one of her favorite presents. Lego. Yeah, those little stacking blocks that you can assemble into anything. Anything. She gets a set for nearly every occasion. When I left, she and all the boys were at the table, sorting out blocks and instructions and having a great time. Lego time is something they do several times each week, as it is an intimate activity that is tons of fun and brings them even closer together.
It was a nice day and I am pretty sure that I did not offend anyone. I just never know what is going to escape my filters and drop into conversation. I really was tired. I got drive-through food, greasy and delicious on the way home. Played with CoolCat and fell asleep on the sofa. I woke twelve hours later. Fell asleep an hour later, for another four hours. I have been up since then and since I have an appointment with my doctor in the morning, it will soon be antihistamines, zombii book, and bed soon.
Tiring, but it was a day full of grace, mostly unintentional, the natural kind that flows from one heart to another. Today, alone, was not half bad, either.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Last week I was given an assignment to say "no" once each day. I must have looked like I was going to pass out, because the task was reduced to twice during the week. I think that everyone in group must have had the same expression and I could see that the relief was universal, once I managed to resume breathing.
We were asked to report on how the process went for us and, true to form, I had completely forgotten to make that an option. Or, maybe it was an unconscious defense mechanism.
Anyway, I had no trouble remembering several situations when it would have been in my best interest to decline. It really is all about being nice and polite, about having manners and not being a selfish jerk. I always think about the Big Bang Theory episode when the Bernadette character is being bothered by one of the men, he having misunderstood her nice behavior towards him, and she yells back "I'm nice to everyone!!!!!"
That is me, and practically everyone else I know, I am nice to everyone. It is a great way to navigate the world in which I live. I do not want to change that part of me. I have no intention of doing so...ever. But, you know, it means that I often do something or agree to something or get involved in some time-sucking project only because I cannot say that I am not interested in having my time sucked.
The problem is not so much being able to decline to participate in something, but that most of the people asking for whatever they want from you are doing so because they know that you never say 'no' or are unable to do so. Frankly, that is exploitation, no matter how you gussie it up. Sometimes someone is trying to take advantage of your time or resources, sometimes they simply do not know who else to ask and most often, I am thinking, they have no ulterior motives of the dastardly kind.
I pretty much hate going anyplace. In my other life, getting out was a lifesaver on so many levels. Now that I am out of there, being home alone is my favorite thing to do, my ultimate place to be. Please do not drop in. Pretty please do not call me. Oh, help me, I am begging you, do not ask me to leave and do something.
When I first left, I was in hiding and, months later, when I had moved into this flat, all I wanted was to hunker down and stay unnoticed. I still did, and continue to go out for working and all of the other volunteer stuff. Laundry and grocery shopping have to be done. There are the rare appointments and more rare outings with friends. I have managed to organize and coordinate everything so that I have full, ten-hour days on two days of the week, a 3/4 day on one other, and four days with no responsibilities other than getting up late, random eating, napping and playing mah jong. If I am feeling particularly energetic, I may read a book or two.
I need that down time to recover from being out and needing to be extraordinarily social and focused for my clients. As a shy person, this is difficult. It is exhausting. No one cares about that, and I really do not have much invested in it either. It is what it is.
What I am particularly reluctant to do is travel long distances, which I define as more than ten miles. Yeah, I know. That means that I have not spent much time traveling to my daughter and her family. She calls me, I call her, we talk and have nice conversations, but I have stopped offering to come up to see them. This weekend is Mother's Day, and I understand that she wants to celebrate this together. When she called and asked me to spend a day with her I accepted, but my heart is not in it. Totally unacceptable, it is heartless and I am ashamed. I will go and have a wonderful time.
In addition, I am going to leave early and have coffee with my friends. I will be out of the house just as long as I am on a working day. I am going to be flat out beat by the time I get home.
And, whilst is seems as though I am avoiding saying 'no' to these two things, but I realized during this writing that I am really saying 'no' to myself and my reluctance to do something that is difficult.
Doing all of this tomorrow is not a big deal. It is a new beginning, moving towards not needing to hide.
It occurs to me that this is a result of what happened at work two weeks ago. The ambush at work, primarily, and an incident that I accepted as an uncomfortable, but random, situation.
On Friday, I learned that three days before that friend of my ex showed up and grilled me, that same ex was served with and signed a new court document, an amendment to the original final decree for our divorce. I received the notification of this via e-mail, which was followed up by a documentation of the process in a letter from my attorney.
In that letter, she described the negotiations that went on between the ex, his family, their attorney and my attorney. In it, it stated that he would sign the documents only if "offending language" was deleted. As best I can determine, that language that offended him was about how he has defied and refused to comply with every other court order.
This new order is something that I did not want to do. I have already spent a sickening amount of money on this mess and when my attorney proposed doing this I refused. She convinced me that it was necessary, and she explained all of it to me, although I have little memory of what she said. It was too stressful. However, it seems to have worked. The order is awaiting signing by a judge. The documents will then be sent to the financial and investment companies. Then, maybe something will happen. I do not believe it. If, by some miracle, anyone finally complies with anything, well, I cannot commit any energy to belief in that. I have less of that than I have money.
Two more things happened this week. The first is that one of the investment people, a woman that was close friends with my ex, sent me papers to sign, authorizing distribution and transfer of what remains in the funds. I called her and it was clear that she was trying to rush me through the process before the new orders are finished and enforceable. Oh, and the new orders are that I be reimbursed the entire amount of the money he has already taken from the funds and that the remaining funds be equally divided. If that happens, it softens the blow of having had to pay income taxes on what he stole.
The other is that I received a gift in the mail. Some anonymous person has paid for a cremation for me. I called the company, which just happens to be in the small town in which my ex lives, and they refused to give me any information, that they do not provide any for gifts. I asked how often that happens, that someone will gift someone with a cremation and she told me that it is rare, usually something that happens within families and that it was probably done by a family member who wanted to do something nice for me.
Allrighty, except that she does not know that my ex and his sister threatened my life at our final hearing. I am still sticking with my belief that all of it is random. The documents issues followed by the rest. It is that just when you think you have it together, that you get something, the Universe will come along with another learning opportunity to make sure that the lesson has truly been learned.
This creepy, but coincidental series of events is interesting, but not something that is worrisome, in fact, I find it funny. I have not spiraled about any of this. Truth is that I feel strong and am proud that I have not allowed any of this to increase my fears.
I took all of it. Random or not, connected or coincidental, it has no power over me. I have been able to discuss and dissect it in therapy. I shared some of it in group.
So, even though I forgot about the No assignment, I am saying "no" where it counts. No to fear. No to conspiracy. No to everything that is not in my best interest.
We were asked to report on how the process went for us and, true to form, I had completely forgotten to make that an option. Or, maybe it was an unconscious defense mechanism.
Anyway, I had no trouble remembering several situations when it would have been in my best interest to decline. It really is all about being nice and polite, about having manners and not being a selfish jerk. I always think about the Big Bang Theory episode when the Bernadette character is being bothered by one of the men, he having misunderstood her nice behavior towards him, and she yells back "I'm nice to everyone!!!!!"
That is me, and practically everyone else I know, I am nice to everyone. It is a great way to navigate the world in which I live. I do not want to change that part of me. I have no intention of doing so...ever. But, you know, it means that I often do something or agree to something or get involved in some time-sucking project only because I cannot say that I am not interested in having my time sucked.
The problem is not so much being able to decline to participate in something, but that most of the people asking for whatever they want from you are doing so because they know that you never say 'no' or are unable to do so. Frankly, that is exploitation, no matter how you gussie it up. Sometimes someone is trying to take advantage of your time or resources, sometimes they simply do not know who else to ask and most often, I am thinking, they have no ulterior motives of the dastardly kind.
I pretty much hate going anyplace. In my other life, getting out was a lifesaver on so many levels. Now that I am out of there, being home alone is my favorite thing to do, my ultimate place to be. Please do not drop in. Pretty please do not call me. Oh, help me, I am begging you, do not ask me to leave and do something.
When I first left, I was in hiding and, months later, when I had moved into this flat, all I wanted was to hunker down and stay unnoticed. I still did, and continue to go out for working and all of the other volunteer stuff. Laundry and grocery shopping have to be done. There are the rare appointments and more rare outings with friends. I have managed to organize and coordinate everything so that I have full, ten-hour days on two days of the week, a 3/4 day on one other, and four days with no responsibilities other than getting up late, random eating, napping and playing mah jong. If I am feeling particularly energetic, I may read a book or two.
I need that down time to recover from being out and needing to be extraordinarily social and focused for my clients. As a shy person, this is difficult. It is exhausting. No one cares about that, and I really do not have much invested in it either. It is what it is.
What I am particularly reluctant to do is travel long distances, which I define as more than ten miles. Yeah, I know. That means that I have not spent much time traveling to my daughter and her family. She calls me, I call her, we talk and have nice conversations, but I have stopped offering to come up to see them. This weekend is Mother's Day, and I understand that she wants to celebrate this together. When she called and asked me to spend a day with her I accepted, but my heart is not in it. Totally unacceptable, it is heartless and I am ashamed. I will go and have a wonderful time.
In addition, I am going to leave early and have coffee with my friends. I will be out of the house just as long as I am on a working day. I am going to be flat out beat by the time I get home.
And, whilst is seems as though I am avoiding saying 'no' to these two things, but I realized during this writing that I am really saying 'no' to myself and my reluctance to do something that is difficult.
Doing all of this tomorrow is not a big deal. It is a new beginning, moving towards not needing to hide.
It occurs to me that this is a result of what happened at work two weeks ago. The ambush at work, primarily, and an incident that I accepted as an uncomfortable, but random, situation.
On Friday, I learned that three days before that friend of my ex showed up and grilled me, that same ex was served with and signed a new court document, an amendment to the original final decree for our divorce. I received the notification of this via e-mail, which was followed up by a documentation of the process in a letter from my attorney.
In that letter, she described the negotiations that went on between the ex, his family, their attorney and my attorney. In it, it stated that he would sign the documents only if "offending language" was deleted. As best I can determine, that language that offended him was about how he has defied and refused to comply with every other court order.
This new order is something that I did not want to do. I have already spent a sickening amount of money on this mess and when my attorney proposed doing this I refused. She convinced me that it was necessary, and she explained all of it to me, although I have little memory of what she said. It was too stressful. However, it seems to have worked. The order is awaiting signing by a judge. The documents will then be sent to the financial and investment companies. Then, maybe something will happen. I do not believe it. If, by some miracle, anyone finally complies with anything, well, I cannot commit any energy to belief in that. I have less of that than I have money.
Two more things happened this week. The first is that one of the investment people, a woman that was close friends with my ex, sent me papers to sign, authorizing distribution and transfer of what remains in the funds. I called her and it was clear that she was trying to rush me through the process before the new orders are finished and enforceable. Oh, and the new orders are that I be reimbursed the entire amount of the money he has already taken from the funds and that the remaining funds be equally divided. If that happens, it softens the blow of having had to pay income taxes on what he stole.
The other is that I received a gift in the mail. Some anonymous person has paid for a cremation for me. I called the company, which just happens to be in the small town in which my ex lives, and they refused to give me any information, that they do not provide any for gifts. I asked how often that happens, that someone will gift someone with a cremation and she told me that it is rare, usually something that happens within families and that it was probably done by a family member who wanted to do something nice for me.
Allrighty, except that she does not know that my ex and his sister threatened my life at our final hearing. I am still sticking with my belief that all of it is random. The documents issues followed by the rest. It is that just when you think you have it together, that you get something, the Universe will come along with another learning opportunity to make sure that the lesson has truly been learned.
This creepy, but coincidental series of events is interesting, but not something that is worrisome, in fact, I find it funny. I have not spiraled about any of this. Truth is that I feel strong and am proud that I have not allowed any of this to increase my fears.
I took all of it. Random or not, connected or coincidental, it has no power over me. I have been able to discuss and dissect it in therapy. I shared some of it in group.
So, even though I forgot about the No assignment, I am saying "no" where it counts. No to fear. No to conspiracy. No to everything that is not in my best interest.
Monday, May 6, 2013
mundane
And, grateful for it. I decided overnight that I can wait until my regular therapy appointment. Huge sigh of relief. I do not mind when my therapist wants to schedule an extra session between sessions, and I always agree. Messed up is messed up and super-duper messed up means that you pay better attention and you do what you have to do.
Interesting, that part of the process, because that is exactly what I do with my clients. One of my clients last week had a greater need to talk out some things than to put together a résumé. There are rare occasions when someone leaves without a usable document, but this person did not. I let him talk, but kept interjecting queries and, whilst not complete, he was able to leave with the résumé part, should he find an opportunity to apply for a job. He is homeless and his issues are greater than my ability to help him. The only reason I am continuing with him is that a social service agency sent him to me.
I have to hold these kinds of situations in my consciousness more effectively than I have been doing. The stresses build and the icky stuff superimposes itself over the good and effective. So, this morning is a nice break from the crazy making.
I woke more energized than usual. This is probably because I have been stressing about the miserable state I have allowed my personal environment to become. It is kind of messy here. Not dirty or disgusting or health department acute, but I have not been putting things in their proper place, especially some things I picked up for the boys.
Lots of stress, part of which is about CoolCat. He has many health issues. A myriad, a cascade, a thunderstorm of health concerns. One is made worse by the stress he suffered during the time he was not under my care when I was living in the shelter. As a result of improper and irregular care, he is weird about food and water. I mean, who can blame him. By the time I was able to safely return to the house, my cats were a physical and psychic mess.
Now, he is worried about his food bowl being empty. If he can see, or think he sees, even a tiny spot of the bottom of his bowl, he panics. I have to keep the bowl full all the time. If I do not notice, the moment that speck is exposed, he comes to get me, sadly complaining all the while. It works well, but if I am sleeping or away from the flat when he can see that bit of the bowl, he stresses and he vomits. Twice.
If I am sleeping, it wakes me, I get up, reassure him and clean it up. If I am away, he often makes it back to my bed before he empties his stomach. Twice. All of the floors here are hard surfaced and, frankly, he could vomit every day and we would not cause any damage to the place. It is icky, occasionally makes me shudder, but it is what it is.
That happened, the vomiting on my bed. Twice. I cleaned up the mess when I got home the first time and all was well. The second time I did not notice until it was time for bed. Two spews and he tried to cover it up, bless him. Unfortunately, I have only two sheets. Fortunately, I launder them every week and it was Tuesday, laundromat day. Clean sheet on the bed, augmented by two towels over the newly cleaned wet spots on the mattress.
Since then I have been putting a plastic, flannel-backed tablecloth over the top of the bed. And, the sofa and chair. CoolCat hates it. Too bad. When I can afford to get more linens and a mattress cover and a couple of throws or cheap blankets to toss over the bed, I will do that. Slightly more laundry to do when he vomits, but it will be easier to manage. I will still continue to cover the other two pieces of furniture, and he has a nice, comfy bed and three resting spots on his climbing/scratching post thing, as well as an old office chair that I really do not care about and keep a folded towel on anyway, for napping. I also have a folded towel on the back of the sofa just because he likes being up there.
So, plenty of place to lounge, although he mostly sleeps when I am gone, only occasionally getting up to check to see if the bottom of his bowl is visible. He has gained weight because of this, as I fill his bowl to the top before I leave the house. Bad mom, I know. In my defense, the alternative, trying to get him to not feel so desperate about food just seems more stressful to him. He is middle-aged and has been through so much this past year.
He is a different cat since we moved here. He was different, more settled and calm even when we were living in the motel. During my other life, I thought that his shyness was just that, he was a shy cat. Now that we are here and there is not yelling and all the rest, he has bloomed. He no longer lives mostly under my bed. No more litter box accidents. On the rare occasion when I have a visitor, he comes out to meet them, something he never did in our other life. He approaches people without urging and solicits petting.
Crazy.
Wonderful. Makes me all tender and weepy and so grateful that we have our new life.
The whole covering up everything for the past three weeks is distressing for CoolCat. Not enough to change him or make him have more events, but he does not like it. When he comes to me to complain about the tablecloths, I reassure him and let it go. No point making either of us more neurotic in the process.
So, anyway, I had to go past the bedroom and saw that a portion of the tablecloth was in disarray. He had climbed up on his carrier (beside the bed at the foot, between the bed and the wall, and then onto the bed, at the edge of the tablecloth. Burrowed his way in and is now asleep in the little cave he made for himself.
This comforts him and I am tickled at his ingenuity and perseverance. Nice problem solving.
I am not as smart as my cat. Nice. Like it. Still have to find another way to protect the bed until I can get the stuff to put on it, but what he did is a normal thing that happens in normal homes where there are normal people and pets. Ordinary. This is so reassuring.
Interesting, that part of the process, because that is exactly what I do with my clients. One of my clients last week had a greater need to talk out some things than to put together a résumé. There are rare occasions when someone leaves without a usable document, but this person did not. I let him talk, but kept interjecting queries and, whilst not complete, he was able to leave with the résumé part, should he find an opportunity to apply for a job. He is homeless and his issues are greater than my ability to help him. The only reason I am continuing with him is that a social service agency sent him to me.
I have to hold these kinds of situations in my consciousness more effectively than I have been doing. The stresses build and the icky stuff superimposes itself over the good and effective. So, this morning is a nice break from the crazy making.
I woke more energized than usual. This is probably because I have been stressing about the miserable state I have allowed my personal environment to become. It is kind of messy here. Not dirty or disgusting or health department acute, but I have not been putting things in their proper place, especially some things I picked up for the boys.
Lots of stress, part of which is about CoolCat. He has many health issues. A myriad, a cascade, a thunderstorm of health concerns. One is made worse by the stress he suffered during the time he was not under my care when I was living in the shelter. As a result of improper and irregular care, he is weird about food and water. I mean, who can blame him. By the time I was able to safely return to the house, my cats were a physical and psychic mess.
Now, he is worried about his food bowl being empty. If he can see, or think he sees, even a tiny spot of the bottom of his bowl, he panics. I have to keep the bowl full all the time. If I do not notice, the moment that speck is exposed, he comes to get me, sadly complaining all the while. It works well, but if I am sleeping or away from the flat when he can see that bit of the bowl, he stresses and he vomits. Twice.
If I am sleeping, it wakes me, I get up, reassure him and clean it up. If I am away, he often makes it back to my bed before he empties his stomach. Twice. All of the floors here are hard surfaced and, frankly, he could vomit every day and we would not cause any damage to the place. It is icky, occasionally makes me shudder, but it is what it is.
That happened, the vomiting on my bed. Twice. I cleaned up the mess when I got home the first time and all was well. The second time I did not notice until it was time for bed. Two spews and he tried to cover it up, bless him. Unfortunately, I have only two sheets. Fortunately, I launder them every week and it was Tuesday, laundromat day. Clean sheet on the bed, augmented by two towels over the newly cleaned wet spots on the mattress.
Since then I have been putting a plastic, flannel-backed tablecloth over the top of the bed. And, the sofa and chair. CoolCat hates it. Too bad. When I can afford to get more linens and a mattress cover and a couple of throws or cheap blankets to toss over the bed, I will do that. Slightly more laundry to do when he vomits, but it will be easier to manage. I will still continue to cover the other two pieces of furniture, and he has a nice, comfy bed and three resting spots on his climbing/scratching post thing, as well as an old office chair that I really do not care about and keep a folded towel on anyway, for napping. I also have a folded towel on the back of the sofa just because he likes being up there.
So, plenty of place to lounge, although he mostly sleeps when I am gone, only occasionally getting up to check to see if the bottom of his bowl is visible. He has gained weight because of this, as I fill his bowl to the top before I leave the house. Bad mom, I know. In my defense, the alternative, trying to get him to not feel so desperate about food just seems more stressful to him. He is middle-aged and has been through so much this past year.
He is a different cat since we moved here. He was different, more settled and calm even when we were living in the motel. During my other life, I thought that his shyness was just that, he was a shy cat. Now that we are here and there is not yelling and all the rest, he has bloomed. He no longer lives mostly under my bed. No more litter box accidents. On the rare occasion when I have a visitor, he comes out to meet them, something he never did in our other life. He approaches people without urging and solicits petting.
Crazy.
Wonderful. Makes me all tender and weepy and so grateful that we have our new life.
The whole covering up everything for the past three weeks is distressing for CoolCat. Not enough to change him or make him have more events, but he does not like it. When he comes to me to complain about the tablecloths, I reassure him and let it go. No point making either of us more neurotic in the process.
So, anyway, I had to go past the bedroom and saw that a portion of the tablecloth was in disarray. He had climbed up on his carrier (beside the bed at the foot, between the bed and the wall, and then onto the bed, at the edge of the tablecloth. Burrowed his way in and is now asleep in the little cave he made for himself.
This comforts him and I am tickled at his ingenuity and perseverance. Nice problem solving.
I am not as smart as my cat. Nice. Like it. Still have to find another way to protect the bed until I can get the stuff to put on it, but what he did is a normal thing that happens in normal homes where there are normal people and pets. Ordinary. This is so reassuring.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
ego
My dark side. Even through the worst of it, there were times when I needed to escape into fantasy. I used to say that I had a rich fantasy life. I meant it as a joke. However, it was true.
Lots of things changed when our daughter was born. I had to understand, or at least notice, the connection to the return of violence, the greater exercising of control. All of the new learning how to not get into trouble. It was so much our normal that the gradual movement back into all of that was virtually unnoticeable. New baby, new house, my car sold, small and quiet countryside, isolation.
It is so easy to look back and see that those things were happening. Well, not so easy, as it is a process directly related to therapy and a lot of really hard and really painful work. In the beginning of the mess I was in complete denial. All I knew was that I was wrong and always doing the wrong things and that I was going to die there. Thinking about that, death, and writing about it makes me feel weird, sort of spaced or something. It feels unreal. The further away I get from that day, and the years preceding that day, the less real it seems. It makes me feel, sometimes, that I must have misunderstood or misinterpreted everything, that it is just another aspect of my being wrong.
So, O.K., I know that is only what I was groomed to believe. I heard it for the first six or seven years of our marriage, and it began again after our daughter was born. Then, there were two of us doing everything wrong. Greater isolation. So, I did what made me feel better, and that was to have fantasies that I kept going as long as they worked. Most of the time it was the only way I could go to sleep. They evolved into elaborate scenarios where I was liked and then loved. I had friends and eventually there was this kind of hopeful quality to them. Like there was a world where I was fine. Were I was loved. Where no one tried to hurt me all the time, and if, by some chance, someone had bad intentions for me I would be rescued by someone who loved me.
The fantasies were so well-developed that I could get lost in them and finally fall asleep. I got really good at crafting them. Unfortunately, it was a private and secret activity and I felt ashamed of having them, that I was unable to see the goodness and value in my marriage. Well, now I know why I had them and how they probably helped me get through some tough times. Sometimes the longing for a safe and loving life was so distressing that they made me cry, and that is pretty much when they stopped. It was dangerous to cry. Even more shame. You know, like shame on me for being so shallow and weak and needy. After all, I had a husband that everyone loved. He had a great job and lots of friends, the neighbors loved him. He made good money and took excellent care of his family. No one knew him at church or school, but that was only because he was such a dedicated provider. Well, that, and the endless excuses I made for him not coming to anything. He refused to be involved in anything that did not have him at the center of attention and told me what lies to tell.
So, O.K., I know how this was, now I know. In the moments of that other life, I only knew that I did not deserve the goodness of a loving relationship. I did not deserve to be loved. I was unlovable. The problem now is that even if I used to be someone worth care and liking and even loving, that person is gone someplace. Maybe she is a much a fantasy as the ones I made up all those lonely and scared nights.
I know that I have to find a way to believe otherwise. If I cannot do that, if I cannot find a way back to that kind of health, then I will always be alone. Now that I am out of there I do not feel lonely. I have my jobs and my family and the friends worth keeping and CoolCat. I have enough money to just make it and my hopes for finding a job continue. I know that I do excellent work, that I would be an asset to any company and that whomever hires me will never regret it. I have complete confidence that I will eventually find a job and that many parts of my life will be better with just a little extra money.
Where this becomes a problem is that everything I see, you know, DVD-wise, and everything I read has that hopeful aspect of fantasy as a problem solver. A perfect example is the book I finished reading last night. It is Piers Anthony's, Luck of The Draw. It was an on-my-way-out of the library grab. I was tired from a long day and had nothing at home to read. I had read some of the Xanth books a long time ago and enjoyed them. Last year a friend got me started reading Terry Pratchett, and the themes of the two authors are similar enough to lead you from one to the other. They are fun, those books.
It was lots of fun. Until the end, which was an angst ridden star-crossed lovers plot, something that had been a thread through most of the story. The same thing is happening in the DVDs I have been watching. I think what bothers me is the power that one character seems to hold over another. The notion that I am so important that I can solve the problem, just because I am that important. I am the catalyst for saving or helping or something, but mostly saving someone else or an aspect of society or the world or some damn thing. I mean, it really is that big, the ego that gives one person, or, I guess a group of people, to be so important that only they can save the day. If you are the center of the universe, I suppose you are exactly that important.
But, it is all fiction, all constructed and imagined and fantasized fiction. There is not any place in the world where someone could be that important, that pivotal, that essential to anything.
And, it disturbed me. It was just as ego-driven as my fantasies had been. The whole context of being so special that someone would have to be insane to let you slip through their fingers, no matter how many obstacles they had to overcome. The archetypal relationship plot. It did not start with popular fiction or film. The beginnings of these stories is lost in antiquity.
It occurs to me that when my daughter read Romeo and Juliet when she was six years old, that there does not seem to be any age when that need for unreserved and unconditional love is not one of the basic desires. Newborn infants instinctively crave it. That need is why we have pets.
I should probably do some reading on the whole ego thing. What little I have picked up is just enough to be familiar with it, but lacking in real knowledge and understanding. Maybe I should leave it alone, but right now I feel weak when I think of the past and how I wanted someplace without pain. I wanted some life without feeling that I was always wrong. More, I wanted and want to let go of the pain so that I can make good decisions, better choices, in my life from now on. I cannot go back and undo all of the mistakes I have made, all of the times when I did not, could not, be the kind of person I wanted to be, the times when I only responded to what was going on, reactive and rarely, if ever, proactive. Loving and supportive and just making good decisions. That is what I want.
And, I know why all of this is bothering me. I have the opportunity to receive training, some of it on scholarship, to do something along the path of the work I already do, but this opportunity is a paid position. The job and training were suggested to me by someone I trust. The training and testing would be conducted in another city and there is a chance that I would move there for employment. It is a solid opportunity. I am interested. I would be insane to let this slip through my fingers. I have the application and was going to complete it this weekend and mail all of the materials tomorrow.
I have not yet begun any of it. I am worried that I will disappoint the providers of the scholarship. I am worried that I will be too stupid to understand the training or learn anything. I am worried that it will be too difficult and that I will be embarrassed and shamed by attempting something outside my previous experience. I am worried about spending my time and money to do this, not having any financial security because of the mess of leaving my other life. I am worried that I simply am not good enough.
Worrying about all of those are supremely reasonable concerns. Although, it is interesting that the worries are manifesting what seems to be a completely different part of my life. I see the connections, tenuous as they may be, but it sure is interesting. This is about ego. My darker side. My need to be loved and accepted unconditionally. The need to be successful and needed and valued beyond my abilities and ability to be successful at any of this, hell, at anything.
And, there is another part that is about not being good at anything, no matter how much I try. I failed at my marriage. I failed to be the person he wanted me to be, the person who did not do everything wrong. I understand that his expectations and need for control were beyond my ability to perform properly and that they were inappropriate and dangerous and I am so fortunate to be out of my other life. I know that feeling like this is fucked up and that I still have more healing to do. Man, I am working so hard on all of this. I make all kinds of wonderful progress and then something like Wednesday happens and I regress. I received some information on Friday that may indicate the encounter at work was not as random as I had hoped. Knowing that is not helping.
All of the old fears and insecurities come rushing back. So much work and healing to do. I do not know if I can wait until my regular therapy session. I need to discuss this sooner. I need to not be knocked-back by this. I need to stop over-thinking everything.
I need to be willing to take some risks. I have led such a careful life for so long and being brave is more difficult than I can express. I need to be brave.
You know, the center of the Universe aspect. Who would not love to be the center of someone's Universe. I know that my daughter is that person for me, and that her husband and children are those people for her, just as it is for everyone who loves someone, cares about them and supports them no matter how tough the going gets. Surely, all of the people that I know and see, hear and read about, who seem to have that cannot all be faking it.
Lots of things changed when our daughter was born. I had to understand, or at least notice, the connection to the return of violence, the greater exercising of control. All of the new learning how to not get into trouble. It was so much our normal that the gradual movement back into all of that was virtually unnoticeable. New baby, new house, my car sold, small and quiet countryside, isolation.
It is so easy to look back and see that those things were happening. Well, not so easy, as it is a process directly related to therapy and a lot of really hard and really painful work. In the beginning of the mess I was in complete denial. All I knew was that I was wrong and always doing the wrong things and that I was going to die there. Thinking about that, death, and writing about it makes me feel weird, sort of spaced or something. It feels unreal. The further away I get from that day, and the years preceding that day, the less real it seems. It makes me feel, sometimes, that I must have misunderstood or misinterpreted everything, that it is just another aspect of my being wrong.
So, O.K., I know that is only what I was groomed to believe. I heard it for the first six or seven years of our marriage, and it began again after our daughter was born. Then, there were two of us doing everything wrong. Greater isolation. So, I did what made me feel better, and that was to have fantasies that I kept going as long as they worked. Most of the time it was the only way I could go to sleep. They evolved into elaborate scenarios where I was liked and then loved. I had friends and eventually there was this kind of hopeful quality to them. Like there was a world where I was fine. Were I was loved. Where no one tried to hurt me all the time, and if, by some chance, someone had bad intentions for me I would be rescued by someone who loved me.
The fantasies were so well-developed that I could get lost in them and finally fall asleep. I got really good at crafting them. Unfortunately, it was a private and secret activity and I felt ashamed of having them, that I was unable to see the goodness and value in my marriage. Well, now I know why I had them and how they probably helped me get through some tough times. Sometimes the longing for a safe and loving life was so distressing that they made me cry, and that is pretty much when they stopped. It was dangerous to cry. Even more shame. You know, like shame on me for being so shallow and weak and needy. After all, I had a husband that everyone loved. He had a great job and lots of friends, the neighbors loved him. He made good money and took excellent care of his family. No one knew him at church or school, but that was only because he was such a dedicated provider. Well, that, and the endless excuses I made for him not coming to anything. He refused to be involved in anything that did not have him at the center of attention and told me what lies to tell.
So, O.K., I know how this was, now I know. In the moments of that other life, I only knew that I did not deserve the goodness of a loving relationship. I did not deserve to be loved. I was unlovable. The problem now is that even if I used to be someone worth care and liking and even loving, that person is gone someplace. Maybe she is a much a fantasy as the ones I made up all those lonely and scared nights.
I know that I have to find a way to believe otherwise. If I cannot do that, if I cannot find a way back to that kind of health, then I will always be alone. Now that I am out of there I do not feel lonely. I have my jobs and my family and the friends worth keeping and CoolCat. I have enough money to just make it and my hopes for finding a job continue. I know that I do excellent work, that I would be an asset to any company and that whomever hires me will never regret it. I have complete confidence that I will eventually find a job and that many parts of my life will be better with just a little extra money.
Where this becomes a problem is that everything I see, you know, DVD-wise, and everything I read has that hopeful aspect of fantasy as a problem solver. A perfect example is the book I finished reading last night. It is Piers Anthony's, Luck of The Draw. It was an on-my-way-out of the library grab. I was tired from a long day and had nothing at home to read. I had read some of the Xanth books a long time ago and enjoyed them. Last year a friend got me started reading Terry Pratchett, and the themes of the two authors are similar enough to lead you from one to the other. They are fun, those books.
It was lots of fun. Until the end, which was an angst ridden star-crossed lovers plot, something that had been a thread through most of the story. The same thing is happening in the DVDs I have been watching. I think what bothers me is the power that one character seems to hold over another. The notion that I am so important that I can solve the problem, just because I am that important. I am the catalyst for saving or helping or something, but mostly saving someone else or an aspect of society or the world or some damn thing. I mean, it really is that big, the ego that gives one person, or, I guess a group of people, to be so important that only they can save the day. If you are the center of the universe, I suppose you are exactly that important.
But, it is all fiction, all constructed and imagined and fantasized fiction. There is not any place in the world where someone could be that important, that pivotal, that essential to anything.
And, it disturbed me. It was just as ego-driven as my fantasies had been. The whole context of being so special that someone would have to be insane to let you slip through their fingers, no matter how many obstacles they had to overcome. The archetypal relationship plot. It did not start with popular fiction or film. The beginnings of these stories is lost in antiquity.
It occurs to me that when my daughter read Romeo and Juliet when she was six years old, that there does not seem to be any age when that need for unreserved and unconditional love is not one of the basic desires. Newborn infants instinctively crave it. That need is why we have pets.
I should probably do some reading on the whole ego thing. What little I have picked up is just enough to be familiar with it, but lacking in real knowledge and understanding. Maybe I should leave it alone, but right now I feel weak when I think of the past and how I wanted someplace without pain. I wanted some life without feeling that I was always wrong. More, I wanted and want to let go of the pain so that I can make good decisions, better choices, in my life from now on. I cannot go back and undo all of the mistakes I have made, all of the times when I did not, could not, be the kind of person I wanted to be, the times when I only responded to what was going on, reactive and rarely, if ever, proactive. Loving and supportive and just making good decisions. That is what I want.
And, I know why all of this is bothering me. I have the opportunity to receive training, some of it on scholarship, to do something along the path of the work I already do, but this opportunity is a paid position. The job and training were suggested to me by someone I trust. The training and testing would be conducted in another city and there is a chance that I would move there for employment. It is a solid opportunity. I am interested. I would be insane to let this slip through my fingers. I have the application and was going to complete it this weekend and mail all of the materials tomorrow.
I have not yet begun any of it. I am worried that I will disappoint the providers of the scholarship. I am worried that I will be too stupid to understand the training or learn anything. I am worried that it will be too difficult and that I will be embarrassed and shamed by attempting something outside my previous experience. I am worried about spending my time and money to do this, not having any financial security because of the mess of leaving my other life. I am worried that I simply am not good enough.
Worrying about all of those are supremely reasonable concerns. Although, it is interesting that the worries are manifesting what seems to be a completely different part of my life. I see the connections, tenuous as they may be, but it sure is interesting. This is about ego. My darker side. My need to be loved and accepted unconditionally. The need to be successful and needed and valued beyond my abilities and ability to be successful at any of this, hell, at anything.
And, there is another part that is about not being good at anything, no matter how much I try. I failed at my marriage. I failed to be the person he wanted me to be, the person who did not do everything wrong. I understand that his expectations and need for control were beyond my ability to perform properly and that they were inappropriate and dangerous and I am so fortunate to be out of my other life. I know that feeling like this is fucked up and that I still have more healing to do. Man, I am working so hard on all of this. I make all kinds of wonderful progress and then something like Wednesday happens and I regress. I received some information on Friday that may indicate the encounter at work was not as random as I had hoped. Knowing that is not helping.
All of the old fears and insecurities come rushing back. So much work and healing to do. I do not know if I can wait until my regular therapy session. I need to discuss this sooner. I need to not be knocked-back by this. I need to stop over-thinking everything.
I need to be willing to take some risks. I have led such a careful life for so long and being brave is more difficult than I can express. I need to be brave.
You know, the center of the Universe aspect. Who would not love to be the center of someone's Universe. I know that my daughter is that person for me, and that her husband and children are those people for her, just as it is for everyone who loves someone, cares about them and supports them no matter how tough the going gets. Surely, all of the people that I know and see, hear and read about, who seem to have that cannot all be faking it.
Friday, May 3, 2013
wednesday
Apparently I was not as settled about what happened at work as I though. I talked about it at therapy and then later in group. I received excellent feedback about more effective ways to handle similar things. Lordy. I know that all of this is going well, and I am looking forward to my last day of therapy.
There is more help in my future because even when I arrive at a good place regarding all of the mess, I have come to understand and appreciate the value of excellent therapy as a tool for improving many aspects of my life. Perhaps this is not for everyone, I am fairly sure of that, but the process has drifting into other life issues and has been helpful and healing and has improved how I address and handle so many other things. It has been particularly informative in helping my clients. It has been a great help in moving towards calm and being more grounded, less rattled by all of the challenges life brings. And, we all have days when it is a relief to come through the day relatively unscathed. Yeah.
The experiences of the past two years have brought me here. Well, way longer than that, but those last years, but this recent period has been the catalyst for many things, like divesting myself of friends that really are not the kind of friends any of us would like or should have in our lives.
That separating from people who are not helpful to have a friends is so difficult. Being around her means that prying sad stuff from you so that she can share the gossip with her 'real' friends. Get smarter. Get rid of her. Talking on the phone with him is an frustration and a time waster whilst he rants about all of his problems and how his boss is screwing him over and his mother is smothering and his kids are ungrateful brats. Get off the phone and he feels much better for spewing and you now carry the burden of his crap. Get rid of him.
So, I have done that, taken a serious look at some of my relationships and found that either I was unable to continue to be the friend that someone needed me to be, or that having that other person as part of my life is simply not healthy for me. Because of my life circumstances I had may acquaintances, but few close friends. It is not possible to have a life that needs to be kept secret and have truly intimate friendships.
And, I digress a bit, but it needs to be said that the secrets were not only the things that happened to me, but include all of the millions of ways that I behaved and thought that were not representative of the person I could have been, wanted to be, should have tried harder to be. It is extraordinarily painful to be in the closet about who you are and not be able or willing to be your true self. As a result of my marriage I behaved in ways that did not serve anyone and manifested all kinds of things that shamed me then and continue to shame me now. I never did anything bad, but I, only on way too infrequent occasions, did not manifest my true self, the person that I wanted to and knew I should be, that person deep in here, my center, the ideal me. I am trying to make sure that that happens more now. I try every day to be that idealized person. She has been in that deep place too often and is out to play whenever she likes. She lives beside me now, instead of in the dark.
So, therapy good, fire bad. Oh, and it sometimes bothers me to be using all kinds of psycho-babble language, but I have come to accept that there are moments when only those words will do, properly express how I am processing (ah...) and working through stuff.
Back to Wednesday and my ex's friend. He was my ex's friend, not mine, although I knew him and his wife. He worked with my ex and one of their outside of work activities is that they had a card club, where they would take turns meeting at each other's homes on Saturdays to play cards, drink refreshing beverages and have their wives create fancy meals, serve, clean up and make a big deal about some even fancier dessert. Their daughter would babysit for our daughter and because we lived in the same neighborhood would often walk over and hang out. Even so, he and his wife were never my friends, mostly because they were my ex's friends and he did not like sharing. Not insisting on him sharing kept me safer.
It was what it was, and it was like that for every friend and co-worker and acquaintance that he had. I used to believe that I was not worth knowing and that he was ashamed of me and did not want to impose my presence on his friends. I think now that it was a way to keep the secrets of our dynamics, and assure that I would never let anything slip. Yeah. That.
I remember once, when our daughter was a toddler, he reluctantly brought us along to one of his baseball games. It had to do with us having only one car and that some important thing had to be done or picked up in the big city where he played ball and there would not be time after the game for him to come home and then take me back for the thing.
We arrived at the game and I asked where the other family members were sitting. He gestured and I went there. We climbed up on the bleachers and I said hellos to the women and their children sitting there and they just stared at me. Two of them looked at each other, meaningful glances ensued, and after a couple more attempts to talk to them, continued silence from them, my daughter and I moved. On the way home I told him about what happened and he would not reply either. Once again, it was a reinforcement of how I was flawed, not worthy of being with normal people. I have no proof, but it is most likely like the whole friend thing. The exact same thing happened over and over and I always knew that it was because there was something wrong with me, something un-fixable.
When he retired, he was forced to take me to a small dinner with some of his work friends and their wives. At the time of the invitation I did not know that he could not find a way to go without me, and it surprised me and since I had a marriage-lifetime of uncomfortable social context involving him, I declined, offering illness as an excuse. Possible because he made the request a few hours before we were supposed to meet the others. He became angry and insisted that I go, so I did. It was only when we were there that the conversation informed me that they were pleased that I agreed to come, having declined so many other chances to get together for so many years. Decades. What? Anyway, I mentioned the retirement party that I was having for him and his friends, coworkers and family and hoped to see them there, too.
I recovered and played along and played nice and I am pretty sure that my shame and new and painful understanding about all of that did now show. Writing this, I am experiencing all of that humiliation and pain and those feelings of betrayal all over again.
Near the end of the meal, one of the wives said that, now that I was less busy in my life (meaning that I was there finally) that she would see me at my ex's retirement party the next night. I said that I would do my best, as it was an important event and I was looking forward to it. On the drive home, he was angry and told me that I was not invited. I replied that I had told the others that I would be there, so I probably should be there. I asked where it was, he gave me the location and the next evening, after work, I drove to the restaurant where the party was being held.
It was a residential neighborhood, no businesses anywhere. I figured that in his distress about me being there that he made a mistake. I drove around the area for over an hour, looking for anyplace even remotely resembling a restaurant or tavern, stopped in and looked inside at a few and finally gave up, grabbed a drive-through hamburger and went home. When he arrived home he walked right past me and I asked how the party was. He smiled and said it was great, one of the best parties ever. I am a very slow learner.
The smiles. What is that all about? I know that a smile can cover all sorts of emotions, confusion, being uncomfortable, embarrassment, pain, suffering, lots of things. I remember all of those smiles he sent my way, and what they meant. And, then on Wednesday, that friend of his smiling that huge smile at me. It was not because we were close buddies and he had not seen me in a long time. I can only guess what that meant. But, the smiling is so distressing. It is like the seduction before the attack, the mesmerizing movements of the viper just before the strike.
I have to wonder what there is about me, what perception or vulnerability or availability I send out to people, what quality, what aspect of weakness I offer that informs some people that they can say anything, do anything they like to me. What is it that I do that seems to make it possible for that? Do I invite it? All I was doing was being polite. One of the women in group yesterday said that one of the reasons I stood there and took it was that I was in my work place. It is a volunteer position, but it is serious work that I do there. I am a respectable person, who receives respect whilst I am there. I show respect to everyone with whom I work, everyone who enters the place. Another woman said that I was being nice to someone who did not deserve it. But, I am nice to everyone. A third woman said to me something like, so, you are responsible for his bad behavior. Of course not.
But, there is an aspect about working with and being with people that does come with some responsibility. Other people can do or say or behave in any manner they like. No problem. My response is what I do or say or how I behave, and I do have a responsibility to not respond to bad behavior by being a bad person myself. I have a strong responsibility to respond in a way that does not further the original bad behavior. I have a responsibility to respond in, at the very least, a neutral manner. Responding in kind to bad actors does nothing to solve anything, nothing to further the dialogue in a productive way.
Still, I absolutely have to practice more, be ready to respond and be more self-protective if something like this happens again. It is unlikely because I have never known anyone in his life beyond his family. The chances of anyone else recognizing me are minute, and I surely would not recognize any of those people myself.
So much to think about whilst I straighten up around here. My house refuses to clean itself, so I have to help.
There is more help in my future because even when I arrive at a good place regarding all of the mess, I have come to understand and appreciate the value of excellent therapy as a tool for improving many aspects of my life. Perhaps this is not for everyone, I am fairly sure of that, but the process has drifting into other life issues and has been helpful and healing and has improved how I address and handle so many other things. It has been particularly informative in helping my clients. It has been a great help in moving towards calm and being more grounded, less rattled by all of the challenges life brings. And, we all have days when it is a relief to come through the day relatively unscathed. Yeah.
The experiences of the past two years have brought me here. Well, way longer than that, but those last years, but this recent period has been the catalyst for many things, like divesting myself of friends that really are not the kind of friends any of us would like or should have in our lives.
That separating from people who are not helpful to have a friends is so difficult. Being around her means that prying sad stuff from you so that she can share the gossip with her 'real' friends. Get smarter. Get rid of her. Talking on the phone with him is an frustration and a time waster whilst he rants about all of his problems and how his boss is screwing him over and his mother is smothering and his kids are ungrateful brats. Get off the phone and he feels much better for spewing and you now carry the burden of his crap. Get rid of him.
So, I have done that, taken a serious look at some of my relationships and found that either I was unable to continue to be the friend that someone needed me to be, or that having that other person as part of my life is simply not healthy for me. Because of my life circumstances I had may acquaintances, but few close friends. It is not possible to have a life that needs to be kept secret and have truly intimate friendships.
And, I digress a bit, but it needs to be said that the secrets were not only the things that happened to me, but include all of the millions of ways that I behaved and thought that were not representative of the person I could have been, wanted to be, should have tried harder to be. It is extraordinarily painful to be in the closet about who you are and not be able or willing to be your true self. As a result of my marriage I behaved in ways that did not serve anyone and manifested all kinds of things that shamed me then and continue to shame me now. I never did anything bad, but I, only on way too infrequent occasions, did not manifest my true self, the person that I wanted to and knew I should be, that person deep in here, my center, the ideal me. I am trying to make sure that that happens more now. I try every day to be that idealized person. She has been in that deep place too often and is out to play whenever she likes. She lives beside me now, instead of in the dark.
So, therapy good, fire bad. Oh, and it sometimes bothers me to be using all kinds of psycho-babble language, but I have come to accept that there are moments when only those words will do, properly express how I am processing (ah...) and working through stuff.
Back to Wednesday and my ex's friend. He was my ex's friend, not mine, although I knew him and his wife. He worked with my ex and one of their outside of work activities is that they had a card club, where they would take turns meeting at each other's homes on Saturdays to play cards, drink refreshing beverages and have their wives create fancy meals, serve, clean up and make a big deal about some even fancier dessert. Their daughter would babysit for our daughter and because we lived in the same neighborhood would often walk over and hang out. Even so, he and his wife were never my friends, mostly because they were my ex's friends and he did not like sharing. Not insisting on him sharing kept me safer.
It was what it was, and it was like that for every friend and co-worker and acquaintance that he had. I used to believe that I was not worth knowing and that he was ashamed of me and did not want to impose my presence on his friends. I think now that it was a way to keep the secrets of our dynamics, and assure that I would never let anything slip. Yeah. That.
I remember once, when our daughter was a toddler, he reluctantly brought us along to one of his baseball games. It had to do with us having only one car and that some important thing had to be done or picked up in the big city where he played ball and there would not be time after the game for him to come home and then take me back for the thing.
We arrived at the game and I asked where the other family members were sitting. He gestured and I went there. We climbed up on the bleachers and I said hellos to the women and their children sitting there and they just stared at me. Two of them looked at each other, meaningful glances ensued, and after a couple more attempts to talk to them, continued silence from them, my daughter and I moved. On the way home I told him about what happened and he would not reply either. Once again, it was a reinforcement of how I was flawed, not worthy of being with normal people. I have no proof, but it is most likely like the whole friend thing. The exact same thing happened over and over and I always knew that it was because there was something wrong with me, something un-fixable.
When he retired, he was forced to take me to a small dinner with some of his work friends and their wives. At the time of the invitation I did not know that he could not find a way to go without me, and it surprised me and since I had a marriage-lifetime of uncomfortable social context involving him, I declined, offering illness as an excuse. Possible because he made the request a few hours before we were supposed to meet the others. He became angry and insisted that I go, so I did. It was only when we were there that the conversation informed me that they were pleased that I agreed to come, having declined so many other chances to get together for so many years. Decades. What? Anyway, I mentioned the retirement party that I was having for him and his friends, coworkers and family and hoped to see them there, too.
I recovered and played along and played nice and I am pretty sure that my shame and new and painful understanding about all of that did now show. Writing this, I am experiencing all of that humiliation and pain and those feelings of betrayal all over again.
Near the end of the meal, one of the wives said that, now that I was less busy in my life (meaning that I was there finally) that she would see me at my ex's retirement party the next night. I said that I would do my best, as it was an important event and I was looking forward to it. On the drive home, he was angry and told me that I was not invited. I replied that I had told the others that I would be there, so I probably should be there. I asked where it was, he gave me the location and the next evening, after work, I drove to the restaurant where the party was being held.
It was a residential neighborhood, no businesses anywhere. I figured that in his distress about me being there that he made a mistake. I drove around the area for over an hour, looking for anyplace even remotely resembling a restaurant or tavern, stopped in and looked inside at a few and finally gave up, grabbed a drive-through hamburger and went home. When he arrived home he walked right past me and I asked how the party was. He smiled and said it was great, one of the best parties ever. I am a very slow learner.
The smiles. What is that all about? I know that a smile can cover all sorts of emotions, confusion, being uncomfortable, embarrassment, pain, suffering, lots of things. I remember all of those smiles he sent my way, and what they meant. And, then on Wednesday, that friend of his smiling that huge smile at me. It was not because we were close buddies and he had not seen me in a long time. I can only guess what that meant. But, the smiling is so distressing. It is like the seduction before the attack, the mesmerizing movements of the viper just before the strike.
I have to wonder what there is about me, what perception or vulnerability or availability I send out to people, what quality, what aspect of weakness I offer that informs some people that they can say anything, do anything they like to me. What is it that I do that seems to make it possible for that? Do I invite it? All I was doing was being polite. One of the women in group yesterday said that one of the reasons I stood there and took it was that I was in my work place. It is a volunteer position, but it is serious work that I do there. I am a respectable person, who receives respect whilst I am there. I show respect to everyone with whom I work, everyone who enters the place. Another woman said that I was being nice to someone who did not deserve it. But, I am nice to everyone. A third woman said to me something like, so, you are responsible for his bad behavior. Of course not.
But, there is an aspect about working with and being with people that does come with some responsibility. Other people can do or say or behave in any manner they like. No problem. My response is what I do or say or how I behave, and I do have a responsibility to not respond to bad behavior by being a bad person myself. I have a strong responsibility to respond in a way that does not further the original bad behavior. I have a responsibility to respond in, at the very least, a neutral manner. Responding in kind to bad actors does nothing to solve anything, nothing to further the dialogue in a productive way.
Still, I absolutely have to practice more, be ready to respond and be more self-protective if something like this happens again. It is unlikely because I have never known anyone in his life beyond his family. The chances of anyone else recognizing me are minute, and I surely would not recognize any of those people myself.
So much to think about whilst I straighten up around here. My house refuses to clean itself, so I have to help.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
may
Today is:
May Day
Loyalty Day
Mother Goose Day
Save the Rhino Day
It is also:
Stoopid Unprepared Idiot Who Gets Ambushed At Work By A Friend Of Someone Who Is Not Me Day
Try to put that on a greeting card. Do not bother. No one is interested.
I thought that I was prepared for just about anything, but I am not. One of his friends did a real ambush on me today. Scared my big girl panties right off. He saw me, rushed after me and asked if he could ask me a personal question.
My reply was, "Well, O.K." Stoopidstoopidstoopidstoopid. I know better. My response should have been "Thank you, but no." with me continuing to walk to where I could be out of the public areas. Instead I tried to be polite, knowing that it was sure to be something about my former husband. It was. I replied that I do not talk about him, turned and began to walk away. He persisted and instead of just leaving the area, I replied back that I absolutely do not talk about him. He continued to ask very personal questions that are fully indicative of him having recently talked to my former husband.
I finally backed away and he stood there smiling at me. I have to wonder if it was something that they planned or was just a random, happified opportunity for him. Either way, I was shaken and shaking. I frakking know better than to respond, know to demur and walk away, absolutely know to seek help if I need it. I did eventually mention it to security and was scolded for not fetching them right away. I deserved it, the scolding and more. If nothing else, I will be more prepared for the next time.
In my defense, there have not been any attempts at personal contact from my former husband or anyone connected with him since last August. I must have drifted into some kind of inappropriate feelings of safety. I am not saying, or believing that I was in physical danger, after all, we were in a busy public area. But, however the encounter happened, there was a definable measure of malicious intent and it is unsettling that anyone can think that doing that sort of thing to me is in any measure all right to do.
Truth is, all other people have is what the ex has shared with them, and given the questions I was asked today, the story he is sharing is inaccurate and pretty damning to me. It is my own fault, my refusal to go public with the truth. Today confirms my suspicions that his story is how I stole from him, neglected his needs and was disloyal, as in cheating. I am feeling so demoralized, and I have only myself to blame. Had I not tried to be polite, I would not have any idea of anything he has said about me.
I am not surprised, but knowing this now is doing nothing to improve the quality of my life. And, I have to worry about other people doing the same. I am probably over thinking this, but now, hours later, much calmer, that guy's smiling feels creepy. It as though my discomfort and fear created some measure of pleasure for him. I am letting that go and am refusing to invest this much thought and wondering and energy into today. I am beyond the point where this stuff destroys my peace of mind. I was able to manifest that at this week's teleconference.
Am stronger than I was and I just have to keep moving forward to that life I want.
At the very least, if such a thing should happen again I will not exactly what to say.
Thank you, but no.
To help balance the day, two people not connected with this place where I work said some really nice things to me. One was a professional person who told me that the time he spends working with his clients here is made more pleasant on the days when I am here, too. He said that I am a light that comforts him and makes his work easier. I am not exactly sure how to take that, much less understand it, but it was nice and I am just going to take it.
A client today told me that he has never had anyone help me as well as the work we did together today. Awkward, but that is what he shared. A second client came for a redo of her résumé, and expressed her pain over what had been prepared for her by someone else. She told me that she was no longer ashamed to give her résumé to anyone. Nice.
As I was returning to my little bat cave here, another former client stopped and told me that it always helps her when we just talk. All in all, a day with more positives and more positive energy than the other. I can totally settle for that.
May Day
Loyalty Day
Mother Goose Day
Save the Rhino Day
It is also:
Stoopid Unprepared Idiot Who Gets Ambushed At Work By A Friend Of Someone Who Is Not Me Day
Try to put that on a greeting card. Do not bother. No one is interested.
I thought that I was prepared for just about anything, but I am not. One of his friends did a real ambush on me today. Scared my big girl panties right off. He saw me, rushed after me and asked if he could ask me a personal question.
My reply was, "Well, O.K." Stoopidstoopidstoopidstoopid. I know better. My response should have been "Thank you, but no." with me continuing to walk to where I could be out of the public areas. Instead I tried to be polite, knowing that it was sure to be something about my former husband. It was. I replied that I do not talk about him, turned and began to walk away. He persisted and instead of just leaving the area, I replied back that I absolutely do not talk about him. He continued to ask very personal questions that are fully indicative of him having recently talked to my former husband.
I finally backed away and he stood there smiling at me. I have to wonder if it was something that they planned or was just a random, happified opportunity for him. Either way, I was shaken and shaking. I frakking know better than to respond, know to demur and walk away, absolutely know to seek help if I need it. I did eventually mention it to security and was scolded for not fetching them right away. I deserved it, the scolding and more. If nothing else, I will be more prepared for the next time.
In my defense, there have not been any attempts at personal contact from my former husband or anyone connected with him since last August. I must have drifted into some kind of inappropriate feelings of safety. I am not saying, or believing that I was in physical danger, after all, we were in a busy public area. But, however the encounter happened, there was a definable measure of malicious intent and it is unsettling that anyone can think that doing that sort of thing to me is in any measure all right to do.
Truth is, all other people have is what the ex has shared with them, and given the questions I was asked today, the story he is sharing is inaccurate and pretty damning to me. It is my own fault, my refusal to go public with the truth. Today confirms my suspicions that his story is how I stole from him, neglected his needs and was disloyal, as in cheating. I am feeling so demoralized, and I have only myself to blame. Had I not tried to be polite, I would not have any idea of anything he has said about me.
I am not surprised, but knowing this now is doing nothing to improve the quality of my life. And, I have to worry about other people doing the same. I am probably over thinking this, but now, hours later, much calmer, that guy's smiling feels creepy. It as though my discomfort and fear created some measure of pleasure for him. I am letting that go and am refusing to invest this much thought and wondering and energy into today. I am beyond the point where this stuff destroys my peace of mind. I was able to manifest that at this week's teleconference.
Am stronger than I was and I just have to keep moving forward to that life I want.
At the very least, if such a thing should happen again I will not exactly what to say.
Thank you, but no.
To help balance the day, two people not connected with this place where I work said some really nice things to me. One was a professional person who told me that the time he spends working with his clients here is made more pleasant on the days when I am here, too. He said that I am a light that comforts him and makes his work easier. I am not exactly sure how to take that, much less understand it, but it was nice and I am just going to take it.
A client today told me that he has never had anyone help me as well as the work we did together today. Awkward, but that is what he shared. A second client came for a redo of her résumé, and expressed her pain over what had been prepared for her by someone else. She told me that she was no longer ashamed to give her résumé to anyone. Nice.
As I was returning to my little bat cave here, another former client stopped and told me that it always helps her when we just talk. All in all, a day with more positives and more positive energy than the other. I can totally settle for that.
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