CoolCat has been acting weird. He used to insist on pre-sleep cuddling. Now he approaches, looks at me and then, after a long period of seeming indecision, settles down close, but not next to me. I can only think that he might have been sleeping close to me one night and I must have rolled over on him. If that happened, I do not remember it, and it might be totally off track, but I cannot think of any reason for this change.
He has also been much more vocal. He was a talker from kittenhood, but the past month or it appears that he is training for the next Senate filibuster. This has been going on for months, and I sort of attributed it to a combination of nearly crushing him and the higher summer temperatures. I will never know because whilst his English is excellent, I have never been able to master most of Cat.
I also occasionally do bodily assessments to see if he is experiencing any pain. He does have a bit of arthritis that we manage...should that even be possible...with supplements, but it could be getting worse. This is important to do, especially for an geriatric cat, because cats are stunningly stoic. I remember cats coming to our shelter with serious wounds and broken bones, even with major breaks where a bone end would protrude from the skin. It is a survival behavior. And, purring cannot be an accurate assessment of well-being, as cats often purr when severely injured.
He has no body issues, nothing that would indicate pain. I gingerly manipulated his joints without any response, not even purring. :) He does not have any tender areas. He continues to jump up, in decreasing height, on our very high bed, his scratching thing and furniture, without any hesitation or apparent discomfort. He loves to be brushed and combed, particularly with the stripping comb. So, I have no idea what is going on. I guess that as long as his checkups are good and he continues to have food and water pass through his system with regularity, he continues to elicit play and petting, his sleep continues to be normal, that I should just relax.
I most likely will not stop watching for signs of distress, but I should probably stop contorting him every time he starts speechifying.
In the process of organizing and divesting all of my old crap, the stuff that was in storage, I came across a familiar, red container. I think it is some kind of Rubbermaid (my clear favorite of reusable containers) bowl and brought it out for CoolCat to see.
I held it up and called his name. He looked at me and the container and in a moment perked his little ears as he recognized it. He came running, well, more like waddling, another story, mewing all the while, just like he does when he catches a glimpse of my necklace and want it for playing.
Yes, catmint, the big, red catmint bowl. Oh, cool. I opened the lid, grabbed a big pinch of the fragrant leaves (even I love the smell of catmint, so sweet) and crumbled it on the floor.
That is the way he likes it.
He will tolerate the compressed pellets in a soft toy, but his favorite form is as he had it today.
Every once in a while he would look up at me. Once in a while I would stroke his neck. It took a while. He does not rush the experience like Lilith or Ricky did, nor does he feel the need to grind the crumbles mint into his coat like Tucker preferred.
He just ate it, gave a quick rub of his cheek in the remaining flakes, leaving most of it still on the floor, wandered over to where I was watching him with such pleasure of my own, and then jumped up on his favorite chair and has been dozing for the past couple of hours.
It has been a year and a half since he has seen that bowl, or had any of the stuff inside. I have been making little, tied packages of the catmint pellets...a supremely wonderful product by the way, which you can buy on-line at my favorite pet supply store.
Eighteen months, and it took only a heartbeat for CoolCat to remember it and what it contained. Only another heartbeat for him to enjoy that little pile of ecstasy.
And, as I was sitting and watching him enjoy his catmint, I was struck, like a real poke in the pokey-parts, how powerful memory is. All it takes is a scent or a sound or a word and we are back in the moment. Provoked into the past. Watching him sent me back to that other life, in a pleasant memory of CoolCat and our other cats and how much fun they were, the companionship and stimulation to be involved they gave me.
And, I thought, well, this is a good memory, one worth holding. Surely there must have been other times when things were not so bad, and the truth is that there are plenty, more than I could share. My next thought, in My Spiral of Remembering, is that my perceptions are skewed, that all of the bad stuff was not as bad as I make it, that I misunderstood and misinterpreted and all that old, familiar jazz.
And, then I remember that most of those pleasant and practically happy memories were sandwiched in between the bad stuff. The true bad stuff. And, once again, memory has taken me from a pleasant moment to other pleasant memories to self-doubt and shame at not being what someone else wanted me to be, even though that was never possible, to be what someone else wanted.
This is sad. It is a process and it is clear that I am not close to having this spiraling process becoming just another memory. I am not yet adjacent, in the neighborhood of that Universe. I trek in this reality, doing my best and hoping to not make any of those mistakes again, ever again.
My memories seems essential to finding balance in my new life. That they eventually will stop being only a source of shame and fear and move further into that part of my life where I can use them to learn about the things that I no longer want as part of me or my life. You know, using them as illustrations, examples and lessons for what I do not want, allowing better, more appropriate beliefs and practices to take their places.
I have no idea who first postulated the thoughts of how essential it is to know where one has been in order to see where one is going, or at least wants to go.
I cannot undo my past. When pressed on occasion to declare if I ever wanted or considered the differences in my life that would benefit from being able to go back and change things, do things differently, or simply not do some things at all, I did not have to think about it; I know that I would not. Which is probably a healthy way to feel, as it is impossible to return to any time in one's history and change anything. All I have is today, not even tomorrow, to craft the life I want.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Thursday, July 18, 2013
plain
So, anyway, some folk obsess about how they look, you know, wanting every hair in place, face scrubbed and smelling like a spa dream come true. Not vanity, but a way to be well-groomed. I am that way; well-groomed, that is.
Whilst most people are careful about their appearance because, well, it is just a nice thing to do for work and generally being out in the world. I do it because I am ugly. I have never made anyone run screaming, nor have I scarred children or caused senior citizens to faint, but I am not attractive by any stretch of the imagination, anyone's imagination.
So, it is in my best interest, being out in the world quite often, to take care with my grooming. Clean and shiny hair that is tamed just enough to reduce my crazy old babe mostly-grey locks. I wear makeup whenever I leave the house. My clothing is not new, but it is clean and I take excellent care of what I have; my youngest garment is more than ten years old. I really could use some new big girl panties, but that is anther story. Most of my bras self-destructed a few weeks ago, like it was a simultaneous death wish or some sorority hazing. I have three new bras and I cannot express how deliriously happy they make me. Seriously.
But, I am not anywhere near cute or anything in that direction. There have been plenty of people in my life who made sure that I never forgot what I look like, but, you know, I get to see myself at least twice a day when I wash up and brush my teeth. Seriously, you are not telling me anything new, and whether you mean it or not (and you most likely do mean it), it hurts to be reminded. Only meanies would do that, so you must be one of them.
I know what I look like and the truth is that I have always, like absolutely always, wanted to look better. I wanted to be cute or lovely or adorable or something. I wanted to be beautiful. But, I am not.
I tell myself that all of my beauty is on the inside, where it counts. Still...
That changed today. I clicked on the avatar that an on-line friend has on FB. Truth is that we would be real, dyed-in-the-alpaca-wool friends if she did not live in another hemisphere. I feel that way and hope that she does as well.
This is what she wrote:
I was always too thin and very plain BUT my family loved me, my children adore me, (insert name of choice) calls me beautiful, my grandies call me the best nana ever...I finally count as something.
First of all, whist she is a skinny old thing (yes, she knows her age) she really is not plain. Her features are more than pleasant, heck, I agree with her spouse, she is beautiful, especially her eyes. The wisdom that you can see there just blows me away. As pretty as she is, she is even more beautiful inside, you know, where it counts.
She is.
I am writing about this because I do not actually dwell on my appearance, or the fact that I am fat. I just get all well-groomed and get on with my day as best I can. If I bought into the concept of self-esteem...which I do not..., I might say that I have low self-esteem, but I do not.
This goes back to the part about being unattractive. It is one thing to be that, it is an entirely different thing to be reminded of it. You know, the whole meanie thing.
I am taking so long to get to this, the part where I had a moment.
I am not ugly. I am plain. Like, really plain, and that is great. The thing is that whether or not you are truly ugly, it does not do you any good to be reminded of it. And, I can let go of all of that because of what my friend wrote. I am plain and it is a nice thing. I knew it as soon as I read her posting. And, more importantly, there are other people who have embraced their plainness. Although, not my friend because she is lovely.
She is.
More...if she thinks herself to be plain, and she clearly is not, then maybe this change in how I think of myself can bring another change and there may be a time when I can look in that mirror when I am brushing my teeth or scrubbing my face and think, gee, if you had eyebrows you would be really cute.
If I had self-esteem, it would be significantly higher than it was an hour ago.
It would.
I love you, S.
I do.
Whilst most people are careful about their appearance because, well, it is just a nice thing to do for work and generally being out in the world. I do it because I am ugly. I have never made anyone run screaming, nor have I scarred children or caused senior citizens to faint, but I am not attractive by any stretch of the imagination, anyone's imagination.
So, it is in my best interest, being out in the world quite often, to take care with my grooming. Clean and shiny hair that is tamed just enough to reduce my crazy old babe mostly-grey locks. I wear makeup whenever I leave the house. My clothing is not new, but it is clean and I take excellent care of what I have; my youngest garment is more than ten years old. I really could use some new big girl panties, but that is anther story. Most of my bras self-destructed a few weeks ago, like it was a simultaneous death wish or some sorority hazing. I have three new bras and I cannot express how deliriously happy they make me. Seriously.
But, I am not anywhere near cute or anything in that direction. There have been plenty of people in my life who made sure that I never forgot what I look like, but, you know, I get to see myself at least twice a day when I wash up and brush my teeth. Seriously, you are not telling me anything new, and whether you mean it or not (and you most likely do mean it), it hurts to be reminded. Only meanies would do that, so you must be one of them.
I know what I look like and the truth is that I have always, like absolutely always, wanted to look better. I wanted to be cute or lovely or adorable or something. I wanted to be beautiful. But, I am not.
I tell myself that all of my beauty is on the inside, where it counts. Still...
That changed today. I clicked on the avatar that an on-line friend has on FB. Truth is that we would be real, dyed-in-the-alpaca-wool friends if she did not live in another hemisphere. I feel that way and hope that she does as well.
This is what she wrote:
I was always too thin and very plain BUT my family loved me, my children adore me, (insert name of choice) calls me beautiful, my grandies call me the best nana ever...I finally count as something.
First of all, whist she is a skinny old thing (yes, she knows her age) she really is not plain. Her features are more than pleasant, heck, I agree with her spouse, she is beautiful, especially her eyes. The wisdom that you can see there just blows me away. As pretty as she is, she is even more beautiful inside, you know, where it counts.
She is.
I am writing about this because I do not actually dwell on my appearance, or the fact that I am fat. I just get all well-groomed and get on with my day as best I can. If I bought into the concept of self-esteem...which I do not..., I might say that I have low self-esteem, but I do not.
This goes back to the part about being unattractive. It is one thing to be that, it is an entirely different thing to be reminded of it. You know, the whole meanie thing.
I am taking so long to get to this, the part where I had a moment.
I am not ugly. I am plain. Like, really plain, and that is great. The thing is that whether or not you are truly ugly, it does not do you any good to be reminded of it. And, I can let go of all of that because of what my friend wrote. I am plain and it is a nice thing. I knew it as soon as I read her posting. And, more importantly, there are other people who have embraced their plainness. Although, not my friend because she is lovely.
She is.
More...if she thinks herself to be plain, and she clearly is not, then maybe this change in how I think of myself can bring another change and there may be a time when I can look in that mirror when I am brushing my teeth or scrubbing my face and think, gee, if you had eyebrows you would be really cute.
If I had self-esteem, it would be significantly higher than it was an hour ago.
It would.
I love you, S.
I do.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
tomorrow
Well, I have a meeting in the morning about the training stuff from last week. I think that they, the Center, are going to ask me to start a group. They have been mentioning it since I first applied for the training, and I cannot imagine what else could be on the agenda. They cannot offer me a job, already having a specialist on staff.
I meet with my therapist, the person who told me about the certification and encouraged me to apply. On the strength of her confidence in me I did that, as well as writing an essay to apply for a scholarship. I was accepted on both counts, and, really, I am still having moments of pause, wondering how all of this happened and how really and truly lucky I am to have been accepted into this program.
Now, the hard work begins. National and state certification testing. I have never done well on tests. Give me a job or a project and I do just fine. Tests, not so much.
Lordy. This is a new kind of stress, a great stress, one I embrace, but stress nevertheless.
I meet with my therapist, the person who told me about the certification and encouraged me to apply. On the strength of her confidence in me I did that, as well as writing an essay to apply for a scholarship. I was accepted on both counts, and, really, I am still having moments of pause, wondering how all of this happened and how really and truly lucky I am to have been accepted into this program.
Now, the hard work begins. National and state certification testing. I have never done well on tests. Give me a job or a project and I do just fine. Tests, not so much.
Lordy. This is a new kind of stress, a great stress, one I embrace, but stress nevertheless.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
limp
It is dark here and the temperatures are still in the 80s and no breezes from the lake. I cannot imagine what that is about. One of the things that this weather means is that doing anything physical is proving to be difficult, and all of that stuff received little attention today.
I have our little air conditioner on and CoolCat surely do appreciate the slightly drier air, but it is still too hot to even open any windows. Ceiling fans are on. Hot air is moving. We have our own, safe home and a little discomfort is worth the opportunity to life here, in this exact place.
I have a big bag of bits and bobs and some stuff that is damaged or just plain useless. That is going out in the garbage tonight. One small space cleared. Cool, although I have to be more ruthless about tossing or donating this stuff. I also have to be more aggressive about getting this done, because it is my true intention to haul whatever is left unpacked out to the curb on Friday night.
I have had some more thoughts about the discovery and dealing with this stuff. It is another step in the death of my old life.
Yeah.
Back to say that although the temperature inside is 83F, it is even warmer outside. As I got the dishes going, I held my wrists under the flow of cold water and tried to remember what it was like when I was younger. No air conditioning, no fans, nothing. Even tap water was tepid during the summer. Great for laundry, but not so much for quenching a middle-of-the-night thirst. We managed, so I guess CoolCat and I can do the same. Yeah.
This reminds me of the washing machine. It was a lumbering, old, square wringer washer. Between that and the mangle ironing machine, it is amazing that my mother and I survived to see the more modern age of household appliances with any of our fingers intact. Those machines are still made, and whilst they do use much less water, they are insanely expensive, both used and new.
I have many pleasant memories of being in the basement, alone, running the washer, running the clothes through the wringer and hauling them outside to hang to dry. The mangle was a beast and so hot during the summer, but in colder weather it was nice to sit down there and spray stuff with starch and feed all of the linens and clothes between the roller and the heating pad. Lots of nice memories amongst the not so nice. Yeah.
I have our little air conditioner on and CoolCat surely do appreciate the slightly drier air, but it is still too hot to even open any windows. Ceiling fans are on. Hot air is moving. We have our own, safe home and a little discomfort is worth the opportunity to life here, in this exact place.
I have a big bag of bits and bobs and some stuff that is damaged or just plain useless. That is going out in the garbage tonight. One small space cleared. Cool, although I have to be more ruthless about tossing or donating this stuff. I also have to be more aggressive about getting this done, because it is my true intention to haul whatever is left unpacked out to the curb on Friday night.
I have had some more thoughts about the discovery and dealing with this stuff. It is another step in the death of my old life.
Yeah.
Back to say that although the temperature inside is 83F, it is even warmer outside. As I got the dishes going, I held my wrists under the flow of cold water and tried to remember what it was like when I was younger. No air conditioning, no fans, nothing. Even tap water was tepid during the summer. Great for laundry, but not so much for quenching a middle-of-the-night thirst. We managed, so I guess CoolCat and I can do the same. Yeah.
This reminds me of the washing machine. It was a lumbering, old, square wringer washer. Between that and the mangle ironing machine, it is amazing that my mother and I survived to see the more modern age of household appliances with any of our fingers intact. Those machines are still made, and whilst they do use much less water, they are insanely expensive, both used and new.
I have many pleasant memories of being in the basement, alone, running the washer, running the clothes through the wringer and hauling them outside to hang to dry. The mangle was a beast and so hot during the summer, but in colder weather it was nice to sit down there and spray stuff with starch and feed all of the linens and clothes between the roller and the heating pad. Lots of nice memories amongst the not so nice. Yeah.
Monday, July 15, 2013
stuff
I have too much.
I thought that I had sold most of my art stuff at the rummage sale at the old house last year. I was wrong.
I have finally decided to unpack, in support of staying here, even with the uncertainty about where I will find a job. Should I move, I thought, at least things will be organized; and coming across stuff for which I had no immediate use it could go to the women's shelter for their art programs or to the charity shop that helped me so much last summer.
Bless my friends, the ones who went into the old house when I could not, boxed up art stuff and took it to the storage unit place. They were just looking out for me, but in the boxes today and am finding things that were supposed to be sold or donated last year. You know, it was difficult enough to let all of the crap go last year, and now I will be doing it again.
I am hoping for an easier process of divestment, but I have to admit that seeing some of those supplies and materials is making all parts of me tingle, as well as triggering too many unpleasant memories. I have made doing this my goal for the week. By the end of the week there will be boxes and bags ready to drop off to the shelter and shop. I have just put in an hour and a half and I am exhausted. Partly because of the insane heat today, near 100F and probably higher with the heat index, whatever that is.
The toll of this stuff and all of the connections to that other life are, gosh, so many feeling are flooding back. I know that I miss parts of that life. There are moments when I cannot deny the loving feelings I still hold for my former husband. Habits are hard to break, and developing new habits that do not pull be backwards are even harder. I still have moments when I think that it must not have been as bad as I remember, that he really did not do those things, that I was mistaken, I just misunderstood, and then I spiral back into how everything would have been fine if only I had been able to do things right, be the right person with the right habits and had been less concerned with my own needs and more invested in what he wanted.
And, I stay there for a while. All of those feelings come right back, and along with them are all the things that were said to me.
I was never good enough.
I never did anything right.
I was ugly and useless.
No one could love me someone as disgusting as me.
I could never do anything worthwhile, nothing that anyone else would think important.
I was stupid and no matter how many books I read, no matter how many workshops I took, nothing that I tried to improve myself could, would ever work because I was incapable of improving.
I was a waste, a drain on his resources and I really was all of the names he called me.
I was stupid and ugly and useless.
When this happens, it lasts shorter and shorter times. I get over it more quickly. Unfortunately, the process of doing that is the next step in which I then remember that my other life was terrible in ways I am still unable to express. I take responsibility for my part in the dysfunction of my marriage and all of the poor, stupid and foolish mistakes and choices I made. I have forgiven him for everything that happened. It seems impossible, but I have. I think that forgiving has made it possible to move on, try my best to craft this new and amazing life and maybe someday fully forgive myself.
I never used to have goals. That whole concept seemed pointless in a life that did not allow for doing what I needed to do to achieve goals of any kind. I suppose that wanting to survive and doing what I could to make that happen is a sort of goal, although I never thought of it that way. And, now, I have the actual, real, true goal of getting rid of the rest of the art stuff. I found a package of pastels that I might keep, and some coloured Sharpies. I found some genealogy paperwork that he had done and had left behind at the house because it was about my family. When I found that my first thought was that he must have cared about me if he would do that in addition to the research he did for his family. I mean, that could be possible. It is entirely possible that there were times when he did care about me, maybe even love me a little bit.
I wish I could remember some of those times. I think they would go a long way in helping me find the good times during all of those long decades. I remember times when there was pleasure in doing things with our daughter; I just cannot remember enough of them that include him. I have so many memories of times when I loved him, I wonder where the memories of being loved in return might come back to me.
Goals
Get rid of all of that stuff.
It either fits on the shelving I bought, or it goes. By Saturday.
Anything left, examined or sorted or not, goes out on the curb by Saturday evening.
Get over my feelings of loss and attachment to stuff.
Think about how my issues with abundance are stopping me from moving forward.
Keep reminding myself that stuff is just stuff, that I that this stuff was already gone, and that keeping any of it is a burden that I am no longer willing to carry.
Stuff. Lordy.
I thought that I had sold most of my art stuff at the rummage sale at the old house last year. I was wrong.
I have finally decided to unpack, in support of staying here, even with the uncertainty about where I will find a job. Should I move, I thought, at least things will be organized; and coming across stuff for which I had no immediate use it could go to the women's shelter for their art programs or to the charity shop that helped me so much last summer.
Bless my friends, the ones who went into the old house when I could not, boxed up art stuff and took it to the storage unit place. They were just looking out for me, but in the boxes today and am finding things that were supposed to be sold or donated last year. You know, it was difficult enough to let all of the crap go last year, and now I will be doing it again.
I am hoping for an easier process of divestment, but I have to admit that seeing some of those supplies and materials is making all parts of me tingle, as well as triggering too many unpleasant memories. I have made doing this my goal for the week. By the end of the week there will be boxes and bags ready to drop off to the shelter and shop. I have just put in an hour and a half and I am exhausted. Partly because of the insane heat today, near 100F and probably higher with the heat index, whatever that is.
The toll of this stuff and all of the connections to that other life are, gosh, so many feeling are flooding back. I know that I miss parts of that life. There are moments when I cannot deny the loving feelings I still hold for my former husband. Habits are hard to break, and developing new habits that do not pull be backwards are even harder. I still have moments when I think that it must not have been as bad as I remember, that he really did not do those things, that I was mistaken, I just misunderstood, and then I spiral back into how everything would have been fine if only I had been able to do things right, be the right person with the right habits and had been less concerned with my own needs and more invested in what he wanted.
And, I stay there for a while. All of those feelings come right back, and along with them are all the things that were said to me.
I was never good enough.
I never did anything right.
I was ugly and useless.
No one could love me someone as disgusting as me.
I could never do anything worthwhile, nothing that anyone else would think important.
I was stupid and no matter how many books I read, no matter how many workshops I took, nothing that I tried to improve myself could, would ever work because I was incapable of improving.
I was a waste, a drain on his resources and I really was all of the names he called me.
I was stupid and ugly and useless.
When this happens, it lasts shorter and shorter times. I get over it more quickly. Unfortunately, the process of doing that is the next step in which I then remember that my other life was terrible in ways I am still unable to express. I take responsibility for my part in the dysfunction of my marriage and all of the poor, stupid and foolish mistakes and choices I made. I have forgiven him for everything that happened. It seems impossible, but I have. I think that forgiving has made it possible to move on, try my best to craft this new and amazing life and maybe someday fully forgive myself.
I never used to have goals. That whole concept seemed pointless in a life that did not allow for doing what I needed to do to achieve goals of any kind. I suppose that wanting to survive and doing what I could to make that happen is a sort of goal, although I never thought of it that way. And, now, I have the actual, real, true goal of getting rid of the rest of the art stuff. I found a package of pastels that I might keep, and some coloured Sharpies. I found some genealogy paperwork that he had done and had left behind at the house because it was about my family. When I found that my first thought was that he must have cared about me if he would do that in addition to the research he did for his family. I mean, that could be possible. It is entirely possible that there were times when he did care about me, maybe even love me a little bit.
I wish I could remember some of those times. I think they would go a long way in helping me find the good times during all of those long decades. I remember times when there was pleasure in doing things with our daughter; I just cannot remember enough of them that include him. I have so many memories of times when I loved him, I wonder where the memories of being loved in return might come back to me.
Goals
Get rid of all of that stuff.
It either fits on the shelving I bought, or it goes. By Saturday.
Anything left, examined or sorted or not, goes out on the curb by Saturday evening.
Get over my feelings of loss and attachment to stuff.
Think about how my issues with abundance are stopping me from moving forward.
Keep reminding myself that stuff is just stuff, that I that this stuff was already gone, and that keeping any of it is a burden that I am no longer willing to carry.
Stuff. Lordy.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
esteem
Self and that in which other people hold us. Yeah, baby, that is what I'm talkin' 'bout.
I could work on this for a million zillion years and still allow myself to be knocked back on my ass when someone deliberately slights me.
I am not referring to those things that humans do and how another human may or may not perceive what just happened in that brief interaction. We all go around in our little self-absorbed fogs, brains concentrating on lots of stuff whilst attending to whomever is with us. I do it all the time; so does everyone else, being human and all.
I met an old friend for lunch today, and was reminded why it was too painful for me to hang around with her. The thing that kept happening back then, oh, six years ago, happened again today. Then it was a planned hospital visit for which she offered transportation because of the general anesthesia for the procedure. On the way home she mentioned that doing that for me reduced the time she could spend with her then-partner, something that I knew nothing about and every time she said it again I felt badly. I had messed up a day she could have spent with the most important person in her life, and with whom she was having problems. Sounds just like every other relationship, so no big deal there, but it would have been better for all of us if she had just told me and I had made other arrangements. They eventually broke up and they have not seen each other for a year or so.
Today at lunch, near the time we were sort of finishing up, she received a text message from that person, her former partner, asking to get together. My friend said that this person had been texting her all day, wanting to meet and she really did not want to. My friend suggested that maybe the two of us should just go to the bookstore, and we did that. After an hour, she told me that she was going to meet her former partner.
Again, no big deal, except that I think she was with me today only to fill the time until the two of them could meet. Or, that she could have time to make a decision either way. And, it really was not a problem, because I was just glad to see her again and catch up on our lives.
It triggered all those old feelings about being used to fill time for someone until something better came along. And, I wonder why this bothers me so much, at least enough to have to come home and write about it.
I am a nice person. I should be good enough to be someone's friend, you know, just her friend, without all the freaking drama. I cannot understand why I am feeling so sad and rejected and unworthy about this, but I am and it totally sucks.
So, anyway, I drive home, call the older woman who needs me tomorrow and decide to finally put my name and flat number on my mailbox. All three of the mailboxes here are identical, and the numbering system is ambiguous. I bought some of those letter and number stickers at the hardware store months ago. It is a nice and warm day, perfect for stickering something.
Whilst I was out there, my upstairs neighbor and her daughter came home, parking on the street in front of the house. I watched her get out of the car, and waved to her. She looked away and entered her flat.
So, why does this bother me? Do I have some sick and perverted need to be liked by everyone? Are my insecurities so great, so disabling, so inappropriate that I need...not want or even crave, but need...constant reassurance from other people? Even freaking neighbors?
It is a mystery why I care. It is a mystery how much this bothers me. It is a darn shame that these kinds of things send me off, thinking that my expectations for interaction with other people have to be positive, have to have some element of friendship.
In my other life, none of this bothered me overmuch. Sure, it is nice to be liked, to have friends and neighbors with whom you can be friendly, but it is not the end of the world, anyone's world, when that does not happen. The Universe does not revolve around me and my pathetic need for acceptance. My work and other friends, and most especially my family should be enough. They are. And, yet, I go around like I am, well, not exactly waiting for it to happen, but awfully able to notice this sort of thing, when it is most likely that I am really not on anyone's radar or in their mind, and that my perception of these encounters, though rare and random, is so negative.
I have never much liked the term self esteem. I have always thought that the concept was valid, but that self worth, acceptance, comfort and pleasure from relationships and casual interactions is dependent only on me, and that it should not have anything to do with other people. Oh, I guess that is the concept, although it seems that it should be separate from anything that other people say or do. You know?
I am not stupid about this. I know that this hyper-sensitivity is part of the PTSD. I know that time and continuing personal work on my crap, as well as decent therapeutic resources will help in recovering from that other life. It is that I am feeling impatience about the progress I am making. I do not want magic, or some kind of quick-fix, or even for the process to be easy and painless. Mostly.
I just wish that I could avoid these perceptions and feelings. It is not any fun, not at all. I am thinking about it today, as much as possible, both to help myself and to internalize the experiences and feelings as much as possible so that I will have access to those feelings when I work with others, those who are recovering, too.
Just to be clear, I know that my friend is like that, and it is about her own issues. It is not about me. My upstairs neighbor was probably still engaged in conversation with her daughter, probably did not even see me. I know, right there in my head that none of this is about me. Unfortunately, my default response is always that I must have done something wrong and that the other person is upset about whatever it is that I have done wrong. I have a feeling that I may never stop doing this, the whole blaming myself over nothing and the resulting shame spiral. At least I can recognize that that is happening and I can sort of wallow in the fear and sadness and despair and then move on. But, those moments are just terrible.
No randomness, hey? Nothing is wasted or without purpose. If only it did not hurt whilst in the moment. Or, maybe the pain is part of what makes the learning stick, makes it something that I can have to help me the next time I am feeling vulnerable and helpless. Man, this being responsible for myself is hard work.
I could work on this for a million zillion years and still allow myself to be knocked back on my ass when someone deliberately slights me.
I am not referring to those things that humans do and how another human may or may not perceive what just happened in that brief interaction. We all go around in our little self-absorbed fogs, brains concentrating on lots of stuff whilst attending to whomever is with us. I do it all the time; so does everyone else, being human and all.
I met an old friend for lunch today, and was reminded why it was too painful for me to hang around with her. The thing that kept happening back then, oh, six years ago, happened again today. Then it was a planned hospital visit for which she offered transportation because of the general anesthesia for the procedure. On the way home she mentioned that doing that for me reduced the time she could spend with her then-partner, something that I knew nothing about and every time she said it again I felt badly. I had messed up a day she could have spent with the most important person in her life, and with whom she was having problems. Sounds just like every other relationship, so no big deal there, but it would have been better for all of us if she had just told me and I had made other arrangements. They eventually broke up and they have not seen each other for a year or so.
Today at lunch, near the time we were sort of finishing up, she received a text message from that person, her former partner, asking to get together. My friend said that this person had been texting her all day, wanting to meet and she really did not want to. My friend suggested that maybe the two of us should just go to the bookstore, and we did that. After an hour, she told me that she was going to meet her former partner.
Again, no big deal, except that I think she was with me today only to fill the time until the two of them could meet. Or, that she could have time to make a decision either way. And, it really was not a problem, because I was just glad to see her again and catch up on our lives.
It triggered all those old feelings about being used to fill time for someone until something better came along. And, I wonder why this bothers me so much, at least enough to have to come home and write about it.
I am a nice person. I should be good enough to be someone's friend, you know, just her friend, without all the freaking drama. I cannot understand why I am feeling so sad and rejected and unworthy about this, but I am and it totally sucks.
So, anyway, I drive home, call the older woman who needs me tomorrow and decide to finally put my name and flat number on my mailbox. All three of the mailboxes here are identical, and the numbering system is ambiguous. I bought some of those letter and number stickers at the hardware store months ago. It is a nice and warm day, perfect for stickering something.
Whilst I was out there, my upstairs neighbor and her daughter came home, parking on the street in front of the house. I watched her get out of the car, and waved to her. She looked away and entered her flat.
So, why does this bother me? Do I have some sick and perverted need to be liked by everyone? Are my insecurities so great, so disabling, so inappropriate that I need...not want or even crave, but need...constant reassurance from other people? Even freaking neighbors?
It is a mystery why I care. It is a mystery how much this bothers me. It is a darn shame that these kinds of things send me off, thinking that my expectations for interaction with other people have to be positive, have to have some element of friendship.
In my other life, none of this bothered me overmuch. Sure, it is nice to be liked, to have friends and neighbors with whom you can be friendly, but it is not the end of the world, anyone's world, when that does not happen. The Universe does not revolve around me and my pathetic need for acceptance. My work and other friends, and most especially my family should be enough. They are. And, yet, I go around like I am, well, not exactly waiting for it to happen, but awfully able to notice this sort of thing, when it is most likely that I am really not on anyone's radar or in their mind, and that my perception of these encounters, though rare and random, is so negative.
I have never much liked the term self esteem. I have always thought that the concept was valid, but that self worth, acceptance, comfort and pleasure from relationships and casual interactions is dependent only on me, and that it should not have anything to do with other people. Oh, I guess that is the concept, although it seems that it should be separate from anything that other people say or do. You know?
I am not stupid about this. I know that this hyper-sensitivity is part of the PTSD. I know that time and continuing personal work on my crap, as well as decent therapeutic resources will help in recovering from that other life. It is that I am feeling impatience about the progress I am making. I do not want magic, or some kind of quick-fix, or even for the process to be easy and painless. Mostly.
I just wish that I could avoid these perceptions and feelings. It is not any fun, not at all. I am thinking about it today, as much as possible, both to help myself and to internalize the experiences and feelings as much as possible so that I will have access to those feelings when I work with others, those who are recovering, too.
Just to be clear, I know that my friend is like that, and it is about her own issues. It is not about me. My upstairs neighbor was probably still engaged in conversation with her daughter, probably did not even see me. I know, right there in my head that none of this is about me. Unfortunately, my default response is always that I must have done something wrong and that the other person is upset about whatever it is that I have done wrong. I have a feeling that I may never stop doing this, the whole blaming myself over nothing and the resulting shame spiral. At least I can recognize that that is happening and I can sort of wallow in the fear and sadness and despair and then move on. But, those moments are just terrible.
No randomness, hey? Nothing is wasted or without purpose. If only it did not hurt whilst in the moment. Or, maybe the pain is part of what makes the learning stick, makes it something that I can have to help me the next time I am feeling vulnerable and helpless. Man, this being responsible for myself is hard work.
Saturday, July 13, 2013
training
I am still much exhausted from this week's training. The last day ended early, I ran a few errands on the way home
I digress to say thanks, dear friend for stopping by with your sweet and charming dog and leaving a memento to facilitate remembering your visit. The fleas said to say "Hi!"
So, one of the errands was to stop by the vet clinic and buy nearly a hundred dollars of specialized flea treatment, the one that will not cause CoolCat to go into cardiac arrest, or get beriberi, or have a psychic break, or some damn thing. All I can say is that I am so glad that I did not stop to get the couple of things the house needs, or do any grocery shopping. My little guy comes first, and it pleases me very much that, in the midst of living with some important economies, I did not hesitate to put him first. I will not have money to de-flea the house for some time, but at least the nasty buggers will stay off of him.
So,anyway, I came home, stripped (sorry about the mind image...shudder), turned on the air conditioning unit, made a quick detour into the shower to cool off, had a quick dinner, went to bed early and slept until 10:30 this morning.
I feel great, but still mentally packed-to-the-gills. The training was amazing. The presenters even more so. I made so many wonderful friends, especially S, E, R, E and too many to mention without leaving someone out.
I will be processing this for days and when I can, I will put down here every part that I can. It is the only way that I will ever remember.
I will share, however, that the most immediate benefit from this week is that I have learned some important things about setting and communicating and respecting boundaries that need to be established with some of the people in my life. An insurmountable problem has been rendered surmountable. Doable in a way that preserves me and, if I am lucky, some of the relationships that I would like to keep.
Another aspect that I need to write about is that finishing this training has left me feeling stronger and will significantly less fear. Mostly about my personal safety. I will not be living foolishly, but staying safe is a much more manageable part of how I will be spending my time. I want a decent, reasonably safe life, not so focused on that other person and those things he is still capable of doing, but I also do not want to be carefree and dead.
That would just be a darn shame after coming through all of this. Sounds like a good compromise. It also sounds like I will have to actually use my Y membership. Rats. Should have known there was a catch.
So, off to turn the AC back on, look for something edible, aside from the cookies I forgot I hid in the upper cabinet, and maybe put in a DVD and hope to say awake until bedtime.
Life is freaking good. I mean, who could have ever, possibly known that this was where my life was leading me. I keep thinking that and saying it aloud. Seriously. How could I have ever, ever imagined this.
I digress to say thanks, dear friend for stopping by with your sweet and charming dog and leaving a memento to facilitate remembering your visit. The fleas said to say "Hi!"
So, one of the errands was to stop by the vet clinic and buy nearly a hundred dollars of specialized flea treatment, the one that will not cause CoolCat to go into cardiac arrest, or get beriberi, or have a psychic break, or some damn thing. All I can say is that I am so glad that I did not stop to get the couple of things the house needs, or do any grocery shopping. My little guy comes first, and it pleases me very much that, in the midst of living with some important economies, I did not hesitate to put him first. I will not have money to de-flea the house for some time, but at least the nasty buggers will stay off of him.
So,anyway, I came home, stripped (sorry about the mind image...shudder), turned on the air conditioning unit, made a quick detour into the shower to cool off, had a quick dinner, went to bed early and slept until 10:30 this morning.
I feel great, but still mentally packed-to-the-gills. The training was amazing. The presenters even more so. I made so many wonderful friends, especially S, E, R, E and too many to mention without leaving someone out.
I will be processing this for days and when I can, I will put down here every part that I can. It is the only way that I will ever remember.
I will share, however, that the most immediate benefit from this week is that I have learned some important things about setting and communicating and respecting boundaries that need to be established with some of the people in my life. An insurmountable problem has been rendered surmountable. Doable in a way that preserves me and, if I am lucky, some of the relationships that I would like to keep.
Another aspect that I need to write about is that finishing this training has left me feeling stronger and will significantly less fear. Mostly about my personal safety. I will not be living foolishly, but staying safe is a much more manageable part of how I will be spending my time. I want a decent, reasonably safe life, not so focused on that other person and those things he is still capable of doing, but I also do not want to be carefree and dead.
That would just be a darn shame after coming through all of this. Sounds like a good compromise. It also sounds like I will have to actually use my Y membership. Rats. Should have known there was a catch.
So, off to turn the AC back on, look for something edible, aside from the cookies I forgot I hid in the upper cabinet, and maybe put in a DVD and hope to say awake until bedtime.
Life is freaking good. I mean, who could have ever, possibly known that this was where my life was leading me. I keep thinking that and saying it aloud. Seriously. How could I have ever, ever imagined this.
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