Tag: family

I Wish They Knew

I wish my family knew a few things about me.  About the real me.  The person I am now, not the person I was 20 years ago. 

 

I am not perfect.  Not that anyone in my family was thinking that I was.  No one is perfect.  We are all flawed in our own ways.  My flaws are much different and were created through different life experiences.  Some experiences they know about, some they don’t.  And that’s okay. 

 

I love my family.  I would do anything to protect my family.  Anything.

 

I am not strong.  Everyone thinks I’m “strong like bull” and nothing can hurt me or phase me and I can take on the problems of the world.  That is not at all who I am.  I tend to take on the stressors of others.  I carry them like they were my own.  I try to fix the stressors, fix the ones that I love and fix those that are hurting.  This hurts me in the long run.  I have maxed myself.  There is nothing left for me to give of myself.  I am numb to the hurt and heartache.

 

I do not want to disappoint anyone, ever.  Especially, my family.  I feel like I disappoint others when I don’t do or say or act the way I am expected.  It was hard for me to break free from the prison of always doing the right thing.  The right thing was typically someone else’s idea of what was right, not necessarily my idea of what was right.  I put many very important relationships to the test by not following what I knew to be true in my heart.  Some relationships were lost, some are okay, and some are still struggling.

 

I have a problem standing on my own two feet and saying no.  The is very true when it comes to possibly hurting someone’s feelings.  I overextend myself quite a bit.

 

I would much sooner ignore problems that might be creating friction and wait for it to pass.  Of course, this ultimately causes more problems and creates something I like to call the cycle of guilt.  I’m sure I am not the only one familiar with this cycle.  

 

I am not cold hearted or mean. I care more than I should at times. I guess I can come off that way when I’m doing all I can to stay afloat in my life. I have donned my armor over the years to help protect myself. No one wants to hurt or be the reason someone is hurting. Pushing others away is far easier than continually hurting the people I care about.

I am different. I am semi-okay with that. I am not traditional, but I am also not a rebel. I think I fall somewhere in between. I like my short, edgy hair. I like my tattoos and I will get more. I swear, a lot. I am probably not always socially correct. I can behave when society requires it.

I have different views on life. I am intrigued by spiritual healing. I have always had a bit of an ability to feel or sense things. I want to hon that skill. I want to expand my mind in various ways and not feel like I will be made fun of.

I want to live freely, without judgement, criticism, or punishment. I want to agree to disagree and keep moving forward. I want the decisions I make to be respected. In turn, I will do the same for others.

The Brady Bunch, Partridge Family and the Walton’s were not REAL!  No family is perfect.  Let’s accept that imperfection and just love each other.

Marks

I see the marks, feel the pain from the marks. Marks that I never thought I would have. No one would believe that I would have these marks. I still can’t believe I have these marks. I never thought I would understand the marks I see on others. I now understand. I understand the extreme mental anguish and despair that evoke the marks. I always thought I could handle it, handle my emotional pain. I never thought it could get worse. It got worse.

Was that day my rock bottom? I keep thinking about that day. I see it clearly; I hear it clearly. I remember. I remember fear, hurt, regret, disappointment, pain, embarrassment, despair, hopelessness. What I wanted was the darkness. The darkness of nothing. Was that the answer? Nothing? I wondered how long I would need the darkness; need the nothingness to last. Would it be for an hour, a day, a week, a month, a year? Would it be forever? Should it be forever? What would it be like, the darkness? Would it be like floating? Seeing everyone I loved, but I can’t get to them? Would I feel nothing? Would I feel the people I loved? Did the marks keep me from darkness, from nothingness? Maybe the marks saved me in some fucked up way. Did they?

It was a week ago that the marks showed up on my body. A week is not enough time to answer all the questions or figure out all the answers. Some days, waking up is the best I can offer. Other days, I want to conquer the world and give a big fuck you to all those judging me for trying to figure out my world. Why am I not allowed to be me, EVER? Always dancing the line between acceptable and hearing the disappointed tsk. Live for me, live for them. Live for me, lose them. Live for them, lose me. Why are there only two options?

Fuck. Do you see? This is where the marks come from. The exasperation, the desperateness, the hopelessness. My marks are mine. I own them, I understand them. I needed my marks.

The Dance

How long have we been dancing the dance?  Do you remember?  I think the real dancing started about four years ago.  To be fair and completely honest, the dancing was always there.  It was in the background at times, but it was always there.

You do know the dancing I’m talking about, right?  It’s what has become our traditional relationship dance.  I think we unknowingly started this dance; it wasn’t intentional.  We did what we needed to do to, right?  Is that how you remember the dance starting?  There were times family interfered with our relationship.  We each pacified the other.  I know I felt stuck in the middle and I’m sure you did as well.  Looking back, I wish we would have had the ability to cope with the interference and stop the dancing.  But we danced around the problems, hoping they would just disappear.  While it wasn’t always looming over our shoulders, the dancing was still happening in the background; waiting for a weak moment to speed up the tempo, to make one of us feel weak, vulnerable, unsettled.  We did the best we could, right?

I think there was a time, and it probably was about four years ago, where the dancing pattern we are in now started.  I would talk to you about needing help with decisions, kids, money, day to day stuff.  I would talk, you would listen.  I would get frustrated and stop talking.  You waited me out, at least that’s how I felt/feel.  You waited until I could no longer take the awkward silence, the no talking.  I would break my silence, and everything would eventually go back to our normal dancing.  It’s odd now that I think about it.  I couldn’t stand living in the awkward silence, so I broke.  But there was still silence, just a different kind of silence.  It was the silent song of our dance. Our dancing pattern happened when, like every three or six months?  The dance always started and ended the same way. I feel like I tried over and over again.  Do you feel that way?  Like you tried over and over again?  I guess it doesn’t matter. 

We are still dancing.  Now we dance around each other.  We dance around talking, touching, feeling.  What happens when the dance ends? What happens when one of us stops dancing?  What if it’s you?  What if it’s me?  Does it look different or feel different?

Do we continue to live in the comfortable uncomfortableness that surrounds us daily because living in the comfortable uncomfortableness is easier than moving our lives into the unknown uncomfortableness.  Is that anyway to live?  How do we continue to avoid what is right in front of our faces? 

I feel like you are living in the shadows of the three wise monkeys; see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.  If you turn a blind eye to what is happening to us, you don’t have to worry about anything.  If you refuse to hear what I am saying over and over, you don’t have to worry about anything.  If you refuse to speak to me about what is happening to us, you don’t have to worry about anything. 

But I have a question.

What happens when one of us steps off the dance floor?

Spin cycle

I feel like rambling. My apologies.

So many different things circling in my brain. Kinda feels like a washing machine that is stuck on the spin cycle. I keep trying to break out of the cycle.

First and foremost is a dinner that is planned for tomorrow evening. It is with my sister and two friends. I am beyond fortunate to have these women in my world. It’s a shame my brain always gets in the way. I have given myself the title of “token fat friend” for the group. No one else gave me that, just me. And if anyone who doesn’t know us would see us out and about, they would easily pick me as the one that doesn’t quite fit with the group. Some may think that’s a good thing. I’m not sure how I feel about it. I will give the facts as I see them. Just facts, not my spin on the facts. I will spin those facts a bit later.

Facts: I am the largest of the group, I am probably the loudest of the group, I am the only one in the group with super short hair, I am the only one in the group with tattoos, I am the only one in the group that doesn’t exude confidence, I am the one in the group that will be slumped and slouched, I will eat less than anyone in the group, I am the only one in the group that swears like a sailor, I am the one in the group that looks at life a bit differently and has some very different views and opinions.

Those are facts. How my brain spins those facts is where the trouble starts. I have been worried about what I am wearing tomorrow evening for the last two weeks. What will make me appear smaller? What will make me fit in? What will everyone else wear? What if my tattoos are visible? Will everyone be embarrassed to be seen with me? Am I going to get another lecture about tattoos and how they aren’t feminine or whatever? I will do my make-up the best way I can in hopes to not look like a man. Hoping that the makeup will take away from a face that looks like a long horse face (a comment that my mother once made to me, and I can’t ever forget). I will cross my fingers in hopes my rosacea that I have gotten over the last two years will stay away tomorrow evening. If not, my cheeks, nose and forehead will appear blotchy and red, similar to a drunk person. I will sit with my back to the wall, facing out. This is for a multitude of reasons. First, my back fat will not show to those approaching from behind. It also helps when others are approaching the table that I would normally hug, because my seating choice makes it difficult to be hugged. Which means no arms/hands on the back fat, waist fat or hip fat. Of course, I will do my best to keep all fats controlled with spandex. But one can only wear so much spandex. While facing out, I get to watch the faces, stares, and reactions of others. The others in the group will share stories of travel and experiences I will never have. Again, due to seating choice I can observe and listen, waiting for the opportune time to make a smart-ass comment to deflect from what I am really feeling. That feeling would be inadequacy. A feeling I know well. People will also see me from the front, again due to choice seating. If viewed from behind, my super short hair reveals a neck area that has no definition either from the back or side due to a fat neck and double chin. People will be greeted by a smile. A smile that hides all the pain and doubts and insecurities. I will be the funny one, or at least attempt to be. I use humor to deflect from real feelings. Don’t ask me how my marriage is or how my daughter is unless you really want to know. Cause what I would like to tell you, well that shit ain’t pretty and you can’t handle the truth. I will scan the room, searching for those who are judging. I can tell who they are. The sideways glance that lasts a bit too long. Someone thinking or wondering what poor individual gets to wake up next to me in bed. And what the hell might that look like. If I resemble a bull dyke lesbian in full make-up, what must I look like first thing in the morning. Believe me, it’s horrific. And I don’t wear spandex to bed, so imagine that nightmare. People will come to the table we are sitting at because the others at the table are known. I will get introduced as the sister of one of the groups most well-known. I see the fleeting look of surprise, wonder and at times shock and horror cross people’s faces. How can that thing (meaning me) be related to the gorgeous, feminine, posh, woman? It’s at these times I will make it known we are only half-sisters. I got the bad half.

I will, of course, use the correct forks, use table manners that would make Emily Post proud. After all, while I might be a bull dyke lesbian looking thing, I’m not a complete cad. Now, pass the bread and let’s get this party started

A question


I asked you a question a few months ago. A question that was posed to me from an outsider.  The question I asked you was “what does taking care of me look like to you”.  I did not push you to answer. I asked occasionally if you had thought about it or if you had an answer for me.  It took a month for you to answer me and even then, it was because I was seeing the outsider and I don’t think you wanted to look “bad”.  Your answer was, “Difficult to answer, not sure how to answer.  Is it because I never did actually take care of you? Or never really thought about it. To take the time for your wants and needs.  Flowers to brighten your day, a card, a phone message to say I love you.  More decision making on my end to help end your stress.  To have answers for questions (not, I don’t know).” 

What has changed, in your opinion?  I would love to hear that answer from you.  From your lips, not written on a piece of paper or sent in an email or text.  Could you answer?  Would you answer?  

I started therapy, for me.  When I told you that I finally made an appointment you asked me, “Should I be worried?”  I would have to assume if you asked me that question, you were already worried.  Right?  You felt me changing.  You felt the distance that was created between us.  You had to.  People around us saw it and felt it.  Is it easy to ignore that feeling?  I can’t ignore it any longer. 

I fill my days being busy to keep the real from creeping in.  To fill the voids and the gaps with something, anything.  You have to realize that.   You have to see that.  The busier I am the less time for the awkward silence to ooze into all the empty spaces

You will always be a person that will hold a very special place in my heart and in my world. I will always love you, no matter how fucked up that sounds. I don’t want to replace all the memories we have. I want to keep those memories. I want to keep them safe, keep them happy, not destroy them with words of hate and feelings of…discontent, unhappiness, and loneliness.

Our house. Do I love it? Fuck yes, I love it. After almost 20 years, it has become what I had always hoped for. Our kids are comfortable coming and going, even as adults. Our grandkids know where to find their snacks and their favorite toys. That is what rips me apart the most. What about them? I see the way you look at each one of them. Your love shines through your eyes. I worry if we are no longer “us”, your relationship with them will change. That destroys me. But I can’t control that. I can’t control you or your actions.

If I ask you the same question today, “what does taking care of me look like to you”, what would your answer be?

What happens if I go away

Who will take care of cleaning?

Who will take care of cooking?

Who will take care of the wash?

Who will take care of paying the bills?

Who will take care of birthdays?

Who will take care of anniversaries?

Who will take care of holidays?

Who will take care of appointments?

Who will take care of ordering food?

Who will take care of getting groceries?

Who will take care of loading the dishwasher?

Who will take care of unloading the dishwasher?

Who will take care of the kids?

Who will take care of the grandkids?

Who will take care of giving support?

Who will take care of giving comfort?

Who will take care of giving love?

The world will continue to spin if I go away

gone

My girl left. She packed her car Sunday and moved back to drippy dick. Back to the place I have been paying rent for. I’m guessing this has been going on for at least a month, if not longer. Did she go to therapy, ever? Will she continue? Will this be the end of her?

She did leave us a litter box full of cat piss and shit. So there’s that.

It has to end

I can’t believe she did it to me again.  I mean, I can.  I suspected as much, or I wouldn’t have taken that drive yesterday.  I had my suspicions; I didn’t want them to be true.  But they are true.  My girl is back with him.  I probably started to get suspicious about a month ago.  I am assuming she went to her therapy as she was supposed to, but I won’t be able to verify that until the health insurance claims start rolling in.  And even then, I don’t know if I will be able to tell how many days she attended.  I figured she was smart enough to not call him from the cell phone I pay for.  I can, and do, check those records on a regular basis.  But there are so many other ways for them to be in contact with each other. 

 

She started to talk about old friends.  Friends that I hadn’t heard about in at least a year or more.  But I am trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.  And I was happy she was hanging out with friends.  She never brought the friends home, her excuse being the state of her room.  Okay, I get that.  But some of her old habits started to surface.  Not calling or texting if she wasn’t coming home for the night.  Not coming home after her therapy sessions were over.  But, again, I wanted to support her.  Make sure she knew how proud I was of her and that I knew she was struggling and hurting. 

 

Her birthday was the end of June.  I made sure everyone knew she needed gift cards.  She has no job, her savings is depleted.  Gift cards for gas, food, etc.  Now I feel like I duped everyone.  Did the gift cards get used on her or did they get used on him?  Is she really that dumb?  Not only that, but I have been paying half of her rent since May because she signed a lease with drippy dick and he threatened to sue her civilly if her half wasn’t paid.  Four months of paying half his rent.  Four months of paying her outrageously high car insurance (because she had so many violations.) Helping her with supplies for her cat, toiletries, the food she likes, a new mattress, new bedding.  Putting things I wanted to do in my house on hold because she moved home and the room I was using as a storage room while renovating another room, she now occupies. 

 

Oh, and I believe it was last week, she told me that one friend she talks about and supposedly was doing things with, had found an apartment with a boyfriend and they needed stuff for the apartment.  When we moved her away from drippy dick, we took the plate set, pots/pans and microwave because I bought them.  I scrubbed everything clean and packed them away in the event she ever needed them again.  She asked if she could give the items to her friend because they were desperate for household items.  Of course, I said yes.  I’m now willing to bet my house that those items are back in the apartment with drippy dick.

 

And I can’t forget that I spent hours filling out her disability paperwork, because it was just so overwhelming for her.  It is currently under medical review.  I also applied for state health insurance for her.  She told me that her therapist told her private insurance does not cover what state (basically welfare) health insurance covers.  And, since I want her to stay in therapy and get all the help possible, I did all the work.  She received her benefit card last week.  She was supposed to take it along to therapy and find out what could be done.  As of Friday, therapy was over for her. 

 

I couldn’t sleep well Saturday into Sunday.  I just had this feeling…………that feeling of something not being “right” with her. The feeling worked its way into every part of me.  I decided mid-morning on Sunday that I needed to drive by the place drippy dick rents.  I needed to see for myself.  Was her car there, or wasn’t it?  I realize there are many different scenarios that could have happened.  But only one happened.  Her car was there.  AND IT FUCKING KILLED ME.  I took a picture, so I had my proof.  I felt like I was going to throw up.  All the hope I had was gone for my girl. I am still numb.  I still can’t believe it; I don’t want to believe it.  I saw it.  No matter what her excuse is, I saw it.  I am starting to get pissed off and very angry.  

 

Now the question is, what do I do?  She came home Sunday early evening because the family was getting together for my mom’s (her grandmother’s) birthday Sunday evening.  I was cool towards her, but we all know I can act like a Tony award winning actress.  She tried to talk about therapy.  She was very loud, and I think was doing it so everyone could hear her and maybe pity her or something.  I told her to stop talking about it and it could be discussed later.  She left earlier than anyone else with the excuse she was going to her friend’s house.  She never came home last night, never sent a message or called.  As of right now, she still isn’t home.  She is once again treating my home like a Holiday Inn.  She has the bathroom and her room destroyed, again.  

 

It’s time. I know it’s time. It will probably be the single hardest thing I have done as a parent up until this point. I need to kick her out and that’s it. No more bills paid for her. I have to stop. She obviously didn’t hit rock bottom like I thought. I hate to see what rock bottom is for her.

Food, please and thank you

So, it’s 10:00 AM.  I have been at work since about 7:30 AM.  I have checked my email.  Nothing there for me to do.  I put six bottles of water in the conference room refrigerator.  I took two letters to the mailbox and put the flag up.  There have been no phone calls to answer.  I have heard one of the “professionals” in the office being passive aggressive and complaining about the temperature of the office (that person has a thermostat in their office).  I know one female and two males have gone potty.  I have shuffled and reshuffled the same papers around my desk about four times.  I have organized the wheat thins that I am eating into pairs.  I have hated myself 127,568 times for my many faults.  I am currently considering getting more wheat thins to eat, because……………why not.  If I do get more wheat thins, I will be able to hate myself like 54,789 more times before noon.  At noon it’s lunch time.  I have fresh, local black raspberries (my favorite) and vanilla Greek yogurt.  Totally healthy and good for me.  And as I eat that, I will PROMISE myself that this is it.  This is the time I make the change.  The time is now.  Stop procrastinating and making excuses.  How do I know that will happen?  Because it happens every day, at least once a day.  And then the rest of the day I eat my feelings, I eat my mistakes, I eat my unhappiness, I eat my loneliness, I eat my excuses, I eat my fear, I eat my inadequacies.  I eat.  The way I see my current situation, there is no reason not to eat.  I find my comfort eating, I find a long-lost friend eating, I find my emotional support when I eat, I find everything I need when eat.  Food isn’t going to leave me. I can’t disappoint food, I can’t hurt food.  Food gives my fat suit.  I have and will continue to pay dearly for that fat suit.  It will help me shut people out, let people see what they want, let people think what they want.  With my fat suit on, no one is going to get close enough to see the real me, to see the truth no one wants to see.  And, so you are aware, I did not get more wheat thins to eat.  I got goldfish.  I ate them in pairs.  

 

Ramblings

 

Please excuse me, but these are the ramblings of an old, fat, scatterbrained, wannabe loved woman.

 

I can say those things about myself.  I am old.  I can’t say midlife anymore.  That would mean I have another 50+ years of living.  I’m fairly certain that isn’t the case.  I am fat.  Society and medicine tell me so.  Even when the people who say they love me don’t tell me the truth, I know I am fat.  Yes, I am scatterbrained.  How can’t I be?  Who isn’t these days?  A wannabe loved woman.  That is also me.  This is one of those catch 22’s and probably most of what my ramblings and deep dives will most likely lead back to.

 

Feels like so many things are just floating around “out there”.  My girl is in therapy.  At least I think she is.  She started May 18th.  It is from 8:30 AM to 3:30 PM, five days a week.  As far as I know she has gone every day.  No real way for me to check since she is over 18 and an “adult”.  The last three weekends she has basically been gone from the house starting Friday evening through late Sunday night.  I don’t like it.  She tells me she is with a friend and ends up spending the weekend.  Is she?  I don’t know.  Is she with drippy dick?  I don’t know.  Someone suggested putting a tracking device on her car.  I honestly did think about that.  But, I need to do my best to trust her until she gives me a reason not to trust her, right?  If, in the near future, I need to make a decision to kick her out of the house or cut her off, or whatever – it will be because she messed up.  I will not spy and/or trick her.  Don’t get me wrong.  I want to spy, I just feel like I can’t right now. I need to let her go and do her thing, whatever that is.  

 

A very dear friend recently lost her mother (as did my husband).  I haven’t talked to or seen my mom since Mother’s Day.  It’s such a messed-up relationship.  She won’t break down and call me, that would mean she is giving in.  And honestly, if/when I call her at this point I will be subjected to guilt.  I carry more than enough guilt around.  But, what if something happens to her and I haven’t talked to her in over a month?  The guilt would be tenfold and would stay with me forever.  I can’t understand why she doesn’t see or refuses to see that I do all I can for my family.  I work to continue to support my kids and grandkids in things they may need.  If I didn’t spend money on kids and grandkids, maybe I could stop working – at least fulltime.  She stopped working by now.  She stayed home.  I’m not 20 anymore.  I do get tired, I do have aches and pains, things aren’t always as easy as they used to be.  I would like her to understand that.  I have tried to tell her.  She says I’m just making excuses.  She actually sees her great-grandchildren, my grandchildren, more than me.  But she still plays the victim.  No one calls her, no one stops to see her, etc.  I want to be more sympathetic.  I just can’t be at this point.  As the saying goes, “too much water under the bridge”.  I shouldn’t live in the past, but the past made into this old, fat, scatterbrained, wannabe loved woman.

 

I found another arthritis lump on one of the knuckles of my right middle finger.  I found one about 6 months ago on my right pointer finger.  My hands now look like my great-grandmothers did.  At least what I remember her hands looking like when I was 15 and she was 76.  I don’t like it.  My face is getting droopy.  My neck is gross and hanging, along with every other body part a woman doesn’t want to have hanging.  I feel completely unattractive and gross.  That’s the plain and simple of it.  I like one thing.  I like my eyelashes, and those are fake.

 

Do you ever tire of people saying they wouldn’t know what to they would do without you, that they couldn’t live without you?  I do.  If you feel that way about me, let me ask you a question.  What are you doing with me?  What are you doing with me in YOUR life?  Where do I fit?  Are you more afraid that I would leave and you would have to figure out that I actually did a hell of a lot for you?  Are you afraid to lose the comfort and convenience of me being around?  Is that fair?  I am a comfort and convenience for some of the most important people in my life.  At least I feel that way.  Old, fat, scatterbrained, wannabe loved woman will always be here.  She always comes back, no matter what.  You don’t have to reciprocate, you don’t have to show love, you don’t have to talk to her, you don’t have to respect her.  Because the old, fat, scatterbrained, wannabe loved woman isn’t worthy of more or better.  The old, fat, scatterbrained, wannabe loved woman is reliable, convenient, easy, a doormat for everyone to wipe their dirt on and move on.  What happens when the doormat is taken away?  What do you do with your dirt?  Think about it.  The old, fat, scatterbrained, wannabe loved woman wants just that.  I wannabe loved for me.  Just me.  Not because I have become a comfort and a convenience to have around.  Show me that love, tell me about that love, tell me why I should stay, don’t make me feel like a doormat or an afterthought.

 

The old, fat, scatterbrained, wannabe loved woman says, “tag, you’re it.”