Darkness

I begged the darkness to take me.  Cocoon me in nothingness.  No feelings, no thoughts, no love, no loss, no hurt, no guilt – nothing.  Keep me safe from others; keep others safe from me.  I will let the darkness do with me as it wishes.  

I have no excuses for all the wrongs I have done.  I will not make excuses.  I am not a prize to be won or bartered for.  My love is not a prize to be won or bartered for.

The armor I wear every day is stronger than diamonds.  My heart, with each break, turns to stone.  Hard and impenetrable. 

I will try again tonight. I will whisper sweet nothings to the darkness. I will beg the darkness.

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.

Silence

The silence is deafening.  Do you hear it?

The silence screams the truth.  Do you hear it?

The silence speaks what I can’t.  Do you hear it?

The silence speaks what you can’t.  Do you hear it?

The silence speaks because we won’t.  Do you hear it?

The silence is calling us.  Do you hear it?

The silence is a friend telling me to stay.  Do you hear it?

The silence is a friend telling me to go.  Do you hear it?

The silence is telling you something. What do you hear?

Randomness

I noticed something about a week ago, regarding my blog.  I do have followers (and I thank you for that).  I look at my followers’ blogs and I follow quite a few.  Very interesting stuff to read.  I appreciate the different ideas, opinions.  There are a lot of followers who are some type of…..fixer.  That is the only word I can come up with at the moment.  They are health/wellness bloggers, relationship bloggers, romance advisor’s – you get the drift.  My wondering mind wants to know if those followers are hoping to maybe, fix me?  Maybe get a new client?  I don’t know.  I am cynical, so I question everything.  I do not mean any offense at all – HONEST!  Or did they read my stuff and think “Holy Mother of God!  This person is fucked up!  Send help immediately!”  Maybe they can use me as an example?  

 

I think it would be cool to have a back and forth with people who follow me.  Ask me a question, make a comment.  It’s cool.  Let’s have a discussion.  Ya know?

 

So, I do have a question for the people in long term relationships. Do you talk to each other? What do you talk about? If you go out to a local watering hole. Do you sit and engage with others around you? Do you talk with your partner about anything? What do you talk about? Or do you sit in some type of comfortably uncomfortable silence? Is there a point and time where the talking just stops? Is that just the natural progression of a long-term relationship? I’m not a quiet person. What happens when the local watering hole doesn’t provide the same stimulation? Are you able to sit and talk endlessly with your partner? I’m totally serious. I want to hear what people have to say, what you think, what you do in your relationship. Cause when you boil it all down, what should be at the core of your long-term relationship? Love, communication, understanding, compatibility…………what is it? What do you think?

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.  

 

What do you see?

 

What do you see when you look at me?  Can you tell me?  Will you tell me?

 

Who do you see when you look at me?  Can you tell me?  Will you tell me?

 

Tell me the good, the bad and the ugly.  Here I am.  No filter, no make-up.  Just me, raw and vulnerable.  Opening to you.  What will you do with this? 

 

I wonder if you see what I see. Do you only see what I want you to see?  Do you see me? ME!

 

There are so many words I want to hear, so many truths I want to hear.  The truth can be messy, hurtful, powerful.  It can open doors and it can close doors.

Who do you see when you look at me?  Can you tell me?  Will you tell me?

 

What do you see when you look at me?  Can you tell me?  Will you tell me?

 

What do you see?