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?

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.”

Maybe

Maybe if I was younger

Maybe if I was skinnier

Maybe if I was prettier

Maybe if I was blonde

Maybe if I had big boobs

Maybe if I had thin thighs

Maybe if I had a flat stomach

Maybe if I had no cellulite

Maybe if I cleaned more

Maybe if I cooked more

Maybe if I laughed more

Maybe if I cried more

Maybe if I cared more

Maybe if I made more money

Maybe if I loved more

Maybe if I talked less

Maybe if I complained less

Maybe if I spent less

Maybe if I laughed less

Maybe if I cried less

Maybe if I loved less

Maybe if I cared less

Maybe if I changed all of me

Maybe then…

Fucked Up

Do you ever wonder if anyone really knows you?  Or do they think they know you because of what you show them, which would actually be your fault (well, my fault because I am talking about me here).

 

I don’t know why, but I feel like I need to explain myself, maybe redeem myself.  Maybe just try to make someone understand me, my choices in life, my decisions.  Just me. Here, now, today.

 

In five days it will be my 31st wedding anniversary.  31 years.  Some days it feels like 10 years, some days it feels like 110 years.  Three kids, three grandkids, way too much trauma and drama.  My wish for our 31st anniversary is……………he talks to me.  He opens his heart, his mind and he talks to me.  He talks to me about him, he talks to me about me, he talks to me about us.  He is open and honest no matter how it hurts or who it hurts.  He tells me he if he wants to stop or keep going.

 

And what can I do for him?  I can try, desperately try, to make him understand me, to know me, again.  Try to help him see that choices I have made, things I have said, things I have done, have nothing to do with him and everything to do with me.  I know, I know – everyone says that.  But it is my truth.  I want to take the pain and hurt I have caused him away.  I see it when I look in his eyes.  He doesn’t want to look into my eyes anymore.  I see that, I feel that.  The hugs are different, the kisses are different.  The feeling around “us” is different.  And I own all of it.  Things that have happened in my past have affected my present.  I don’t need everyone to understand it, just him. 

 

I am needy.  I need to feel loved, wanted, desired.  Why?  Because that is how I feel worthy.  Yes, I need attention and lots of it.  I need the random kisses, the occasional love note, a cheap bouquet of flowers for no reason.  I am constantly fighting the demons of my past, trying to convince myself that I am enough, he loves me for me, he wants me for me.  But, it doesn’t always work that way.

 

This will sound fucked up and it is. I still try to get his attention.  I know he knows it.  At least I think he knows it.  I have always been an open and flirty person.  It’s me.  There is no way he doesn’t see it when I go into my flirt mode.  I do it to make me feel worthy, it’s always been the way I am.  It’s like my built-in defense mechanism.  If I don’t feel worthy or loved, or desired or wanted – I will go into flirt mode.  I KNOW I DO THIS.  It is a huge fault of mine.  HUGE.  When he sees or feels this happening, I want him to look at me and tell me to stop.  Tell me that he loves me, he needs me, he desires me, he wants me, he is not going to leave me.  Yes, I’m a needy bitch. 

 

And I want to wrap myself around him, crawl inside him to be as close as possible.  I can’t do that, I can’t flirt, so I will eat.  I will comfort myself with food.  I know I will.  It’s just me, it’s who I am. Yes, I am fucked up.

International Women’s Day

I had no idea it was International Women’s Day.  I had no idea there was an International Women’s Day.    My first failure as a woman.  Not my only failure and certainly not my last failure.  

How should I feel on IWD?  Empowered?  Uplifted?  Kick ass?  Take on the world?  I don’t feel any of those things.  And that’s no one’s fault except my own.  I TOTALLY own that.  I actually feel similar to that of a beached whale.  Bloated, sloshy, swollen, poke me with a stick and I will ooze grossness.  Others are staring at me, seeing what I’m feeling; I know they are.  Like the little old lady in Sixteen Candles; making squishing noises as I walk.  

I completely do it to myself.  I talk to myself all the time.  Make the right choices.  I know what the right choices are.  I don’t always make bad choices, but we always focus on the negative, right?  I ate a small bag of Goldfish.  I shall now perish in the flames of hell and feel like a fat cow the rest of the day.  But I promise myself to do better tomorrow.  But why should I do better tomorrow if I already failed today.  I know I’m just going to fail again tomorrow.  Might as well just say fuck it now and roll in a tub of Crisco and order some muumuu dresses right now for the upcoming spring and summer.  No reason to try to change, nothing ever changes anyway.  

I want to say nice things to myself.  I try to.  I fail at that, too.  I don’t have those tools in my toolbox.  I love helping others feel good about themselves and try to raise others up.  That makes me feel good.  Knowing I might have helped brighten someone’s day, even for just a brief second.  Why can’t I do that for me?  Wait!  I know this one!  Because I hate myself and I know I’m not worth it.  It takes much more time and effort to be happy and positive. 

I want to feel empowered; I need to feel empowered.  I want to feel uplifted; I need to feel uplifted.  I want to feel kick ass; I need to feel kick ass.  I want to take on the world; I need to take on the world.  So why the fuck do I let my size dictate that?  GODDAMN IT.  

Can I make the necessary changes as I am about the enter my 52nd year in this world? I can, but will I? Can I make me a priority? I can, but will I? I must at least try. I need to make a promise to myself to try.

Happiness

What is happiness?  

Websters defines happiness as: a state of well-being and contentment.  

Let’s try to break that down.  

A state of well-being.  This is defined as:  the state of being happy, healthy, or prosperous.

Contentment.  This is defined as:  a state of happiness and satisfaction.

Prosperous.  This is defined as:  successful in material terms; flourishing financially.

Healthy.  This is defined as:  normal, natural, and desirable.

And so on and so on and so on.

We each have our own inner definition of happiness.  My happiness isn’t the same as your happiness.  Right?  

I feel the state of being happy when I kiss and hug my grandbabies.  But that’s not everyone’s happiness. I don’t know when I feel like I am in an actual state of well-being.  Is that horrible to say?  I thoughts of self-doubt constantly.   I struggle with feeling depressed, being enough.  That isn’t a state of well-being.

When do I feel contentment? Do I feel it?  Have I felt it?  Or do I pretend I feel it because that means I’m happy.  

Healthy. Ha, that I know I’m not.  I eat too much, drink too much, weigh too much, stress too much, sleep to little, exercise to little.  The list is endless.  Would changing these things make me healthy and happy?

Desirable. Dear God, don’t even get me started on that one.  No, I do not feel desirable.  No, I do not feel I am desirable.  I rely too much on others to make me feel that.  It is not something I have ever found on my own.

I think I can lump prosperous, successful in material terms and flourishing financially all into one group.  Do you agree?  I feel I am prosperous in some ways as I am successful in material terms; meaning I have spent too much money on material items to make myself happy, which in turn means I am not flourishing financially.

So, am I destined not to be happy because there is no way I can ever meet all the definitions of happy? 

Random thoughts on a dreary, rainy day.

My first big girl job

How can I be almost 52 and I feel like I finally have my first REAL big girl job? And I’m scared shitless.  Scared to fail, scared to let others down, scared to let myself down.  Scared to succeed, scared to do well, scared to like it.  Scared to immerse myself and lose myself in another job.  Is it a job or a career?  What was my last 32 years in the working world?  A job or a career?  What do I want this one to be?  What will this one be?  Do I make that choice?  

I am trying to keep my mind open to anything that comes along in my new big girl job. I don’t want this job to define me. I want to define the job I am doing. Does that make sense?

The what if’s are winning

What if…

…the world never returns to being normally fucked up and stays super fucked up

…I fail at my new adventure

…I fall on my face and hear all naysayers chanting I told you so

…I am confusing love for pity or pity for love

….I miss out on something amazing because I am scared

…the truth really does set you free

…I stop hearing the music

…my fears come true

…I actually succeed

…I stop feeling the music

…I find independence and like it

…it’s really better to walk away

…it’s not

…the music stops healing me

…I never get my what if’s answered

Nighttime thoughts

A few years ago I read an article about sleep. It had some tips/tricks to try when you can’t fall asleep. There is only one thing I remember and actually use from that article. When you are nice and comfy in bed, close your eyes and starting at the tip top of your head tell your body to relax. You work your way down, forehead, eyebrows, eyes, nose, all the way down to your feet. It really does work. Sometimes I have to do it a few times, but I eventually feel my body relax.

Last night as I was on my third or fourth round of trying to relax my body when my brain interrupted. I was starting at the top of my head and my brain clicked on. Suddenly, instead of relaxing each part of my body I was critiquing each part of my body.

Top of my head/hair – thinning hair/gray hair. Solution: get plugs and weekly trips to the salon.

Forehead – wrinkles. Solution: Botox

Eyebrows – I’m actually good with my brows

Eyes – droopy lashes & crows feet. Solution: eyelash extensions and Botox

Nose – no change needed, in my opinion

Cheeks – starting to sag. Solution: facelift (this will also help the jowls, so it’s two for two!)

Lip – I’m OK with my lips at this point. Maybe a little Botox in the laugh line area.

Chin – eh, the chin is fine.

Neck – Christ, where do I start. Just a total do-over. That shit needs to be tightened and pulled where ever possible.

Shoulders – significant slouching from years of carrying a heavy load. Solution: there is no solution, the heavy load will be with me for the rest of my life. Besides, if I throw my shoulders back it looks like I’m flaunty my saggy boobs.

Upper arms – flabby and gross. Solution: a nice nip/tuck will fix that up in a jiffy.

Boobs – similar to two unevenly deflated balloons. Solution: new boobs – easy peasy

Forearms – I mean they’re just forearms…….

Hands – look old and wrinkled. Solution: I think I can get fat injected in my hands so they look young and plump.

Mid-section – (insert vomit noise) Solution: nothing a little lipo and full body tuck wouldn’t fix.

Buttock – (insert second vomit noise) Solution: the full body tuck should help my saggy bottom, but maybe a Brazilian Butt lift for the win!

Lady bits – ummmmm, I mean yes, they have been through years of use and childbirth. Solution: fairly certain there is a vaginal tightening process as well as a procedure to make everything look “aesthetically pleasing”. I might as well go for it.

Thighs – I will say I have strong legs, however would kill for that oh so sexy thigh gap. Solution: I think some lipo and an inner thigh lift should do nicely.

Calves – I’m honestly OK with my calves.

Feet – I like my feet.

So, after all that I couldn’t sleep. I had laid out all my flaws and had no fixes for them. I reminded myself of all my insecurities. There they were playing over and over again in my head. Why? Why do I do this to myself? I have no answer.

When it was finally time to get out of bed and start the day, part of my routine is music. I LOVE MUSIC. Morning shower music is the best. As I’m standing under the hot water, thoughts still swirling from the night before, a song comes on that made me go hmmmmmmmmmm. Is it a coincidence or is the universe trying to tell me something. What song was it you ask…..Love me by Katy Perry

I lost myself in fear of losing you
I wish I didn’t do
But I did
I lost my own, my own identity
Forgot that you picked me for me

But now, I don’t negotiate with insecurities
They always seem to get the best of me
I found the head to love myself, the way I want you to

Love me, no more second guessing
No, there’s no more questioning
I’ll be the one to find who I’m gonna be
No concealing feelings, or changing seasonally
I’m gonna love myself, the way I want you to love me
Sometimes I wish my skin was a costume

That I could just unzip, and strip
But who I am is who I’m meant to be
And it’s who you are in love, in love with
So now, I don’t negotiate with insecurities

They come and have to take a backseat
I know I have to let myself the way I want you to
Love me, no more second guessing

No, there’s no more questioning
I’ll be the one to find who I’m gonna be
No concealing feelings, or changing seasonally
I’m gonna love myself, the way I want you to love me
No more standing in my own way
(Let’s get deeper, let’s get closer)

No more standing in my own way
(I want you to love me)
No more standing in my own way
(Let’s get deeper, let’s get closer)
No more standing in my own way
(I want you to love me)
Love me, no more second guessing
No, there’s no more questioning

I’ll be the one to find who I’m gonna be
No concealing feelings, or changing seasonally
I’m gonna love myself, the way I want you to love me
Love me, no more second guessing
No, there’s no more questioning
I’ll be the one to find who I’m gonna be
No concealing feelings, or changing seasonally
I’m gonna love myself, the way I want you to love me

Moral of the song? I’m gonna love myself, the way I want you to love me. At least I’m gonna try.

Self – part III

I will make this disclaimer on any and all posts titled Self. I do not know many of my followers personally, but I do know some. And all of the followers I know are from different realms of my life. If you feel you may be uncomfortable reading personal stuff – STOP HERE. If not – let’s go.

Good Morning Campers! Did you ever stop and think about why you are the way you are? I don’t mean the genetics of eye color, height, etc. I mean things like personality. Are they part of the genetic package or are they part of the way you were reared as a child or does your personality change and grow with life experiences?

I wish I had that answer for you and for me, but I don’t. I’m sure there is some type of study out there that would say it’s genetics, another one that says it’s the way a child is reared, another will say it’s life experiences and yet another that says it’s all of the above. So what’s my point? I’m not entirely sure! However, recently I have been scrutinizing why I am the way I am. Why do I react to stuff the way I do? Why do I feel the way I feel? Deep shit, right?!

I’ve previously written about growing up in a house with a perfectly beautiful sister and how that impacted me. I felt I had to become flirty and funny to get attention. I did and still do have to be careful that I don’t cross the line with the funny part of my personality. I never wanted to be the funny fat girl that over did it and became the obnoxious fat girl that is just trying to get attention anyway she can. Although, I will admit here that I do feel like the obnoxious fat girl in many social instances.

I have also been questioning how my personality affects how people perceive me. And perhaps how they feel they can or can’t approach me, talk to me, etc. Who cares, right? I do.

I was recently cleaning out some drawers at home and came across folder. I knew what was in the folder. I told myself not to open it. I told myself to burn it in the fire pit. But I opened it. And it hit me, like a slap in the face. I was pissed off, hurt, scared, embarrassed, humiliated, fucking irate. It’s a folder filled with notes, cards, letters and emails from a person who was first my co-worker and then my supervisor for 26 of my 32 (and counting) years of employment. Why do I blame myself for this occurring? Why did he think he could share his feelings for me? Why did he think I would be interested? Why, why, why? What did I do to make that happen? Was it because I am too flirty? But I’m that way with everyone. Was it because I talk to much and share too much? But there are people at work I have talked and shared far more with. What gave him the right to create an uncomfortable work environment for me? Why did I allow him to perpetuate a relationship to others that didn’t exist. Why did people believe this? What did I do? Why didn’t I try harder to stop it? Where was the #metoo movement when I needed it. Why did I let the political “good old boys” scare me into not pushing harder? Why was I threatened with “PA is a fire at will state”? How is that okay? But what was it that I did to make this happen? Why didn’t I govern myself differently? How is it fair that I let it impact personal relationships? Christ, some days I really question every decision I ever made. What do I do about it? Higher ups knew and did nothing. My job was threatened. I needed my job! A young family, a mortgage, three kids, two of which who have/had medical issues and needed insurance, family members that were too close to see what was happening, small town politics – I let it all control me and I did nothing. I sat back and took it.

I know this “experience” enhanced my overall lack of self-esteem. My God, I was fat and this person was pursuing me. Part of me thought I must be imagining it. I am not or was not a person who was pursued, certainly not being a fat, flirty girl. So, I got fatter. But it still continued. I was pregnant three times, but still it continued. I changed how I behaved, what I shared, what I allowed people to see – but still it continued. I don’t think I can explain in words or otherwise how this seriously changed me. But it did. It will always be with me, it will always make me question me.