Category Archives: hope
Tonight I attended my first Project Me meeting and quite honestly I have not been so nervous in quite awhile. On the forty minute drive to the meeting I oscillated from excited to downright terrified. I almost turned around twice on the highway and then, after getting lost and then having to circle the block four times before 1) finding the meeting place, and 2) finding a parking spot, I had nearly convinced myself to turn around and head back home. But then my good sense kicked in and I figured if I had already spent all that time finding the damn place I might as well go in. I did pay to do this after all…why waste the money, right? Right.
So what is Project Me? Well that you can find out on their website which will explain it much better than I can, I’m sure. I discovered it through Facebook right about the time that my fiancée became my ex-fiancée and I was feeling rather low due to the circumstances that caused me to have to break it off. Sometimes doing what you know is right for you is the most difficult thing you can do. Many tears were shed and a pint or two of Ben and Jerry’s were consumed until I was finally able to look at myself in the mirror and remember that I deserved to focus on myself for a change. And that’s when Project Me showed on my Facebook feed. How appropriate, no?
I decided to sign up telling myself that I would finally get the body I had always desired since, as some of you may know, I was a size 16 while in high school and, even though over the years I have been able to shrink down to a size 4 by eating right and exercising I still only felt pretty good about myself. Because then it became a completely different game and I decided to add anorexia to my list of things to hate about myself and shrunk down to a size 0 resulting in a loss of all muscle mass and most of my mental health. I was unhealthy, unhappy, and still hated how I looked.
Over time I was able to get back to a comfortable size 4 but still did not like my appearance. Still don’t. No matter what I do I can’t look in the mirror and be proud of all the work I have done to get the body I have. Joining Project Me was initially about my body but it has since become about loving myself. That may seem odd seeing as how it is a program about getting into the shape you want to be in and making healthy decisions but for me it is so much more.
You see I am an incredibly shy person which means joining a program where I have to attend meetings and make it known on social media that I am a participant scares the ever loving shit out of me. At the meeting tonight I was so nervous I was sweating. Me and sweat only meet upon interaction with a warm day and a decent amount of sun. Normally I am perpetually cold and have been since about 20 years old but tonight my sweat glands were on over drive and my heart was about to beat out of my chest.
When I first walked into the room I was met with a small crowd of ladies that all looked like they had just stepped out of a catalog while I stood there in my yoga pants and my favorite baggy off-the-shoulder shirt that has an unfortunate stain on the front that will not come off no matter how much I try to get rid of it. Just like in high school I felt like the outsider and I once again considered turning around and making the long trek back home but reminded myself of why I was doing this and stood my ground.
Why was I doing this? Because, while I have no problem making a complete fool out of myself or going up to perfect strangers and striking up a conversation, I have a serious issue with letting others know that I am trying to improve myself. I am embarrassed to have joined this program. Not because I don’t think it is a good program, but because I feel like I need to apologize to people for doing something for myself when I should be happy with the body I have and the person I am. I mean, recently I have been informed that I am wonderful, amazing, and perfect even. I am adored. But I don’t feel that way about me. And I would like to. So yes, maybe part of this process is about changing my body for the better, but what I know I will get from it is so much more.
Even though I felt as though I was beneath all the ladies in the room, every time I would look around I would be met with a smile. The only person in the room who was judging me, was me. And that realization hit hard. The only person that doesn’t seem to like me, is me. How do I fix this? By doing something that scares me. One something that combines a whole slew of my biggest fears. The best (or possibly worst if you are me and scared of letting people know the things you do for yourself because you are afraid they will make fun of you or guilt you out of doing it because they don’t think you need to be doing it) part of all of this is that I will be held accountable because all the ladies will be in this with me and it is actually a requirement to post on social media that you are doing something for yourself and trying to make a healthy change in your life. I actually have to let people know what’s going on in my life for a change. Only I would find this difficult. Because let me tell you, when the coach uttered the words “live out loud” I about had a heart attack. I felt my heart skip a beat. Live out loud? You mean…like…tell people stuff? I have a handful of friends that I am very close with and even THEY don’t know I’m doing this.
Being the writer that I am I decided that the least embarrassing way to let the world know the journey I am starting out on was to publish it on my public blog. I make so much sense, it’s ridiculous. Cheers to the future. May I come out on the other end with confidence and…other qualities that are appropriate but that I can’t even come up with! Seriously…I need this.
I was part of his atmosphere before I knew where my feet were taking me. We stood there. Silent. Our only communication had ever been through exchanged glances. First of curiosity, then of desire, finally of mutual understanding. Months would pass between each steady hold of each others eyes but the energy was palpable always causing the hairs on the back of my neck to raise up as though a shock of electricity was shooting through the room.
He was who he was and I? I was with someone. My heart promised to a man I barely knew but couldn’t let go. Yet here I was, so close to him that I could see the tiny beads of sweat breaking out over his skin. We had never been this close before and neither of us knew what to do. So we continued to stand. Silent. Our senses electrified by our proximity. Never had I felt so passionately about anything that I could put no name to. What was this? My heart threatened to beat so wildly out of my chest that it almost met with his. Suddenly I was a fawn just learning to walk and he was the only thing keeping me upright, yet also the one causing me to be so weak and disoriented. I close my eyes and for a moment and the entire world consists of just us two. Our hearts beat in unison, a sound so loud it muted out the cacophony of the room and I can no longer tell where I begin and he ends.
You fill your life with lies that you convince yourself are truths and you shroud yourself in them, wearing them proudly, pretending to bear your soul to the world through a diaphanous curtain of lies perfectly sculpted into illusions of truth. No matter which direction you look at them from you are tricked into seeing something that isn’t there. You convince yourself so thoroughly of love that you can’t decipher what it is hiding. What is your illusion obscuring from you? What is it that is pulling at your heart? What is it that is causing a glint of truth to shine through and dance off of all the rough corners of your lies that you believed to have hidden so well?
“You can’t.” He whispers almost imperceptibly to the point that I wonder if he actually said anything.
But that was it, wasn’t it? That was the reason we wear our lies so comfortably; because all we need is one ray of truth to shine its beauty onto our rough cut lies and dazzle us as it dances across our bodies hiding the imperfections and alighting all the wonderfully manufactured “truths”. For so long I had desired to rid myself of my shroud and as I stood there, completely encased by his warmth, I knew this was my moment.
My eyes open and, breathlessly, I kiss him. An almost imperceptible moan betrays him, letting years of built up wonder escape into the time we can’t occupy. The life we will never have. The love we so long to have but will never be able to hold on to. I continue the kiss for as long as I can but what still feels like no time at all. As soon as our lips part my ears are assaulted by the raucousness of the room. His face fills my vision as my shroud falls down around us, shards of lies and truths shattering onto the floor, glinting in the light – a beauty so vicious you don’t realize the pain until you have been released from it.
I stand there naked as his face disappears into the crowd; from behind I hear my name called. I turn around, a single tear escaping to join the ruins on the floor. With one single glance he saw me. He finally saw me. And before I even had time to take one step he, too, was gone.
Naked and alone I left. I left behind everything I had worked so hard to make myself in to; I left behind the only person who had ever seen me; and I left behind a love that was so superficial I often wondered if I was simply making it up. And now the world could see me. Every part of me. Broken free by the kiss of the one who knew the forbidden freedom of loving yourself. Because loving yourself was the most forbidden love of them all.
I feel empty. And I don’t want to talk about it. Not because I think it wouldn’t help but because I’m not sure I know what is wrong and I don’t want to bug any of my friends. Any of the people I want to open up to. I feel as though I have lost all my friends…no, scratch that, I know I have. Once I fall down I push everyone away, distance myself, make it easy to fall apart without feeling like I will hurt anyone. Anyone other than myself.
Once my desperate desires turned into fears of possible follow through I began to realize that I wasn’t the person I had worked so hard to become. The person I was. The person I am. Somewhere along the way I let myself go. I lost who I was again and suddenly, without knowing when or how or why, I found myself back at the bottom of the mountain I had climbed up so carefully and tediously. And the thing is, clawing your way back to the top is much more difficult than the tumble down is. I see where I once was. I can even see my damn footprints in the ground but reaching even that first step seems impossible from this far away.
Fortunately for me I have done it before so I know I can do it again. Unfortunately, it has once again become a task that seems impossible from this view. I go through so many ups and downs through the day I am exhausted by the time I finally clock out at work thinking only of the comfort of my bed and dreaming of comfort food that I rarely crave let alone indulge in. But right now I would like nothing more than to finish off a very large bag of Cheetos followed by a pint of strawberry ice cream not to be shown up by a bottle of white wine.
Sometimes you search for solace in a person you don’t even know; a person who needs you in that moment just as much as you need them. A stranger who can take on all your troubles and you theirs because in the end you mean nothing more to each other than a fellow sufferer searching for any strand of a lifeline in this chaotic, unfeeling world of empty souls. I used to be able to find those people in my times of need but this time…this time I know it won’t help. I know exactly to whom I should be talking. To whom I need to talk, but it is more difficult than I ever imagined possible.
During my writing hiatus a lot has happened and I have wanted to share it with the world but every time I tried to sit down and write nothing came. Sometimes I couldn’t even bring myself to sit in front of my computer because I knew my inability to put emotions and feelings into words, my inability to do what has always come so naturally to me, would lead to nothing more than a self loathing pity party that even I didn’t want to participate in. I should know by now that once “writers block” sets in it means I have stopped connecting with myself; stopped taking time to do things I enjoy…basically stopped being myself.
So what happened? How did I get here? I was happy and making progress towards all my goals and trying new things and doing everything I had said I would do and then…what? I met someone. I met my future husband. And things were wonderful. At first. After a few months I do what I always do; I stopped focusing on myself and focused solely on making him happy. Why? Why did I do this? Because there is a very large part of me that believes I am not good enough and I have to make up for it somehow. This very large part of me was a part I believed I had finally shut away for good…I believed incorrectly.
It came back with a vengeance and likes to remind me of all the hurt I have endured from other men and the nasty things they would blame me for regardless of the fact that I was not to blame. I would like to believe that my devotion to making my man happy came from the fear of having him turn on me like the others in my past but that would be a lie. The embarrassing truth is that I have always devoted myself to making my significant other happy while completely neglecting my own feelings. It took me awhile to realize that my devotion was the exact thing that pushed the people I loved away and this time I was not going to let it happen. This time was different. This man was different.
And that, dear readers, is what finally hit me recently and knocked me out of my downward spiral. I’m still down here, but I know what must be done. I know that I need to talk to him. I know that it will all be okay because, guess what? This man loves me. All of me. For all the right reasons. And I can claim that he doesn’t, I can try and convince myself that he is like the others, I can push and push and push against him, but in the end I know that I am just fooling myself. In the end those wedding magazines are still sitting on my desk full of sticky notes marking desires and ideas. In the end, he’s still the one.
So as not to completely deviate from my old ways I must end this post with a cyber smile since today is Texas’ “Icemaggeddon” and my company closed down their offices I have been having my own little version of a snow day and would like to wish you a day filled with spiked coffee, cozy blankets fully equipped with cuddle bitches, and naps where you dream of nothing but heat inducing activities with your partner…should you be so lucky to have one with you.
Sadly my man is over THERE and I am over HERE and the icy roads are screaming a resounding, “FUCK YOU!” to couples all throughout North Texas. Thanks…we owe you. And we ALWAYS repay our debts.
An excerpt from one of my novels:
There was a party that night. There was a party almost every night, but this one was different. Everybody we knew was at this party, gathered together in an intimately large crowd of faces and names that few cared to remember but all knew. We passed by each other throughout the night – a light brush of the hand here, an exchanged glance there, a shiver of longing stretching across the space – never stopping to say hello. Words fell out of people’s mouths falling onto the ground in a cacophonous thunder – twenty six letters collecting on the floor in a strange new menagerie of words that none of us understood.
As the raucous party grew to an unbearable din it ended suddenly, a collective nod to the silently agreed upon expulsion of a raucous affair that never had a purpose but always came to fruition at the end of what some face or another would proclaim was “one hell of a day.” The after effects of liquor leaving piles of bodies haphazardly strewn around the apartment – the unexplainable fallout of a night that would be remembered only upon waking eyes blinking into focus a room that was not theirs; a partner they had no recollection of acquainting themselves with; a memory they will forever be searching for.
We united in the hall, our unspoken words screaming out, echoing through the apartment. Falling onto the bed we tore at each others clothes, desperate for a feeling we both knew we would not find. His eyes searched my face as hungrily as mine searched his finding solace in our shared emptiness. We were all each other had. All each other wanted. Our passion grew in immensity as the sun pounded its unforgiving rays through our curtains, spotlighting our deception.
The sound of my heartbeat threatened to burst my eardrums as we stared at each other in a state of mental and physical exhaustion. I saw his mouth open as three words spilled out and fell upon the space in the bed between us, forming a pool of empty desire. My mind screamed, “what is love?” My lips parted, but the words got stuck in my throat. What came out startled both of us. “I love you, too.” An unnoticed inflection at the end trailing off into the dark chasm of misunderstanding that would live between us forever. There is no question in love.
He moved his calloused hand over the curves of my body, laced his fingers through mine, and pulled me close. Our legs intertwined, our souls met in the middle. Nothing between us but naked lies etched upon our scared hearts. A beautiful duality of lies and truths created the world around us. Created our lives. Created our love.
Having writers block is about as much fun as stubbing your toe repeatedly. Lately, each attempt at putting pen to paper (both figuratively and literally) has resulted in both a lack of imagination as well as a lack of vocabulary. My entire curse word patois came into full force and I felt as though I could have put a few sailors to shame yet not one iota of what I wrote was usable which made for a confused, frustrated, and rather bitchy me. It is quite similar to PMS…just, you know, without the cramps and cravings. And finally today during my eleven hour work day my thoughts ran rampant and suddenly the ability to write came back to me in full force. But that’s how it happens, isn’t it? When you want to do it, you can’t. When you are busy doing something else and are completely consumed in your work, BAM!, inspiration hits and has a good laugh at it’s perfectly inconvenient timing. So, as well as adding to one of my scripts I decided it was time to try writing another blog and see how it will work out. Fingers crossed that I can finish this and not leave in in draft-land where so many other reside.
I could spout out several reasons for why I have not been blogging lately but the long and short of it is that I haven’t been okay. There was a buildup of sadness and near depression for several weeks leading up to my second psychotic episode ever. This one happened to be a few days after the anniversary of my first one last year that landed me in the E.R. with a terrifyingly insufficient recollection of what exactly had happened. Luckily this episode wasn’t as severe but the next morning my memories felt like a movie I had watched. They weren’t my own. It was like I was in another person’s head watching their memories and remembering their thoughts and feelings. That is the best way I can describe it other than scary as fuck.
There has been such a buildup of negativity that it has left me exhausted. I sleep like I’m depressed, I have to force myself to eat because I have no energy to do it, I have no appetite, and get a little nauseous every time I smell food cooking. I rarely want to go out and do anything anymore because just the idea of doing something makes me tired. I think about telling someone that I want to talk but I don’t even know what I would say so I just don’t. I pretend like everything is okay; I’m doing just fine thankyouverymuch! I take it when someone yells at me for being sad or in a mood when they think it is because of them since I don’t even have the energy or words to explain to them what may be going on. I can’t even really place the emotion. I’m not sad or depressed or upset or angry or indifferent or unhappy…I’m just slightly empty. Good things happen to me and it doesn’t even occur to me to share the good news with anybody. I keep most of it to myself and the person that I do tell doesn’t really care because….well, because. So here I am. Empty, and unsure why. I can come up with a few reasons as to why I may feel this way but it will all be mostly conjecture. I mean, can you always explain why you feel a certain way when there is so much traffic in your brain that you no longer know which way is left?
The strangest part about all of this is something that I realized today. Through all of this I have kept my hope and faith. I still love life. I have a childlike wonder about everything and I love making new memories every day. Because that’s all we have, really. You can’t live in the past, you have to leave that behind you because if you don’t you will miss out on what is happening in the present. And you can’t live in the future because you never really know what will happen and if you focus on what you may or may not have you could miss out on what is currently happening. I have faith in people and I still I have hope that everything will end up okay. I wish I could hand this hope and faith over to my friends who are going through difficult times and have neither, but I can’t. Instead I will continue to hold on to it for them until they are ready to accept it again. I don’t think there is any reason not to have faith or hope because they make everything better. The only reason you shouldn’t have them is if you like being miserable. And I would know this because being miserable used to be my thing but for the first time in my life I am not letting the misery get to me. I will not let it take over. I refuse. I accept that I will have bad times in my life, that I may not always be the overly peppy girl that I have become, but I will never let depression take over my life again.
So, while I am really, very not okay, I do still have certain days that are fantastic….
A perfect example of this would be Saturday – even though the week had sucked so much I cried at work three days in a row due to a few choice words from a friend who apparently knows me so well that they know exactly what to say that will hurt me the most (let’s ignore the fact that I shouldn’t let words effect me, okay?) – I woke up hyper, happy, and high on life. Maybe it was because I had cried myself to sleep at eight the night before and spent 12 restless hours in bed or maybe it was because I realized that I was not at fault for what I had been blamed for, but for some reason everything seemed like it was going to be okay. And it was, for the most part. I attended a wedding with Mr. Perfect before we headed to the Rangers vs. Red Sox game and everything was fine until the vows were exchanged. The word “forever” was thrown around and my stomach lurched. I’m sure I have said it before but I will say it again: I don’t think I could ever get married, and it isn’t because I don’t think I could be with someone forever, it’s because I don’t trust that anybody would keep their word and stick around forever. People always leave. They just do. But I deserve better than that. I don’t ever want to feel the same kind of pain and betrayal as I have felt from every person I have been in a relationship with. If you are special enough for me to want to give my everything to, then I deserve the same from you. Loving a person is the easy part, it’s caring enough to stay that is difficult, apparently. So, until I find someone who realizes that I’m worth sticking around for, I will continue to hold back my trust.
*cough cough* Back to Saturday…
After the 5:30 vows were exchanged and congratulations were attempted to be given Mr. Perfect and I beelined to the parking lot to change in the car before heading to our much anticipated 7:05 baseball game. I had so much going on in my head at this point that I was afraid I had lost my hyper-ness and, for most of the drive, I had. But, true to myself, it appeared out of nowhere once again and as we were walking into the park Mr. Perfect informed me that I was special. Not the hey-you-are-an-amazing-person-and-I’m-so-glad-to-have-you-in-my-life! kind of special, but the damn-they-had-a-designated-short-bus-for-you-didn’t-they? kind of special. Yeah…because apparently people don’t skip around, break into song and dance, or name their bobby pins. This is something “special” people do. I’m special like V.I.P. damnit! And my bobby pins agree. Mostly Rosencrantz but that’s only because he thinks quite highly of himself and claims that he wouldn’t fraternize with anybody beneath him. But, I mean, he’s a bobby pin…I probably shouldn’t consider his opinion.
Baseball, beer, ginormous nachos with your best friend when you are super hyper makes for a pretty good Saturday night, even if everything else in your world seems to be crumbling down around you. After years of always being in a dark place I was pretty proud of myself for not letting the darkness consume me when it was trying so hard to do just that.
This blog seriously meandered…if you made it all the way through I thank you for sticking with me. I’m not even sure if it all makes sense but I just had to write something.