Am I really strong if I just run, run, run? When I’m hurt, I leave. I make the decision fast and then I’m out…like lightning. I’m chasing after experiences that will hopefully fill my life with joy. My motivaiton in life is to keep my mind stimulated, continue to learn, and succeed. It’s the pain that really drives me…the pain that results from feeling rejected…the pain that results when someone tells me that I’m not capable of doing something. The fighter inside of me shines her light and says “oh, no, you did not just do that.” She lights up inside of me and refuses to strike back at the person who hurt her. Instead, she finds a way out, a new life. The little girl who was full of life, brave, and adventurous is FINALLY back. I knew that I was missing something for a very long time. She’s been gone for ten years. When I needed her, she returned to rescue me from the near-death infection. I’ll never be alone as long as I have her. I cannot let her die. She’s the only thing I have in this life that keeps me going. For so long, I used to say, “I’m different…something changed after high school.” She was just dormant. I’m not letting my little shining light disappear anymore. She’s going to trust again, but only those who are genuine. For only the genuine truly deserve her love.
Jason Mraz: A Beautiful Mess
December 25, 2008 at 6:22 pm (Uncategorized)
Tags: beautiful mess, bipolar, jason mraz
I could easily be the girl Jason Mraz sings about in A Beautiful Mess. ”You’ve got the bes of both worlds, you’re the kind of girl who can take down a man and lift him back up again. You’re strong, but you’re needy, humble, but your greedy…”
Then, Jason Mraz goes on to say: “I like being submerged in your contradictions.”
“There’s no shame in being crazy, depending on how you take these words I’m paraphrasing this relationship we’re staging. And what a beautiful mess this is.” He sings of a beautiful bipolar woman, this I know for sure. Someone who’s strong, but vulnerable and grounded and confident in her own craziness.
The man who loves me will sing this song to me.
And, probably the best line: “oh, the wait was so worth it,” which brings me into the topic of patience.
Patience: the capacity of being patient.
From Merriam-Webster:
- Main Entry:
- 1pa·tient
- Pronunciation:
- \ˈpā-shənt\
- Function:
- adjective
- Etymology:
- Middle English pacient, from Anglo-French, from Latin patient-, patiens, from present participle of pati to suffer; perhaps akin to Greek pēma suffering
- Date:
- 14th century
I’m going to be more patient from now on. I want to see the riches that this act will bring me.
Forgiveness
December 16, 2008 at 5:32 am (Uncategorized)
Tags: forgive, forgiveness
How often do you hear words thrown around, simple words, that are often taken for granted. For example, forgive. How often have you heard, “forgive, but don’t forget?”
According to Merriam-Webster,
word: forgiving
Function: adjective
- Date: 1623
1 : willing or able to forgive 2 : allowing room for error or weakness
The latter is powerful in my head. When do I ever allow room for error or weakness? Hardly ever. If I attempt to either correct or hide my own errors and weaknesses, then how can I possibly try to forgive someone else?
Let’s take a look at the word “forgive.”
- Function:verb
- Date:before 12th century
transitive verb1 a: to give up resentment of or claim to requital for <forgive an insult> b: to grant relief from payment of <forgive a debt>2: to cease to feel resentment against (an offender) : pardon <forgive one’s enemies>intransitive verb: to grant forgiveness
“To give up resentment of…”
I think I should want to do this. How can I possibly think that I’m getting even by holding onto resentment? I’m only continuing to damage myself by holding onto resentment.
I think we are often misled by the statement “I forgive you.” This statement leads us to believe that you are doing the other party the favor by forgiving, when in fact, according to the definition, forgiving is meant to release yourself from the prison. Isn’t this correct? Now, it is correct to continue to say “I forgive you.” I think we add the disclaimer “but don’t forget” because the former statement has the ability to be misleading.
The act of forgiving does not mean that the relationship has been repaired.
The act of forgiving does not mean that the relationship has return to the level at which it was before a forgiveneness was required.
The act of forgiving clams the mind of the forgiver.
The act of forgiving heals the forgiver.
The act of forgiving brings peace.
The act of forgiving adds protection – protection from the pain that was once damaging the soul when forgiveness was resisted.
How is forgiveness given? What happens if you just can’t stop being mad? It’s not healthy to pretend that you’re not upset. I’d rather be mad and show I’m mad than surpress it, for this brings a whole new range of emotions. Can forgiveness be forced? Is it right to tell someone “you must forgive?”
Unloveable.
November 20, 2008 at 5:31 am (Uncategorized)
I’m completely unloveable. I can’t accept the love of anyone. Don’t try to come near me. I will push you away. My problem is getting worse. I don’t even want friends in my life. I want to be alone. How long will this last? I’m not depressed. I just want to be alone. But, I’m miserable. I just want to work. Is this the beginning of another melt down? Will I end up crashing again? Fuck. I get tired of the ups and downs. I sometimes wish for a stable life, but I guess that would be boring. Whatever.
Incestuous fantasies
November 15, 2008 at 4:48 am (Uncategorized)
Tags: electra complex, father, incest, incestuous fantasies, oedipal complex, psychology, sex
I’ve never had a father-figure in my life. I’ve studied psychology. I believe in the Oedipal and the Electra Complexes. I often, without shame in my own mind, have fantasies about having sex with my father I have never met and know nothing about. I primarily imagine that I’m a little girl and he stimulates me sexually and I innocently enjoy it. I can probably think this way because I never had a father. Perhaps all girls go through this at some point. I’m just about 20 years late because I never had a man in my life. It wasn’t until I entered the workforce that I was consistently surrounded by men who could be my father’s age. This was uncomfortable at first; now, it’ s the most comforting part of work I love to work with men this age. I feel secure, like I have a lot of fathers. So, maybe I’m in my 5th year with having men of this age consistently in my life and I’m going through the Electra Complex. When I have these fantasies, I don’t think of any man in particular. I just think of a man and a little girl. The girl is always a younger version of me, usually between 7 – 12 years old.
I’m a bit prude myself. I’ve only ever had sex about 10 times. So, it’s natural that I want an instructor…someone who will guide me sexually and take care of me like an innocent child.
Random purging…
November 15, 2008 at 4:24 am (Uncategorized)
Tags: alone, drugs, hate, loneliness, love, mother, rehab
…is good for the soul. Negativity is lurking within me. I focus on my flaws optimistically. I truly believe I’m flawed, but I feel as if I can make myself better.
Do you see how my writing is self-centered? I never take the time to write about anything other than myself or my relations with others. That’s the narcissistic side of me. My sentences often begin with “I.”
My mother is in rehab. She took my leftover pain medication. When it ran out, she couldn’t handle the withdrawal symptoms on her own and she didn’t have the funds to buy real drugs, so she checked herself into the bin. She’s fucked up. When I got the pain medication after my surgery, she was worried that I would get addicted. That’s a real example of projection if I’ve ever seen one. I don’t take her seriously as a mother. She’s hasn’t called me once to say hello. There’s only two explanations for why she’s avoiding me:
1) She completely fogot about me.
2) She made the conscious decision to not call me.
I don’t know which one is worse. They are both bad. She calls her girlfriend at least twice per day. The woman hates me. I know it. She never wanted to be a mother. I stressed her out. I just got really sick for a few months and she dreaded every minute of her existance when she had to take care of me.
A guy at work today told me to get a life. Everyone knows how pathetic I am. I don’t have a social life. I really don’t want one. If I want something, I’m passionate about it, I puruse it, and I get it. I have no desire to get married or have children. I want to be alone. It’s scary. I get loney, but it’s safe.
If you find this and you know me, will you think less of me? Or, will you like me more because you see my vulnerable side? I have issues with showing people my vulnerable side. I don’t want to have relationships that are not professional. I want everyone at work to do their jobs, stop diddle-daddling, and focus. We have to do our work. We have to make our companies stronger. We must get it done. Enough with the bull shit, let’s get the show on the road!
My heart was broken before I was old enough to enter a romanitc relationship; it was broken before I hit puberty; it was broken when I thought that boys had cooties. My heart was broken. This is why I am the way I am. I like math. I’ve heard that it take 2 x (length of hurtful relationship) to get over your pain and suffering. I was basically thrown around for the first 14 years of my life. So, perhaps when I am 14 + (14)2=42, I’ll finally learn how to love. Damn. That’s 15 years away. There’s no hope for me. I choose to be alone.
If I just work, I’m safe. I don’t have to worry about anyone else. I don’t have to worry about having my feelings hurt. I’ve tried to love before. It’s always failed. I choose to attempt to love those who are unloveable. This is because I’d rather be right than happy. I’d rather be right and think that I’m flawed, think that I’m damaged goods, think that love does not exist for me.
It’s my fault that my mother is in rehab right now. Of course, any therapist would tell me that it’s not my fault. She has a problem. However, if I hadn’t gotten sick, she wouldn’t have gone into rehab because she wouldn’t have quit her job and then gotten bored and abused drugs again. I knew that I ran away from her for a reason. I always blame myself. I think she does drugs because she cannot handle me. I’m too difficult. She uses drugs because of me. LIfe sucks.
If I keep on telling myself that I want to be alone, that I’m choosing this loneliness, then I’m going to dig myself into a deeper hole. I wonder how bad it’ll get.
Scars
November 12, 2008 at 2:47 am (Uncategorized)
Tags: scars
Today, I lifted my pant leg to show two male friends my extensively scarred knee from a recent surgery. I find these scars to be extremely unattractive. I like to show others to see their reaction. A part of me is proud of them, for I have survived this damage. I don’t want to live hidden; it makes me feel good to share this weakness, especially because I don’t share my emotional weaknesses with others. I wish that revealing emotional scars was as simple as revealing physical scars.
Alone.
November 11, 2008 at 5:16 am (Uncategorized)
Tags: alone, childhood, drugs, relationships, romance, unrequited love
I’ve never been in a long-term romantic relationship; some find this odd, especially new friends and potential mates. Potential mates. I’ve had too many to even begin to count! Am I a heartbreaker, you might ask? Sometimes, but not always. If I had to sum it up, I’d say that it’s my heart that gets broken. I’ve never really understood exactly WHY I haven’t been able to maintain a romantic relationship. After all, I have had desires…deep, passionate, longing desires to be with men. However, every potent attraction has been for men who were obviously not right matches for me. My heart has throbbed for them. Married men, significantly older men, alcoholic men, womanizers, bosses, my psychotherapist, men who openly state they are not looking for a relationship, and an Orthodox Jew are just a few examples of the men I have fallen in lust with. Meanwhile, I could have had fulfilling relatonships with one of the several available nice guys who expressed interest in me; but no, they did not strike my fancy.
I think I understand my choices now. I crave unrequited love.
First, I’m a competitive person, so I obviously like a challenge. Had I been born a straight man, I would have had fewer problems with the opposite sex.
I don’t care too much for the above explanation. Rather, I think I have gotten to the root of the issue. I was emotionally neglected, rejected, and abandoned as a child by my mother and her family. She abandoned me with my great-grandmother, since she could not handle the responsibility of a child; she preferred to party and get high. She was a regularly absent figure in my life, hardly a mother. I remember my mother in one of the following three states: getting high, in jail, or in rehab. The states continuously cycled and sometimes blended together. All I know is that every time she promised me she was getting better, I believed her. Every time, she disappointed me. Finally, when I was fourteen-years-old, I developed a mature frame of thinking that protected me from further heartbreak. I told myself that she was sick and would never get better. I did not believe a word she said. I looked down on her and vowed to never, ever, be like this woman. I even convinced my social worker from the Connecticut Department of Children and Families to leave me in the shelter, for my mother was not fit to take care of me and would return to jail within a month. My predictions were accurate and I spent the remainder of my teen years under the custody of the state. I was better off in their hands than my mothers and I knew this.
Can this be classified as pessimistic thinking? Was it pessimistic thinking that saved me? “No,” the optimist inside of me today says. “It was honest, wise, rational thought.” I must thank the most remarkable woman I have ever had in my life for helping me to see the dark side of my mother, my great-grandmother, for this saved me from the possibility of idealizing her and ending up in her path of self-destruction. When I was as young as five-years-old, my great-grandmother told me that my mother used drugs, sold her body, was a criminal, and the opposite of what I should have aspired to become. She saw something different in me. My great-grandmother thought I was the smartest and most well-behaved beauty on the planet. She made me feel special, and perhaps a tad narcissistic. I grew up knowing that I wanted to live up to the expectations of my great-grandmother and become the opposite of my mother. My great-grandmother died when I was ten-years-old. I think she lived inside of me after her death and guided me through life, for she has helped me to achieve the goal of being the opposite of my mother. Such success has arrived with a price. Even though my mother has shown nothing but respect, love, and caring for the past ten years, I still have a hard time respecting her. I treat her like shit and I know it. I no longer have a concrete reason to hate this woman who gave me life. I am a fully developed adult. Even if she decided to become a menace to society again, I am who I am and her behaviors will never influence mine.
Two of the most significant people in my life left me: one permanently and one consistently. Today, I want what’s familiar: a man who is not consistent with his love or who leaves me. If he has these qualities, then I’m drawn in.
Let’s make this story even more complicated. I have never met my father and have never had a father-figure in my life. Again, today I want what’s familiar: a man who is (emotionally) unavailable.
Now that I have this wisdom, what do I do with it? I know why I’m fucked up, but I have a strong desire inside of me to not consciously hurt myself. Instead of giving in to the temptations and nearly fatal attractions that once kept my mind occupied, I keep to myself. I don’t get involved. I even manage to push men away who I’m seriously sexually attracted to. That’s another skill I developed to protect myself. I don’t know how much longer I can live this way. Every time I feel a sexual attraction for a man, I remind myself that he’s just going to hurt and abandon me. I believe that he’s no good. I find a good, concrete, specific excuse and I rationalize. I’ve gotten really good at it. It’s not what I want, though. I secretely hope it’s just temporary. I hope to stop being afraid of who I attract.
I never had a father. Today, I suffer.
May 18, 2008 at 10:08 pm (Uncategorized)
Tags: daughters, father, john mayer, psychology
Psychology tells us that women look for a mate who has character traits and habits that match those of her father. Since I never experienced fatherly love or any paternal attention (good or bad) where does that leave me as an adult? Extremely confused. Every time I listen John Mayer’s song “Daughters,” I cry because I know what he sings is true. “Fathers be good to your daughters. Daughters will love like you do.” I push love away. If psychologists and John Mayer are right, then is there any hope for me to feel more than just sexual attraction with a man? Can I ever develop a secure, loving relationship with a man, or am I completely damaged because I never received fatherly love? Maybe I should just marry an older man, not because I am mature, but because I am immature, and I need a father.
My psychologist fell in love with me. Part II.
May 17, 2008 at 2:31 am (Uncategorized)
Tags: addiction, childhood, drugs, grandmother, love, mother, psychologist, psychology, ptsd
A few weeks after I began treatment with Dr. …, he checked himself into the hospital to overcome his addiction to alcohol. On the day he entered treatment, I showed up at his doorstep at 5:30pm, the time of our scheduled “appointment” to find a note written on the back of his business card, which hung from the doorbell. It read “Dr. … was rushed to the hospital expectingly.” Without giving it much thought, I immediately got into my car and visited him in the emergency room. I saw my precious doctor, who I cared about deeply at the time, lying in a bed on wheels, toothless, outside of the nurses station, under constant supervision by a dedicated staff member who monitored and recorded his every move. I thought something was wrong with him when I took him and his “son” out to see a historical landmark in the center of town yesterday, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it at the time. When I looked into his yellow eyes, he said “I’m an alcoholic and I’m bipolar…sometimes, I do this to myself.” He was not well; with every inch of caring energy I had left in my weak mind at the time, I held his hand and was strong for him. Then, I walked to the store and bought him socks, razors, and shaving cream. I was his best friend. “Can I do anything else for you?” I asked. “Just visit me,” he replied.
The next day, I returned and our connection grew stronger. He told me about his family. His children disowned him. I listened attentively as he shared the intimate details and did not need to be vocal to express how much I cared, for my facial expression and eyes don’t lie and were indications of my understanding. Dr. … said “when I tell most people that story, they say ‘oh, give them time and they will come around.’ You, however, listened with a genuine understanding.”
Dr. … needed me as much as I needed him. There are not many people who can truly understand his pain as I do, for I have disowned my mother for years at a time due to her substance abuse problems. Since he knew that I was able to repair my relationship with my mother, even though it hangs on with bits and pieces at times today, he needed to get the answers from me.
When a parent neglects or intentionally puts a child in danger (and yes, substance abuse IS classified as intentionally putting a child at danger in the mind of a rational, intelligent child) and is the direct cause of a child’s emotional distress, a child might decided to cut off all ties with the parent.
Dr…wanted to know when his children would reestablish contact with him, as I did with my mother. I felt safe to reestablish the connection with my mother when I matured to the point where I felt, in my heart, that I would not be hurt if my mother’s pattern of self-destruction began again. Here’s some background on the source of my disappointment:
When I was younger, I used to set myself up for disappointment. My mother was an on-again-off-again junkie. She abused drugs for several months at a time, then “went away and got better.” (went away = jail or rehab). Every time she came back, I used to think it was her last time hurting herself. She convinced me that she was better and I thought she would finally take care of me. After feeling the same disappointment dozens of times, I cut her off from my life when I could not tolerate the pain anymore. She lives in her own world and does not have the ability to care about the feelings of others. She took care of me with material items: food, clothing, trips, etc. But, when it came to consistency, motherly love, and discipline, she completely neglected me. She does not know how to take care of anything that she cannot see. For example, when my great-grandmother died (who was the equivalent of my mother for the first 10 years of my life), I cried before I entered the funeral home. My mother said, “awwww, what’s the matter? You haven’t even seen the body yet.” At the age of 10, I didn’t have the emotional intelligence to understand that my mother was not a leader or an authority on emotions. Assuming that her interpretation was legitimate, I repressed my feelings. It wasn’t until recently that I mourned the death of Nanny, my dear great-grandmother. To this day, I still think Nanny was a saint. She gave me fire in life. She was strong, vibrant, and full of character and life at the age of 80. Nobody in that family understood, or ever will understand, what Nanny meant to me. To everyone else, she was a burden, and a pain-in-the-ass perfectionist. But, I respected and adored her like nobody else. Because she said what was on her mind, I am here today, and I did not follow the footsteps of my mother. Nanny always told me that my mother was “no good.” She went into detail about my mother’s bad habits, from drug addiction to prostitution. However, she loved her with her actions. My mother beat my Nanny up once. I was about 5-years old. She hit her, made her fall down, and then took me with her. I remember how I wanted to stay with Nanny, but I was afraid. I remember feeling uncomfortable around my mother as a child, as if she were a stranger. I also remember when I started to grow fond of her when she and I walked through the mall and spent quality time together. So, my mother has good and evil to her. In my eyes, and this is because she is my mother and had the power to hurt me and DID, I see more evil in her than good. To this day, I am still disgusted with my mother; I want to shed this disgust, but I believe that it has been a protective mechanism in my life, so I’m afraid to let it go. Has 26 years of practicing good habits (working every day, educating myself, staying away from drugs) been sufficient? That is, if I let go of the disgust and actually love my mother for who she is, do I run the risk of idealizing her and wanting to be just like her? Because of the way my mind works, I am glad that I was not raised exclusively by my mother. I would have copied her lifestyle of drug addiction for sure. I would have followed in her footsteps…I know it…and she would have let me fall. My great grand-mother was the only person who taught me right from wrong. She said, your mother does X, but X is wrong! I listened. I believed her. I did NOT want to be like my mother. I live my life to be the complete opposite of her; in that, I have succeeded. Because of the way my mind works, I will never be able to love my mother as other children do. I do deserve this love, so God has sent me many mothers throughout my life so that I can experience this type of relationship. For this, I am lucky.
Today, I know that my mother can no longer hurt me, for I have many good things going on in my life at the moment. We have contact, but we’re not very close. I have succeeded in making myself so different from her that we share only one thing in common: half of our genes.
I continue to suffer from PTSD, but I use work, a safe outlet, to carry me through life. Psychologists can no longer help me. I have “maxed out” from their services. Purging through this outlet has been one of the best gifts I have given myself in a long time.
