"Her life changed the day she learned that she was just as valuable as everyone else."

I wrote the previous post Thursday morning.  I just re-read it and decided to go ahead and post it as it was originally written even though it could use a heavy re-write because..... well, who cares?

I went to a meeting with a friend Friday a.m. and it was great. New environment. New people. Comfortable. Small. Thoughtful sharing.

Walk away from yo'self!

You know what I shared? I am so fucking sick and tired of working on myself. When does it end?

Never.

It never fucking ends.

So, today, I decided to consider taking a break.  I need a goddamn break from "reflecting" on my faults and weaknesses and "growing" into a better person. 

I googled "taking a break from self" and found very few articles (3, I believe) on the topic. Most links took me to "taking a break from dating", which is ironic, or "taking a break from self.....criticism" (but still do this and do that to make yourself better). 

In a world where self-help books, blogs, quotes, posters, conferences, therapy are plentiful and have been for 2 decades, has no one considered the fact that sometimes a person just needs a break from all that damn reflection?

I've been "working on myself" for 23 goddamn years. TWENTY-THREE YEARS! 

I know you're laughing right now, thinking, "goddamn, she should be a fucking expert and absolutely perfect by now!"

Obviously, I. Am. Not.

And the constant need within myself to be better is quite honestly making me worse.  It's constant.  Constant self-talk. Constant "should I do this? should I say that?"  Constant criticism of self. Constant reflecting on self. Jesus, I'm sick of myfuckingself.

Now, just because I'm taking a break from all this shit doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to become an even more selfish person.  It may, in fact, have the opposite effect.  If I stop reflecting on myself so damn much, maybe....just maybe....I'll start thinking more about others.

It also doesn't mean I'm going to let myself go to shit.  I'm simply going to follow my body's needs.  I think (I hope) I'll find that I crave certain habits I've made for myself.  My mind and body will simply want to workout. My body will want to eat healthy...crave good food, in fact, instead of the goddamn awesome chocolate peanut butter cake I baked Thursday (& gave most away).  I'll still sleep when I need to. I'll still hang out with friends and go to meetings. I'll still take care of my responsibilities. But I'm hoping the harmful thoughts I have towards myself to "do better goddamn it!" will slide to the wayside.  Because thinking about them all the damn time sure doesn't seem to be doing much for me. 

I'm just going to free-flow for a day, or a week, or a month. We'll see.  I may want to write about it....or I may not want to write at all because the majority of posts on this blog are self-reflecting.  I've had enough of that shit.

 

"I already am, I always was, and I still have time to be."

What does it mean to you when someone says

I've been thinking a lot lately about a comment directed at me: "Sorry for trying to bring some life into your world, other than yours and your cat's..... try to understand that there's more to life than just your needs."

Lol, yep.

Am I really that shallow and self-absorbed that I don't realize there's more to life than my needs? Do I convey to others that my life is empty and unfulfilling?

I don't think so.

Sure, I'm selfish. It's been me my whole life. Just me. With periodic bouts of various friends, boyfriends, co-workers, bosses, family, etc.... But mostly just me.

Have you ever thought about your life like a sitcom? You're the lead role and everybody else is in supporting roles? Or maybe your big role is the supporting role in somebody else's life.  I'd rather be the lead in my own life than a supporting role in somebody else's.  And I'd like to think my life is a comedy, but really, it's probably more of a sad, sad drama...with bits of hilarity.  You'll laugh and you'll cry. A lot.  Those are my favorite movies!

But back to "life".  Of course I realize that the universe doesn't revolve around me.  I forget, sometimes, but I thank whatever is holy that I'm not the center.  I simply want to be somebody's priority. Don't we all want that? To feel as if someone is thinking about us, loving us, concerned for us, wanting to spend time with us, missing us?

I have a lot of flaws. So many, in fact, I can't list them all. Nor do I want to.  I'm aware. I'm very much aware of them and find new ones almost every damn day. Nobody is more aware of my flaws than me. Does that make me self-absorbed? No. It makes me self-aware, something I wish  more people on this planet were.

However, this is my life and I am very protective of it. I'm protective of my heart, my mind, my feelings, my friends, my family, my sobriety, my pets, my time, my my my.  My dad told me when I went away to college, "You wear your heart on your sleeve...."  I think he was trying to tell me to protect it.  He's still telling me to protect it to this day....because he knows that I give it away too freely to people who don't always treat it like the beautiful, precious piece of meat it is. And I give it away so easily and freely not because I'm trusting but because I crave love - to love and to be loved- so damn much.

And there's the rub for me. Pastor Dave always used to say to me, "You have to get okay with whatever decision they make". My response was, "So I have to not care. Okay. I have to not care. Got it."  That isn't what he meant, but that's what I had to do. Not Care. So with me, it seems, I'm either all in or all out.  I'm an addict. There are no in-betweens with me. I'm either a total drunk or completely dry.  I'm either a smoke-a-pack-a-day or I don't smoke at all. There's never just ONE anything. So when I love, I love whole. I'm not a part-time, sometime, downtime love. I'm all-in.  And that's my problem.  I don't think I'm self-absorbed....I think I'm more than willing to absorb my life into someone else's.

Just like a goddamn parasite.

"I'm sorry I responded poorly when you were acting like an asshole."

I can't recall a relationship I've ever had (and I've had a lot) in which I was so incredibly indecisive.

We had sort of decided he would move out today (Sunday) but stay in town and we would "see how things work out before we give up".

On the one hand, yes, of course I want to continue our relationship. I love him. Of course we should continue to try.  On the other hand, I have to consider the relationship itself. Am I getting what I need, what I want, in this relationship or am I simply depleting myself?  Oftentimes love isn't enough.

I don't respect myself all that much, but I respect myself more than he respects me. At least I know that much.  He left yesterday to go to a kid's concert and I didn't hear from him until I reached out to him late morning.

He's made my decision incredibly easy.

Am I upset? Yes. But not as much as I would have been had he not behaved like he did. Had he wanted to spend his last night living in my home with me, I would be much sadder today knowing that he's moving out and things will never be the same.

But since he didn't do that and since he chose to yet again ignore his supposed girlfriend, it's going to be a pretty easy transition for me to endure and I'm looking forward to things never being "the same" again.


I had some pretty intense dreams last night (I'm sleeping wonderfully for some reason...).  In one dream, I grabbed a woman by her hair and got right in her face, screaming at her.  About what, I have no clue.  But I was so damn angry.  In another, I rented space to 5 men in what was like a hotel room with two bathrooms and two bedrooms (I had my own, of course) and when I walked into their bathroom to get something, I noticed they'd fucked everything up.  The pedestal sink literally crashed to the floor when I touched it.  I was, again, furious. But the last dream I had, I think, was the most profound.

I lost my purse.

To dream of a purse represents your identity or sense of self. Thoughts, feelings, or life situations that give you confidence, power, or make you feel complete as a person. A purse can also reflect emotional dependency, or things you need in order to feel complete, whole, or confident. Feelings about your identity. 

Losing your purse may symbolize losing touch with who you are, or giving up habits or life situations that make you feel confident, or complete as a person. A loss of identity. Women who are dealing with unfamiliar situations that make them feel insecure often dream of losing their purses.  http://www.dreambible.com/search.php?q=Purse

Dreaming of losing a purse denotes loss of self-identity and control. You may be going through a life changing event that is taking away your self-identity such as getting laid off or divorced.  https://dream-meaning.net/object/purse-dream-interpretation/

Ahhh, I see. Makes so much sense.


I handled today as well as could be expected....but check on me later this week. That's when I'll start to miss him.  Though it's pretty easy to remind myself, I missed him even when he was here.

"She realized that opinions were a dime a dozen, validation was for parking, and loyalty wasn't a word but a lifestyle." -lessonslearnedinlife.com

I'm starting to think all arguments, road rage, bitch fights and wars are caused by miscommunication, the failure to communicate adequately.

Who doesn't love Paul Newman?

Or at the very least, misinterpretation of communication.

Don't get me wrong. Sometimes people are just assholes and their opinions are shit and they don't deserve your energy.

I'm beginning to believe, tho, that the majority of arguments I've had recently stem from the receiver's interpretation of what is being said (me, usually, being the receiver).  I believe it all relies on the receiver's frame of mind. If I'm in a shitty place, guess how whatever you say to me is going to be received? Shittily. That's right. I said shittily. It's a word. Trust me.

I went to my AA meeting in the Big O this morning and it was one of the most profound yet. The reading didn't necessarily speak to me (about the spiritual experience) but what was said after did. The person who chaired the meeting today is someone I'm especially fond of. I just love old men. There's something cute and endearing and comforting about them. This gentleman spoke of his rock bottom (homeless in the desert for 2 years) and the numerous times he tried to get sober, but failed and how pride, ego and fear (the big 3) get in our way and prevent (or wreak havoc) our sobriety. And boy, oh boy, have I ever been experiencing my own pride, ego and most of all, fear the past few weeks.

And it struck me - I've been .... a lot of things (selfish, inconsiderate, disrespectful, among numerous others).... but mostly defensive.  And a whole helluva lot of anxious.  With a large spoonful of fear. I haven't felt like a healthy self lately. I've felt like I'm barely keeping it together and a lot of days, I'm not even doing that. I'm simply existing.

Today I talked about Step 3, turning my will over to God as I understand him.  I got stuck on this step 6 years ago.  I was working for the church. My father was a pastor. I had grown up in the church my entire life. This should have been easy, yes? Wrong. Because I needed to be completely honest with myself in that moment.  I didn't believe in God as I had been taught of him my whole life. I didn't believe in the biblical God. I had to face that in order to move forward. In that moment, I felt immense relief to finally admit it to myself and to say it out loud to my sponsor. I could stop that struggle, at least. However, a new struggle developed.  If not GOD, then what god?

In AA, they say anything can be your higher power.  "That chair over there can be your higher power!"  Fuuuuuck. Seriously? I'm going to turn my will over to that inanimate stupid looking chair? Um, no. No, I can't do that.  And I struggled with what a higher power meant to me.  It was incredibly difficult to not think of "god" as the GOD I had grown up with. I settled on the larger AA collective as my higher power.  I still struggle with it....because of ego. Pride.

I realize that when AA says that a chair can be your higher power, they're saying it doesn't matter.  It doesn't matter what or who it is (God, Allah, the native elements, Buddha, or Shiva), just as long as you do it and accept it and realize that YOU are not in control anymore.  Even that is damn hard to do and I'm happy to report....most AA "members" struggle with this, no matter if they have 24 hours or 24 years.  Nobody is alone.

Another thing that struck me today is another AA slogan:

I can't be perfect. I sometimes feel as if other people expect me to be and to never screw up.  I, on the other hand, know that I am who I am.... A seriously flawed human being... but one who is striving and progressing..... sometimes very slowly, but still.  It's okay to not be perfect.  It is not okay to simply exist.

I used to get so angry when I would talk to Pastor Dave about our former custodian.  She was such a Debbie Downer, never smiled, always moped around the church.  Everything was a trial.  Dave would ask me, "Why does it bother you so much?"  Because.  Because I knew what it was like to be depressed and unable to function at a normal level.  But I rarely stewed in those juices longer than I needed to. I reached out to people who could help lift me up (because I couldn't get off the damn floor by myself) and get me the help that I needed, whether that was Mom and Dad, a paramedic, a hotline of some sort, my brothers, a psychiatrist threatening to send the sheriff to my house if I didn't get to the hospital, my friends....whoever. It didn't matter who....as long as I reached out for help.  Because no matter how miserable you are, many people don't notice, either because they're in their own worlds or because you hide it too well or they take you at your word that, "I'm fine".  So you have to be the one who puts forth the effort... a simple "Help" is sometimes all it takes.


So I want to make an effort to stop simply existing and to strive for progress....not perfection.  What does that mean, exactly? Who the fuck knows.  :)

For me it means: 1. Spend time each day meditating, studying and reading.  2. Get out of my own head and help others. The world does not revolve around Amy, tho why it doesn't, I don't know because I am fabulous. And 3. Sit my ass in that goddamn chair at whatever AA meeting I can attend.

I have a lot of work to do (that I want to do) in order to morph into the person I want to be and sometimes it feels overly daunting and sometimes, like today, it feels.... possible.

Love you all more,
Me

"This break up is better than Weight Watchers."

Isn't it amazing how quickly I can ruin a relationship? Isn't there an award for that? Oh yeah. It's called being alone for the rest of your life. I should just go ahead and take in 50 cats now and own that shit.

Yep. It's over. I screwed up. Again. I recognize that the common denominator in the last two live-in relationships I had that ended poorly is.... me. And one day, far from now, I will look into that abyss and it will gaze back at me and maybe, just maybe, I will learn a lesson.

But for now, in order to keep my shit together, I avoid that abyss and try to project an attitude of "I'm fine"....or at least I'll BE fine. As you should all be well-aware, I am far from fine. Thus, the magnificent weight loss. I've reached my goal weight. 115 lbs. There's always a silver lining, isn't there? I do eat. Trust me. I eat. However, my anxiety and nerves burn it off as soon as it hits my body. I'd rather be fat & healthy.

So what went wrong, you ask?

We'll each tell ourselves whatever reason for the break-up that helps each of us get past it. He'll say it's because I couldn't handle his kids, I'm a control-freak, and countless other things. I'll tell myself he never really loved me... He loved who he wanted me to be and I would always fall short of that. I wasn't good enough quick enough.

And he made fun of my need to plan my days and the notebook I carry with me everywhere I go in order to do so...and that, I can't forgive. I need that notebook to remind me of all the shit I didn't do the day before! Because I'd forget.

Feed the cat. Shower. Eat.

Those are hard things to remember!

But seriously.....

As an alcoholic (and me specifically as an alcoholic), it's imperative to have a well-structured day. That doesn't mean the entire day ever goes as planned. It rarely does.

Science supports the idea that habit and routine are important, especially in early recovery. A NIH report on early abstinence and risks for recovery (An Individual Drug Counseling Approach to Treat Cocaine Addiction: The Collaborative Cocaine Treatment Study Model; 1999) states that “structuring one’s time is an important aid to recovery. Having definite plans and staying busy helps the recovering addict to avoid having excess free time…” The report further explains that “unstructured time can lead to boredom” and increase the risk of returning to old (unhealthy and risky) patterns. But structured routines help you feel more in control; they give you a sense of having taken responsibility for making positive changes; and they help you build confidence. The NIH report suggests the use of both daily routines and weekly routines to establish healthy new patterns. http://www.recovery.org/pro/articles/bringing-balance-back-why-you-need-routine-and-structure/

Beyond that unforgivable part, though, I take full responsibility for the end of this relationship and my relationship with Chris. I see, now, that it's not them...it really is me. But as stated before, let's not gaze into that abyss just yet. Let's hold off on that torture until I'm in a better frame of mind, months from now.

I have to remind myself, minute-by-minute (because he's still living here until he can find his own place), not to hug him, kiss him, cook for him, take care of him, tell him I love him....because I'm no longer his and he is no longer mine. I wish him happiness and I won't prevent him from having that, but I can no longer participate in his life.  Fucked up, huh? Yes. Yes it is.

"Another morning comes. It always does. Time always moves at the same rate, only feelings have different speeds. Every day can mark a whole lifetime or a single heartbeat, depending on who you spend it with." -Fredrik Backman, Beartown

Aunt Hope, have you read this book? I don't even need to ask Mom. I know she has. What is it with my family (and most of my friends) and books? We devour them. They transport us into worlds we may never experience. Or they take us back to a place we've experienced before and we feel all the same feelings again, good or bad. They excite us, scare us, make us laugh, make us cry, grieve.

I don't know what it is about Fredrik Backman's books that everyone on the planet (should) love so much. He has a way, like Stephen King for me, to put me in the story, to truly make me feel like I'm part of it....without the horror and blood, of course, because only Stephen King can do horror and blood like no other.

Beartown made me cry. I couldn't remember the last time I cried before Beartown, for any reason. Probably over a boy. *eye roll* I remember what it was like to be 15 and to have friends like that. It's true - you never have friends like the ones you do at 15.

“You never have the sort of friends you have when you’re fifteen ever again. Even if you keep them for the rest of your life, it’s never the same as it was then.” 

 True. And sometimes you don't see each other for months, years, decades...but when you do, all the years fall away and you pick up right where you left off.

I consider myself to be one of the luckiest 42 year old women on the planet. Because at 15, I had some of the most loyal, funny, profoundly wicked, caring, screwed up and loving friends a girl could ever ask for...and I have them again.  Shannon, Jason, Ricky. We're like a really small gang again except with a helluva lot more gray hair (or less if you're the guys), a helluva lot more wrinkles, and a helluva lot more life experience....so we know in our hearts how damn lucky we all are.

I've hit a bit of a rough patch the last few days and I blame Beartown. There's a reason I don't cry, I said to Ricky the other night. Because once I begin, it feels like it will never end. Never. I open the floodgates, the dam overflows, and look out world! Here comes a salty flood. I don't know why. I tried to cry a week or so ago and nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. I couldn't squeeze out a tear if someone gave me a million dollars. Well. Come on. I could certainly fake one for a million dollars. Shit. But damn Beartown. It made me feel. And it made me feel (& remember) all the good and the bad a girl experiences at 15.

I hate feeling. Unless it's pure joy, bliss, happiness....but even then, like my Buddhist professor always said, "Once you realize you're happy, you're not happy anymore."  What the fuck does that even mean? I think it means that happiness isn't a thought in your head. It isn't as if you can say to yourself, "I'm going to be happy" and suddenly BAM! You're happy. No. It doesn't work that way for me. I can fake it, sure. I can fake it like no other. I should win a goddamn Oscar for all the fake happiness I've shown the world. We can all fake it. But to feel happiness...that's the real rub, isn't it? Feel. And feelings are fleeting. They come and go. We feel a hundred different feelings a day. They ebb and flow.

Or I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about.  I remember the words, but not the lesson. Typical.

And even though I didn't want Beartown to end, like all of us with any good book- we just want it to continue and go on & on & on- I forced myself to finish it last night because I couldn't make it go on & on & on. If I did, the crying would continue....on & on & on. And trust me, nobody wants that, least of all me.

So, while the tears have presumably ended, the feelings haven't yet quite dissipated. But I'm working on that. By myself, because that's what I always try to do. It doesn't matter if I have every single friend from every moment in my life hanging out on my doorstep, there are just some things that have to be felt alone because, honestly, it's too fucking hard to try to explain to someone who hasn't a clue exactly how fucked up you are. How do you explain that the past week drained you even though you didn't really do all that much and that every little frustration, every minute of sleep-deprivation, every bite of the tongue along the way has built up to the point they're all spewing out of your eyes because you just can't anymore.  Sometimes I just can't. And so I shut down. I cry. I sleep. I sleep for a lot of reasons. Because in sleep, my conscious isn't aware of feelings. In sleep, the world is shut out. In sleep, my mind and body heal. On their own. Without me having to do a fucking thing.

But there comes a point when sleep is no longer enough and I have to get my fat ass up and moving before I fall down a deep dark hole I might not recover from. So here I am, dear reader, verbally vomiting all of it to you, to get it out of me and to move on.

Because life is too good and time is too short to waste it on tears.

"Touch me, it doesn't matter where and it doesn't matter how. I need to know I'm still alive so someone touch me now."

How important is touch in your life? Is it something you don't even think about? Or is it something you notice is missing....or maybe have in overabundance (aren't you lucky)?

Touch is of paramount importance in my life. I can never seem to get enough or have enough and always need, want, desire more. Just more.

I know I was touched as a child (and not in the perverted way you're thinking...geesch, get your head out of the gutter).  I know my mom would run her long fingernails up and down the inside of my forearm. To this day, that still gives me goosebumps if someone just happens to do that. My dad was a hugger and still is. My brother Chris and I would lay in bed together, but before sleep if I rubbed his back, he would rub my feet.  Seriously. As little kids. We were way into massage before it was a thing. And I still love to get a good foot massage.  Ben and I have probably hugged more than I've hugged anyone else in my life.

There have been times in my life when I shunned anyone who tried to enter my bubble. I remember dating a wonderful guy in undergrad (he was in grad school). We had so much damn fun together, but when he'd try to hold my hand, I'd look at him like, "Whoa, slow down there Rich. We may be having loads of sex, but holding hands? No. Too personal." And definitely at the church, everybody there knew I had a bubble around me. It was a running joke. I've blogged before about that very thing.

But now? Today? I crave touch more than I ever have before. If I don't have it, I feel...what?

Like I might as well not exist. As if I must be the most revolting person in the world.

I know I'm not. I have an ass even I can't resist touching. My breasts are fucking magnificent. I fondle them daily (by doctor's orders, of course). My skin is so soft, when I happen to notice it, I wonder, "How is everyone who comes into physical contact with me not just stroking my skin continuously?" And yet.... I'm starting to think I should sell my body on the street corner to get laid and bring in some income to this growing household.

I wouldn't. Of course I wouldn't. Who would buy sex in this little hamlet? Plenty, I'm sure....but I'm not for sale.

Because I'm in a committed relationship and we love each other and we're learning. Together. We each have different ways of expressing our love for each other and he tries harder than I do. Maybe because I'm more vocal about what I need in a relationship than he is. So, he knows what to do and not wonder whereas I'm left to wonder. I just think it's harder for men to communicate their needs than it is for women...and certainly for this woman. I know myself better than the average person knows themselves because....therapy. Therapy. Therapy.

I know he needs respect and effort and provision in the form of meals, a clean home, clean clothes, etc. I got that. I think. I hope. And I need about a trillion other things.

But this post's topic is....

But beyond that, I need to feel as if I'm wanted, desired, good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, sexy enough, funny enough. I don't know if I'll ever feel I'm "enough". Ever. So I attempt (poorly) to focus not on what I feel is lacking and focus instead on how I know he loves me. 

I know he loves me because he changed his whole life for me. He left his job, his easy access to his kids, what he's known for the past 10 years to be with me. He works hard at a job that kind of sucks. He goes to bed by 8pm to get up at 1am to be at work by 3am. He's tired. He's sore. He works 6 days a week. And he does it because he loves me. He said he would provide and he's following through (also important). He's taking the steps necessary for us to have a future together. He's considerate of my feelings, understanding of my need for solitary time, especially when the kids are here. He's conscious of my struggle with alcohol and protective of me when others aren't so conscious of it.  He says the words daily and kisses and hugs me. He'll tap my ass if it's in his presence. 

He helps me make the bed. 

It's the little things in life, right?

So, yes, I know he loves me. I just need to do a better job of reminding myself of it when thoughts of prostituting my body just to get laid enter my perverted mind.