A newlywed’s conversation

It was 2 days since the wedding.  A simple, beautiful wedding in a tiny white gazebo in the park over-looking the big lake, gorgeous summer day, fresh green grass, and even a few butterflies attended the ceremony. Understated and simple, the bride wore a white sundress and the groom wore khakis and a white linen shirt.  Other than the butterflies, it was attended only by immediate family… The perfect casual summer wedding!

A well-loved and favorite memory of this wedding, for the bride, would always be the groom’s mother hugging her so warmly immediately following the ceremony. She whispered in the newly married girl’s ear,  

I finally have the daughter I’ve always wanted! Thank you! 

As a girl without a mother, this was particularly precious to the bride and made the day even that much more perfect.

The wedding night was not so perfect, but that’s another story altogether.  The couple didn’t go on honeymoon…that was not in the budget and this really didn’t matter much to either of them.

Two days after the wedding, the newly wedded bride is speaking on the phone early in the morning with her mother-in law and discussing various things like the children and the wedding.  God was always a big part of these conversations she had with her husband’s mother too. The bride appreciated this and valued not only having a “mother” at last, but one who could provide such guidance and support on spiritual matters. She felt truly fortunate and blessed!

During the conversation, “Mom” starts explaining that she keeps the picture of her son and his ex-girlfriend up in their living room for the child’s sake because she wants her 5-year-old grandson to have happy memories of his mom and dad together.  Something about this statement feels just a little strange to the bride.  She’s not at all jealous of her husband’s ex girlfriend, after all they had broken up many years earlier, long before she had known him.  So she doesn’t mind the picture staying up, there’s just something that feels a little funny about the conversation when “Mom” says this and she can’t quite put her finger on what exactly it is.  So she smiles into the phone and says, I think that’s a wonderful idea!  Children need to have memories of their mother and father together.  It’s probably a really good idea to do that for <grandson>.

Having shrugged off that weird feeling, the conversation continues as it had and the bride is practically gushing with love, adoration, and gratitude at this great relationship with this Godly woman, who is now actually her “mother”.  Ohhhh so blessed!!

Toward the end of the conversation, “Mom” revisits the photo subject.  She adds,

I really don’t want to take that picture down anyway.  They really looked so great together, you know?  Everyone always said what a beautiful couple they were, but I was always quick to remind the kids that looks aren’t everything.  A relationship can’t be maintained on just looking so perfect together.

The bride says quietly, Yes, I agree.

“Mom” says, Still, no one could ever argue that they sure did make the most beautiful couple!

Not so sure what response is appropriate here and feeling terribly uncomfortable at this moment, the bride decides to end the conversation and go attend to the children.

Thanks so much for talking this morning.  I’m so happy and blessed that I finally have a “mom”!  I love you. Have a beautiful day!

Runaway cars? Okay…

At the ex’s house with kids and contemplating dinner ideas.  We agree on making spaghetti.  I have to go to the grocery store to get some ingredients.  I’m taking his car to go.  I go to his car in the parking lot, am getting in, when I notice a kitten has been trapped in his car in the sweltering heat.  I grab the poor little kitten and go to take it in the house. On my way in, I pass a female, about my age, asking for Mark.  I say he’s changing or something and she barges right in saying she’ll get him herself.  Okay.  Mark comes out about the same time and tells her she can go in his room and they’ll talk in a minute, explaining to me that he’s been dating this girl.  Okay.

I’m in kitchen with kids, going over grocery list one final time, when the girl  comes naked out of the bedroom into the kitchen!!  I say, “Hey, my kids are in here.  That’s very inappropriate in front of them.”  She tells me to F-off..that she stays there the rest of the time and that I have nothing to say about it.  I say, okay…just get your clothes on in front of my children please.  Again she swears at me.  I have just had it.  I walk straight up to her and punch her in the mouth..obviously very hard because blood is spurting from her lip and she is yelling for Mark.  He comes in and tells me to go on to the grocery store that he’ll take care of this.  I just say okay and leave again.

As I’m walking to the parking lot, I notice a buzz of traffic around the little residential lake his house is right next to.  There’s a big machine pulling vehicles out of the lake and I see that Mark’s car is one of them!!! I panic and run out there, knowing I must be to blame for this.

The car is pulled out and still starts, but obviously has some issues from being partially submerged in water, while I dealt with a naked woman streaking in front of my children…  I’m so afraid to tell Mark and I start crying.  A few really nice women watching this are kind to me and encouraging.  I finally go inside  to tell Mark what happened.  He’s upset but not as mad as I thought he’d be. We should continue with our dinner plans…

I take my car to the store.  At the store, I’m picking out the needed ingredients.  The meat department guy is acting very strangely and says he has to ring me up there.  I give him my card.  He calls someone and they take me in a back room for questioning, apparently my card is suspicious and they have to notify the authorities.  I’m very upset and confused about this, but they insist on treating me like a criminal and I really don’t understand why this is happening or what I have done…

                 A common theme to my dreams lately is runaway vehicles and physical fights.  So strange!  Can’t seem to pin-point what that represents subconsciously…

WTF!?!! thoughts (or How on Earth did I get so lucky?)

After some reflection from Wednesday evening’s events, I’ve formulated some thoughts and questions…

1.  On what planet does a married professional woman who gives blow jobs in bar parking lots to men she’s just met feel righteous in judging others as parents or even human beings in general?

2.  A married woman claiming she’s desperate for friendship who sees nothing “all that” wrong in sleeping with her friends’ lover?   And then hanging her friend’s character out to dry, just for good measure? 

What is that? Is that okay?  Do the moral aspects of a person’s character or life even have any bearing at all on these questions?  Do we keep all of this stuff separate while we are wearing our judge’s robe and gossiping through our journalist’s megaphone?  When judging others should it be just about them, where the judge remains beyond reproach? 

Hey, I heard Susie has been cheating on her husband for years!   

Oh really, so have you…

Maybe so, but this is about Susie right now….

How do you sit and reflect in judgment on others’ lives, mistakes, rumors, choices, etc, etc, without your thoughts immediately turning to your own?  I am incapable.  My thoughts automatically go straight to “Oh…I once did that too”  or “Gosh…I’ve done something similar myself”….I do not get to pass Go and collect 200 justifications.  It seems the moment I try on the judge’s robe, my entire life is immediately suspect and under the microscope as well…..  Immediately!   Am I just overly self-aware compared to the typical person?  I’m wondering why so many seem to feel righteous in their judgements against others and I’ve noticed that it’s often the very people whose life choices could truly come into serious question, perhaps in direct defiance of the Ten Commandments, for example…?  I’m not religious in any way and yet it does seem to me that the Ten Commandments are, for the most part, pretty basic rules of morality.  It shouldn’t require a membership or devotion to an organized religion to comprehend them and agree that they are just pretty basic ideas of common decency in general, regardless of any doctrine of faith.  Religious rules are typically up for argument and interpretation….only beyond the basics though in my opinion.  It seems to me though that the majority of people I know who judge the most and often the most unfairly are the very people not living by the basic creed of respect for others and/or humanity, but living their lives in a hedonistic, “whatever is best for me”, however I have to get it type manner.  And these people so often feel justified in sitting around passing judgement on others?  And usually judging the loudest, as though they hope the world will hear and somehow deflect attention on their personal lives and choices?  Or do these people truly have themselves convinced that their behaviors are all excused and/or justified, while every one else’s should be placed under the microscope and broadcasted for the public masses?  I have to argue that this kind of thinking floats around in the box of similarity to sociopathic thinking.  Although I’m not saying all selfish hedonistic types (i.e. ‘MY pleasure, MY best interest at ANY cost is perfectly acceptable’) are sociopaths, but I do see a similar train of thought here. 

I once read a book called The Sociopath Next Door which claimed that one in ten (I believe it was? Or some similar statistic…)people are sociopaths. I thought that statistic was a reach, but in reflection on the depth of denial running amouk and society’s willingness to throw others under the bus so to speak in order to preserve themselves or defend some irrational fear that a defense tactic is needed although there is no attack in progress, or perhaps merely for the fun of it (?), puts me in a place of thought where I can clearly see the one in ten possibility.  Not all sociopaths are on the extreme end of the spectrum, like serial killers for example, but I can see a direct connection to the low-to-no-conscience behaviours of society and the personality traits of a sociopath.

When people spread ugly false rumors about another person, are they doing this because they’re trying to protect someone from harm?  Are they doing it because they really believe the information and feel obligated to society’s ‘right to kow” and a satisfaction in spreading the news?  Are they doing it because they get higher self satisfaction in the (possibility of) mistakes and/or misery of others which they figure as far worse than their own imperfections?  And what of the people who just flat-out lie about others?  Do they actually somehow convince themselves of these lies as truth or do they spread it around, in full realization that they are lying? To me, the first indicates the possibility of a serious mental issue and the second resembles the thought processes of a sociopath…

And how did I become a magnet for these types?  Is it true that birds of a feather flock together and I just can’t (or won’t?) see these traits in myself?  Or is it that these types have excellent radar for  attracting easy targets?  Or a combination of both possibly?

Are these people so sick that they are to be pitied?  There are so very many crimes against humanity far, FAR worse than these, yes I know, which go on every day all over the world.  And I feel nauseated and sick to think of them…but these small little crimes against the spirit are so common and so accepted (or so it seems to me) in my little world that I wonder if it is like this in most people’s lives?  Is this the current “norm”?  Or am I just the lucky one who attracts more than most?

Into the Nook

My  daughter received a Nook for Christmas.  She tried it out for a few weeks and decided she didn’t care much for it and prefers regular books to this convenient mechanism…..  and she has given this most lovely, nifty and absolutely glorious thing to ME!  I am so excited! I still want to jump up and down when I look at it…  no seriously, I really do!  I sneak little peeks at it sometimes when I pass by it while its charging or just sitting there.  I touch it and look at it now and then, even when I don’t have time to read, just to connect with it.  I called customer service the first three days straight after she gave it to me, just to learn something new about its functions and capabilities, so I could have the most incredible relationship with “my” Nook  ever …hehe…  I love it!

And so I’ve begun my journey back to my one of my two original and most passionate loves…reading!  And thanks to my Nook, I can read as easily as I once could before the incident left me challenged to holding a book properly and turning pages.  Thank you to my generously kind daughter and the makers of the Nook for bringing this joy back into my world unencumbered by the frustrations which were clouding my enjoyment for the past ten years.  What a blessing!!

Reading always re-connects me with my other deep love – writing!  And I even had the peace of mind to browse my favorite writers this morning and read these words I love and appreciate so much, which also further inspire me to write.  Reading juicy words of creativity, provokes so many emotions inside, but today, mostly I just feel gratitude for the other writers out there who are gifted enough and intelligent enough, and stable enough to not allow anything in life to rob them of their flow of creative juices.  Although I do feel somewhat sad that I am not that way right now, my juices seem to have been sucked too dry to function with anything of any real value.  After kicking myself a few good, swift kicks…I also feel so inspired that I get hope back that perhaps I will yet again someday feel capable of writing about something other than DK and the pain I have experienced.  I feel hope that I will again feel the urge to write, even when I’m not in agony and mass confusion.

Once it seemed writing of my pain, eased it and helped me to get over it and hold onto myself through it, but it seems lately, there is no healing in me..and I only have energy when I’m in so much pain I’m writhing about desperately searching for something to numb it…but instead of writing through the pain, I have written of it, around it, over it, in it..flailing about trying to find that one phrase or expression that will sedate the pain a bit.  While all I’ve accomplished really, is the flailing about in itself…wallowing around in the damned ridiculous pain I’ve perpetuated and nourished to the extent that I almost cease to function creatively without it..

And my God that is absurd!  Am I to allow them to conquer me in that way?  To rob me of the juicy, dripping, delicious succulence of my spirit and my passion? What the hell is the matter with me?  I can’t give them that.  I won’t.

Thank you to you delightful writers here and everywhere and to my daughter and her (my!!) Nook.   Let the river of creativity begin to flow once again!

No answers

Today my heart was sinking faster than the sun and I drove past two small children sitting in a big easy chair in their front lawn. REmnants of a yard sale I presume.  Their little legs sticking straight out with their tiny feet just dangling past the edge of the cushion…  and I remember being little and the worst thing I could imagine was rain for a baseball game, my sister crying over anything, or my mother not loving me.  I knew the broken heart of the child.  My heart broke every time I wanted to do something more than anything in the world, but was not given permission or the crush I had on the little boy next door who liked my best friend instead.  I vividly remember the pain of those things and feeling completely heart broken.  And now, I looked at those two little kids, sharing the big comfy chair in their yard and what fun that must have been for them and I wished with all my heart that I could just go back for even a minute’s reprieve from the vast brokenness of growing up, the vulnerabilities you have that come with age, wisdom, and fears you didn’t used to know even existed as a child, dangling your feet over a sift chair and giggling.  The security that tomorrow will always be coming, the trust that that’s just the way the world works and the confidence that you never have to think any differently because you’re going to be a child forever….until you grow up, which is so very far away it’s unfathomable.  The only deep pain I knew growng up were the moments that my mother’s lack of compassion, understanding, time, attention, or love were slapped in my face too many times to give me the chance to slip into fantasy world where she did love me.  Aftyer those times, I would sit in my room and write stories about how much my mother loved me and all the hugs and kisses she gave me because I was special.  And in time, I would feel better.  I could almost put myseslf into those stories so well that they became true,- in my openly imaginative mind and the deperation of denial.

I don’t have that luxury anymore.  And instead of my hopes and wishes that I would grow up to be loved by a husband and family of my own; people who would love me every day, not just when other people were present.  The deepest irony of my lot in life is that life has placed me in the very same position I was in as a child.  Ensuring that I never feel the safety and comfort of love I can depend on. Promising me nothing except more insecurity that further serves to make me so difficult to love and respect.

As an adult, I know have some tiny bits of understanding as to why I never got a puppy or a kitten and even why I wasn’t allowed to go to the fair, the carnival or the circus.  And I even understand a little that my mom just didn’t feel developing friendships was what mattered for children and why she chose to inhibit and prohibit that seemingly natural part of childhood.  I understand the beauty of those tiny broken hearted moments which I was fortunate enough to be able to escape with the simple tools of pen and paper and hiding places.  I can think of those sadnesses and smile a little because I almost miss them, as horrible as they seemed at the time.  I would trade so quickly to be my daughter’s age again.  She has a mother who holds her and tries to understand, although sometimes I don’t really because her life is so entirely and drastically different than the childhood I knew.  I love when she is confident that even if I’m upset with her for a minute.  I see the confidence that she knows unequivally that I love her no matter what.  She knows she is wonderful, beaitiful, capable, and loved…no matter what life throws at her.  She has the blessing of that strength and conviction and all the confidence that comes with it.  The confidence that children should be given to grow within from it.

And I am still a child without security, longing for love and respect and compassion from the one person who insists he will never give that to me again.  My worthiness doesn’t matter, my beauty, my abilities, my spirit, the light of my soul…none of it matters because just like my mother he will never choose to love me again, at least not with his heart and maybe not even with his body.  I should somehow find the blessing in that and be grateful for even knowing I once had something so beautiful, but I’m apparently a stubborn, hopeless case who just pines and hurts and waits for the pain to kill me and make the life-long suffering of this very affliction cease once and for all.

I wait and pray.  I write and wish.  I hope and dream. And nothing.  It’s all a twisted repeat cycle only furthering my insecurity becvause now I know that he once tried to love me exactly the way I always prayed and hoped for.  And he does not now and I don’t have the ability to write it all into a happy ending strong enough that my mind can forget for awhile that I’l grown up with the same broken heart and the very same unfulfilled prayer.

Maybe God’s lesson for me is that love should never have been so important to me;that perhaps some of us are not intended to receive it, but just to be gratefulo for the ability to feel it and give it away to others.  I don’t know what God has in mind for me.  I only know that it has never been what I’ve dreamed or prayed for and the chances of that ever changing are almost down to zero due to the circumstances life has placed upon me.

Every Little Kiss

3 o’clock in the morning and I wake up with Bruce Hornsby’s Every Little Kiss running through my mind!  Can’t recall the last time I heard that song!!  How on earth did it end up in my head in the wee hours of the morning, waking me up?

Accupuncture yesterday was incredible!!  I had the most beautiful vision of my daughters and I walking along a path with big gorgeous green trees on either side.  The sun shining between them down on us while we held hands.  Shiny ribbons of soft light linked us, light that moved and breathed flexibly.  Confidence and happiness surrounding us like a bubble of protection.  Mark was there too somehow, only not in the vision specifically… maybe just off to the side a little?  It was refreshing and invigorating…comforting.  The ribbons that linked us, the light that surrounded us was love.  It was the strength of our love keeping us safe.  And with all the questions and doubts, wonderings, opportunities and choices, somehow I knew we were taking the right path.  This was the right one for us.  And I think it was leading us to Mark in Vegas maybe…?  Not sure, but that’s what it seemed.  No trees like that in Vegas though and I sure do love the trees – great big woody green yummy trees! Wondrous sources of protection in their own right, I suppose…

Having vivid dreams since returning fron Vegas vacation.  Waking early in the morning again too:-(  Somehow waking at 3 or 4 am in Vegas wasn’t as frustrating.  Maybe since I knew it was actually 6 or 7 am here?  It was peaceful that time of the morning there.  I could sit outside on the patio, watch the stars in quiet reverance and drink in the moonlight, letting it wash over me like a fountain of natural life giving energy.  I didn’t expect the moon to be so bright so close to the city!

Dreamt of BZ the night before last.  It was a nice dream.  I missed her and I told her so, of course.  We were catching up on everything.  I don’t really miss her like that, but in my dream I did?  Wonder why?  Or maybe I just didn’t want to hurt her feelings in my dream because I felt like I’m supposed to miss her?

On my way to accupuncture yesterday, I saw DK.  He was pacing in front of his house on his cell phone, wearing a red hoodie with the hood up.  I stopped to ask if he was okay (gosh!?) and he hung up his phone laughing snidely.  As soon as he said he was okay, just waiting for his “buddy to pick him up for the gym”, I was backing out of his driveway, even as he was speaking.  I did not want him to mistake my stop for anything but a caring for his well being and safety, nor give him the chance to think it was anything else whatsoever.  I would stop like that for  anyone I know in my neighborhood who looked as though they might need some help.  Knowing he was fine, made me kick myself for stopping, even so briefly.  What am I trying to do?  I had such wonderfully happy energy yesterday.  Was I trying to make sure it drained away into misery?  I somehow always feel safe like that; safe to push the limits…  as though he can’t affect me even if he does try.  Yet, I truly know better.  I cannot dance with the devil without the agony of having my spirit manipulated.  Nor does he ever need my help really…at least not the kind of “help” I have to offer.  So, why did I even bother stopping to see that snide, sly smirk on his face. 

I know he got our letters telling him to stay away.  All three of us sent them and I have to hope he might honor that.  I made a subtle threat in mine to call the police if he shows up again.  Not an outright threat, as I know my own limits, but a subtle innuendo that I’m hoping will make him think twice and at least worry a little that I might actually mean it….  Worry enough to stay away, I hope!

Little boy

Spirits in my house, my life…my heart?  I do not think this is crazy.  Ang says, “There’s a little boy.”   And yes, I know.  I do not doubt her or him for a moment. I have been told before of him.   He feels me. When he can’t put words to his feelings,  I can.  Sometimes. 

Who are you little boy?  You are the little boy from the video?  The little angel boy who has been with me always, like in that video?  You are Dave’s good spirit, before he turned to the darkness of resentment and pathology?  You are my little Romeo-soul-lover?  Are you what kept that little girl going on those cold scary nights darkened with abuse?  Are you the reason I lived beyond it?  Are you every kindness that has been extended which kept my momentum going when I felt there was no more?  Are you the kind friends on my blog who read and seem to understand?  Have you saved me from hundreds of “mishaps” that should have killed me but didn’t?  Do you live in my soul?  My heart?  My space?  Do I hope for your story when I ask Dave to tell me a story about the little boy who lost his kite?  Is that you?

Who are you little boy?  Why do you follow me through this life?  You could have found a happier place.  You should have.  You deserve a happier companion, but I am grateful for your presence still. 

I know you are there.  Thank you little boy.

Wow!

I am so bursting with pride at my daughter!  She demonstrated such fantastic strength and self confidence today that it nearly brought tears to my eyes to just know that someone as incredible as she actually comes from a part of me.  I am so proud of her!!

She told me today that she isn’t going to call Dave “Dave” anymore, but he will from now on be referred to as “It”.  A few hours later she told me that all the damage he has done has affected her and her sister too.  I felt horrible and apologized.  She then said she’d like to write him a letter telling him just how she felt about everything he’s done to our family.  I told her she had every right to feel that way and to write whatever letters she wanted.  She was surprised I said that and said,” I’m going to go write it right now then!”

She went in her room and came back awhile later asking me to read her letter.  It was very well written for a 12 year-old!  She didn’t resort to writing anything mean or hateful.  She merely said that what he’s done has affected her and her sister and that she thought he was a much better person than that.  She wrapped it up by writing, “You need to man-up and say you’re sorry to my mom or else leave my family alone!”

She then asked if she could deliver it immediately, she wanted him to get it as soon as possible she said.  I told her of course she could do whatever she wanted with her letter because those are her feelings and she’s entitled to them and to share them with whoever shec chooses.  She marched that letter straight over to his house and left it for him!

Wow!  I’m so delighted and excited to see that she’s so strong and confident with herself, her sense of right and wrong, and her value as a person.  She is a phenomenal girl…  I’m overwhelmed at her confidence and self esteem.  On a selfish note, I feel relieved to see that she’s not at all afraid to stand up for what and who she believes in, regardless of the weakness I’ve unfortunately demonstrated to her at times through this horrible ordeal.   Yayyyyyyyy Lexi!!!!!!  

I’m not that strong sometimes now when dealing with this issue.  I can’t imagine having that kind of self esteem and courage at 12!  She is my hero!

A safe place to breathe

Like an alarm clock has been planted in my brain, I wake at 3 am.  3 AM….the witching hour?  Such irony!

I wake because I love him.  I wake because I don’t love him.  I wake because I’m angry at his cruelty or furious at my stupidity..  Or I wake in fear at the slow death I am living…  I do not know much of anything any more.  Most likely, I never did.

Jared says maybe he is just a distraction from “him”.  No!  I have feelings, I just can’t get them in order.  It all feels very sick and unhealthy and I do not wish to draw others into it as I try to clear it out.  I tear myself between running to Jared and running from him.  I slept past 3 am for a few weeks and that was exciting, so imagine my frustration to see 3 AM this morning!

I have so much to offer and yet I really have nothing.  I know how to work hard and can’t muster the energy or focus to do so.  I know how to love and not how to parent.  I know how to defend myself and don’t.  I can’t be a daughter of the very thing I need to escape while attempting my escape.

I am lost in translation at communicating.  Somewhere along the way I’ve lost my rights to humanity and I piss myself off with my weak attempts to reclaim them.  Perhaps we are not all granted these at birth?  Perhaps some of us are only intended as vehicles for others’ self expression of their rights?  What if I am that girl?  What if all I’ll ever know again is 3 AM?  And confusion?  And fighting to defend myself at all the wrong times in all the wrong ways for all the right reasons?  What if that is all I’ll ever be as I desperately push to define myself beyond that?

I have the clay in my hands.  I feel the power of formation.  I am uncomfortable with power.  I never wanted it because I can’t trust myself to be worthwhile.  I squeeze and squish….  I languish for hours forming my soul and at 3 AM,  I carelessly and intentionally destruct all I struggled to create only hours earlier.  Smashing the clay back to a blob of formless muck!

I live a slow death and do not wish to draw anyone into that.  Yet, I am lonely while lost in translation.  And I ache for trust.  And I have enough love to feed half of the world.  I bleed from the neck as I ever so slowly chop off my own head.  I wish for life!  I wish for death!  I don’t know the difference between that ending and this beginning.  I only know how to feel.  I was born to feel…  I feel you.  I feel him.  I feel her.  I feel them.  I feel it all.  I feel everything until I can’t feel anything anymore.  Feeling is life and feeling will be my death.  I don’t want that any more, but if I turn it off, am I not already dead?

Are you not dead once you can no longer feel?  Or is that just a different way of living?  Is there a safe place to breathe at 3 AM?

The frustration of documentation

Don’t know why, but I’m craving a documentation of my experience.  Do I want this in hopes of validation?  Who would I even share it with?

On some level, I do think it would be validating and healthy to have it documented in writing.  I can’t imagine anyone would ever be interested, but I might feel a satisfaction knowing that in the rare event anyone might be curious, interested, or perhaps even helped by my experience, then such information would be available.    And if no one ever was, no harm done, right?  Writing has always been my primary outlet of purging my thoughts and releasing them to better organize and understand.  Writing is my perpetual therapist.  She/he is compassionate, patient, forgiving, and cleansing…and so far has never once given up on me…no  matter the extent of my insanity or problem.  I realize that this is no easy task, as I’m a perpetually frustrating hard and enduring case of a myriad of issues, experiences, and a constant insatiable craving for knowledge and understanding.

So writing a documentation of this would be nothing harmful and only positive.  Yet, I can’t get my thoughts in order enough to write it.  Perhaps because I’ve only minutely documented bits and pieces in extreme moments.  Yes, I am not a totally reliable client to my therapist.  I selfishly come and go only as needed…

I feel so strongly that documentation is necessary for myself and/or perhaps to help others.  It repeats in my mind that it must be done.  It is so frustrating to feel pushed and compelled to do something that seems just beyond one’s capabilities…  Simultaneously and to add to my frustration, I have the chronic paranoia that time is running out to do this.  I am merely in my 30’s….and it feels that time is running out…literally??

Um, I am apparently quite mad.  And in that madness, I only wish that I could cross the boundary into the comfort of complete and utter madness.  Standing on the fence for so long has become exhausting:-) AHHHHHAAAHHHHHHHHAAAAHHHHAAAAAAA (that was my attempt at an evil laugh!)

Ummm…..gosh, or have I?