Toxic and Looking for the Numb

Feeling numbToxic again.

The want is stronger than the ‘can.’

Just because I want to write doesn’t mean I can.

I feel stuck. The shit is in there but won’t come out.

Haha sounds like I’m talking about obstructive bowels and sometimes that happens. Correlation no doubt. Mind and body always connect.

My intention was to plow through all the hurt, all the proof of absence of love. The family toxicity is something necessary for me to work through, write about, feel the emotions it brings up. I start and even get some decent traction.

Not to get pity or even feel sorry for myself, but as a way of peeling off the layers of damage caused by my parents and later my siblings. So that I can be rid of the effects and heal. So I can find MY OWN damn voice and be the me underneath all the crud laid upon me.

I start.

But then I reach for something to dull or numb what I feel as a result of digging up the memories.

And then I get further stuck because I’m numb and then later angry at myself.

More waste, more wasted life, more of my life wasted.

I’m a failure and the thought of getting back on track feels necessary while at the same time overwhelming. I’ve been here before. I’ve done this before. The same ritual. Time to throw out the temptations. But then there’s only so much temptation I can get rid of since it’s not all mine to throw away.

I can’t throw out the pastries and cakes Mr. B brings home. My determination must be stronger and that can be difficult. Sometimes my resolve, dissolves.

The more I dig, the more the pain grows. I am so used to my habit of numbing or running, it’s almost mechanical.

I’m so alone. I’ve asked for support and to stop bringing the junk food home. But he won’t. Besides, as much as it would be nice to have such support, he isn’t responsible for my healing. I get into dark places at times and feel like he purposely sabotages me, and who knows, maybe that’s true. But I don’t think least not in a conscious way.

I think he has his own pain, and yeah, perhaps he likes me where I am. It contributes to keep him in his own comfy place. But that’s not for me to control. It might suck, but the only person keeping me down now, is me.

I need to find a way to work through this shit. Stop nodding back off to sleep. Stop keeping myself small. Stop giving into my old habits.


Self-Expression, Binges and Creativity

stuckSo stuck it hurts.

Don’t remember the last time I’ve freely expressed myself. My body and mind shut down. I don’t even know WHAT to say, let alone how to say it.

I’m quiet and feel embarrassed to say ANYTHING anymore.  Like I want to shrink, not be heard or seen. Just…

“Don’t mind me.”

So I started thinking today about different ways to express oneself. And maybe it would be good to do that in those ways or at least as many as possible in a day.

Ways to express yourself:
-Through the mind: imagining, visualizing, thinking, meditating

-Through talking: having a conversation, asking a question/being an interviewer, being interviewed, speaking in public/monologue on stage, acting on stage, etc.

Through eating: whatever your usual habits are, the way you eat most of the time. What you eat shows in time and your body is an expression of how you care for yourself.

-Through movement of body: dancing, yoga, playing an instrument, playing a sport, walking, hiking, etc.

-Through writing, drawing, painting, crafting

I’m sure there are more, so if you know of any I missed, please let me know.

Expressing Myself with the Wrong Foods

I’ve gotten terribly fat, gaining most of the weight within three years. I would like to say I stopped caring about myself and that would be true, but the cause of it was a trauma (an ongoing one with an abrupt and strange ending). Actually it was the stress that my body experienced that caused me to crave so much and I let the depression keep me from caring about preparing meals. So I ate and have been eating lots of take out, lots of sugar and lots of fat and sugar combos.

I also began drinking heavier than I’d ever done before and I’d already been known to be a binge drinker.

I finally made a commitment to myself last New Year’s eve to stop drinking for the year of 2015. We’re getting near November and I’m still going strong. And feel rather confident I will make it. New Years day, I will have the option to have a drink. My preference being craft beer.

I go back and forth on different days in my feelings of whether I will want one or not that day. I would love to be able to drink one beer and really savor and enjoy it. Then, stop there. But I’ve been a mostly binge drinker, so it’s a good bet I wouldn’t stop at one. I know that to be able to drink beer in such a healthy manner, the emotional issues need to be dealt with. So I believe it will be better for me not to indulge at this point.

However, what I need to do is utilize this psychological mind-set for other things. The commitment I made to myself…that seems to have had an impact for me. I was determined to stop the binge drinking and I found a way.

Now, what if I commit myself to a better way of eating? Something specific that I commit to doing every single day for a year. Like juicing would be a good place to start. Use my juicer and make myself at least one juice every day.

There needs to be more to it than that though. I need a whole plan and given my binge habit, that also transfers to food, sticking to something structured would be the best way to go for me.

Of course I want to lose the weight, but getting healthy precipitates the weight loss. Get healthy and the weight sorts itself out.

In addition to being overweight, I have uterine fibroids. When I first started to learn about them after my diagnosis, I found a video of a woman speaking about creativity correlating with the womb. It was the most interesting thing I have heard or read to this day. I’ll post the link to it below.

Taking care of yourself physically is an important aspect but at the same time, creating and loving the act of creating has to be part of the remedy as well.  All parts of ourselves work in unison. We aren’t broken into parts, no matter how much we feel that way.

I keep wanting to pursue creative endeavors and then stall with fear and anxiety. Looking for traction, yet still hiding behind something, someone.

Click right here to check out the video I mentioned above about Uterine fibroids, creativity and the womb.

Living in a Horror Movie

The man raps on my bedroom door.

Struggles with a door that sticks.

The door opens and I see a figure, a shadow of the man I used to know.

Bent and small.

Resentful, irritated and annoyed I twist my neck to look at him

He holds a flannel sheet we used as a table cloth to cover a small table for the yard sale

Almost 13 years and he still needs to ask where things go

I hate this about him, about us.

It’s a tell. We never really lived together. Not in the real sense of togetherness.

I feel the resentment most in such scenarios. All those years gone. Never to get back.

After the encounter I fell regret, guilt and shame. And somewhat lonely.

I stayed out of need.
And got comfortable.
Way too comfortable.
Wasted much time and clung to a parent, possibly an uncle or maybe an older sibling I never had.

He’s so small now, like he’s been swallowed up.

I feel like a monster, so angry and ruining his life as much as my own.

I mourn for both of us.

Because we both could’ve done better and those opportunities are long gone. The full faced dude, from 20 years ago is but a stranger.  That guy is gone. What’s left is an old man who still works like he’s 30. No rest and no time.

I hang on like a parasite, wanting to do something but not clear on what to do. I want to change…everything.

Who Am I?

Pink Tulip

Lonely Tulip Yet To Blossom. Photo Credit: Aura Gael/Sleeping Tiger. Haiku written by Aura Gael/Sleeping Tiger.

This Haiku (or the basis of it) came to me when I glanced in a mirror today. When I saw my reflection, I didn’t recognize myself and thought about all the time that has passed and all the lost opportunity to know myself. I felt defeated, old and like I’m too late for life.

Mothers, Tell Your Children…or Maybe Not

In the song “In the House of the Rising Sun” there’s a line that says, “Mothers, tell your children, not to do what I have done.”

When I heard this line yesterday while listening to the song, I couldn’t help but think about abusive parents.

Honestly, kids are not going to not do what you tell them not to do in most cases. Kids learn from parents and other adults for the most part. Yea, they get peer pressured and have bad judgment as children.

But I’d be more inclined to tell mothers and fathers to lead by example and don’t do yourself, what you don’t want them to do.

Most importantly, don’t abuse or neglect them. Abused and neglected kids grow up to feel inadequate and will turn to those things you tell them not to do, in order to ease the pain of that unworthy feeling. It numbs, and takes away the issues, if only for a few hours. And someone in this kind of pain will chase that numbness once they get a taste of the relief it provides.

Verbal communication is important but your actions speak much louder and the tone of voice you use does too.

Our bodies physically react to abuse and neglect, and it also harms our brain, which effects our judgment all through life, which drives our decisions, which forms our days, months, years, which adds up to a life.

People say, “Don’t you tell me how to raise my kids. How dare you. Mind your own business.”

Well, abuse is everyone’s business and not everything that happens at home should stay at home.

I haven’t personally experienced someone telling me not to tell them how to raise their kids, as far as I can remember. But I’ve heard people say it about someone else. There certainly is a line and I suppose it can get confusing, because discipline is necessary for kids. But there’s a line to that too. And I understand that there may be children being taken from their parents when they don’t deserve it. I’m not talking about them in this post.

Children as well as adults deserve respect. They are human beings who are influenced and effected easily.

If you want to have adult children…

Who grow up lost and confused about relationships, about life in general, about who they are…

Who grow up to be afraid of the reactions of others

Who grow up without thoughts and opinions of their own

Who grow up raging and taking their anger out on those who don’t deserve it

Who grow up to marry an abusive partner

Who grow up to hate themselves

Who grow up to develop eating disorders, addictions and toxic friends

Who grow up to sever ties and never speak to you again

Who end up dependent on someone else

…then abuse your kids.

But my advice will always be to parents: Do not do what my parents did, because the odds of your kids ending up like me or possibly worse, is really high.

Emotional Flashbacks Out of An Old TV Series and Faded Sunlight

treesun1The way the sun…I think it was the sun, created a section of lighter pink on the hallway carpet. It didn’t even look like the sun was in a place to beam in that way. The appearance, the angle, the way it was shaded in a smoky sort of way, all captured something that remains in my subconscious.

I immediately felt the sadness of grief, the moment I noticed it. In my desire to know what this was while walking back and forth, I’d look for a bit then look away. Go do something else, look again and look away. The grief felt more intense with each time I glanced at the faded light. And I wanted to know what it was about and where it was coming from.

My paternal grandmother’s house came to mind and maybe in her house, there was a time of day and a window in her house that allowed the sun to shine on one of her rugs in a similar way. But I don’t know if that’s true.

I just know I thought of her house. And when I think of her house, I think of her, and the most prominent memory I have of her is a small event that happened often.

In the dining room, next to the doorway that led immediately to the kitchen, I can see myself standing there. I’m a small child and my grandmother is a tall and thin woman. She is holding a freshly opened box of cookies and bending just a little so I can see inside the box, to make my choice.

Back in the present moment, I opened the front door to take a look for our cat. But the only cat out there was the neighbor’s round tabby, napping on the porch.I said hi and then told him he wasn’t the one I was looking for. I asked if he’d seen his best friend. (Our cat, Ozzy.) Right after that, I couldn’t get the theme song from “The Courtship of Eddie’s Father” out of my head.

Wasted Time

I don’t know if it came up because I meditated (or actually scryed) the night before, because it’s come up repeatedly in my life.But yesterday morning I was thinking about how much I didn’t do, even though the opportunity was there.

My parents would have paid for a college education and I in fact went through a semester of community college and dropped out. I dropped out to work.(1)

And the job I got was at a restaurant working in the kitchen. Even though there were some fun aspects of it and I credit my restaurant kitchen experience for being able to cook, I was miserable.

My parents told me they would pay for college. I just needed to finish out the two years at community to show I was serious. I couldn’t even do that. (2)

I focused on a major that was completely out of character for me. I don’t remember what I was even thinking. I know I had a goal in mind but don’t remember it. (3)

All the classes were really just Liberal Arts classes the first two years anyway. I think I wanted to have some sense of direction for myself since I never had it before. And I was looking for something ‘secure.’ And for whatever reason I saw that major as a sure thing.

There was no nurturing through my childhood towards any talent. I was left to make decisions to try things. Most things I enjoyed were athletic kinds of things but I was usually limited to the neighborhood to learn.

I did take tennis lessons one summer after I’d asked to, but I seemed to have played worse after learning from an adult teacher.  I didn’t stick with it.

My parents didn’t teach me “how to fish” so to speak. What they did was hand me the fish.

I was in my early 30s when I finally moved out. I think I was 28 and asked them to build me a room in their vast basement. I can see the memes now.  Ugh! Cringe.

Eight years before that, we all moved from the house we’d lived in for ten years. I was ten when we’d moved into the house before. We moved from there when I was 20.  At twenty, I was in some of my darkest depression. I had a shit job, no car and rode my sister’s bike to work.

I remember I dreaded so much going to work back then. It wasn’t the job, (although it was a job without much professional growth) it was me. I was empty inside. I was beyond sad. I lived in a soup of guilt and shame. Every negative thought, every thought about a guy, I felt guilty about it toward my then boyfriend.

I struggled so much to get up in the morning and slept until the last possible moment and the only way to get to work on time was to ride my sister’s bike. I’d be late if I walked.

Thoughts of the consequences of being late, rattled my adrenals and up went the cortisol levels. Which is what powered the bike once I was on it.

I just shake my head now at how “on my own” I was then. I was twenty with no clue who I was or what I wanted.  I’d only made it through one semester of community college. I got stuck. Not knowing what I wanted in the way of a career, I stopped going to school.  So I started working full time at age 19.

As I edit, it slams me like a ton of bricks to really realize the impact and implications of not having any guidance or help with direction from my parents. Ever since starting public school in my sophomore year, I was left on my own. My parents went from being quite involved in my school work, even going to parent teacher nights to zero, zilch, nada involvement.  But at the time it was a relief because my father was such an ogre. His answer was to simply ground me for bad grades, never to get to the root of the problem.

It’s a kick in the gut really, to feel the neglect of what happened.  It makes my heart hurt to remember so clearly. It’s like being left to drown, even though you can see the people on the ship you fell of of, in the middle of the ocean.  I was completely forgotten.

The parents moved house while I was at work one day. I also had not seen the house at all before being brought to it after work that day.

The house was bigger but my bedroom had become smaller. (Before the basement bedroom.) Of course I hated it and I was immediately resentful toward my sister, who’d gotten the larger bedroom because she was there when they looked at the house.

My brother had the whole basement. My father had the intention of putting walls in a section of the basement for him and build a bedroom, but brother moved out before that happened.

I wonder what would’ve happened or  could’ve happened if they’d have not neglected my need of help to become an adult.

And by my 30s, even though I still thought about going to school for something, so I could have some sort of career, I was never sure. The idea of certain things appealed to me, but when I got into it I couldn’t stand it. I never learned what it was I wanted to be when I grew up. (4)

It makes me sad that I wasn’t the type of person who couldn’t wait to get away and did the work, paid my dues, so I could get out of dodge. But I think I was afraid of the frustration of the struggle. I was afraid I’d fail. And I think the trauma bonding was strong. I think I stayed so long into my adulthood with my parents because I was trying to fix the past.

I had a therapist once tell me that and the minute he said it, it resonated so deep I knew that it had to be at least part of the reason.

Of course the older I get and the more time passes, the more I feel shame and regret for what I didn’t do.

As I started to meditate, I asked “Who am I?” I asked, “What should I do now?”

I came up with a few answers for the immediate present, (I think “immediate present” might be redundant) which was good because it was almost like I was calling myself out for stuff I’ve been a bit self-centered about and I was able to see it clearly.

What I really wanted in an answer though, is a ‘big picture’ so to speak. Maybe I have had some grandiose thought processes, because the mundane bores me. Sometimes the esoteric bores me too to be honest.  I’ve always wanted to do something meaningful, something that would have a real and positive impact on other beings, human and/or animal. But the question was always, “What?”

So I’ve felt, throughout my adult life, that I have some sort of purpose but have always been frustrated in finding it.

Thing is, I now believe that I wasn’t born with a purpose necessarily. Not in the way that some divine being decided I would be born to fulfill some niche in humanity or that I was the right person for a certain “job.” I think it’s all a series of choices and I also think that our choice making skills can be compromised when our self-confidence, self-esteem and self-respect have all been tampered with. So in that aspect, where you end up in life can be luck of the draw…who your parents are/were and how did they behave in raising you. Your teachers have a big influence, as well as other adults, siblings and friends do also.

As an adult there is responsibility of course for your own life, but it’s a lot easier to take responsibility when you’re taught how and if you weren’t abused and neglected. If you were abused as a kid, then you’re left to filter through all the junk yourself.

Not everyone was or will be effected this way. Some will be effected in the opposite way that I have been and travel, help lots of people, adopt pets, volunteer at animal shelters, visit Africa and build places for orphans to live and be cared for. It may have even started as a way to get away from the abuse. Some abused and neglected people are compelled to go out and make a difference as soon as they can for others so those others don’t have to live a life like the abused people did.

Not everyone reacts the same but either way, you are not only left to figure out other people and relationships, but you’re usually left with not really knowing who you are too. I think that having been lost, having my essential identity stolen from me, I was left depressed and demotivated and left me without authenticity, trying to be what everyone else wanted…guessing at it. Wanting to be me, but not knowing what that meant.

For me not knowing who I really am/was, also made it impossible to know what I wanted to do with my life and where I wanted to focus my energies.

Getting out of the brain washed and trauma bonded state though is challenging. I have it drilled into my psyche that I am not powerful. That I am not capable and that I can’t.

I used to believe that if their was a will there was a way, but I utilized that strong belief more for my own immediate gratification instead of working toward a better life for myself and others in the future.

That future is now and my life is a result of a series of choices.

Notes made on 8/27/2018

(1) Just want to be clear about this. They were already paying for community college. I had voiced interest in going elsewhere but still had the issue of not knowing what I wanted to do…well that’s not completely true. I’d wanted originally to major in Communications (I’m just remembering this)…but my father discouraged this. This is the same man who told me I could be whatever I wanted to be. I could do whatever I wanted to do, when talking to me about a career. Fuck, what the fuck. He told me it was a crowded field. It’s hard to get a job, blah fucking blah.

(2) I do say this later in the post, but…because I had no fucking direction or guidance. No one sitting me down and helping me figure it out.

(3) My mind was on focusing on science! Like what the fuck. I had no interest in science. I still have no idea what my goal was there. I may not have even had a specific one in mind really.

(4) It’s weird I didn’t mention this: In my mid-twenties I went to school for make up and skin care. I loved it. I graduated and even took the boards and got my license. I was offered a job pretty much right out of school for pretty low pay and didn’t take it. I lied to myself and everyone else that I didn’t take it because of the low pay but it was much deeper than that. And it all had to do with fear. I think I write in more detail here in a post somewhere. If not, it will be done at some point.

My Tail Between My Legs Comes at More than One Cost

dog tail between legsIn my last post I wrote about conflict. You can find it here if you want to catch up before reading this post.

I mentioned in the last post about attempting to confront, starting to confront a boss about not getting paid for a visit to walk a dog when I was pet sitting as an employee.

When I first started the job, I was briefed about policies by the owner, who was quite personable and I liked her a lot from the start. My schedule was emailed to me every Sunday night and she started me out slowly so I wasn’t overwhelmed and inundated. She seemed fair.

One policy was that if she’d put a visit on my schedule but I’d reached the destination without cancellation from the client and if the client decided they didn’t want me to walk the dog, I’d still get paid for that visit.

Well, one particular time while I was training a new employee, I  met said employee at a fairly regular client’s house who was on my schedule. The client was home, so this was a chance for the new employee to not only meet the dog, but also the human client.

When I asked if she wanted us to take her dog for a walk, she said it was too hot. So shortly thereafter, the new employee and I were on our way.

When I received my pay, which should have included that visit, the money for said visit was missing.

So I asked my boss about it through email.

She wrote back asking, “Why should you get paid for that?” And then she continued with “Just curious. Just curious. Just curious.”

Writing “Just curious” three times indicated to me she was agitated and probably felt that I was asking for something I had no right to be asking about.

I was confused. I immediately felt the stress from the fear of her response to my confrontation, building up. I didn’t understand at all why the sudden change in policy or her behavior. How was this different than other similar circumstances where she’d indeed followed through and paid me.

So I backed down. I told her too, foolishly, kissing her ass, that I didn’t want to get into it if it was going to cause trouble. AAAAAGHHHH!!!

I ruminated on this for a long time. The rumination I think is one of the most painful results of non-resolution. Even if she hadn’t given in to paying me (and I think I could’ve gotten her to, since I had a valid argument), if I had stuck up for myself and what I knew to be true and pointed out her own policy, even if I’d lost, I would’ve felt much better about me.

It’s not so much the outcome, although that’s important too, it’s more about how you walk away from it feeling about yourself I think. If I had stuck up for myself in this scenario, I would have still thought less of her and disliked her more. It would’ve told me more about her, while at the same time, I would’ve gotten the message across to both myself and her that I have no problem rocking the proverbial boat and that I will still say my piece in spite of any intimidation or contention.

A history of not standing up for myself in many situations has resulted in depression, rumination and lack of self confidence. In addition, those people who I backed down to, saw I would do just that, which gave them an easier opening to take advantage next time.

Of course the lack of self confidence was already there but that is a vicious cycle. It gets worse the more you don’t deal with conflict in a healthy way.

It has also chipped away at my self-respect, which is something else that was already absent in the first place to not stand up to conflict.

Conflict, Confrontation and Confidence

The Path Of ConflictAre you afraid of conflict?

I don’t think the fear is necessarily of the conflict itself. I think the fear comes from the outcome of the confrontation. Healthy confrontation probably comes more easily to people who have self-confidence. Confidence to speak up for themselves. And those who don’t worry too much about how the other person will react/respond.

So you can bet, codependents hate conflict.

In speaking about confrontation, I’m not talking about the aggressive, in your face kind of confrontation. I’m just talking about standing up for yourself, telling someone how you feel about how s/he treated you. I’m talking about two employees settle and resolve a dispute, or settling and resolving a dispute with your boss. Or telling your sister her sarcastic comment at last night’s get together hurt you. Telling your husband you don’t want to buy the house he has his heart set on.  Just for a few examples.

Dealing with conflict in a healthy way, can build intimacy and strengthen relationships between and among people. Conflict really is unavoidable in life for most of us. Even if we keep to ourselves, coming in contact with other people is still inevitable.

My guess would be that most people who have been abused, bullied and scapegoated, don’t have the confidence for confrontation and fear conflict because they don’t want to be disliked, they don’t want to be abandoned, they don’t want to be talked about and laughed at.

One thing I was afraid of with my family is not only being verbally attacked but the frustration of thinking of good points to make after the argument (which was usually me being berated, really) is finished. The more stressed I am, the more difficult it is to think straight. Plus I knew the modus operandi of my family members. With them it generally turned into them blaming me or berating for something, rather than a healthy discussion. Most of the time it didn’t end with resolution either. I hate the rumination that causes.

“I should have said this when they said that.”

For me, I’m sort of middle of the road about sticking up for myself or saying something, because it depends on who the person is that I feel the conflict with. It can also depend on what the situation is, what it’s about and my tolerance and confidence levels that particular day.

Values come into play too and what is important to you as far as being worth speaking up about.

A personal example of conflict, confrontation, resolution:
When my pay check was short once, I had no problem confronting my boss at the time, in a calm, respectful manner and showing her the discrepancy. And even though she didn’t see the mistake after my first explanation, I continued until she saw it and did something about it.

Here are two examples of conflict and confrontation with no resolution:
1. When my pet-sitting boss didn’t pay me for a particular visit, I backed down when I could read in her response email that she was not in agreement and seemingly beginning to become hostile. She asked me why she should pay me when I hadn’t walked the dog. And then followed that with, “just curious” three times.

I had a good argument pertaining to this.  She had told me numerous times that if I showed up for a visit but the dog didn’t get walked because the owner wass home but didn’t call to cancel, then the customers are charged and I get paid.

But instead of reminding her of her policy and the fact that she’d paid me plenty of other times before when in similar circumstances, I just wrote back,  Never mind, I don’t want to cause any conflict.”

I still kick myself for this one when I think about it. Even if I didn’t end up winning the argument and getting paid, at least I would’ve felt better about myself having made my point.

2. When a friend of a friend gas-lighted me while I was calling her out on her gossip tendencies, I realized the confrontation wasn’t worth it. When I saw it wasn’t a matter of her not understanding but a matter of her own actual conscious and deliberate denial, I realized it wasn’t worth it to ‘try to make her understand.’ I knew she understood but she was purposefully pretending she didn’t and saying things that indicated she thought I was being silly or ridiculous. It was condescending really. She wanted me to believe I was the one being ridiculous and that she actually had the fucking right to gossip because of her opinion of this person. And my sticking up for this person made me as bad as the woman she was gossiping about.

The last time I saw this woman, she pretended not to see me. Given where I was in her vicinity there is no way she didn’t see me. Did I die because she now doesn’t like me because I refused to play her sick game? Nope. I also saw that she wasn’t worth worrying about resolution and I also knew I said as much as I could say as she kept interrupting me.

I used to care so much about what she thought of me. I used to wonder what I could do to get her to like me. She is a very old friend of mine’s significant other so that is partly why it was so important to me at one point.

I noticed that on Facebook, seeing her comments triggered me because it reminded me that she didn’t like me, wouldn’t even acknowledge me if she didn’t really have to so I blocked her. It helped so much to not have to see her anywhere on FB even if she’d commented on a thread I didn’t see it.

But now I couldn’t care less about her opinion. So even though there was no resolution between us, I have some resolution within myself.

In regards to the two examples of not standing up for myself until resolution was reached, I ruminate on the former much more than on the latter. The former was about a stance for myself, not so much the money, although getting the money that was missing was important to me.

The latter was about the other person’s behavior that I could choose not to subject myself to.

{Not that I’m perfect and have never gossiped. Something I’ve been working on and staying aware of. I think generally that gossip is a sign of being angry at the person and there is something unresolved between the gossiper and the one being gossiped about.}

Check out a book called,
The Coward’s Guide to Conflict: Empowering Solutions for Those Who Would Rather Run Than Fight

An interesting point about conflict and confrontation is that it really intertwines with drawing boundaries. In speaking up for yourself and your values, you are actively drawing a boundary and when you fold, give in or even lack compromise in certain situations, you are sending a message about how porous or not, your resolve for drawing that boundary is.

Depressed Kid In America

kid depressedI’m compiling lists of music on YouTube because I’d like to listen straight through while doing things and not stop to switch the video. The reason behind that though, is that I want to use the music as a tool for feeling. Music is one thing that will really get in deep, chip away until the tears come. It causes flash backs while bringing up feelings that I know I need to feel.

I’ve been numb too long. I’ve avoided all the shit I need to peel away and shed.

I was a teen in the 80s so I’m choosing a lot of that music, at least right now. I like a lot of other music too, and although other music brings up emotions too of other things, it’s the memories of the 80’s I’m after in that list.

One video I specifically looked up is “Kids in America” by Kim Wilde because I was a kid (at 15/16) when the song was released and it was being played on every pop station, probably around the nation.

The song “Kids in America” takes me back to my teen years, in good ways as much as sad.  But while watching the video and looking at the singer’s face, I was taken back to when I was 19. I think it’s because she was close to that age in the video. I was more than a year out of high school and going nowhere. And I continued to go nowhere all the way up to this day.

I looked at Kim Wilde’s face and compared myself to her. How she was doing something, creating something, putting something out there to be remembered.  And at that age I wasn’t even driving myself to the job I hated. I was walking several blocks to meet my ride.  I was smoking pot at every opportunity, including sometimes on that ride to work. I was living day to day to find some sort of escape from the depression that had taken such a tight hold by then and continues to this day.

It saddens me so much the potential lost as a result of no guidance in direction by the adults in my life at that time.

The most relatable line for me sadly:
“You know life is cruel, life is never kind.”