Ever ponder what the “human condition” is when another person brings it up or says it casually in conversation? I find myself wondering what they mean half the time. We have so many different definitions of it. I find myself … Continue reading
I did see light come back at dawn The dew did gather on blades of lawn As bright did shine that dusty sky The touch of light did tear my eye For cold had winter been for me When skeletal … Continue reading
Today I’m recovering. Recovering from the blessed union of my best friend to her husband. It was a very short dating relationship, and an even shorter engagement. A whirlwind love that could only happen as mysteriously as God intended it … Continue reading
We are the vessels That bring yesterday Into tomorrow Because only souls Can travel through time But we forget Because we are vessels We contain the past And therefore Can return to it But leave it unchanged Advertisements
“The hardest part of being a woman? Being too much and not enough all at once.”
Oh how those words did and do cause my heart to resonate with such a painful understanding. Tears well up in my eyes at the thought even now. Yes. That was the sentiment. That was the descriptor of my soul. That was desperately the very phrase I felt with every ounce of my being and every cell in my physical body. I felt as though I was too much and not enough.
I’m an odd personality. I stretch between overwhelming and underwhelming. Some days, when stress and anxiety rule my soul, my intensity takes over to make me terror. The kind that even those who love me would find hard to love. It’s like some deeply seeded survival skill takes over, trying to keep me alive. Trying desperately to keep me sane while lashing out to keep me defended. A whirlwind of emotions that can’t be held in, but everyone can’t handle and thus rejects.
Simultaneously, I am not enough. Not beautiful enough. Not good enough. Not strong enough or healthy enough. It’s as though every terrible ounce of my intensity has lashed out and then fled. I’ve crumbled beneath the weight into a useless bag of skin. Weeping within and discouraged so deeply that I have become the very ground others tread upon.
Where is that balance? How do I get it? When is there a point that I can be just the right amount? Just enough. Isn’t that all anyone ever wants to be? I do. I desire that. To be all things to all people. But at the same time, I am so great full for my imperfections. Grateful for the mess that is my life, because it allows me to connect to others who feel similar to myself. Why is it that pain draws others together so much better than happiness? No matter the answer, I am grateful for it.
I found my heart beating fast. I hadn’t seen him in a very long time. What maybe 5 years or more? I couldn’t remember exactly. All I knew us we had reconnected and been talking a lot. Things had gotten … Continue reading
Happiness is not the meaning of life. I am convinced beyond every conviction. If it was, then doing the right thing wouldn’t come at such high costs. If happiness was the goal, how many broken happinesses would trail behind us … Continue reading
Right now It’s the perfect amount of conversation The right amount of simple questions A touch of awkward and silliness A heaping helping of adoration and respect Not an ounce of judgment Not a trace of doubt Just those little … Continue reading
Do you ever feel like ambiguity in a relationship is really annoying? It’s like people who yell to you as you’re about to go to the bathroom: “Oh and be careful how you flush the toilet. It’s a little weird.”
What does that even mean? Should I flush quickly? Hold down the lever? Have a plunger on stand by? Do they even have a plunger? What kind of people don’t have a freaking plunger?
Recently a lady friend of mine went through a break up. The relationship was approximately two weeks long. By day two they were saying they loved each other. By day three they had eight fights under their belt from what I counted. The day it ended she felt her world was crumbling to a bitter dark pit of nothingness. Six hours later she had another date with another guy.
From the fights she expressed to me, it had sounded like the relationship was kind of undefined. Neither he nor she had really asked the other if they were going steady. Things were just kind of assumed. She was upset because she falls hard and fast without realizing it, and he was upset because he didn’t know what the hell was going on because she was acting like they were ready to move in together by the end of day three!
I have a neighbor down stairs who is kind of the same. An older guy, retired but with a good amount of spunk in him. Charming to the point of fault. I feel like he talks about a new woman every time I see him. Then he complains about how they’re at the end of marriages but still married, or they’re going through a break up but keep rebounding with the last guy.
“I don’t know why they do that.” He complained to me as he took another drag of his cigarette. I shook my head as I poured he and myself a cup of coffee and brought it to him on the couch.
“Can I ask if they’re actually aware you’re seeing them?”
“How could they not? I made out with every one of them!”
“Doesn’t mean anything man. Not in this day and age unfortunately. If you don’t say the words, they aren’t going to know.”
When did people forget to tell each other that? When did people stop asking each other out on dates or if they were willing to go steady? When did permission become optional? When did clarity become unacceptable?
I’m so pissed off.
“He just doesn’t want you to dye your hair purple for the wedding. What’s the big deal?”
What’s the big deal? The big deal is that my brother has been running this family using the powers of his OCD and anxiety disorder since the dawn of time to manipulate and get his way.
It’s been happening for years.
I remember the days I couldn’t leave a room without throwing my brother into a panic attack. I remember the fights over it. Fighting with him and throwing punches. Fighting with my parents because I had left him unattended. I remember giving up having sleep overs because Paul didn’t want me to go and would have severe panic attacks.
I recall him leaving for a weekend once and just laying on the couch because I didn’t have my own brother to boss me around. My mother thought it was funny. Every time she brings it up I want to explode at her. Why didn’t she see so much of my childhood was blind obedience to my brother? Why didn’t she stop it?
Eventually my brother became suicidal. So my mom finally got him into therapy and got him medicated. His personality became less intense after that. I started to become my own person. I liked it. High school was my new found freedom. I had friends! My own friends.
But still he manipulated. He still is manipulating.
Days after the conversation my mother called.
“If we decided to move closer to your brother would you move with us?”
No. No. No. Fuck no.
I wanted to scream and slam down the phone. To tear into her a new one. Why were they so enthralled by everything he did? They wouldn’t move to be close to me if I got married and had kids! Why him?
Because he’s got money and the gift of gab. I’m the introvert living her quiet life. Alone with her cat. No boyfriend to speak of. No children or promise of one. Just her low income job and her skidish cat locked up in that tiny one bedroom apartment. Like I’m going nowhere if I stay here.
“I don’t know. We’ll see.” I replied passively.