No Guarantees

The world is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be the beginning.
 ~Ivy Baker Priest


Now there's no guarantee that my heart will not be broken - love always carries that threat.  There is no guarantee of anything in this life but it is simply time for me to start something new.  The journey has been grand - it's been big - it's been teetering on complete madness from time to time and it's been worth noting.  Three and a half years of noting.  Still, it's time for me to move in a new direction.  It's time for me to leave the path behind and rejoice in the clearing at the end of this path.

There's no guarantee that I won't trip a few times more - clumsy as I am, that may be the only guarantee that I can give.  Thank you for reading and I hope that you'll join me on my new blog.  This blog has been a coping technique for me as well as a healing tool.  For many things though without realizing it, it has been primarily what I have used to get out all the aggressions and transgressions of one fateful night nearly four years ago.  The thing - the situation - the reality of confusion surrounding the one thing I rarely talk about. The one thing I thought I was all the way over but the nightmares as of late - spawned by all sorts of positives (believe it or not) have assured me that I wasn't over it but merely in phase two of a three phase cycle.  I started it with the intention of logging my bipolar reality.  But - it quickly became something more.

As integration takes hold - as it needs to - for not only this one thing (though it remains primary) but many things that I simply wish to leave behind - I have made the decision that there are many things that I need to leave behind.  Never forgetting but no longer reliving.  It's time for a new chapter, a new journey, a statement that my past will no longer chain me, weigh me down and cause me to stumble as often as I have.  Does it all go away just like that? (Snaps fingers.)  Of course not.  But - as I make the decision to follow my heart instead of my mind, my defenses and my fears, I can taste, smell and actualize the freedom I have wanted for so long.

I do wish for you to join me.  If you have any interest in hearing about my new life... please feel free to check out my profile on this page or hit the little email symbol at the bottom of the post in order to get the link... you'll see my new blog under it... Something More.  If you do not, I wish you the best of luck, the best of life and healing for anything that may be weighing you down, just as the night of July 3, 2007 weighed me down.  (Yes, before I started writing this blog.)  The confusion may never be completely cleared up... the factors involved just don't add up in so many ways.  Consent at first turns into a frozen inability to say "get the fuck off me" once the pain began and I mananged to dissolve before both of our eyes.  Humiliation turned quickly to flashbacks and textbook reactions that I simply remained unaware of until the past several days.  Guilt.  Phobias.  Anger.  Confusion.  The inability to feel.  Textbook, textbook, textbook.  To make it clear... that July night wasn't the only bad experience I've had with men - not by a longshot - it just happened to be the pinnacle of a very, very long road.  And this path I've been tripping down ever since, well, it's been the way out of a very dark wood.  Even when the sun broke through the trees from time to time.  The darkness always prevailed.

That is... until I met Numero Cinco.  Whom I will give a proper pseudonym in the new blog.  He makes me want to get better and be better.  If it hadn't been for that one night... the night I literally peeled away from... thanking God that I did eventually get away.  "You can't leave. I'm going to make you motherfucking bacon."  (The motherfuck is mine - the rest was his.)  I was scared but I left anyway... faking it all the way out to my car... assuring him I would see him later that night, knowing there was no way that I would.  After relief came a flood of confusion and stale emotions... shaking and humility.  Guilt.  Anxiety attacks and disassociation.  The extreme desire to simply run away... get away... move away.  Textbook.  I can't say that enough times.  If it hadn't been for that one night, I wouldn't have gotten medicated... I wouldn't have bothered... and I wouldn't have met the guy that I now call mine.  Or, at least, not likely.  I honestly don't know where I would be.  But - I wouldn't have been here.     

God Bless, my faithful readers.  If you hadn't been here, I'm not sure exactly what I would have done.  Checking my analytics and seeing that I had readers all over the US really brought me a joy that only a writer can understand.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.  I love you - even without knowing some of you.  Please feel free to call me at my new home.  I'm excited but I very well may - at times - get a little homesick.

Coming Soon

Not so thrilled with my last post.  Feels kind of like a dead horse sitting there.  But - that's what 4 hours of sleep and a 16 hour shift at a job you do NOT love will give you.  (Even if there is alot of truth behind it, there was no point in pointing it out.)

So I've been working every day for the past several weeks.  By the time all is said and done it will be 20 days without a break.  Which doesn't exactly thrill me though sometimes you just do what you have to, right? 

I am hoping to have more to say soon... very, very soon.

Getting Past the Prologue

What is past is prologue
-William Shakespeare

The comedy was nowhere near as offensive as I've seen in the past.  Only one of them pushed the envelope for me personally.  Actually, he pushed the envelope for me as well as for Numero Cinco.  I felt like crying, Cinco was hoping I wouldn't... though he wasn't laughing either.  (I wasn't really going to burst out in tears and we both knew it.)  The amazing part is that I wasn't personally offended.  Quite frankly, what disgusted me had nothing to do with me.  I was just that... disgusted.  I'm not sure how real it was... it probably wasn't... hopefully it wasn't.  Oh, please.. dear God... nah, it couldn't have been... could it?

Numero Cinco and I are having a great time and that's all I'm going to say about that at the moment.

A comedy competition was a nice break from the routine.  Something new to try out.  Something fun to do.  I'm glad he asked me to go.  When I walked in, we hung around with his comedian friend, chit chatting, listening to him talk about what his craft is to him and how he works on it.  I was proud of him - even though I barely know him.  A room full of people expecting to laugh at what you have to say is not an easy room to get up in front of.  (Shit, a room full of people - for most of us - is not an easy room to get up in front of.  Period.)  As Cinco and I found a spot to sit down I caught eyes with a girl standing up right in front of us.  I looked at her and almost through her for a moment.  I hadn't noticed at first that we were looking right at one another.  As I sat down, I had the thought "I know that girl."  It wasn't until a few minutes later that her name came to mind and I was able to place her.

She wasn't someone I knew well - but we had a history.  A strange and intricate twisting of fate that led us into and out of each other's life from time to time.  I only recall having an actual conversation with her one time.  We were at a BBQ years before. 

She was the girlfriend who was with my high school sweetheart right after I was with him.  Some say he cheated on me with her - others (including him) deny it.  Either way, I'm over it and have been for just about forever now.  The conversation at the BBQ took place a long time after their relationship had been over as well.  Now I'm stuck wondering who's BBQ I spoke with her at.  Why was I at that BBQ... who's house was that?  Does it really matter?  Maybe... because this is where the second connection comes in.  She is the sister of a friend of my ex's.  The one I lived with for years. 

I however, forgot who she was enough to only give her the politest of smiles in return for the knowing smile she gave me.  I actually would have said "hi" if I had realized prior to sitting down.  I have no issues with her.  I kept my eyes peeled after the show to see if she was walking by... she didn't and then Cinco and I left.

So - what is today's post really about then?

It's simple.  It's about the past.  The truth is... I do not like South Jersey (besides the shore) at all.  I do not enjoy myself here and I do not enjoy going everywhere feeling like I could run into someone.  Am I scared of them?  Not usually.  But - I choose simply to keep them firmly in my memories, if at all possible.  I walked away (and they walked away) for reasons.  Varied reasons, reasons I may never know or they many never know but reasons, nonetheless.

I do not enjoy reminiscing all that much - unless it's with my girls - the ones I choose and they have chosen me.  I would rather make new memories, explore new places, people and things than continue to relive and remember all the negative crap that I have struggled to forget.  Sure, there was some laughter in there but do I dare say it?  There were so many more bad memories for me than good...it has been my own personal struggle to put it all behind me as opposed to keep living it over and over and over again.  It's bad enough when things replay themselves without my express permission.  I really don't need anyone to help "jog" my memory for me.  When the movie of negativity starts in my head, I need to just let it play out.  Usually new memories and people not tied to my past (except the select few) are the best remedy for this.  Rarely does the stuff start when I am out and about enjoying my life anymore.  This is still one of the main reasons I have wanted to move from the area.  Nearly everywhere I go, I feel the "bad vibes" of a past I do not enjoy - for many reasons.  And if I am not feeling the "bad vibes", the truth is, I am feeling a slight twinge of fear (sometimes in the back of my mind) that someone may cross my path like a black cat for the evening.

I do want to make one thing clear.  I do not ignore my past.  I have explored it and it's implications, lessons and repetitions many times but what I do not enjoy is running into it.  I do not enjoy the discomfort that it causes me.  The anxiety and the racing pulse.  I do not enjoy the sensation of being reminded about this time or that time... or this or that person.  At least not for a good chunk of it.  I don't dislike everyone who did reside there - far from it.  It's just easier for my mind to stay at rest and peace when I am not directly reminded.  Not that the movie shuts off at every moment because of it.  Sometimes the memories are so thick that I am talking to myself about it without noticing or I go into what I would refer to as a "zone".  I have been asked if I am "alright" before.  This usually breaks it because there's someone else to stimulate me - but it doesn't completely break the emotions connected to it, which is the most painful part.  All of this does tend to get better when the medication is working well.  As it is now but this is not a boundary I like to test.

Cheers to "my" girls and guys out there who don't take me back - even the ones who have seen me through.  Thank you for choking me up in a beautiful way instead of in a way that makes me ask God to not let it be so.  And here's to all of us who are finally making it to the meat of the story.   

Jig of Myself

On Monday morning, I hopped out of bed and ran to my living room.  I turned on my PC and waited for it to start running.  Meanwhile, I found myself actually hopping around a bit, doing a little jig of sorts.  (Only momentarily, mind you.)

The big day was here.  To some, it may not seem like much of a day.  Just a regular Monday morning, back to the grind.  Starting another class in a string of classes.  But - to me - it was what I have been waiting for (sometimes with a more active interest than others) for the last 14 years.  I was finally slipping into the chance to study what I feel I have been born to do.  The sculpture hasn't been perfected yet but it has been started.  The marble has been cracked.  There will be challenges, without a doubt.  I am sure of it. 

I began American Lit II.  And I am loving it!  We've started out with Whitman.

BTW... a "B" in Spanish 102.  Not exactly a thrill to receive but a relief after the disaster called "final oral evaluation".

I'm not sure if it's the new meds or if it's just some sort of something that has "clicked" within (or a little bit of both) but I am suddenly feeling very relaxed, very unburdened, very free from the type of anxiety that bothered me before.  Granted, being able to wake up in the morning helps - having that extra time in my day.  Putting less demand on myself helps as well.  Accepting that I can only do so much in a day, etc, etc.  I will get done what I get done and everything else will have to wait.  Accepting that I have to take care of me for once - for real - and then worry about others.  Been working as of late.  While I have moments of insecurity, that others may be getting frustrated or upset with me for my new mindset, my new ways... I have to admit, I need (and have needed to step back) for quite some time now.  I am no one else's responsibility (at this point) and no one is mine.  Doesn't mean I won't treat you right... or them right... just means I'll do what I can.  Everything else will have to just be.

Receipt Not Necessary

She sounded annoyed when I said "nah".  I guess it wasn't a proper enough "no".  However - I did say "thank you" before getting back in my car and driving away.  Nope... no receipt for me.  Thank you for carrying my stuff in.

This morning - I did a little fashion show for myself.  (I love being able to get up before the final bell goes off.)  The kind I really tend to enjoy.  I tried on all my shorts as well as a couple of skirts and dresses that I wore last year.  I had bought most of them before embarking with Spice on a wonderful trip to Punta Cana.  Needed something to wear in the warm weather, after all.  When I slid them on this morning I discovered that only one pair still fit.  This time, in a positive way.  They were all entirely too big to walk out of the house in without fearing that they may fall down.  I promptly threw them in the bag I had begun with a few other articles of clothing and before I knew it, it was full to the brim.  I then added that bag to a pile I had growing at the top of my stairs.  (Well - not sure about a "pile" - a small TV and another full bag of clothing and accessories for Goodwill.)

These days I am walking around at least 20 pounds lighter than I have been in quite some time.  On my 5'2", petite frame, that is alot of weight.  While I still have some to go before I'm 100% confident, I can tell you that being almost back to my "normal" size is liberating.  Maybe my weight shouldn't matter so much to me but I am the one who has to look in the mirror at myself and determine if I can deal.  I am the one who has to go shopping for my clothes and try not to cry when the sizes were getting bigger and bigger and bigger.  I am the one who stands on the scale in the morning and has to face what is going on with my body.  I am the one who was working out for 3 hours a day and NOTHING was coming off (thank you, Seroquel).

But - this morning - prior to stopping at Old Navy (again, I love getting up with some extra time in the morning) to begin replenishing my shorts drawer, I stopped at Goodwill and did not ask for a receipt.  The truth be told, they're doing me a favor by taking it all off my hands without it going in a landfill.  Someone will give those barely worn shorts and skirts a good home, I'm sure of it.

No receipt, thanks.             

  

Unnatural

It started out with me walking into the room and seeing another student sitting there taking a test.  From there, it was as if my figure skate came untied during a triple axle.  I thought we were supposed to be alone in the room.  Now there was someone else for me to screw up in front of.  So - not to disappoint - that is exactly what I did.

It started out slow.  I wasn't on my game but I could at least jog my way to the finish line.  It wasn't going to be an A.  But maybe a B.  Then she asked me one question and I simply could not understand it.  I lost track of where I was.  And that's when I crossed over from nervous to full-fledged panic.  I could not recall how to ask her how to repeat it in Spanish so I blurted it out in English.  Even right after she gave me a minute or two lecture on not speaking in English and she told me how to ask me to repeat it in Spanish... out stumbled the English word "repeat".  She grew frustrated and so did I.  Maybe I could still manage a C.  Then the next question came out and I couldn't understand that one either.  I was screwed up from having screwed up and speaking in English... then having her correct me.  After that... it was just awful.  Absolutely awful.  I stopped trying to elaborate and was simply caught up on trying to understand her so I didn't have to ask her to repeat again.  By the time all nine questions were asked, I was asking her to repeat every question... I couldn't even pick up the first word of the questions anymore... let alone the third or fourth.  Yes, I had been given all 27 questions prior to the exam.  And, yes, I did go over them as well as the answers I was going to give.  I was reading them right up until I walked in to see her.  I may not have studied as hard as I could have but, honestly, if I didn't know this stuff by now... what's the point of memorizing?  Memorization of a language is not a working knowledge of it.  If I'm in a Spanish speaking country... they're mostly likely not going to ask me what time I get home from University.  They probably won't give a shit.

Not that knowing that makes up for my utter failure this morning.

She went on to lecture me at the end about how I'm a good Spanish student and how I'm sharp, etc, etc but how I wasn't prepared and that my being nervous doesn't cover the "unnatural" way I messed up.  I'm not actually sure what that means at this point.  There was nothing more natural in this circumstance than me not being able to pull it together.  It's just like someone who's a world champion flubbing up the Olympics.  It happens.  One mistake can be the downfall, the beginning of the end for anyone who's not completely on their game that day.  I barely crawled across the finish line.  My answers became shorter and shorter.  Frustration reigns supreme and I began crying as she lectured me.  I tried only to tell her I could show her in my notebook where I had gone over the questions.  The difference being, for me, that I simply could not actually understand the words when someone spoke them.  It had been this way for all 15 weeks.  Almost every time she called on me in class while speaking Spanish, I struggled to understand her. 

I certainly am not going to blame it on her in any way.  

One Thing

If I sorted it out
If I knew all about this one thing
Wouldn’t that be something
- Finger Eleven, One Thing

When you walk into my apartment, there are magazines scattered about staring at you.  All sorts of faces - some famous, some not so famous, some are actual pictures, some are drawn.  When you walk into my bedroom, there are bookshelves - not as full as I would like but they are there.  When you walk to the side of my bed, there is a pile of papers, books, magazines, and everything in between.  Directly next to my bed, on the nightstand is another pile.  Of books I am currently reading and my journal.  At the end of my bed there are clothes scattered on a deacon's bench as well as a small pile of unused journals, which I am sure will be full one day - at least I hope so.

The one thing I feel I am lacking that I need to seriously look into getting is a desk.  A real one.  I found one at Ikea and just haven't had the chance to go get it yet.  Mostly because I haven't actually dedicated myself to it quite yet.  Not that buying a desk should truly take dedication.  But, apparently, in my case... it should.  It's ultimately part of the bigger picture.  Part of the dream.

Slowly but surely my dream is actually coming together in one neat, little package.  And it's becoming a bit more tangible, a bit more doable, a bit more everything I want it to be.  The dream offers variety, which is something I need (or maybe just want), it offers an opening of the mind that little else does, it offers a potential lifestyle that I believe I can manage to live with.  It will take some sacrifice, yes.  But - anything worth doing will require some sacrifice indeed. 

Reading and writing, writing and reading - in my eyes, it doesn't get better than this.  What if I knew all about this one thing?  Wouldn't that be something?  But - what would this one thing be?  Literature.  What if I knew all about it?  Is it possible to dedicate my life to it?  Is it possible to at least try?  I think it might be.  And I am going to do my best to give it a go.  Now that espanol is wrapping up tomorrow, it's time for me to step out into the world that I love.  Up until now it has been SO many classes that just couldn't keep my interest - almost all of which were lost on me, often because of my youth but now - for me - it's about beginning to really explore what my mind is made of.  I am beginning a new journey.  One that settles into my bones as if I have finally found my home.  The restlessness that once captivated me seems to have fallen away and everything I have been looking for somehow falls into place - calm, cool, collected.  I can't see precisely how everything is going to work but I can finally begin to imagine it all in a coherent, attainable sense.  The possibilities within the realm of this "one thing" are almost endless - a final resting place for those other dreams that have come and gone.