People. Pssshhhhht!

February’s theme in the Creative Every Day Challenge is “Hearts” and this month mine has certainly been cleaved in twain over and over again. I tried to be ok on Valentine’s Day. I wanted it to go by uneventfully, but some jackhole from my past hurt me and hurt me bad. I had a reason to be foul. Yes I did.

I had this fleeting idea that I might get back together with someone from my distant past. We discussed it, we toyed with it, and on Valentine’s Day he showed me just how much I need to not be considering that as an option. He apologized for hurting me but I was foolish to let him near my heart again and should have learned my lesson long ago. It was a glitch in the smooth passing holiday I was trying to ignore. Then, after him, slightly scuffed and shaken, DG threw me a little further down the lane of the scorned with an email that was 100% a “Piss-off” letter.

The thing is, I’d gotten over that. I made sure of it (with magical spells and all to get over the dumping he swore wasn’t a dumping…). I just missed our friendship, our conversations like I wrote the other day. I made a comment out of the blue because I have been truly upset at the zero time I’ve been allotted and all the brush offs, so he decided to write me a break up letter and it was pure and to form. You’re a lovely person but…(Dumping!). At this point in my life I need to focus. All I can offer you is friendship (which is all I wanted in the first place!). It just upset me like nothing else and I can’t tell you exactly why. Maybe it’s because he keeps repeating the rejection, as if I was too stupid to understand it the first time. As if I wasn’t aware that the brush off is a rejection every single time I say hello. It hurts every single time. He also sort of insulted me in other ways but I believe that’s because he doesn’t understand the scope of what I suffer with, but I didn’t need it nonetheless.

All I wanted was a reasonable amount of time and attention. We used to be actual close friends, check in on each other, speak regularly, joke, laugh, care, and so forth. He turned it off overnight. I don’t, for the life of me, understand what happened.  My instant gut reaction was that he never meant anything he’s ever said to me; that now, without a payoff, I’m not worth the time and trouble.

Is that what I deserve for caring about people? Well, Psssshhhht.

At any rate, despite his belief that I’m after something more, there is nothing now or ever that will induce me to let him near my heart again. Friends I hope we may remain since I’ve shared so much with him, but if this continues, I’m not sure that we will. It’s been a hurtful few days. What I’ve tried to do, instead of going back down my usual track of believing that all men are bad and uncaring, is to tell myself that this has just cleared the decks for my future. Now I’m open to meet someone who will truly value me should that opportunity present itself, though for right now, I’m just fine on my own. Two people let near the proverbial heart, two that stabbed it. Brilliant moves by me, again.

My son hits the double digits tomorrow and I’m going to use my energy to celebrate him and show him a good time. I so hope I can help mold him into a good man. These years are crucial and without a role model here, and I feel right guilty about this, I wonder how he will be. I can’t teach him to be a man, but I can show him what a woman shouldn’t put up with and what behavior makes mommy feel like an old sack of discarded tangerines so he knows what not to do to his girlfriend. A mother can hope.

Speaking of hope, I’m not ready to give up on me yet. I’m not back to bitter, just a little flustered by recent events but unlike my normal routine, I’m spinning a silver lining and seeing the open door instead of the closed window. Anyone who knows me will tell you that’s a bit of a miracle in itself.  This is a personal one and from a raw place, but some things you just need to get out. I’m hoping this will put it to bed. The deck’s cleared. I wonder what’s coming my way now? God, I hope it’s better.

Day 29: My House

In the middle of our street. Our house… Yeah, I couldn’t stop. Me and the ear worms. My mind never shuts up. I can be singing two songs at once, like now. Confusing? Maybe, but mash-ups are a thing so I’m going with it! Weird is good.

Today’s delving question is…If your mind was a house, what would the house look like?

I’d have to say, it would be something between Jack Skellington’s house from the Nightmare Before Christmas with its odd, thin, crookedly angled towers and the Addams family house full of oddities and secret rooms that lead into one another or dump you out the front. Even the gate is aware and traps people in order to keep them out. Add a moat and you have it. Sounds pretty close to me.

There would have to be an attic or two full of thoughts I haven’t seen for years, all dusty and forgotten and a basement where I’ve shoved the things I don’t want to think about, overgrown with thorns and vines to dissuade myself from getting too close. There’s a mysterious beast living down there that fires up the anger at the drop of a hat without my knowing why…most likely because something buried there almost came to light.

The rooms are lushly furnished with velvet drapes and fancy moldings, full of scroll work, carvings and walls covered in paintings. Shadows pass along the walls, eyes shine from the darkness and dramas play out behind every door with a familiar set of characters, lit by candles along the walls. There are often earthquakes that shake the building, like the House of Usher, it’s built on shaky ground but on the bright side, the curse is a myth and retrofits have begun.

There are always new visitors who appear from nowhere and create their own stories; each room is populated by at least one. Some rooms are long neglected and cold, some warm and inviting full of laughter and books. It often rains and plunges the house into darkness, making the shadows darker and a heavy feeling overtakes the place, but like all storms they pass.

It’s the most comforting of houses though its labyrinthine halls each are haunted, it holds sweet memories of the past. sweet smells of celebrations past float through and make the paintings that remind come alive. Plants and flowers line window boxes, a touch of oft unnoticed femininity.

There is a room, of course, of kitsch, complete with velvet Elvis, pink flamingos and various bits of ephemera from different periods. There are lost rooms mixed up and uncatalogued; a ticket from a play, a velvet coat from the opera in the style of Mozart, a 1940’s style phone. It is the room of lost things; a place to sift through and reminisce on a rainy day with a pot of tea.

I love the place, gain solace from it. Anyone else would get lost. Hell, I do, but it’s at least an entertaining place to spend an afternoon, or a lifetime.

Day 18: Opinions

Do you worry what people think of you?

Yes and no. Don’t you love a definitive answer?

This used to be the subject that ate me up from the inside the most. My projections of what people were thinking of me would paralyze me. Negative feedback made me miserable for days. In high school, I learned to keep my opinions to myself for fear that they would be twisted and used against me. It all makes sense now, of course, now that I now what’s going on with me. This programming stretches back a long way.

When I was in school, I remember from the first day feeling judged. It was really hard for me to take. Maybe because at home I didn’t feel incredibly safe or valued, I wanted, like most kids, to be accepted and liked but for me, the rejections cut much deeper. I have had a very bad habit of taking absolutely everything personally and every word, sideways look, or awkward tone made me question myself and my worth.

I don’t know where I learned to value everyone else’s opinion over my own, or in fact to not allow myself an opinion. The thought that other kids were saying bad things about me, laughing at me, staring at me, or anything else slightly uncomfortable would make my whole world feel like it was crashing to the ground. As the years passed, it seemed to get worse. Paranoia does come along with this as well. For a while, if I heard anyone laughing, I’d assume it was at me. Some kids were indeed quite cruel to me, and I began to see everyone as dangerous and threatening.

That is all the “yes” part.

The “no” part is starting to come together. Yes, I had a bit of a back slide the other day at the butchers. Since then, I’ve learned that they’re all incredibly cool about it all over there, but the thing is, it doesn’t matter if they are or aren’t. After my initial knee-jerk reaction, I managed to talk myself out of it. It was short and didn’t cause me nearly as much distress as it used to. I’m starting to claw my way back to being myself despite others’ opinions. Everybody has one and they’re usually based on incomplete information. Most of the time it’s based on someone’s personal projections. Nothing at all about me or my worth.

Now, of course, when it’s someone I care about deeply, that changes the story. Of course I care what my loved ones think and when they reject me it carries a certain kind of sting. In the cases where I know where it’s coming from I can take it all with a grain of salt but when I don’t it’s still painful. Rejection always is. I’m still feeling more than a little sting from my last rejection. Actually “sting” is the biggest understatement I’ve ever uttered, but it’s a part of life. Lately I’ve been having to deal head on with rejection and I think it may be for a reason. It will help me find the people who truly value me for me. That’s something that I should care about far more than the opinions of “everybody”.

 

Day 29 – All my friends are imaginary

Who is your closest or most special friend that you’ve never met and what do they mean to you? How did you cross paths? Talk about how you “met” them: Facebook, Twitter, an online support group, etc.

Well isn’t that a pip? It took me a while on this one. Is it a typo? Is it my best friend or is this a build-a-best-friend workshop where I can stuff him with rainbow fluff, hug him and squeeze him and name him George? Given how “Met” is in quotations I’m guessing I can make up anyone I please. Do I wanna be besties with the Joker? Sheldon Cooper? Emily Bronte? Did I meet them in a bar, at Gotham’s diviest bar? At a physics symposium or run across Wolverine while renting a horror flick at Blockbuster? The mind reels with possibilities.

I’ve decided to do a bit of a split between the two on this occasion. Actually, it’s a stretch but go with me on this one and then see if it works for you.

I met her on a cold night in the dark back alley of one of my stories. She’s always there, lurking behind the sharp German expressionist corners of the more dramatic passages. She’s a hard one to pin down and I’m not sure I actually have yet. I only get snippets through the fog banks but what I see of her is both aloof from the world and longing for it at the same time. She has the loneliness of an outsider forever watching through the windows into the happier stories in this world. She comes to see me when I’m at my breaking point. offering me her companionship when there is no other and reassuring me when I need a reflective opinion. Sometimes she’s unruly and says horrible things. She says things I would never let anyone else get away with but she’s just trying to protect me. She wants me to remember danger and to tread lightly which I’m grateful for but sometimes I’d like her to shut up about it already.

She is beautiful but doesn’t know it. She’s talented at a number of things but denies it. On occasion though, she shows me that I can do what she cannot. She roots me forward and energizes my dreams. She’s there when I need to vent frustration. She’s there to cry with. She’s there when I’m angry and need a voice. She’s everything to me and all at once nothing to me. I try to get past her and then try to find her. She’s the only one who will walk with me until the end and I need to cherish her more, compliment her more, giver her more time and affection. She deserves my love as much as everyone else in my life and more. She deserves recognition and remembrance. She may be flawed, but she’s the only one I’ve got to keep me company when I’m alone.

What is that song? I’ve been to Paradise but I’ve never been to me? Horrible song, agreed, but there is a point in there somewhere. If I need to make up an imaginary friend, I may as well get to know the little me that’s in there that goes ignored and chastised most of the time. Not a horrible idea I think. Sure I’d rather hang with Wolverine eating popcorn, but maybe I’m not such bad company in the long run.

Day 27 – I Heart…

Talk about something that you really, really, really love about yourself.  I hate having to come up with positive things about myself. It’s so uncomfortable, probably because we’re so conditioned to see flaws all the time in ourselves and others. Usually those negatives are physical and I’ve yet to find something about my body I love, except maybe the fact that my eyes can look pretty cool if I wear the right colors. OK, my legs are pretty fabulous, but that’s not the kind of answer I need.

It’s taken a few laps around the building to get my ideas going but I actually came up with more than one. I like my loyalty and my unique aesthetic, my dry humor and my patience. I really like my resilience and my strength which I have depended on a lot lately. Since the question asks what I really, really, really love, I’d better get out of “like-land”. That was a lot of “really”s. I suppose that means I should gather up all of my valley girl enthusiasm and like totally really think about this one.

Self love is something that just keeps coming up to slap me in the face. It’s the one thing I always try to avoid working on and I’m not sure why. Again, discomfort. Have you ever done those exercises where you have to look in the mirror and profess your love to yourself out loud? Well, I always feel weird doing that. I can come up with a thousand flaws in about a millisecond. It takes a lot more effort to flip the coin and that’s a clear sign that I need to take steps to answer this question seriously. In fact, maybe I should make myself answer this question every day and every day require a different answer. Good idea, Renee. Thank You. High Five!

I suppose I like my conversations with myself too which leads me to thinking about the fact that there really is something about myself that I really appreciate and yes, even love. I love my imagination. I love that I can close my eyes and be in a different world where I can make up people, things and circumstances and have them feel real. I love that I can escape into my mind to get away from the million mundane and awful things that can happen on any given day. I love that it’s so vivid and I love the fact that it’s all mine when I want it to be. I love turning tiny images into stories. I love my characters and their style. I love the surprises and the strong plot twists I didn’t see coming. I love that there are no limits and that I can change things whenever I feel a change in myself. I love that I can work things out that way, through images and other people’s stories. I love the cleanliness of it. It’s the sweetest gift I have been blessed with and that maybe I can share.

It has its dark side and it can definitely drive me crazy leading me down dark paths of thought. I definitely can spend too much time there. I can definitely over think things that are probably figments of it. Even with the drawbacks, though, I think I prize it above all other parts of myself.  It doesn’t take crunches at the gym or endless therapy or self-help books to maintain. It just requires that I keep using it which I hope I can until the end of my days. I still sort of wish I had been able to say I really love my butt in these jeans but I can just pretend that too…

Day 23 – Smile and Nod

Talk about a moment when you got annoyed with a married friend, a person in a relationship, or a person with kids (Be honest! No judgment!).

To be honest, I don’t get annoyed much anymore. For the longest time just the sight of a happy couple or the mention of someone’s boyfriend in a conversation would send my eye to twitching. Over the past months as I’ve realized that I can really be happy alone, it doesn’t phase me much anymore. I’ve actually caught myself watching My Fair Wedding a few times with no negative effects. Progress I think. There was, however, one recent time when the whole subject irked me. Getting advice on ending your single life from a happy couple is always so much fun, isn’t it?

It was a random weekend and my relatives were going on about a trip they were taking and one of them seemed less enthused about it. I asked him why he agreed to go since it wasn’t his thing at all. Well, it it became a big discussion about how relationships were a compromise and how I’d never get everything I wanted, that I should be less picky. At that point it was brought up that I should try this new online dating site. When I pointed out that I didn’t subscribe to the religion it was based around, I actually heard these words of advice,  “Who cares? You can fake it. You’re getting older and you need a man around the house.”

So the happy couple was giving me the message that faking my most deeply held beliefs was better than being alone. Somehow neither of them batted a lash at this. It made me wonder just how fake their relationship was, how much each of them was lying to the other, and if either of them realized that implication for themselves when they’d said it. According to that advice, being dishonest about myself was preferable.  Somehow being in a relationship is supposed to trump being true to myself because, you know, compromise. At that point it was more stories about how each of them did things for the other that they didn’t enjoy because you have to.  Compromise is all well and good, and it’s not that I’m incapable of it, but I’d much rather be alone and real than fake and in a relationship that won’t last the second a little tremor reveals it’s shaky foundation.

I’m over hearing about it. I’m over couples’ advice, I just smile and nod and wait for them to stop. That was the last time I got the eye twitch and the last time I argued on the point. I’ve decided no matter what the examples are in front of me, I’m going to follow my heart on this one. What the heck is the point of a relationship if you’re not allowed to be yourself? Now that I think about it, I wonder if that present they got me was really from where they said it was from…hmmm.

Day 18- Dear Me, Love, Me

Today’s grand quest…If you could have a conversation with yourself in high school, what would you say?

Well, seeing as how I was a complete pain in the butt when I was a teenager, I probably wouldn’t listen to myself, leading to an epic slap fight which would probably bring an end to our whole timey-wimey, wibbly wobbly sort of universe. I was good like that. I was an ass. An overly dramatic ass at that. Come to think of it, I still am…

Firstly, after apologizing for giving myself the big red palm mark, I would probably gasp and face-palm myself mostly for the hair staring back at me. I would then tell myself the most important thing. It would take care of the bad hair, the bad habits, and the overt, pain-fueled drama, the people pleasing, all of it. I would tell myself that even though I didn’t have one secure place to be, that you can be your own secure place,.. To start inside first instead of looking outward for my self-worth. My dad never had anything good to say, things were unstable and scary. I felt less than all of the time and I wanted to escape. I know now that all of  my reactions to that were ok. It was ok to be scared. Who wouldn’t be? It was ok to be angry. It was ok to be me. I would have given myself a big hug and told  that younger me that no matter how bad her hair was, or what bad role models she currently had, that I loved her, and that would be the key to so many of life’s challenges.

Learning to find that small voice inside, that stable place would save her from trying to find it in lousy, untrustworthy friends, a bad marriage, kept her on track in school, given her courage to leave an unhealthy environment, and saved the world from a book full of really bad poetry. It would have saved her from the drinking and the smoking and the stupid, unhealthy eating of her feelings to fill that hole. It also would have saved her favorite frilly shirt from the torch while trying to write said bad poetry in candlelight. (Never mix ruffles, tears, and open flames kids!). Yes, I’m sure I used the word “plummeted” in there somewhere.

I would also beg myself to get counseling now so we wouldn’t have to go through it later. How much easier would it be to tackle those abandonment issues when they were fresh? Deal with my dad’s stuff and realize it wasn’t me? That no one’s behavior was me but them? Priceless. Save myself from years of spiraling anxiety, panic, and depression that really started then? It would have been a miracle if I had support back then in the midst of all the drama. It would have been life changing. It would have helped me stay my course and trust in myself enough; believe in myself enough to not give my goals up for the promise of a relationship or to please anyone else. I also wouldn’t have taken crap for my love of black.

The last thing, and it ties in as well, is to stop caring about other people’s opinions. Now, that’s not to discount criticism or disregard well-meant advice, no. If I had learned then not to value others’ opinions of me more than my own, I wouldn’t have tortured myself nearly as much as I have over the years. Kids tear themselves apart to fit in only to find later on that they’ve lost themselves and now have to rediscover what makes them unique to stand out. I made some bad decisions, and some horrible fashion choices, even for then, but to learn to be and stay authentically me no matter what the surrounding storm, that would be the main point; the only point. Love and love first from within. Be authentic. Don’t try to please everyone because you can’t. Then you can shine outwardly – even darkly. I would get that across no matter what… even if I had to say it over and over and over, with charades, photos, Pictionary, or even the odd slap fight, space-time continuum be damned.