I'm pretty sure tonight's entry is going to piss some people off and has the potential to hurt a few others....SIGH...but my brain is so full I have to do something with it or I risk losing my sanity.
About a week ago I was with someone that loves me a great deal and they asked-or well rather TOLD-me to be 100% genuine with myself and with my head shrinker when I attended my next appointment. Today was that day. Now I feel like I am at the crossroad of Hell and Misery.
A lot came out of my session today. First is a painful, terrible, awful admission...Bulldogge is mildly manipulative and pressures me. I do not think that its intentionally hurtful. It has been an ongoing issue between us and it scares me. I feel like I am being slowly and sweetly lured into a corner. Its maddening to hear how hurt Bulldogge's son will be if we break up. Or how his parents are excited for him finally being in true love. I will grant you that when written out it doesn't sound the same as it feels. I am electing to not tell specific stories as examples because I do NOT want to hurt the Bulldogge. He matters to me.
What he fails to realize, I think anyway, is that when my leash is a little longer I will be the best partner one could hope for. I am scared so easily. And I am most certainly not ready to be bulldogged into a life I'm not sure I want. In this minute I so desire total acceptance of all of the parts of me.
With that said...I'm back to wanting to jump on the travel nurse bandwagon. Just a short stint. I want to give it a shot. Not to run away from my own issues, but more so to embrace my problems and learn to just be ME...whoever I am anymore. I may come back more confused than when I left. But I need to get myself together.
Today I talked to that same person and now they asked me to be honest with myself about what I really want, minus the bullshit and pressure. And without thinking about what looks good or what other people and society think I should be doing. That's tough to think about. I would love to throw out the BS "I don't know" answer. That answer is not true.
I want to love myself. I want to be comfortable in my own skin. I SO want to live my life without a single regret from here on out. I look forward to remembering how to take care of myself. I think I deserve a little time to be selfish. I want to find my swagger and stop feeling sorry for myself. I want to see more, be more, and do more. I want to realize that I am worth fighting for. And that what I want matters.
Sometimes I doubt that I will ever be content with my life. I worry that I will be out here on the wind forever. Maybe I just need to realize that the universe made me this way for a reason....
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
I am Home
Okay. Admittedly I have a pretty tumultuous life. But it has made me a strong, albeit weird, person. Have you seen "The Lion King"? I always subscribed to Pumba's "Home is where your rump rests" theory. However, it leaves a person always slightly unsettled and never fully comfortable. Not totally connected to the people you share your space with.
I have spent all these years adrift in an ocean of people feeling unconnected, alone, and utterly unlovable. And then it happened...I found my missing piece. He is strong enough to protect me from the whole giant dangerous world. And he is more than willing to do the job. He is after all the Irish Bulldogge.
There have been times when I have not been the perfect girlfriend for him. Others may have had certain qualities that made them stand out for a few moments, but I have to ask myself, "What have you longed for more than anything else in your whole life?".
The answer is: to be safe, to be loved for all that I am and accepted for all that I am not.
This last weekend I moved out of my apartment and into the home the Bulldogge and I now share with our two beloved kitties, Snookie and Taaka. As it turns out, home isn't a physical address. Who would have thought?
Home is where you can drop all of your troubles without fear. Home is where you can bawl your eyes out over a headache or cuss like a sailor when you stub your toe. Its where silliness and laughter are spoken. Home means coziness, closeness, and snuggling. Most of all it is safe. And cool with you being who the Universe has created you to be.
So when the last box was put into the garage Sunday night after a LONG weekend of moving me out of my apartment, my soul sighed with relief at the thought, "I am home. This man with his beautiful wide shoulders and masculine square toothed grin is it for you. Enjoy the hell outta this."
I have spent all these years adrift in an ocean of people feeling unconnected, alone, and utterly unlovable. And then it happened...I found my missing piece. He is strong enough to protect me from the whole giant dangerous world. And he is more than willing to do the job. He is after all the Irish Bulldogge.
There have been times when I have not been the perfect girlfriend for him. Others may have had certain qualities that made them stand out for a few moments, but I have to ask myself, "What have you longed for more than anything else in your whole life?".
The answer is: to be safe, to be loved for all that I am and accepted for all that I am not.
This last weekend I moved out of my apartment and into the home the Bulldogge and I now share with our two beloved kitties, Snookie and Taaka. As it turns out, home isn't a physical address. Who would have thought?
Home is where you can drop all of your troubles without fear. Home is where you can bawl your eyes out over a headache or cuss like a sailor when you stub your toe. Its where silliness and laughter are spoken. Home means coziness, closeness, and snuggling. Most of all it is safe. And cool with you being who the Universe has created you to be.
So when the last box was put into the garage Sunday night after a LONG weekend of moving me out of my apartment, my soul sighed with relief at the thought, "I am home. This man with his beautiful wide shoulders and masculine square toothed grin is it for you. Enjoy the hell outta this."
Friday, July 6, 2012
My Son Hates Me
I know that I have said it before, but it is easy to hate something that you don't understand. How much do you want to know? Everything? Nothing? I am a hard person to get to know. I hide a lot of myself. I am very private-secretive almost. I spend a great deal of time worrying that people will think that I am totally whacked for some of the choices that I have made. A lot of them are a little questionable. As I am healing I am learning to let a few glimmers of my true self show.
Seriously, I think that I hold back a lot of valid truths from Son because I feel like it will all sound like excuses. It would be very easy to spill everything out just to rid myself of it all. However...it feels like excuse making.
How can I say that the grandmother that he remembers through the eyes of a young child mistreated me like it was her hobby? Every time Son starts in on his, "I hate you and resent you for so much" rant I want to just spew venom at him. I wonder though if telling him the facts of the life that I have lived will only further alienate him.
For the record: I signed Son over to my parents after a GREAT deal of urging from my mother. I was battling advanced endometrial cancer and I was caught up in a mother's bind. What do I do if I do not survive? I was constantly reassured that I could have him back when (not IF, when) I recovered. To the surprise of many, including my doctors, I survived. I was left bald and infertile.
To add insult to injury, I was told that I had taken too long to get better. I was told that my son no longer would consider me his mother. What could I expect? I had been sick for almost a year. Then that lead to the "You can't send him to school with a birth certificate that says 'unknown father' on it". Mind you this crazy woman had told me not to list Son's biological father so that the man would have no rights.
I was set up. My mother stole my child from me. How is that fair? Why had I believed one single word she said to me? Every piece of me knew better. Every single molecule in my body knew better.
And here I sit now...My son hates me with a vengeance. All because I feel this need to protect the person that hurt me so deeply. Even now, so many years after her death it is like she still gets to win. I may never speak up. For me it is so much easier to remain silent and let Son have his own version of such a twisted truth. A truth in which I am the enemy. A truth that to him means I never fought for him. A truth in which his grandmother is the savior.
God...I may even hate myself a fair measure...
Seriously, I think that I hold back a lot of valid truths from Son because I feel like it will all sound like excuses. It would be very easy to spill everything out just to rid myself of it all. However...it feels like excuse making.
How can I say that the grandmother that he remembers through the eyes of a young child mistreated me like it was her hobby? Every time Son starts in on his, "I hate you and resent you for so much" rant I want to just spew venom at him. I wonder though if telling him the facts of the life that I have lived will only further alienate him.
For the record: I signed Son over to my parents after a GREAT deal of urging from my mother. I was battling advanced endometrial cancer and I was caught up in a mother's bind. What do I do if I do not survive? I was constantly reassured that I could have him back when (not IF, when) I recovered. To the surprise of many, including my doctors, I survived. I was left bald and infertile.
To add insult to injury, I was told that I had taken too long to get better. I was told that my son no longer would consider me his mother. What could I expect? I had been sick for almost a year. Then that lead to the "You can't send him to school with a birth certificate that says 'unknown father' on it". Mind you this crazy woman had told me not to list Son's biological father so that the man would have no rights.
I was set up. My mother stole my child from me. How is that fair? Why had I believed one single word she said to me? Every piece of me knew better. Every single molecule in my body knew better.
And here I sit now...My son hates me with a vengeance. All because I feel this need to protect the person that hurt me so deeply. Even now, so many years after her death it is like she still gets to win. I may never speak up. For me it is so much easier to remain silent and let Son have his own version of such a twisted truth. A truth in which I am the enemy. A truth that to him means I never fought for him. A truth in which his grandmother is the savior.
God...I may even hate myself a fair measure...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)