Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Thinking, Playing, Writing

The past two months of my life have been filled with more thinking, contemplating, introspection and ....well, emotional turmoil (created from both the over thinking AND outside influences) than I care to admit or continue.

The fact is, I am in a contemplative state of being.  Not a serene place of being (serenity), or a peaceful state of being (independence?) - but most definitely a contemplative, mulling, meditating state of being.

I absolutely love that I am writing again.  The mere act of committing to want to write has a weird way of displaying truths in my life that I don't really like: the more confused and emotionally torn I am, the less I open my laptop.  When I don't know what I want, where my life is headed, or FLAT OUT, when I am exhausting my brain by constantly weighing this and that, I just don't feel like writing.

When I am OTHER things, such as pissed, angry, hurt, happy, ecstatic, or almost any other emotional state (and by that, I mean, when one emotion seems to be the most felt in a given time period, as obviously, my emotions fluctuate throughout the day) - I write.  It seems the ONLY time I truly find it difficult is when I am ....like this.  UNSURE.

I have a pretty good feeling it stems from several things, not just brain exhaustion.  Another thing it seems to stir up is a feeling of FRAUD. For some reason, when I am completely unsettled, I feel like anything I write about is sort of fraudulent because I feel like I am grasping - grasping for words.  Grasping for sentences.  Nothing feels natural, everything feels like a fake ....I don't really know what word I am looking for....everything feels like a fake *thought?*  

Knowing that I want to write but am struggling so badly with it is a very revealing sign to myself that something is not right in my life. And I won't feel *inspired* until it is. 

With THAT being said, I am taking a much needed brain distraction by training my new baby girl, Grace Zappa, lovingly referred to by me as GZ.  "Geezee"  so fucking cute, it kills me.

It is such a weird and uncomfortable notion for me to take actual time and sit and play with a puppy. It is probably exactly what I needed, as sitting, playing, RELAXING should NOT feel so foreign.  The first thought that goes through my head when I stop and sit on the floor to interact with GZ is "Wait, you have stuff to do.  Are you really going to just sit here?!"  

I have to literally remind myself that *just sitting here* is what I signed up for, and that by doing so, I am training my dog, thus, being productive.  And THAN, only than do I feel justified, and not lazy by playing with her. 

I think that I have gotten to a pretty fucked up place in my life - I need to work on this immediately. On no planet, in no world, in no one's life should relaxing feel so AWKWARD AND UNCOMFORTABLE.

In typical God fashion, Grace Zappa was put into my life to help me.  And I am looking forward to the lesson.....

How can you not love that cute little ass?

Just sayin'.

Friday, November 21, 2014

Some Stories Continue for Years.....

Funny TWM should mention my dad, or rather parents, in general, in his comments.  I actually spoke to Matt last night, at length.  The bulk of our conversation centered around our parents, our upbringing, expectations that seem so similar, but in reality are MILES apart.

But FIRST:
(And this tangent was NOT something that came up last night while talking, it is something that two totally different things JUST NOW made me realize - like an A HA moment.  And my disclaimer: I am neither proud, nor was aware of my thoughts and actions in this regard.  At least, I was truly not consciously thinking/doing this.  I had such a great *excuse,* one that I believe was true for years, but slowly became a crutch that I just kept on believing.....)

The 2 things occurred simultaneously, which, you know, is a GOD thing: I was texting a guy friend that I met through work that I've been able to bounce ideas/thoughts off to get a male perspective and vice versa, AND I was pouring over twm's list in my comments from last night's blog.  I texted this friend, who has been somewhat kept updated on my life through both fb, talking and random txting: "Matt wants to talk.  I don't know if I am ready to talk.  We've texted the last couple of nights, and it went just as crazy and sideways as our conversations do.  Idk...should I talk to him?  I don't want to slide backwards...."

After chastising me on the pitfalls of ALL text conversations, and putting me in place by saying "only YOU can slide backwards, his words are not to blame - YOU know what is real and what is irrational." OK FINE.  POINT TAKEN. But than he said:

"It is my opinion that you should hear him out.  It's only right in a marriage that all avenues are explored, you know that.  He deserves to be heard simply as a right of marriage...."

"You do know that I am not actually legally married to him, don't you?  Or have I referred to him as my husband long enough that you just assumed I'd gotten married?"

"HAHAHAHA YES, of course I thought you were married.  That's funny, and that's a little different. I guess all is fair in dating, so I don't know. Probably I still feel you should hear him out since you love enough to say you're married.  Unless you want to move on and go out?" OMG, figures.  I am pretty sure he was kidding.  (And to my friend, in case he reads and isn't used to my writing - yes, I know I paraphrase, and shorten, but I keep to the truth of the conversation for the sake of brevity, it's easiest. Otherwise I would have to go back, check my phone, type word for word...not happening.)

So in this list of twm's, one item that I have to object to, and take responsibility for, is the marriage one.  I am the one who did not/does not/maybe not ever/kind of want now/but kinda maybe not want to get married.  Looking back, I realize WOW.  This...this absolute/yet "maybe one day*/so I guess I don't really know objection to marriage absolutely (and pathetically) keeps me in a position of unfair control.  If I always *own* the home, if I never take a vow, I always have a way out.  *Take it or leave it, I'll deal with it either way.*  And it so unknowingly and unwittingly encouraged by friends and family who know how strong I am on my own, I've always been encouraged to believe for that reason - I am independent.  When I wasn't, I got really sick and drank.  Keeping my independence keeps me strong, thus healthy.  For sure, 100% good, honest intentions.  ESPECIALLY by my female friends or coworkers who are staunch feminists or cynical and scorned in one way or another.

I hate when I look in the mirror and recognize a disappointing truth about myself that I justify with rational beginnings- "I don't want to get married again, because I never want to go through the pain of divorce again."  Reality check for DM: *I don't want to get married again because I know YOU do, and I can sorta hang on to that, well, for as long as I want.  Which means YOU never get to be comfortable.  YOU always have to WANT me more than I want you.*  It's the exact same thing moms  tell their daughters "why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"

SUCH a true, and selfish statement.  Why?  Why, indeed, take that vow again and essentially hand over any of the control I can so tightly hang on to?  Why offer you the sanctity of marriage when I can slowly drive us both crazy, even as unintentional as it is?  Why give YOU a key I can't take back any time I want?

I have no good answers when I put it like that.

NOT that I am saying I am getting married.
NOT that I am saying this thought process was purposely as evil as I just put it.
But I have to admit to it being a key role, probably THEE KEY role, I had in assisting in Matt's distorted emotions and confusion, ultimately leading us to such inequality, crazy started happening.  When Matt says to me "you have your role in this, too!" and tries to find ways to twist things, ends up screaming and yelling about things that aren't based in truths, when he ultimately loses his cool and is outright mean, what is really happening is that he KNOWS there are reasons he is not 100% to blame, KNOWS I, too, have contributed to the demise of any sort of equal partnership, he just cannot put a NAME to it.  Nor could I really, when it's so easy to say "I wasn't the one incarcerated!  I am not the one laying on the couch all the time!"

It's really hard for any person, other than perhaps a trained professional to say "hey, there are other reasons for this dynamic being so off track other than Matt's obvious behavior and circumstances that have led you two here.  Matt has no control over anything.  Nothing at all.  And what you think is *helping him* is not helping, but exacerbating the unfairness.  Doesn't your *support* arm you with weapons, even if you don't actively use them?  The mere existence of them is detrimental. The entire set up is basically the perfect equation for emasculation."

Case in point: had he been here this past week, I would have nagged and nagged that he go to the doctor, *knowing* he wouldn't until I made the appointment myself.  Yet - not given the opportunity to wait for MY HELP, he did indeed go to the doctor.  He got some sort of shot (that part wasn't really talked about in length...) and scheduled his MRI for Tuesday.  Without ME there to drive him, or figure out how he should get there, driving as little as possible, I am sure he will figure it out.

I know this, because I wasn't always there SAVING HIM.  Not like this. As friends, and in the first 6 months, I didn't HAVE to do everything.  At some point, my extreme *capableness* (LOOK WHAT I CAN DO: EVERYTHING, AND ALL BY MYSELF, TOO! SO THERE!) was an amazingly effective catalyst to his extreme *incapableness* - an oddly fascinating phenomenon, if I do say so myself.

And don't get me wrong, I did not kick him out "for his own good" or as "tough love" because I am so smart, I knew all this.  (Not at all. Nope.) I NEEDED him to move out FOR MYSELF to breathe and stop the insanity.  I knew it was the best thing for both us of to break the weird, vicious cycle we were in, but I guess I didn't truly realize my part because I was too busy defending what he was telling me was my part. I was too busy telling him he was crazy to help determine WHY he was crazy.

Neither of us had the insight to realize that with these set of circumstances, we were doomed to this. He had to find reasons just to keep telling himself he WASN'T the only one to blame.  I kinda, sorta get that - because we are both addicts - and THAT is addict thinking and behavior.  Stir in a little jail, some depression, several types of medication, an injured arm and one very independent woman: FUCK.  What an awful mixture......click, click, click.  That is the sound of things making more sense to me.  Not exactly a defense to everything - but at least I understand my part.

*I am totally going to make a wonderful marriage counselor one day.  When I stop being such an AMAZING banker.*

And no - there has been no talk of him moving back in, but he did ask if I would please try therapy together.  That is the only way I think we'd have a shot, if we haven't lost our completely.  Our story continues to be written....

Back to what I was originally going to write about, our parents, our expectations, etc:

I totally understand how we were both looking for our idea of family.  Only, our idea of family was so vastly different, we were both destined to be profoundly confused and disappointed.

For instance: yes, we were both raised in blue collar, suburban families with parents who are still married.  However: it occurred to me one night that his mother never worked.  I mean, never worked outside the home - which means she worked a lot, but probably no one ever saw all the work she did, it was just done.  This allowed Matt's dad to have the luxury of working all day and coming home to relax and drink.  Dinner ready, chores done, Mr. G's contribution to the *house* consisted of man things, probably done on the weekend, like fixing a leak in the roof and mowing the lawn.

I watched my mom and dad work, come home, work some more, and than also doing the all the *man things.*  I am sure my mom did more *housework* because I remember random outbursts when she would reach her limit, start yelling at everyone and we would all quietly, heads down, start doing the stuff that we should have always helped out with, but really only did it when we were told.  I also know my dad got better at this, growing up? maybe?  A few things were considered *man* jobs, but my mom did a lot of extra stuff, too - my mom was the only parent who ever painted a room, for instance.  Car things?  Hands down, always my dad.  Grilling? Man thing.

And neither of them drank.  And the *screaming* fights were few and far between.

Throw in the fact that for years, I have been a SINGLE mom - handling ALL of the housework AND all of the extra stuff that I either couldn't find help for, or couldn't afford to farm out.  I did my best in figuring it out - paying for as much to be done for me (allowing me more kid time) and taking on harder things as *challenging dares* to myself.  Eventually, it just became my life: acceptance of doing as much as I could and what slipped by? Meh, I valued my privacy enough that very little people ever had the pleasure of observing my disastrous laundry rooms and always messy garage. But I became so damn independent, I very very much looked forward to having help.  AS IN; I very much looked forward to having someone like Bumpa here with me to do his part.

Matt probably very much looked forward to having someone like his mom around, to do her part.

Talk about a disaster waiting to happen.

Yep.  Neither one of us are either of those people.

Lots of writing, lots of thinking, and probably lots more to come.

I am tentatively planning on doing dog hunting tomorrow.  That has nothing to do with anything else, but I had to end on a light note.

Just sayin.'

PS - the writing was so much, I am back to my Publish and edit later style....in case I missed a bunch of words or anything.....

Thursday, November 20, 2014

Snow and More Confusion

I had a strange flashback today while I was shoveling the entire length of my driveway and praying I would make it the entire way without passing out. 

I thought *THIS feels exactly like when I moved into the first post - divorce house. Every challenge spurred on a I can do this, nothing beats me* feeling. I felt strong and independent.  

I also felt lost and lonely. And when it got dark, the nightly sadness moved in. (And I always think of my sister when I start to feel it.)

I also thought *I liked having a family better.* Because I just do. But....oh, everything about that is just so confusing. 

Just sayin.