So, realizing that my distorted body image correlates with me feeling uncomfortable in my body... I also realized that I cannot stand to feel uncomfortable in many situations. I tend to avoid a lot of things- even necessary things- out of fear.
For example, I've not been the best with finances; I'm afraid to talk to call the people at the credit card company. Afraid to ask my parents for assistance... I kept avoiding these things, because they're uncomfortable to deal with. I've avoided it to the point that I backed myself into a corner, meaning, that if I didn't do something soon, I was gonna start wrecking my credit. SO- last week, with no other option, I went to the bank, explained my situation, and was like, "HELP. Please?" Not only did the wonderful lady at the bank help me set up a repayment plan for my credit card, she assured me that I really wasn't doing as bad as I thought, and helped me set up a budget and a few other things. After that, I was able to talk to my parents about everything.
I was avoiding these two things, making them seem bigger and scarier than they ever needed to be... and now that I've taken care of them, I feel so relieved. My problems didn't vanish obviously, but now that I have a plan and know that I have the support of my parents, life seems doable on my minimum budget.
I guess my point is, I either run from things that make me uncomfortable (this, often making the problem bigger by avoiding it), or I find some really messed up way to deal with it.
Yet another thing to work on...
Showing posts with label pondering. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pondering. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Uncomfortable Realization (part 1)
Must... get... better... at... BLOGGING.
Must stop being hyper critical of myself. Must stop worrying about being judged.
I seriously have 4 or 5 posts in my drafts box from the last two weeks, because I'll start to write, then get nervous that I sound really stupid or am just not making sense... or that what I'm writing isn't important. I have a LOT that I've been wanting to blog about, I just end up feeling stupid when I sit down to write...
Anyways, I've had this realization that I've been meaning to write about/ponder. I don't think anyone likes being uncomfortable; but I absolute cannot stand it. I'm not talking about physical pain (which, ironically enough, I am very good at tolerating physical pain), but moreso emotional uncomfortableness.
What made me realize this is the fact that I do not feel comfortable in my body; I don't think I've ever felt comfortable in my body. The irrationalness has been thinking along the lines if you just get small enough, if you just get thin enough, you WILL feel comfortable in your body.
I became aware at age 4 that I was overweight, and that it was not desirable. I felt uncomfortable at age 4, in my body. Year after year, I thought that if I could get out of my pudgey little body and be a skinny, pretty little girl, I'd be happier and more confident, and that my classmates would like me. I was ashamed of being fat; I thought I was ugly. I was teased a lot. I became shyer and shyer, more introverted, because I was teased. I was obese by 13; I'd spend hours in front of the mirror, pinching my fat rolls and thinking if only I were thin enough to feel good and confident in my body, life would be so much better. At age 15, things changed; in less than a year, I went from obese to underweight. The damage had already been done by this point...
...I spent such a little amount of time at an actual "healthy" weight that I never really got a good look at myself as to what healthy should be. It doesn't matter; even underweight, I have nasty reminders that continue to distort the image I see in the mirror.
I have stretch marks. EVERYWHERE. All over my stomach, my thighs, the inside of my arms, my chest... yeah. Everywhere. They're disgusting. They make me want to rip my skin off. I don't have a valid excuse; I'd wear stretch marks with pride if I could say that my skin stretched to accommodate a baby. But it didn't; some of these stretch marks appeared before I could even get pregnant. How freaking sad is that?
It's fucking torture to have to look in the mirror, to desperately want to see what everyone else apparently sees... but have it ruined by the fact that my body is laced in stretch marks, a constant reminder of how big I once was, and constantly distorting my body image...
How does that relate to me being uncomfortable? Because of how it's tricking me into thinking I'm still fat, when I'm obviously not.
It makes me laugh, in a macabre sort of way, that there's those thinspo groups out there promoting ED's as a way of life, saying that "once you're thin enough, you can wear skimpy clothing, ect." Ha... newsflash, people: it does NOT matter how fucking skinny you get, you're still going to feel like a fat ass. I use to fantasize about wearing tight/revealing clothing once I was "thin enough"... and still sometimes do. But the reality is, I hide my body. I'm thoroughly ashamed of it. I still think I'm too fat (despite knowing otherwise) to be wearing form fitting or revealing clothing. Heck, that's one reason I love cold weather so much; it means I can hide in layers and hoodies.
Bottom line is, I still feel very uncomfortable in my body, and it makes me excessively anxious... hence me turning to manage it in some not so practical ways...
Must stop being hyper critical of myself. Must stop worrying about being judged.
I seriously have 4 or 5 posts in my drafts box from the last two weeks, because I'll start to write, then get nervous that I sound really stupid or am just not making sense... or that what I'm writing isn't important. I have a LOT that I've been wanting to blog about, I just end up feeling stupid when I sit down to write...
Anyways, I've had this realization that I've been meaning to write about/ponder. I don't think anyone likes being uncomfortable; but I absolute cannot stand it. I'm not talking about physical pain (which, ironically enough, I am very good at tolerating physical pain), but moreso emotional uncomfortableness.
What made me realize this is the fact that I do not feel comfortable in my body; I don't think I've ever felt comfortable in my body. The irrationalness has been thinking along the lines if you just get small enough, if you just get thin enough, you WILL feel comfortable in your body.
I became aware at age 4 that I was overweight, and that it was not desirable. I felt uncomfortable at age 4, in my body. Year after year, I thought that if I could get out of my pudgey little body and be a skinny, pretty little girl, I'd be happier and more confident, and that my classmates would like me. I was ashamed of being fat; I thought I was ugly. I was teased a lot. I became shyer and shyer, more introverted, because I was teased. I was obese by 13; I'd spend hours in front of the mirror, pinching my fat rolls and thinking if only I were thin enough to feel good and confident in my body, life would be so much better. At age 15, things changed; in less than a year, I went from obese to underweight. The damage had already been done by this point...
...I spent such a little amount of time at an actual "healthy" weight that I never really got a good look at myself as to what healthy should be. It doesn't matter; even underweight, I have nasty reminders that continue to distort the image I see in the mirror.
I have stretch marks. EVERYWHERE. All over my stomach, my thighs, the inside of my arms, my chest... yeah. Everywhere. They're disgusting. They make me want to rip my skin off. I don't have a valid excuse; I'd wear stretch marks with pride if I could say that my skin stretched to accommodate a baby. But it didn't; some of these stretch marks appeared before I could even get pregnant. How freaking sad is that?
It's fucking torture to have to look in the mirror, to desperately want to see what everyone else apparently sees... but have it ruined by the fact that my body is laced in stretch marks, a constant reminder of how big I once was, and constantly distorting my body image...
How does that relate to me being uncomfortable? Because of how it's tricking me into thinking I'm still fat, when I'm obviously not.
It makes me laugh, in a macabre sort of way, that there's those thinspo groups out there promoting ED's as a way of life, saying that "once you're thin enough, you can wear skimpy clothing, ect." Ha... newsflash, people: it does NOT matter how fucking skinny you get, you're still going to feel like a fat ass. I use to fantasize about wearing tight/revealing clothing once I was "thin enough"... and still sometimes do. But the reality is, I hide my body. I'm thoroughly ashamed of it. I still think I'm too fat (despite knowing otherwise) to be wearing form fitting or revealing clothing. Heck, that's one reason I love cold weather so much; it means I can hide in layers and hoodies.
Bottom line is, I still feel very uncomfortable in my body, and it makes me excessively anxious... hence me turning to manage it in some not so practical ways...
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Note to Self: You Don't Always Need Permission
Sonofaf*ckingbiscuit.
I started this blog, as well as my tumblr, because I often feel that in the "real" world, I do not have much of a voice. I have been a shy, quiet, ANXIOUS introvert my whole entire life. I have always been obedient, the rule-follower, the peace-maker. Although I don't like being bossed around exactly, and I'd like to think I'm somewhat independent, I've always preferred to be given instruction. Teachers told me what to do, and I did it. Professors told me what to do, and I did it. Employers told me what to do... you get the picture.
Although I feel like I've been doing an okay job at trying to be honest and really say what I'm feeling, I know I also hold back a lot as well. I edit obsessively. I read, and re-read things to make sure they sound right. I delete something if I think it sounds lame or stupid. Believe me, ever since I published my previous post, I've been debating whether or not I should delete it.
Basically, I'm always worried about being judged, and I'm always concerned about having validation.
You know the saying, "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all?" Well, I take that to the extreme. I feel if I don't have something important, relevant, ect. I shouldn't be saying it.
But this is my blog. This is my voice. It matters, and is relevant, because it's mine.
So my new goal is to try and remember that if I feel like writing about something... I should. Write about it, and not worry that it's stupid or that people are judging me. I know that worry will probably stay on the back burner in my mind, but I need to suck it up and just write anyways.
Here's to less self-censored blogging :)
By the way, I should also mention, I electronically met a new friend who planted these thoughts in my head :) Ah, the internet... Tessa, if you read this, thank you for the kind encouragement <3 I so needed it!
I started this blog, as well as my tumblr, because I often feel that in the "real" world, I do not have much of a voice. I have been a shy, quiet, ANXIOUS introvert my whole entire life. I have always been obedient, the rule-follower, the peace-maker. Although I don't like being bossed around exactly, and I'd like to think I'm somewhat independent, I've always preferred to be given instruction. Teachers told me what to do, and I did it. Professors told me what to do, and I did it. Employers told me what to do... you get the picture.
Although I feel like I've been doing an okay job at trying to be honest and really say what I'm feeling, I know I also hold back a lot as well. I edit obsessively. I read, and re-read things to make sure they sound right. I delete something if I think it sounds lame or stupid. Believe me, ever since I published my previous post, I've been debating whether or not I should delete it.
Basically, I'm always worried about being judged, and I'm always concerned about having validation.
You know the saying, "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all?" Well, I take that to the extreme. I feel if I don't have something important, relevant, ect. I shouldn't be saying it.
But this is my blog. This is my voice. It matters, and is relevant, because it's mine.
So my new goal is to try and remember that if I feel like writing about something... I should. Write about it, and not worry that it's stupid or that people are judging me. I know that worry will probably stay on the back burner in my mind, but I need to suck it up and just write anyways.
Here's to less self-censored blogging :)
By the way, I should also mention, I electronically met a new friend who planted these thoughts in my head :) Ah, the internet... Tessa, if you read this, thank you for the kind encouragement <3 I so needed it!
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Midnight Sun: A Parallel
I feel so fucking trapped these days, and it only seems to get worse. Every. Single. Day. It's like I'm stuck in one of those rooms, where there's spikes on the walls, and they keep moving closer together. Or a lava pit in the center. Every single day, I wonder how much longer I can teeter on the edge before I fall into the lava.
The biggest worry of all, right now, is my relationship with Vuni.
Who's read Midnight Sun? *raises hand guiltily* I'm ashamed to admit that I enjoy the Twilight series... and I've read the partial draft of Midnight Sun (Twilight from Edward's perspective) that Stephenie Meyer posted on her official website. I'm feeling a lot like Edward these days... excessively torn.
I know I'm causing Vuni a lot of stress. I know I'm the majority of what's holding him back. I'm pretty convinced, although I haven't smoked around him (I almost never smoke anyways) or physically shoved a cigarette and lighter in his face, that I am the reason he started smoking again... after abstaining so well...
As I've said before, I feel like his parents do not think I am good enough for him (at the very least, I've been put on a pretty good guilt trip regarding not having a job by his mom...). Not only that, but recently, I've literally been having nightmares about his mom just up and chewing me out, telling me that I will never be good enough to deserve her amazing son. It's like I can never escape these thoughts of guilt, shame, and feeling worthless... not even in my sleep anymore. Horrifying.
If we didn't have financial issues (due to MY anxiety disorder), mine and Vuni's life together would be pretty darn awesome. Yes, even despite my anxiety disorder. I'm not trying to sound pessimistic, I'm being real: I don't ever remember NOT having extreme anxiety, so it's hard for me to imagine life without it. But I've had other periods of time in my life where I've been relatively happy and comfortable, despite the anxiety disorder.
Back to my point! If we didn't have financial issues, it'd eliminate A LOT of the problems we're currently dealing with. I haven't had a job in over a year now. Believe me, I feel immensely guilty about this; EXTREMELY. Vuni doesn't even want to think about "moving forward" in life with things going the way they are now.
Which is why I feel so awful... he'd probably be better off without me.
It's painful thinking that, it's painful typing that, it's all-around unfathomable. I'm a selfish, horrible bitch for what I'm doing to him. If I were a better, selfless person, and if I truly loved him, I'd let him get on with his life, without me, the train-wreck, prisoner-to-her-own-mind.
But I can't.
I know he has the freedom to leave; he himself has told me that he is with me because he loves me. And I'm grateful for this. I'm so thankful that he is able to love the girl behind the anxiety disorder.
Maybe this is why I like the Twilight series. Especially Midnight Sun... Edward disgusted with himself, for being a vampire and feeling undeserving of a human girl's love, but not being able to stay away from her. Not being able to walk away. Edward feeling like Bella is too good for him, and that she deserves so much more. Not having the strength to let go...
... but she loves him. She wants him; she doesn't want him to let go.
I'm feeling pretty ashamed of myself, being that I'm comparing my life to a damn vampire romance novel, but nonetheless...
I feel very much like Edward. I can't control the fact that I have an anxiety disorder (I sure as hell didn't ask to have one, and wouldn't wish it on ANYONE). I can control certain aspects of it (major thing I need to work on), but in the mean time, it's wreaking havoc on my life. I'm feeling utterly undeserving of the absolute most amazing person I've ever met... yet for some reason he loves me and wants me. A part of me is telling myself that he would be so much better off without me... but I know I would never have the strength to leave him. Probably because I'm too selfish... maybe because I'm too in love.
Because I love him more than anything. He's given me strength, when I felt like I couldn't cope. He gives me a reason to keep fighting; even when I feel like it's not worth it. He constantly reminds me that yes, there is a person behind the anxiety disorder, and she is very much worth loving.
The anxiety is my midnight; he is my sun.
The biggest worry of all, right now, is my relationship with Vuni.
Who's read Midnight Sun? *raises hand guiltily* I'm ashamed to admit that I enjoy the Twilight series... and I've read the partial draft of Midnight Sun (Twilight from Edward's perspective) that Stephenie Meyer posted on her official website. I'm feeling a lot like Edward these days... excessively torn.
I know I'm causing Vuni a lot of stress. I know I'm the majority of what's holding him back. I'm pretty convinced, although I haven't smoked around him (I almost never smoke anyways) or physically shoved a cigarette and lighter in his face, that I am the reason he started smoking again... after abstaining so well...
As I've said before, I feel like his parents do not think I am good enough for him (at the very least, I've been put on a pretty good guilt trip regarding not having a job by his mom...). Not only that, but recently, I've literally been having nightmares about his mom just up and chewing me out, telling me that I will never be good enough to deserve her amazing son. It's like I can never escape these thoughts of guilt, shame, and feeling worthless... not even in my sleep anymore. Horrifying.
If we didn't have financial issues (due to MY anxiety disorder), mine and Vuni's life together would be pretty darn awesome. Yes, even despite my anxiety disorder. I'm not trying to sound pessimistic, I'm being real: I don't ever remember NOT having extreme anxiety, so it's hard for me to imagine life without it. But I've had other periods of time in my life where I've been relatively happy and comfortable, despite the anxiety disorder.
Back to my point! If we didn't have financial issues, it'd eliminate A LOT of the problems we're currently dealing with. I haven't had a job in over a year now. Believe me, I feel immensely guilty about this; EXTREMELY. Vuni doesn't even want to think about "moving forward" in life with things going the way they are now.
Which is why I feel so awful... he'd probably be better off without me.
It's painful thinking that, it's painful typing that, it's all-around unfathomable. I'm a selfish, horrible bitch for what I'm doing to him. If I were a better, selfless person, and if I truly loved him, I'd let him get on with his life, without me, the train-wreck, prisoner-to-her-own-mind.
But I can't.
I know he has the freedom to leave; he himself has told me that he is with me because he loves me. And I'm grateful for this. I'm so thankful that he is able to love the girl behind the anxiety disorder.
Maybe this is why I like the Twilight series. Especially Midnight Sun... Edward disgusted with himself, for being a vampire and feeling undeserving of a human girl's love, but not being able to stay away from her. Not being able to walk away. Edward feeling like Bella is too good for him, and that she deserves so much more. Not having the strength to let go...
... but she loves him. She wants him; she doesn't want him to let go.
I'm feeling pretty ashamed of myself, being that I'm comparing my life to a damn vampire romance novel, but nonetheless...
I feel very much like Edward. I can't control the fact that I have an anxiety disorder (I sure as hell didn't ask to have one, and wouldn't wish it on ANYONE). I can control certain aspects of it (major thing I need to work on), but in the mean time, it's wreaking havoc on my life. I'm feeling utterly undeserving of the absolute most amazing person I've ever met... yet for some reason he loves me and wants me. A part of me is telling myself that he would be so much better off without me... but I know I would never have the strength to leave him. Probably because I'm too selfish... maybe because I'm too in love.
Because I love him more than anything. He's given me strength, when I felt like I couldn't cope. He gives me a reason to keep fighting; even when I feel like it's not worth it. He constantly reminds me that yes, there is a person behind the anxiety disorder, and she is very much worth loving.
The anxiety is my midnight; he is my sun.
"My life was an unending, unchanging midnight... so how was it possible that the sun was rising now, in the middle of my midnight?" Edward, from Midnight SunI'll probably write more about this (the issues between Vuni and I) at a later time, but for now, I'm pretty shocked that I was able to draw these parallels. Maybe I'm crazy. If you're feeling sappy, and are interested, here's the link to Midnight Sun. I like it much better than Twilight ;)
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Taking The Bad With The Good
Last weekend Vuni and I went on a short little trip; his ska band had an out-of-town gig that was a 6 hour drive away.
I don't know what's wrong with me, but for as long as I can remember, I have never truly been able to just relax on vacations and getaways, no matter how small they are. I feel riddled with guilt, for some reason; I worry about the kitties back home (I'm lucky enough to say that I've always had a cat in my life ;), but I also worry a lot about money... even if I know that certain money has been saved up/set aside for the trip! Ridiculous.
Anyway, we left town at about 12:30 last Saturday, with the guitarist, drummer, and a bunch of gear in tow. I was determined to learn how to crochet on this little trip. I sat in the passenger's seat with a crochet hook, a tiny pair of scissors, some yarn, a "Crochet for Beginners" book, and Vuni's iPhone so I could watch YouTube how-tos. About an hour before we hit our destination and with aching fingers, I more or less had the gist of it... but I also had to take many photo breaks:
Between crocheting and the breathtaking scenery, it did NOT feel like a 6 hour drive.
We arrived plenty early, so we secured a parking spot at the bar the band's gig was at, then walked downtown to find a place to eat. I wasn't too keen on this. Anyone with an eating disorder can confirm that vacations really agitate the ED... especially if you're really routine driven. Major step out of the comfort zone. But also... I really, really don't like going out to eat as it is. I just feel guilty.
I would've been content, in all honesty, going to McDonalds. (I love the Southwest Salads, sans chicken and dressing, yum yum!) We instead ending up at a fancy and expensive Italian restaurant... where I ironically ordered a flipping $8 Greek salad. After we left there, we wandered by an Indian cuisine restaurant, and I excitedly exclaimed, "Oh! Too bad we didn't see this place first!"
To which Vuni said, "Why? So you could get a salad at an Indian restaurant?"
This stung a little. I wasn't mad at Vuni, because, well, he spoke the truth. But it reminded me of the reasons why I don't like going out to eat in the first place:
1.) I'm terrified of ordering anything other than a salad. ED aside, and I'd probably still be too afraid to get anything besides a salad. I like that everything is fresh and uncooked, and I can easily and clearly see everything, unlike a casserole or something... mostly because I've been a vegetarian for a good majority of my life, and I'm paranoid about my food being cooked/prepared with any meat or meat products.
2.) The fact that I do always get a salad... and when we go to a nice restaurant, it usually is an $8+ meal. For freaking vegetables, sometimes some cheese and/or nuts, and a little dressing. Fuck I feel guilty...
Anyway, we headed back to the bar. Due to a bunch of bullshit band drama caused by ONE band member (mostly stemming from his under [drinking] age girlfriend), they got started an hour behind schedule. This wasn't cool to Vuni and I, who had another 2-2.5 hour drive ahead of us after the show (Vuni wanted to play in a poker tournament the next morning in a town that was 4 hour drive away, so we booked our hotel a city in between).
As I said in my previous post, I was being tortured by the urge to drink. It was a big bar, packed with people, and I felt super lame because this was a 21-and-over show, so I was probably the only person in the crowd not drinking.
Then, some freaking creep came and stood next to me. I edged away from him, but he moved closer and started talking to me; I could immediately tell he was pretty damn tipsy. He said something like, "Don't move, I wanted to come watch them with you," I gave him a quick half smile but didn't say anything. He tried talking some more, but I could hear him too well because the music was so loud. Finally I heard him ask if I knew the band, to which I proudly said, "yes, the bass player is my boyfriend." He didn't seem to like that- at all. His friendly demeanor changed to sullen, and he went quiet for a few minutes.
I tried edging away some more, but I really didn't want to move; I was right at the side of the stage, Vuni and I could easily make eye contact, I was close to the door and bouncer, and had easy access to the restrooms. A prime spot to plant myself. The creep kept edging closer to me though.
I'm not good at dealing with over-friendly, space bubble invading, drunk weirdos. Never have been. This guy was really creeping me out, too. He keep trying to talk to me, and then, started touching me. Putting his arm around me and touching me on the shoulder. I was getting really freaked out, and wanted to escape... but I also didn't want him following me, and I was too chicken to grab the bouncer's attention. I was able to seize my chance when he turned back to the bar to order another beer; I acted like I was heading to the bathroom, then I ducked down behind a crowd of people, and snuck out the door. I moved as fast as I could, went around the side of the bar, and waited a few minutes (with my thumb over the panic button on the car opener) to make sure I wasn't followed. Then I locked myself in the van, and waited until Vuni was finished. Needless to say, he was a little angry about my admirer. I was just creeped out, and happy to be away from him.
Vuni and I departed for our hotel, sans drummer and guitarist (they were staying there, and had other riding arrangements). We figured we'd arrive at our hotel sometime between 1:30-2 am.
We passed through several tunnels on the way there. Funny, we both held our breaths (yes, at ages 24 and 25) to make wishes at the end...
On this drive through the pitch black, listening and singing along to Weird Al (we've been on a major Weird Al kick since seeing him in concert not too long ago), and just enjoying one another's company, I fell in love with Vuni all over again.
I think maybe that's one of the important things about relationships not being perfect. Vuni and I have lived together for just over a year, and it's been our most difficult (out of 5) yet... but nights like the night of this drive make all of the hardships so worth it. I'm reminded of why we're in love; it's the reward a million times over for making it through the rough times. When we first started dating, and I had admitted to him all of the shit I'd been through and that I still had a long road ahead of me, he told me, "I'll be here for you, sitting in your passenger's seat." I don't mean to sound all sappy, but really, despite all of the crap I've dealt with, and how fucked up many other areas of my life are right now... I have Vuni. I love him SO much, it's unreal. Like, how is it possible to love someone so much that you can't describe it in any measurable quantity?
And since I'm being sickeningly romantic... I'll throw in a Twilight reference, and say that that drive, that night, had to go on my list of top favorite nights of my life. My heart was just overflowing with exhilarating, overwhelming love for this boy <3 It made dealing with the feelings of wanting to drink and dealing with that idiot at the bar SO worth it... plus there was the anticipation of locking ourselves in our hotel room :D
We arrived at our hotel shortly before 2 am. I swear I live for the loving, sexy, pre-sleep cuddle sessions with Vuni :D Our hotel was amazing, BTW:
I don't know what's wrong with me, but for as long as I can remember, I have never truly been able to just relax on vacations and getaways, no matter how small they are. I feel riddled with guilt, for some reason; I worry about the kitties back home (I'm lucky enough to say that I've always had a cat in my life ;), but I also worry a lot about money... even if I know that certain money has been saved up/set aside for the trip! Ridiculous.
Anyway, we left town at about 12:30 last Saturday, with the guitarist, drummer, and a bunch of gear in tow. I was determined to learn how to crochet on this little trip. I sat in the passenger's seat with a crochet hook, a tiny pair of scissors, some yarn, a "Crochet for Beginners" book, and Vuni's iPhone so I could watch YouTube how-tos. About an hour before we hit our destination and with aching fingers, I more or less had the gist of it... but I also had to take many photo breaks:
Between crocheting and the breathtaking scenery, it did NOT feel like a 6 hour drive.
We arrived plenty early, so we secured a parking spot at the bar the band's gig was at, then walked downtown to find a place to eat. I wasn't too keen on this. Anyone with an eating disorder can confirm that vacations really agitate the ED... especially if you're really routine driven. Major step out of the comfort zone. But also... I really, really don't like going out to eat as it is. I just feel guilty.
I would've been content, in all honesty, going to McDonalds. (I love the Southwest Salads, sans chicken and dressing, yum yum!) We instead ending up at a fancy and expensive Italian restaurant... where I ironically ordered a flipping $8 Greek salad. After we left there, we wandered by an Indian cuisine restaurant, and I excitedly exclaimed, "Oh! Too bad we didn't see this place first!"
To which Vuni said, "Why? So you could get a salad at an Indian restaurant?"
This stung a little. I wasn't mad at Vuni, because, well, he spoke the truth. But it reminded me of the reasons why I don't like going out to eat in the first place:
1.) I'm terrified of ordering anything other than a salad. ED aside, and I'd probably still be too afraid to get anything besides a salad. I like that everything is fresh and uncooked, and I can easily and clearly see everything, unlike a casserole or something... mostly because I've been a vegetarian for a good majority of my life, and I'm paranoid about my food being cooked/prepared with any meat or meat products.
2.) The fact that I do always get a salad... and when we go to a nice restaurant, it usually is an $8+ meal. For freaking vegetables, sometimes some cheese and/or nuts, and a little dressing. Fuck I feel guilty...
Anyway, we headed back to the bar. Due to a bunch of bullshit band drama caused by ONE band member (mostly stemming from his under [drinking] age girlfriend), they got started an hour behind schedule. This wasn't cool to Vuni and I, who had another 2-2.5 hour drive ahead of us after the show (Vuni wanted to play in a poker tournament the next morning in a town that was 4 hour drive away, so we booked our hotel a city in between).
As I said in my previous post, I was being tortured by the urge to drink. It was a big bar, packed with people, and I felt super lame because this was a 21-and-over show, so I was probably the only person in the crowd not drinking.
Then, some freaking creep came and stood next to me. I edged away from him, but he moved closer and started talking to me; I could immediately tell he was pretty damn tipsy. He said something like, "Don't move, I wanted to come watch them with you," I gave him a quick half smile but didn't say anything. He tried talking some more, but I could hear him too well because the music was so loud. Finally I heard him ask if I knew the band, to which I proudly said, "yes, the bass player is my boyfriend." He didn't seem to like that- at all. His friendly demeanor changed to sullen, and he went quiet for a few minutes.
I tried edging away some more, but I really didn't want to move; I was right at the side of the stage, Vuni and I could easily make eye contact, I was close to the door and bouncer, and had easy access to the restrooms. A prime spot to plant myself. The creep kept edging closer to me though.
I'm not good at dealing with over-friendly, space bubble invading, drunk weirdos. Never have been. This guy was really creeping me out, too. He keep trying to talk to me, and then, started touching me. Putting his arm around me and touching me on the shoulder. I was getting really freaked out, and wanted to escape... but I also didn't want him following me, and I was too chicken to grab the bouncer's attention. I was able to seize my chance when he turned back to the bar to order another beer; I acted like I was heading to the bathroom, then I ducked down behind a crowd of people, and snuck out the door. I moved as fast as I could, went around the side of the bar, and waited a few minutes (with my thumb over the panic button on the car opener) to make sure I wasn't followed. Then I locked myself in the van, and waited until Vuni was finished. Needless to say, he was a little angry about my admirer. I was just creeped out, and happy to be away from him.
Vuni and I departed for our hotel, sans drummer and guitarist (they were staying there, and had other riding arrangements). We figured we'd arrive at our hotel sometime between 1:30-2 am.
We passed through several tunnels on the way there. Funny, we both held our breaths (yes, at ages 24 and 25) to make wishes at the end...
On this drive through the pitch black, listening and singing along to Weird Al (we've been on a major Weird Al kick since seeing him in concert not too long ago), and just enjoying one another's company, I fell in love with Vuni all over again.
I think maybe that's one of the important things about relationships not being perfect. Vuni and I have lived together for just over a year, and it's been our most difficult (out of 5) yet... but nights like the night of this drive make all of the hardships so worth it. I'm reminded of why we're in love; it's the reward a million times over for making it through the rough times. When we first started dating, and I had admitted to him all of the shit I'd been through and that I still had a long road ahead of me, he told me, "I'll be here for you, sitting in your passenger's seat." I don't mean to sound all sappy, but really, despite all of the crap I've dealt with, and how fucked up many other areas of my life are right now... I have Vuni. I love him SO much, it's unreal. Like, how is it possible to love someone so much that you can't describe it in any measurable quantity?
And since I'm being sickeningly romantic... I'll throw in a Twilight reference, and say that that drive, that night, had to go on my list of top favorite nights of my life. My heart was just overflowing with exhilarating, overwhelming love for this boy <3 It made dealing with the feelings of wanting to drink and dealing with that idiot at the bar SO worth it... plus there was the anticipation of locking ourselves in our hotel room :D
We arrived at our hotel shortly before 2 am. I swear I live for the loving, sexy, pre-sleep cuddle sessions with Vuni :D Our hotel was amazing, BTW:
To the North...
To the South
We got ready, got coffee and gas-ola, and headed to the casino for Vuni's tournament. While he was playing, I was working on my crochet, and lo and behold... one of the dealers (I think that's what she was?) helped me out! She corrected my mistakes and answered my concerns... so I can OFFICIALLY say that I know how to crochet now :D
It's amazing all that happened on this short little weekend getaway. It's a reminder that, anxiety disorder or sane (me... and Vuni ;), you have to learn to take the good with the bad; but that being said... "the good" (ahem... GREAT/AMAZING/AWESOME/SPECTACULAR/WONDERFUL) makes the bad all the worthwhile <3
Sunday, September 18, 2011
The Good Girl F*cked Up Biggest
Yesterday was my graduation party :) It got off to a rough start, thanks to my mom stressing out big time (although grateful, I told her not to overdo it!). Anyhoo, it ended up being pretty darn awesome :)
But as the party started to wind down, Vuni, my brother, Mick, and myself stood around munching the last remnants from the veggie tray and reminiscing about our teenage years, when I learned something that totally shook me up: my brother and his friends had done cocaine when they were younger.
This was over 5 (maybe even 6?) years ago; Mick has been clean & sober for years, and at almost 22, is a pretty damn successful merchandiser and journalism student. I'm so proud :)
I'm not at all mad at him for this discovery; it was so long ago, and he's left that life far behind, why should I be angry? I remember the time-frame when he was using drugs... it was really hard on my parents and I, but just assumed he was drinking and smoking weed. How naive am I?
The way this was reveled to me was even weirder; Vuni had recently told me about going to a party at Mick's friend Madi's house when he was younger (Mick, Vuni, and Madi all went to the same high school, Vuni a senior when they were freshmen). Vuni was only 17; Madi was 14, and she and her friends were doing cocaine at the party. While we were standing around yesterday, I told Vuni to tell Mick about this memory, since I was a little stunned to hear that Madi had done cocaine. Not only was my brother totally unfazed, but he revealed that he, himself, had at one time used it. I was utterly shocked.
"Did you know about this?!" I asked Vuni.
"Not exactly, but it doesn't surprise me,"
"So wait- out of the three people in this room, I'm the only one who has never done cocaine? I'm the only who's never done anything worse than smoke weed?!"
**Note- Vuni tried cocaine once roughly 10 years ago; that one experience was enough to scare him away.
"Yup."
"But.. what... how is that?"
"Because you are a good girl," Mick said.
"But it doesn't make any sense. I have always been the 'good girl'; I've never done anything worse than smoke weed, so why I am the one who fucked up worse than both of you put together?"
A day later, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all. Neither of them became addicted, over-dosed, or ended up in jail. Currently, they're both successful, hard-working, rational adults. I, on the other hand, graduated 9th in my class, did not touch a hint of alcohol/smokes/drugs until a month before my 19th birthday, and was an all around goody two-shoes. I didn't go out. I didn't cause trouble. I didn't talk back or mouth off; I was sweet, quiet, self-motivated and respectful... essentially, I was a "perfect" teenage daughter, as my brother called me.
Flash forward 7 years, and I'm a big hot mess, minus the "hot." True, I've never ended up in jail. But I've overdosed and landed in the ICU twice. I became an addict, and probably came pretty damn close to losing my life. Seriously. It's been almost a year, and I still feel sick to my stomach think about all of the "what-ifs?"... someone once told me that they think I have a guardian angel or something. I must. Something.
But regardless... my point is, they're successful. They're flourishing. I'm not. I often feel like one big fat fuck up. Jobless. Terrified of the world. Directionless. Attention span less than a 7-year-old who drank a can of caffeinated soda rather than take his ADHD pill. Always anxious...
Where did this good girl go wrong?
The anxiety.
It all goes back to the anxiety. The overdose, the eating issues, the drinking, the panic attacks on-the-job, the agoraphobia becoming ever-worse... all of these things have kept me from being successful. All of these things are a result of my anxiety disorder.
Because you know what? I am a good girl. I'm not perfect. I have moments when I can be lazy, bitchy, ungrateful... but by the end of the day, I've always been a good girl with heart-of-gold intentions. Anxiety really fucks things- and the sad thing is, it's so much harder to detect than you'd think. It's always been "Em is just extremely shy, but sooo good," or "Em starves herself because she's in need of control," "Em overdosed because she didn't know how to deal with having her heart broken," "Em drinks to loosen herself up/help her sleep..."
NO. Em does all that shit because of her anxiety- to cope, escape, act on urges... whatever, it all goes back to the anxiety.
So maybe I still have a LOT of work to do in regards to the anxiety- but you know what? I'm proud that I can identify all of this. I'm proud that I can separate myself from my anxiety, even with the irrational thoughts bombarding me- that I really do know that I am a "good girl." A year ago, I would have just thought of myself as one big fuck-up, no questions asked; I would see myself as a "bad" person, and therefor "punish" myself in some way or another. I'm not exactly proud of where I'm at in life... but! I have been sober for almost 10 months, I've just graduated from college... and I've been turning my life around. I've never given up, like I have so badly wanted to.
So maybe I have fucked up; but I'm a good girl, and I'm doing what I can to fix it.
But as the party started to wind down, Vuni, my brother, Mick, and myself stood around munching the last remnants from the veggie tray and reminiscing about our teenage years, when I learned something that totally shook me up: my brother and his friends had done cocaine when they were younger.
This was over 5 (maybe even 6?) years ago; Mick has been clean & sober for years, and at almost 22, is a pretty damn successful merchandiser and journalism student. I'm so proud :)
I'm not at all mad at him for this discovery; it was so long ago, and he's left that life far behind, why should I be angry? I remember the time-frame when he was using drugs... it was really hard on my parents and I, but just assumed he was drinking and smoking weed. How naive am I?
The way this was reveled to me was even weirder; Vuni had recently told me about going to a party at Mick's friend Madi's house when he was younger (Mick, Vuni, and Madi all went to the same high school, Vuni a senior when they were freshmen). Vuni was only 17; Madi was 14, and she and her friends were doing cocaine at the party. While we were standing around yesterday, I told Vuni to tell Mick about this memory, since I was a little stunned to hear that Madi had done cocaine. Not only was my brother totally unfazed, but he revealed that he, himself, had at one time used it. I was utterly shocked.
"Did you know about this?!" I asked Vuni.
"Not exactly, but it doesn't surprise me,"
"So wait- out of the three people in this room, I'm the only one who has never done cocaine? I'm the only who's never done anything worse than smoke weed?!"
**Note- Vuni tried cocaine once roughly 10 years ago; that one experience was enough to scare him away.
"Yup."
"But.. what... how is that?"
"Because you are a good girl," Mick said.
"But it doesn't make any sense. I have always been the 'good girl'; I've never done anything worse than smoke weed, so why I am the one who fucked up worse than both of you put together?"
A day later, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all. Neither of them became addicted, over-dosed, or ended up in jail. Currently, they're both successful, hard-working, rational adults. I, on the other hand, graduated 9th in my class, did not touch a hint of alcohol/smokes/drugs until a month before my 19th birthday, and was an all around goody two-shoes. I didn't go out. I didn't cause trouble. I didn't talk back or mouth off; I was sweet, quiet, self-motivated and respectful... essentially, I was a "perfect" teenage daughter, as my brother called me.
Flash forward 7 years, and I'm a big hot mess, minus the "hot." True, I've never ended up in jail. But I've overdosed and landed in the ICU twice. I became an addict, and probably came pretty damn close to losing my life. Seriously. It's been almost a year, and I still feel sick to my stomach think about all of the "what-ifs?"... someone once told me that they think I have a guardian angel or something. I must. Something.
But regardless... my point is, they're successful. They're flourishing. I'm not. I often feel like one big fat fuck up. Jobless. Terrified of the world. Directionless. Attention span less than a 7-year-old who drank a can of caffeinated soda rather than take his ADHD pill. Always anxious...
Where did this good girl go wrong?
The anxiety.
It all goes back to the anxiety. The overdose, the eating issues, the drinking, the panic attacks on-the-job, the agoraphobia becoming ever-worse... all of these things have kept me from being successful. All of these things are a result of my anxiety disorder.
Because you know what? I am a good girl. I'm not perfect. I have moments when I can be lazy, bitchy, ungrateful... but by the end of the day, I've always been a good girl with heart-of-gold intentions. Anxiety really fucks things- and the sad thing is, it's so much harder to detect than you'd think. It's always been "Em is just extremely shy, but sooo good," or "Em starves herself because she's in need of control," "Em overdosed because she didn't know how to deal with having her heart broken," "Em drinks to loosen herself up/help her sleep..."
NO. Em does all that shit because of her anxiety- to cope, escape, act on urges... whatever, it all goes back to the anxiety.
So maybe I still have a LOT of work to do in regards to the anxiety- but you know what? I'm proud that I can identify all of this. I'm proud that I can separate myself from my anxiety, even with the irrational thoughts bombarding me- that I really do know that I am a "good girl." A year ago, I would have just thought of myself as one big fuck-up, no questions asked; I would see myself as a "bad" person, and therefor "punish" myself in some way or another. I'm not exactly proud of where I'm at in life... but! I have been sober for almost 10 months, I've just graduated from college... and I've been turning my life around. I've never given up, like I have so badly wanted to.
So maybe I have fucked up; but I'm a good girl, and I'm doing what I can to fix it.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Catharsis: "Un-Friending" for My Sanity
Once upon a time, in land far far away in cyberspace called Facebook, I was adamant to send and receive as many friend requests as possible, change my status multiple times a day, and upload new pictures of myself frequently. Not anymore.
Why?
I absolutely despise what I believe Facebook has become: a place to be nosy as all hell. A place where you can pretend to care about someone because you're their "friend," but really, all you want is to dig up dirt on that person... you don't give a damn about them for real.
I've been guilty of doing that- I'm sure we all have- but it's been a long time.
At first, I was naive and thought it was a good thing, the way Facebook reconnects people and allows you to keep in touch with them. And yeah, it is a good thing- when it works out. For example- I have a friend whom I never really lost touch with, but we've grown apart. We've been friends since we were 8 years old, because our moms are extremely close. He and I are not close friends now, but I love him like a cousin, and I'm pretty sure he'll always be a part of my life... so he is my Facebook friend. We can check up on each other, because even though we're not super close, we genuinely care about each other, you know?
But then, there's people from high school who have added me. High school might as well have been called "Hell School"; my agoraphobia and anxiety, plus the stupid stereotypes of popularity contests and such made my high school experience a miserable one. I actually liked the learning and studying part; it was the social aspect that made it awful. By my senior year, I was hiding out in the library during lunch and only had two friends that I regularly talked to.
So at first, I thought it was kind of neat that people from high school would add me... and then I realized, they don't give a damn about me any more than they did in high school. They didn't want to "reconnect;" they wanted to stick their noses in my business and know if I'd gone the route of success, or was screwing up. I'm not saying I'm innocent as far as being mildly interested in what people are doing now... but I don't send them friend requests just so I can nose around their lives. Pathetic.
What breaks my heart is that I was close to a teacher in high school, Anna. When I graduated, she told me we couldn't stay in touch, at least initially, because of the weird conflict of interest thing. I thought that was a load of crap, but whatever. Earlier this year, nearly 7 years after I graduated HS, to my surprise, she sent me a friend request. I happily accepted. I sent her a message telling her how I was and asking her how she was, only to get a very vague response. Okkkay... so I sent her reply saying we should go get coffee and catch up. She agreed, but didn't give me a time as to when she was available, so I replied with "let me know when you have time." No response. I have heart surgery in June, and Vuni posted via my account to let everyone know that I'd come out from surgery ok. I get a message from Anna several days later, asking a bunch of questions about the surgery. WTF? I give a few vague answers, and once again, tell her that although I'm recovering and can't drive for awhile, my mom could pick me up and I could meet her for coffee to catch up. A week goes by. No response. Furious and hurt, I de-friended her. I couldn't believe it. This situation was absolute proof to me that she did not give a shit about me, but that all she wanted was to butt into my business. I was seriously so hurt.
Another thing that really, really bothers me is when I have been responsive to friends (commenting on their status or pictures) and they never extend the same courtesy. I realize (unlike MANY people) that FB is not a popularity contest, but when I interact with someone, I expect them to interact back with me at least every now and then. A perfect example is a kid named Rick that I went to school with. I loved the kid, thought he was funny and enjoyed commenting on his goofy statuses on FB... but I don't know that he EVER said anything to me on there. Finally, I decided I was sick of this one-sided "friendship" and since I was nearing my graduation and figured I wouldn't be seeing too much of him anymore, I unfriended him as well.
And then, there's friends like Jackie. Jackie was a lot like Rick; I felt as thought the friendship was pretty one sided, especially because Jackie lives half-way across the country, so our "friendship" was pretty much all in cyberspace.
What bothered me about Jackie is... she's WAY too personal. Now, you're may be thinking, Em what the hell? You're spilling all of these crazy thoughts of yours and insane situations you've been in, and you're criticizing someone for being TOO personal? Yes, but let me explain.
My blog is my blog, and it is specifically to share my experiences and thoughts as I try to navigate through life, dealing with both a severe anxiety disorder and potentially life-endangering heart conditions (what a combination...). It's here for people to read, if they want to. If they search for my blog, and decide they want to read it.
That is precisely why I had to delete Jackie; seeing as that things were already rough, with her not contributing much to our "friendship," I just got sick and tired of reading and seeing everything she was posting. She's a health snob- to the max. And while not excessively wealthy, she sure as hell acted like she was made of gold. So part of this is my own jealousy, and I can admit that. But it's a little hard to log onto FB and see her specifically bashing people who drink coffee from 7-11, just because she can afford a $4 cup of "real" Chai tea from Peets every day. It hurts just a little bit when she specifically talks shit about processed foods, just because she can afford to shop at Whole Foods and Trader Joes (while I shrink into the corner with my 18 cent cup of ramen...). And it makes me cringe in sadness and shame when she says that the only place she will buy her jeans at is Nordstroms. I bought a pair of jeans for the first time in months last week. Wanna know where I got them? From the thrift store. What set me over the edge is when she bashed aerobics videos... what the actual fuck? Good for you, that you're a stay at home mom, and can not only afford a membership to the poshest (her word, not mine) fitness club in your city, but that you have all the time in the world to go there and work out whenever, since they also have a super-amazing daycare. My mom, who works full time as 2nd grade teacher, and is involved with extracurricular stuff with the school, maintains quite a nice little body for being almost 50 years old and having a number of health problems... by getting up at 4:15 every morning and working out to various aerobics videos.
I'm not bashing Jackie for having certain opinions about things; what bothers me is that she is constantly sharing these opinions that are, quite frankly, offensive. They are to me (and I know I'm not the only one, as I have seen some people call her out on things here and there). It's not that I don't think people should share their opinions, but I think people need to think before they share their opinions because, let's face it, no matter what your privacy settings are, Facebook has become a pretty public "place." I actually had to delete one of my own cousins (this was several years ago) because she was shamelessly (and without thinking) posting stuff on political/social issues that I found EXTREMELY offensive. Even moreso, I was appalled that she'd just openly post this stuff on FB when she knows that a lot of our family doesn't share similar beliefs; to me, it was worse than if she were to stand on a crowded street corner with a sign and a megaphone.
So you see, I am not clogging up the NewsFeed of everyone who is on my Friends list with why my life is so much better than yours because I can afford everything to be all natural and top-notch (ha) or proclaiming that you are going to go to hell if you're sinning in ways a-b-c/x-y-z.
And then... these friends are the kinds that not everyone has: the triggering ones. People with eating disorders, you know what I'm talking about. For those of you who don't, "triggering" is pretty much as it sounds, someone who, through words or actions (and sadly, appearance) makes the ED voices go off like crazy. Makes you feel fat, want to lose weight, want to not eat, yadda yadda. I haven't had too many of these friends, but thought I'd bring it up, especially because I just de-friended one.
I was very torn about having to unfriend Stevie. I've known her for almost 5 years; we were in treatment together. She is a very sweet girl and a good person, but I've been driven to the edge. Again, part of it may be jealous or envy, but it blows my mind that she has been to some of the top treatment facilities in the country... and she makes no effort to get better. None. She constantly gushes about how she has the "best family in the world!," whom also happen to be very wealthy. She graduated from high school 3 years ago, but has only made it through 1.5 semesters of college. She has never had a job. So... I don't get it. Loving family, no financial worries, no job (so no job stress), and no school stress since her family is obviously (and rightly so) more concerned about her getting healthy before she continues her education. I obviously don't know the whole situation, but I know that I can't be the only one who would love to be in her position. How many people would love to be able to afford the best treatment? Would love to not have to worry about your job, or finances, and could just go and stay in treatment as long as it takes? Stevie spent almost 7 months at her most recent treatment center; a few months after her discharge, she looked as sickly and frail as she did pre-treatment facility. She's been to 5 different treatment facilities with multiple stints in 2 of them since I've known her.
It makes me so angry that Stevie has all of these great opportunities that so many people with eating/mental disorders could only dream of having, and she doesn't even make an effort. Doesn't give a damn, doesn't try. Well, I'm sick of it. It's frustrating as all hell, it's triggering to me, and I don't want to watch her kill herself; especially not when she has all of the money, tools, and support to get through this. So I de-friended her.
I don't know if all of this is a result of the agoraphobia/anxiety having worsening immensely over the past 1-1.5 years, or just the fact that it's the truth (ie, some "normal" people feel the same way). I've become very "quiet" on my FB, and don't post as much pictures as I use to, but regardlessly, I don't want looky-lous who don't give a damn about me nosing around my stuff. I'm sick of one-sided "friendships." I'm sick of FB being a world of too-much-info, where people blurt out random things without thinking about what they're saying and how it might affect their friends. And I for sure have no room for people in my life who are just going to trigger my ED thoughts. Seriously, Facebook seems like a big, online high school, full of drama, immaturity, and acting before thinking.
So why don't I just delete my account? Because... there are some people, specifically long distance, who I want to be FB friends with. I actually did voice my desire to possibly delete my account to one of these friends, but she convinced me otherwise.
I went on a massive deletion spree the other day; and I can say, with a MUCH shorter friend list... I'm feeling a hell of a lot better. Some people I didn't think twice about deleting. Others, like Jackie and Stevie, were much more painful. I actually questioned myself after the matter: did I do the right thing? In my heart, I know I did. Neither girl is a bad person by any means, but they're not good for me. When I get more frustration and anger out of a "friendship" than I do joy and there's no indication that things will improve... that's a sign it's time to go.
For anyone who uses Facebook for networking, I understand that :) For anyone who is the polar opposite of me (ie, not all uptight and paranoid) and doesn't mind casual FB friends, I give you kuddos. But that's not me. I have a hard enough time with people in real life; hiding behind my computer, I don't need crap in my online life. My FB friends don't need to be people I see often or am even very close to... but they have to be people I care about, and whom I know care about me too.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
You Fight Through That Shit ( I Heart Pulp Fiction, a moment of clarity)
Man oh man, did I have a roller-coaster Tower-of-Doom Sunday/Monday. The whole weekend was kinda crappy; if you read my previous post, you know it started out with Vuni and I not doing so hot. After we talked, kissed, and made up, I figured the rest of the weekend should go decent... I'd already dealt with my fair share of crap, right?
WRONG.
Not long after Mr. V and I make up, we smell something disgustingly familiar in our living room: cat piss. Immediately I begin to panic; I already know it's from EmmaBear, our 8-year-old Ragdoll. She's done this in the past; it's something that cats sometimes do when they're upset (we ruled out illness, and since we keep the THREE litter boxes immaculate, we know it's not a dirty littler box issue). For anyone who doesn't know this, cat pee not only stinks like hell, but it's a total B to try to clean the surface where the pee is and takes forever to remove the stench... and that's if you're lucky. When EmmaBear did this back at my parents' house, it took weeks before we could get the smell out of the carpet.
I cleaned the carpet as well as I could, sprinkled the area with baking soda, and crossed my finger it would be a one-time deal. This was Saturday night.
Sunday evening, we come home from being gone all day (doing laundry, oh joy), and right in the middle of the baking-soda covered carpet is a yellow patch. Furious, I grabbed EmmaBear, took her over to the pee spot, said "NO!" and began carrying her to the stairs so I could take her down to the litter boxes. I flicked on the light leading down to the basement, and what is sitting on the top stair?
A HUGE f*cking spider :(
I began screaming at the top of my lungs without even thinking; Emma clawed her way out of my grip, leaving stinging talon marks on my face, chest, and arms, and Vuni came to my rescue, slightly panicking in fear of my screams.
So I'm shaken up from the cat pee and the spider. We decide to calm down by taking a shower. Vuni heads into the bathroom to start it, only no water comes out. He tried the sink, then the kitchen sink. No water. Vuni called his sister Krisi to see if the water was working at his parents' house. Yup, it worked fine there. Great. Is this a nightmare? I'm hot, itchy, and I just feel dirty after cleaning up pee.
We called the water company; a water mane (main?) was busted down the street, but they were sending someone out to work on it. It's like, 9:30 at night. And no water. Fantastic.
I stayed up until 2:00 AM worrying about Emma and the water, getting up to test the faucet every 30 minutes or so. Once the water came spurting out of the faucet shortly after 2, I stayed up another hour, still worrying about Emma. A cat peeing outside of her litter box may or may not be a big deal to you, but any cat lover knows just how big of a dilemma this is. Not to mention, I was feeling like a horrible mother; Emma was stressed out, that's why she was doing this.
After very little, off-and-on sleep, I rolled out of bed on Monday morning right as Vuni was leaving for work (already a bad start to my day, as I don't like getting up late). Immediately walking into the living room, I knew it smelled off. I go over to The Spot (which, we had moved a chair over it, both to keep Emma off and let the carpet/new layer of baking soda dry), and find not one, but TWO new reeking wet spots. Furious and exasperated (and desperately wanting to hit something in frustration), I called my mom (at work), absolutely hysterical. She did her best to calm me down, and suggested I stick Emma in the bathroom with one of the litter boxes. I did so, had a brief text message conversation with Vuni ("Why does life just seem to keep getting worse? I fucking hate myself right now!" <--Me "Well, I love you very much right now. We are going to be okay."), and then paused to evaluate the situation.
In all honesty, I was feeling SO OVERWHELMED... there are no words to really describe how bad it was. I could easily compare it to the time I attempted suicide. I want to save the suicide story for another time, but basically... I was feeling so hopeless and overwhelmed, I did not know how to deal with those emotions and thoughts nor did I want to, so in a desperate attempt to not feel... I downed a bottle of pills. At the time, I didn't think I could handle life getting any worse, but I didn't see how it could get any better. I didn't want to die, but I was terrified and really couldn't imagine things would improve and that I could one day be happy again.
Standing there evaluating, I was desperately wanting to do something to deal with the pain. I feel like I have been working so hard to turn my life around, as I've stressed in previous posts, yet things slowly only get worse. Health problems and illness. Being denied food assistance, despite relying on our parents to feed us,like, 50% of the time. Waiting to be approved for disability. Obvious money problems. Relationship issues (though, thankfully, those always seem to work out). Constant, overwhelming anxiety. Now, worrying about my beloved cat. Worrying that I'm a bad mom, worrying that if she doesn't start behaving... I might have to ask my brother to take her, at least for awhile...? Unimagineable. I wanted to do something, anything; binge and purge, exercise until I passed out, down some vodka, smoke... even cutting crossed my mind. Cutting, which I hate admitting I ever did; it's embarrassing (even moreso since it seemed to be a trendy emo thing for a minute, and it is NOT trendy). I have only cut once since my teenage years (and that was while I was one drink shy of being blackout drunk), but I have never forgotten the disgusting "high" it gave me.
Now why do I love Pulp Fiction (which I only just happened to see)? Other than Quentin Tarantino's non-linear storyline style being reminding me of my often non-linear style of writing (which always seems to come together in the end), I feel like I can really relate to Samuel L. Jackson's character, Jules, in a way. The hardcore, badass, fearless gangster has a single "moment of clarity" that makes him want to abandon his life of crime.
Yesterday was one of those times. I wanted to take the easy way out; I wanted to numb myself and not have to think. That is how I've always been; I run when it comes to dealing with unpleasant thoughts and feelings. Run, or numb myself. I may never be able to escape the anxiety, but just like Jules knows he doesn't have to stay stuck in a life of crime, I know that I don't have to spend myself running and using negative methods to cope... which brings me to another Pulp Fiction quote:
So I allowed myself to stand there and fume, cry, and irrationalize for a few minutes. I fantasized about drinking, cutting, smoking, ect. All of the things that would never help me. All of the things that would only hurt me. And then- I fought through that shit. I remembered all of the horrible things that I have experienced in the past, thanks to negative "coping" methods. I convinced myself that if I were to drink or whatever, it would only be a repeat of the past. I thought of how someone once told me they thought I must have a guardian angel; I've had a couple of close life-and-death calls (I'm truly convinced that surviving my suicide attempt was a miracle), so I thought of how lucky I am to still be here. Not only am I still here, but I have a wonderful loving boyfriend, amazing parents, two ornery but very sweet kitty cats, an outstanding brother, a roof over my head, all of the basic comforts in life, and a small network of people who truly care about me. I have a lot; a lot to fight for.
So despite the shitty events of the weekend, and the cloud of uncertainty that has been hanging over my head, I decided that being strong and rational was the way to go. I drank a big glass of water, had a berry smoothie, got ready, and went about my day.
I was going to blog about all of this last night... but after the crazy events and lack of sleep over the past few days, I fell asleep while Vuni and I were watching Pulp Fiction; I dozed off maybe half an hour into it. Today, I understand why; I needed to watch the rest of the movie. I was born an artist, and appreciate all kinds of art, from music to painting to film. I love it when I can relate to art, hence my excitement over Pulp Fiction. Who'da thunk? This timid little ball of anxiety relating to a graphic gangsta film. Strange, but true. I honestly love how Jules has such a realization; how he saw a accidental stroke of sheer luck as a miracle, and it impacted him enough to make him want to change. I don't mean to get all philosophical/spiritual, but that makes me think of all of the little miracles that happen in life; all that have happened in my life, from meeting Vuni by random chance, to realizing I'm strong enough to deal with emotions that I, at one time, would rather harm myself than feel.
Life may suck sometimes, and it may feel like I've been stuck in a rut for awhile without seeing any way out, but the miracles and moments of clarity... they make it worth fighting though all of that shit.
WRONG.
Not long after Mr. V and I make up, we smell something disgustingly familiar in our living room: cat piss. Immediately I begin to panic; I already know it's from EmmaBear, our 8-year-old Ragdoll. She's done this in the past; it's something that cats sometimes do when they're upset (we ruled out illness, and since we keep the THREE litter boxes immaculate, we know it's not a dirty littler box issue). For anyone who doesn't know this, cat pee not only stinks like hell, but it's a total B to try to clean the surface where the pee is and takes forever to remove the stench... and that's if you're lucky. When EmmaBear did this back at my parents' house, it took weeks before we could get the smell out of the carpet.
I cleaned the carpet as well as I could, sprinkled the area with baking soda, and crossed my finger it would be a one-time deal. This was Saturday night.
Sunday evening, we come home from being gone all day (doing laundry, oh joy), and right in the middle of the baking-soda covered carpet is a yellow patch. Furious, I grabbed EmmaBear, took her over to the pee spot, said "NO!" and began carrying her to the stairs so I could take her down to the litter boxes. I flicked on the light leading down to the basement, and what is sitting on the top stair?
A HUGE f*cking spider :(
I began screaming at the top of my lungs without even thinking; Emma clawed her way out of my grip, leaving stinging talon marks on my face, chest, and arms, and Vuni came to my rescue, slightly panicking in fear of my screams.
So I'm shaken up from the cat pee and the spider. We decide to calm down by taking a shower. Vuni heads into the bathroom to start it, only no water comes out. He tried the sink, then the kitchen sink. No water. Vuni called his sister Krisi to see if the water was working at his parents' house. Yup, it worked fine there. Great. Is this a nightmare? I'm hot, itchy, and I just feel dirty after cleaning up pee.
We called the water company; a water mane (main?) was busted down the street, but they were sending someone out to work on it. It's like, 9:30 at night. And no water. Fantastic.
I stayed up until 2:00 AM worrying about Emma and the water, getting up to test the faucet every 30 minutes or so. Once the water came spurting out of the faucet shortly after 2, I stayed up another hour, still worrying about Emma. A cat peeing outside of her litter box may or may not be a big deal to you, but any cat lover knows just how big of a dilemma this is. Not to mention, I was feeling like a horrible mother; Emma was stressed out, that's why she was doing this.
After very little, off-and-on sleep, I rolled out of bed on Monday morning right as Vuni was leaving for work (already a bad start to my day, as I don't like getting up late). Immediately walking into the living room, I knew it smelled off. I go over to The Spot (which, we had moved a chair over it, both to keep Emma off and let the carpet/new layer of baking soda dry), and find not one, but TWO new reeking wet spots. Furious and exasperated (and desperately wanting to hit something in frustration), I called my mom (at work), absolutely hysterical. She did her best to calm me down, and suggested I stick Emma in the bathroom with one of the litter boxes. I did so, had a brief text message conversation with Vuni ("Why does life just seem to keep getting worse? I fucking hate myself right now!" <--Me "Well, I love you very much right now. We are going to be okay."), and then paused to evaluate the situation.
In all honesty, I was feeling SO OVERWHELMED... there are no words to really describe how bad it was. I could easily compare it to the time I attempted suicide. I want to save the suicide story for another time, but basically... I was feeling so hopeless and overwhelmed, I did not know how to deal with those emotions and thoughts nor did I want to, so in a desperate attempt to not feel... I downed a bottle of pills. At the time, I didn't think I could handle life getting any worse, but I didn't see how it could get any better. I didn't want to die, but I was terrified and really couldn't imagine things would improve and that I could one day be happy again.
Standing there evaluating, I was desperately wanting to do something to deal with the pain. I feel like I have been working so hard to turn my life around, as I've stressed in previous posts, yet things slowly only get worse. Health problems and illness. Being denied food assistance, despite relying on our parents to feed us,like, 50% of the time. Waiting to be approved for disability. Obvious money problems. Relationship issues (though, thankfully, those always seem to work out). Constant, overwhelming anxiety. Now, worrying about my beloved cat. Worrying that I'm a bad mom, worrying that if she doesn't start behaving... I might have to ask my brother to take her, at least for awhile...? Unimagineable. I wanted to do something, anything; binge and purge, exercise until I passed out, down some vodka, smoke... even cutting crossed my mind. Cutting, which I hate admitting I ever did; it's embarrassing (even moreso since it seemed to be a trendy emo thing for a minute, and it is NOT trendy). I have only cut once since my teenage years (and that was while I was one drink shy of being blackout drunk), but I have never forgotten the disgusting "high" it gave me.
Now why do I love Pulp Fiction (which I only just happened to see)? Other than Quentin Tarantino's non-linear storyline style being reminding me of my often non-linear style of writing (which always seems to come together in the end), I feel like I can really relate to Samuel L. Jackson's character, Jules, in a way. The hardcore, badass, fearless gangster has a single "moment of clarity" that makes him want to abandon his life of crime.
"Yeah, I was sitting here, eating my muffin and drinking my coffee, when I had what alcoholics refer to as a moment of clarity."I don't think I've had one single moment of clarity in my life; I've had times and experiences of clarity that are leading me to become a stronger, better person.
Yesterday was one of those times. I wanted to take the easy way out; I wanted to numb myself and not have to think. That is how I've always been; I run when it comes to dealing with unpleasant thoughts and feelings. Run, or numb myself. I may never be able to escape the anxiety, but just like Jules knows he doesn't have to stay stuck in a life of crime, I know that I don't have to spend myself running and using negative methods to cope... which brings me to another Pulp Fiction quote:
The night of the fight, you may feel a slight sting. That's pride fucking with you. Fuck pride. Pride only hurts. It never helps. You fight through that shit.Pride isn't my problem; but pride can be addictive and very negative, much like my vices. The irrational thoughts (of which pride can be an irrational thought), fuck with me. They never help me. And I have to FIGHT THROUGH THAT SHIT.
So I allowed myself to stand there and fume, cry, and irrationalize for a few minutes. I fantasized about drinking, cutting, smoking, ect. All of the things that would never help me. All of the things that would only hurt me. And then- I fought through that shit. I remembered all of the horrible things that I have experienced in the past, thanks to negative "coping" methods. I convinced myself that if I were to drink or whatever, it would only be a repeat of the past. I thought of how someone once told me they thought I must have a guardian angel; I've had a couple of close life-and-death calls (I'm truly convinced that surviving my suicide attempt was a miracle), so I thought of how lucky I am to still be here. Not only am I still here, but I have a wonderful loving boyfriend, amazing parents, two ornery but very sweet kitty cats, an outstanding brother, a roof over my head, all of the basic comforts in life, and a small network of people who truly care about me. I have a lot; a lot to fight for.
So despite the shitty events of the weekend, and the cloud of uncertainty that has been hanging over my head, I decided that being strong and rational was the way to go. I drank a big glass of water, had a berry smoothie, got ready, and went about my day.
I was going to blog about all of this last night... but after the crazy events and lack of sleep over the past few days, I fell asleep while Vuni and I were watching Pulp Fiction; I dozed off maybe half an hour into it. Today, I understand why; I needed to watch the rest of the movie. I was born an artist, and appreciate all kinds of art, from music to painting to film. I love it when I can relate to art, hence my excitement over Pulp Fiction. Who'da thunk? This timid little ball of anxiety relating to a graphic gangsta film. Strange, but true. I honestly love how Jules has such a realization; how he saw a accidental stroke of sheer luck as a miracle, and it impacted him enough to make him want to change. I don't mean to get all philosophical/spiritual, but that makes me think of all of the little miracles that happen in life; all that have happened in my life, from meeting Vuni by random chance, to realizing I'm strong enough to deal with emotions that I, at one time, would rather harm myself than feel.
Life may suck sometimes, and it may feel like I've been stuck in a rut for awhile without seeing any way out, but the miracles and moments of clarity... they make it worth fighting though all of that shit.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Love: It Ain't Easy (b*tching, reflecting, and pondering)
The best things in life may be "free," but they are only free in a monetary sense; the "best things" come at a much higher cost, in my opinion.
I'm specifically thinking about love/relationships.
Is this why so many marriages end in divorce? Because people rush into things without thinking about just how much effort truly needs to go into making a relationship work?
Forgive me for saying this, it truly is just my opinion, but I think people who simply believe their love is strong enough to get them through anything are full of shit- unless they're referring to the fact that love makes you a stronger, more selfless, more understanding, more-willing to compromise and sacrifice and deal with some really unpleasant emotions. I'm thinking of the people who assume that love is a faerie tale; that, because they're in so love, no problems will come their way, and if any do happen to, they can just magically get through that problem together, unscathed.
I'm one of those people who, at one time, believed that; it sounds really sappy, and I knew from the get-go that no relationship is perfect... I also know that my boyfriend and I are both very sweet and compassionate people, who despise drama and debate. With this thought in mind, I naively assumed that we wouldn't have too difficult of a time; that, even when problems came our way, our love itself would be strong enough to pull us through it.
The truth is, love, and a good, lasting relationship, is hard as hell. It's a lot of f*cking work. There are times it's going to be extremely painful. There are times when you'll question do I really belong with this person? Is it worth the effort? all while not being able to imagine life without them. I honestly believe this is why people fall apart. I mean, obviously, if two people don't work out, then the relationship does need to end... but when you are truly in love, and want things to work out, it's a whole different ball game. Somehow, I believe we are made to believe that love means things are easy; effortless (cough cough- Twilight Saga!). If you love each other, things will work out... yes and no.
There's so much compromise and sacrifice, so much thought and emotion, so much that needs to be understood, and taken into account. Love's not a simple thing by any means; it's complex, and my own relationship with Vuni is fool-proof evidence of that.
I'm a big-hearted, thoughtful romantic. Sweet, sentimental cards for the holidays (and sometimes just because), little surprises here and there, "I love you, my handsome!" and other adoring random text messages, babying when sick or after a hard day... just to name a few. Vuni... he's a sweetheart, but... not like that. I've finally learned to not expect much on Valentine's Day (no elaborately planned-out surprise dates, no flower and/or balloon deliveries, ect.) because he's just not into it (in fact, our first Vday together was quite painful; he did NOT enjoy my very sweet surprise to him, which I thought had been an awesome idea).
I am very high-strung (duh... anxiety); Vuni, on the other hand, is extremely mellow and go-with-the-flow. He adapts easily to change, and doesn't mind last minute, half-developed plans. As for myself? I'm neurotic about planning; a total control freak. I want to know when and where something is happening as soon as we know it's happening. I want to know all of the details as soon as possible; Vuni's okay with just knowing the date, and as the date approaches, the location. This type of thing is really important to us because of Vuni being a musician; his calendar is often filled up with gigs. Now, while the mellow/anxious polar oppositeness has caused friction, I should note that it has also been good for the relationship in some ways...
His mellow nature has taught me to loosen up somewhat; loosen up, because it's necessary. In the beginning of our relationship, I was a totally controlling bitch. If he wasn't with me, or at work or school, I wanted to know where he was, who he was with, how long he was going to be there... ect. That sounds so awful when reading it, but believe me when I say, a large part of that control-freakishness was/is due to the anxiety (though I realize that does NOT justify my behavior). I was worried about him, and a tiny part of me was worried about him cheating. I was horrible, however. Sometimes when he'd be out with friends, I'd call him and keep him on the phone for a really long time, preventing him from enjoying his time out. Now, five years in, I've learned to be so much better about things. I obviously still like to know where he's going to be and (if it's something like a gig) for how long, but I don't nag him constantly; all I ask is that, in order to keep my anxious imagination from running haywire, he check in with me to let me know he's doing okay. (When I say I worry about him, I'm serious- I worry about everything under the sun, from car wrecks to drunks to him getting drunk... all stuff I really should not be worrying about).
***Disclaimer: things are about to get very raw & honest. No sugar-coating from this usually sweet little anxiety girl!
So this brings me to why I'm writing this post; we got in another "argument," though it wasn't really an argument at all. He had a gig last night; I debated going to it, but decided against it. His ska band was playing at the fair, and yesterday was opening day. Opening day at the fair = lots of people. Lots of drinking. Lots of drunk people. Not my cup of tea on a normal day, but as it was, I was having a really hard time, depressed about our/my current situation and anxiously anticipating an important medical evaluation (which took place this morning).
They were going to play from 8-11, so I assumed he'd be home around midnight, maybe 12:30. As he was getting ready, he asked me what he should wear, because he needed to "look cool." I responded teasingly with, "it doesn't matter, you're always cool... and who do you need to impress anyways?" When he left around 6, I reminded him, as I always do when he goes out at night without me, "keep in touch with me please!" He knew I was not doing too well; sad, stressed, and anxious... that today's med eval was a HUGE deal... anyone would be anxious about it.
If the tables were turned, and he were spending the evening alone, sad, stressed, and anxious, he'd be on my mind, no matter what I was doing. I'd want to check in with him, make sure he was doing okay, ect. I wouldn't want my worrying of him to put a damper on my evening (though it probably would, but that's just because I'm me and I worry too much), but I'd want to make sure he was doing alright, all things considered. And I'd just want to hear his voice...
I guess I assumed that, despite him being so cool with his band and shit (yes! I am being a bitter bitch!), he'd still find the time to engage in a text conversation or maybe even call me (just once!) to hear my voice and make sure I was having a decent evening. In the 7+ hours he was gone, he text me twice on his own; a total of four or five all together, with his responses to my texts. (TMI- I was trying to engage him in a little bit of sexting before they started... and only got quick, seemingly bored responses... after I was such a good, loving girlfriend to him, despite being sad/anxious which initially meant I was not "in the mood", earlier in the evening before he left me all alone for the night). Forget being on the back burner; I probably wasn't even on the stove. He was too busy in his Elite Super Cool Musician Club, entertaining his adoring fans and getting his much needed attention. He text me once before they started, and once during a break, to check on me.
I was hurt and exhausted by 11:15; I figured any time after this, he'd text or call me. Eleven-thirty rolls around. Do I call/text him? No... the fair is bustling and chaotic, I'll let him contact me; he will once things settle down, even though he should've by now. It was about 11:45 when I last glanced at my phone before dozing off on the couch (I mean, come on, my appointment was at 8:30 this morning- I needed to sleep, especially since I hadn't really the night before).
I woke up very suddenly to a dead quiet house, and the first thing I realized was that Vuni was home; his gear was right in front of me (he was in the bathroom). I glance at my phone- 1:30. No calls. No texts. I felt a rush of intense pain and sadness was over me like a giant wave, pulling me under the waters of swirling thoughts:
Why is he home so late? Why didn't he contact me? Was he having so much fun that I didn't matter? That he didn't even think of me? Or is it that, when he's with The Super Elite Musicians Club, I'm too below him? Is a couple of minutes out of 7+ hours he was gone really too much to spare, and am I not worth them? Doesn't he think of me at all? Especially knowing the state I was in... Did I do something wrong? Am I physically/sexually unsatisfying? Not satisfying enough? I told him I wanted him to hold me and cuddle me when I got home... that's obviously not a motivation for him to get home soon. Was he avoiding that? Was he avoiding it because he didn't want to just cuddle, or was he worried that I was going to start whining? Were there prettier/talented/smarter/BETTER girls there, fawning over him? Am I just not worth giving a damn about?
When he came out of the bathroom, I asked him why he didn't contact me and why he was home so late. "We hung out for a bit..." was all he could say. He came over to the couch to sit by me after a few minutes, but I wasn't having it; I marched off to our guest bedroom, and laid down. After about five minutes, I heard him get up to see where I'd gone; my back was turned to the door, so I assume he saw me and either just didn't want to talk about it, or wanted to let me sleep. Ha... ha... ha... it took a long time to fall back asleep. I had really weird dreams and woke up about every 45 minutes, staying awake maybe 10-15 minutes, then falling back asleep until I got up shortly after 6:00.
Before going to my appointment, I left a text message on his phone: I hope at least a part of you realizes just how much I'm hurting, even if you're too busy "being cool" to care.
Several hours later, I got an apology text. About an hour after that, I got an apology phone call. Very bland, basic, quiet apologies. No volunteering more information on the situation. No explaining why. No, how did your appointment go? or any other concern for my well being other that asking me "how're you doing?" during the phone call. Okay, I take part of this back; he said "I feel like shit" (referring to last night's events), and I replied with, "yeah, well, so do I," to which he had nothing to say.
I was suppose to go with Vuni to the two gigs he had today; one at this cute hippie festival, the other this evening at a steakhouse. Hell, I skipped out on a chance to see one of my best friends, AJ (my "adopted brother" who I don't get to see too often), because of my full schedule. I was so hurt and angry, I haven't gone to either gigs- and instead have been moping, cleaning, and blogging.
Vuni returned from the hippie fest gig earlier with a beautiful gift for me; when I opened the bag, part of me wanted to throw my arms around him and forget what's happened... but I've done that too often in the past. This is by far not the first time he's been inconsiderate of my anxiety and emotions in this way; in the past, he's tried to smooth things over with small gifts or treats, or by saying something sweet (like how pretty I look...), or by showing me a cute video on his phone... anything along those lines. Anything to distract from the problem. I love the beautiful clothes he brought me, and I appreciate that he realizes that I am upset... but that doesn't make up for talking about what happened. As I've said in a previous post, I want him to start taking more accountability. Am I ungrateful for not being content with "I'm sorry,"? At this point, after five years, I don't think so... I want him to talk to me about what happened, and I shouldn't have to be the one to start the conversation.
As I type this he is at his steakhouse gig. I hope he talks to me when he gets home... I've been feeling really shitty and hurt over all of this, and as much as I appreciate his apologetic token of love, what I want most is an explanation.
So this situation is a prime example of why love is such hard work. I'm hurting and upset because I feel like I wasn't important enough or worth a few minutes of his time, and that I am just too easily forgettable; now I'm waiting for his side of the story. I know I'm too anxious, and I'm probably too damn sensitive... but I also feel like I have been a "good girlfriend," in that I was not nagging or asking for too much. I wanted him to enjoy his evening, without me there ruining it with my anxiety or distaste for all of the drunks (and I'd probably want to leave as soon as they finished playing); I didn't feel like I was asking for much in return, and I didn't even get that... so I think I deserve to know why. Also... although I've been sullen and quiet towards Vuni all day, (and maybe a little bitchy in this post), I have not exploded at him or anything.
Love really is hard work... it's a good thing that, in this case, it always seems to be worth it. Here's to hoping for tonight (*
I'm specifically thinking about love/relationships.
Is this why so many marriages end in divorce? Because people rush into things without thinking about just how much effort truly needs to go into making a relationship work?
Forgive me for saying this, it truly is just my opinion, but I think people who simply believe their love is strong enough to get them through anything are full of shit- unless they're referring to the fact that love makes you a stronger, more selfless, more understanding, more-willing to compromise and sacrifice and deal with some really unpleasant emotions. I'm thinking of the people who assume that love is a faerie tale; that, because they're in so love, no problems will come their way, and if any do happen to, they can just magically get through that problem together, unscathed.
I'm one of those people who, at one time, believed that; it sounds really sappy, and I knew from the get-go that no relationship is perfect... I also know that my boyfriend and I are both very sweet and compassionate people, who despise drama and debate. With this thought in mind, I naively assumed that we wouldn't have too difficult of a time; that, even when problems came our way, our love itself would be strong enough to pull us through it.
The truth is, love, and a good, lasting relationship, is hard as hell. It's a lot of f*cking work. There are times it's going to be extremely painful. There are times when you'll question do I really belong with this person? Is it worth the effort? all while not being able to imagine life without them. I honestly believe this is why people fall apart. I mean, obviously, if two people don't work out, then the relationship does need to end... but when you are truly in love, and want things to work out, it's a whole different ball game. Somehow, I believe we are made to believe that love means things are easy; effortless (cough cough- Twilight Saga!). If you love each other, things will work out... yes and no.
There's so much compromise and sacrifice, so much thought and emotion, so much that needs to be understood, and taken into account. Love's not a simple thing by any means; it's complex, and my own relationship with Vuni is fool-proof evidence of that.
I'm a big-hearted, thoughtful romantic. Sweet, sentimental cards for the holidays (and sometimes just because), little surprises here and there, "I love you, my handsome!" and other adoring random text messages, babying when sick or after a hard day... just to name a few. Vuni... he's a sweetheart, but... not like that. I've finally learned to not expect much on Valentine's Day (no elaborately planned-out surprise dates, no flower and/or balloon deliveries, ect.) because he's just not into it (in fact, our first Vday together was quite painful; he did NOT enjoy my very sweet surprise to him, which I thought had been an awesome idea).
I am very high-strung (duh... anxiety); Vuni, on the other hand, is extremely mellow and go-with-the-flow. He adapts easily to change, and doesn't mind last minute, half-developed plans. As for myself? I'm neurotic about planning; a total control freak. I want to know when and where something is happening as soon as we know it's happening. I want to know all of the details as soon as possible; Vuni's okay with just knowing the date, and as the date approaches, the location. This type of thing is really important to us because of Vuni being a musician; his calendar is often filled up with gigs. Now, while the mellow/anxious polar oppositeness has caused friction, I should note that it has also been good for the relationship in some ways...
His mellow nature has taught me to loosen up somewhat; loosen up, because it's necessary. In the beginning of our relationship, I was a totally controlling bitch. If he wasn't with me, or at work or school, I wanted to know where he was, who he was with, how long he was going to be there... ect. That sounds so awful when reading it, but believe me when I say, a large part of that control-freakishness was/is due to the anxiety (though I realize that does NOT justify my behavior). I was worried about him, and a tiny part of me was worried about him cheating. I was horrible, however. Sometimes when he'd be out with friends, I'd call him and keep him on the phone for a really long time, preventing him from enjoying his time out. Now, five years in, I've learned to be so much better about things. I obviously still like to know where he's going to be and (if it's something like a gig) for how long, but I don't nag him constantly; all I ask is that, in order to keep my anxious imagination from running haywire, he check in with me to let me know he's doing okay. (When I say I worry about him, I'm serious- I worry about everything under the sun, from car wrecks to drunks to him getting drunk... all stuff I really should not be worrying about).
***Disclaimer: things are about to get very raw & honest. No sugar-coating from this usually sweet little anxiety girl!
So this brings me to why I'm writing this post; we got in another "argument," though it wasn't really an argument at all. He had a gig last night; I debated going to it, but decided against it. His ska band was playing at the fair, and yesterday was opening day. Opening day at the fair = lots of people. Lots of drinking. Lots of drunk people. Not my cup of tea on a normal day, but as it was, I was having a really hard time, depressed about our/my current situation and anxiously anticipating an important medical evaluation (which took place this morning).
They were going to play from 8-11, so I assumed he'd be home around midnight, maybe 12:30. As he was getting ready, he asked me what he should wear, because he needed to "look cool." I responded teasingly with, "it doesn't matter, you're always cool... and who do you need to impress anyways?" When he left around 6, I reminded him, as I always do when he goes out at night without me, "keep in touch with me please!" He knew I was not doing too well; sad, stressed, and anxious... that today's med eval was a HUGE deal... anyone would be anxious about it.
If the tables were turned, and he were spending the evening alone, sad, stressed, and anxious, he'd be on my mind, no matter what I was doing. I'd want to check in with him, make sure he was doing okay, ect. I wouldn't want my worrying of him to put a damper on my evening (though it probably would, but that's just because I'm me and I worry too much), but I'd want to make sure he was doing alright, all things considered. And I'd just want to hear his voice...
I guess I assumed that, despite him being so cool with his band and shit (yes! I am being a bitter bitch!), he'd still find the time to engage in a text conversation or maybe even call me (just once!) to hear my voice and make sure I was having a decent evening. In the 7+ hours he was gone, he text me twice on his own; a total of four or five all together, with his responses to my texts. (TMI- I was trying to engage him in a little bit of sexting before they started... and only got quick, seemingly bored responses... after I was such a good, loving girlfriend to him, despite being sad/anxious which initially meant I was not "in the mood", earlier in the evening before he left me all alone for the night). Forget being on the back burner; I probably wasn't even on the stove. He was too busy in his Elite Super Cool Musician Club, entertaining his adoring fans and getting his much needed attention. He text me once before they started, and once during a break, to check on me.
I was hurt and exhausted by 11:15; I figured any time after this, he'd text or call me. Eleven-thirty rolls around. Do I call/text him? No... the fair is bustling and chaotic, I'll let him contact me; he will once things settle down, even though he should've by now. It was about 11:45 when I last glanced at my phone before dozing off on the couch (I mean, come on, my appointment was at 8:30 this morning- I needed to sleep, especially since I hadn't really the night before).
I woke up very suddenly to a dead quiet house, and the first thing I realized was that Vuni was home; his gear was right in front of me (he was in the bathroom). I glance at my phone- 1:30. No calls. No texts. I felt a rush of intense pain and sadness was over me like a giant wave, pulling me under the waters of swirling thoughts:
Why is he home so late? Why didn't he contact me? Was he having so much fun that I didn't matter? That he didn't even think of me? Or is it that, when he's with The Super Elite Musicians Club, I'm too below him? Is a couple of minutes out of 7+ hours he was gone really too much to spare, and am I not worth them? Doesn't he think of me at all? Especially knowing the state I was in... Did I do something wrong? Am I physically/sexually unsatisfying? Not satisfying enough? I told him I wanted him to hold me and cuddle me when I got home... that's obviously not a motivation for him to get home soon. Was he avoiding that? Was he avoiding it because he didn't want to just cuddle, or was he worried that I was going to start whining? Were there prettier/talented/smarter/BETTER girls there, fawning over him? Am I just not worth giving a damn about?
When he came out of the bathroom, I asked him why he didn't contact me and why he was home so late. "We hung out for a bit..." was all he could say. He came over to the couch to sit by me after a few minutes, but I wasn't having it; I marched off to our guest bedroom, and laid down. After about five minutes, I heard him get up to see where I'd gone; my back was turned to the door, so I assume he saw me and either just didn't want to talk about it, or wanted to let me sleep. Ha... ha... ha... it took a long time to fall back asleep. I had really weird dreams and woke up about every 45 minutes, staying awake maybe 10-15 minutes, then falling back asleep until I got up shortly after 6:00.
Before going to my appointment, I left a text message on his phone: I hope at least a part of you realizes just how much I'm hurting, even if you're too busy "being cool" to care.
Several hours later, I got an apology text. About an hour after that, I got an apology phone call. Very bland, basic, quiet apologies. No volunteering more information on the situation. No explaining why. No, how did your appointment go? or any other concern for my well being other that asking me "how're you doing?" during the phone call. Okay, I take part of this back; he said "I feel like shit" (referring to last night's events), and I replied with, "yeah, well, so do I," to which he had nothing to say.
I was suppose to go with Vuni to the two gigs he had today; one at this cute hippie festival, the other this evening at a steakhouse. Hell, I skipped out on a chance to see one of my best friends, AJ (my "adopted brother" who I don't get to see too often), because of my full schedule. I was so hurt and angry, I haven't gone to either gigs- and instead have been moping, cleaning, and blogging.
Vuni returned from the hippie fest gig earlier with a beautiful gift for me; when I opened the bag, part of me wanted to throw my arms around him and forget what's happened... but I've done that too often in the past. This is by far not the first time he's been inconsiderate of my anxiety and emotions in this way; in the past, he's tried to smooth things over with small gifts or treats, or by saying something sweet (like how pretty I look...), or by showing me a cute video on his phone... anything along those lines. Anything to distract from the problem. I love the beautiful clothes he brought me, and I appreciate that he realizes that I am upset... but that doesn't make up for talking about what happened. As I've said in a previous post, I want him to start taking more accountability. Am I ungrateful for not being content with "I'm sorry,"? At this point, after five years, I don't think so... I want him to talk to me about what happened, and I shouldn't have to be the one to start the conversation.
As I type this he is at his steakhouse gig. I hope he talks to me when he gets home... I've been feeling really shitty and hurt over all of this, and as much as I appreciate his apologetic token of love, what I want most is an explanation.
So this situation is a prime example of why love is such hard work. I'm hurting and upset because I feel like I wasn't important enough or worth a few minutes of his time, and that I am just too easily forgettable; now I'm waiting for his side of the story. I know I'm too anxious, and I'm probably too damn sensitive... but I also feel like I have been a "good girlfriend," in that I was not nagging or asking for too much. I wanted him to enjoy his evening, without me there ruining it with my anxiety or distaste for all of the drunks (and I'd probably want to leave as soon as they finished playing); I didn't feel like I was asking for much in return, and I didn't even get that... so I think I deserve to know why. Also... although I've been sullen and quiet towards Vuni all day, (and maybe a little bitchy in this post), I have not exploded at him or anything.
Love really is hard work... it's a good thing that, in this case, it always seems to be worth it. Here's to hoping for tonight (*
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