Archive for May, 2008

The Blog About Who I Am

{ May 26, 2008 @ 8:20 pm } · { Blatant Overshare, Legitimate Insight, Me, PG, The Silver Lining }
{ } · { Comments (1) }

One of the biggest battles I have to face on a day to day basis is the battlefield of the mind. The mind is a powerful thing and really it’s what we choose to do with it which dictates the directions our daily lives will take. I’ve had plenty of examples of my thought life changing how I view people and activities, and I’m not referring to reflections upon reality. I’m talking about the fantasies that the imagination can conjure, which may be based on real life people and places, but the situations are false and the story plays out according to the fancy of the moment.

I learned how powerful this way of thinking was during the relationship I was in a couple years ago. In the past I had been in relationships with guys, but allowed my mind to wander to the thoughts of others. There would be speculations and imagined situations where myself and these others would interact and little by little my daily life almost had a parallel alter ego. I was sometimes absent during my own waking moments and going through the motions while a preferable film of sorts played in my head. Although this proved to be amusing and fulfilled various needs, be it emotional or psychological, all it really did was leave me in a state of wanting. The real life boyfriend I had took a back seat to the preferred characters of distraction and in doing so my affections dwindled. That particular relationship wouldn’t have worked long term anyhow, but the point is the lesson learned. The relationship a couple years ago I spent guarding my wandering thoughts against distraction. Ideas would pop into my head and they were immediately banished. I wouldn’t even entertain the curiosity about another guy or alternate circumstance. Because of this my relationship with this one was awesome while it lasted. I learned something about myself which I, up until that point, thought was impossible: I was capable of love.

My recent situation was a product of a rogue thought pattern. What was originally unthinkable and out of the question became a pre-occupation, then was encouraged by the other, and what I thought I was incapable of became reality after pain left my thoughts and emotions vulnerable to a moment of weakness. The moment my thoughts shifted, I knew I was in trouble. Sure enough, what was a dismissed idea came true. Granted, that may have been the way that things began, but what perpetuated it was obviously more than that. It’s extremely complicated in someways but remarkably simple in others. That’s not relevant. This isn’t really about relationships with other people. I use the examples merely to illustrate the power of the mind.

What I intended on getting to was the current battle which has taken the forefront of my internal dialog. For years I have refused to admit that which is good about myself due to an overdeveloped stance of humility. The last thing I wanted or want to ever become is one of those girls who is so full of their own self importance and supposed grandeur that they become intolerable to those around them. Everyone looks at them with annoyance and scorn due to their overdeveloped self-esteem and over sized ego. My problem is that I’ve taken that fear to an unhealthy extreme. Instead of merely guarding against the ego becoming overinflated, I take it to a ridiculous level and squash any thoughts of positive whatsoever. Instead of admitting to something that is good about myself, I say the opposite and maintain that what others perceive as good is indeed somewhat below average.

Really, this is a moronic way to live. Humility was the goal and there is something to be said for that, but discounting various blessings which God has granted is completely wrong. Part of daring to risk on the faith that God is who he says he is includes the risk to believe that what he has made me to be is true also. Self hatred has been a huge part of my life since junior high, really. Only for brief moments have I claimed anything positive about myself be it appearance, capabilities, talents, or any other virtue worthy of recognition. The remainder of the time is spent flogging myself for how badly I suck at life. The fact of the matter is, I am by no means perfect and in the past I have been prone to making some really crappy choices, but in reality – being me doesn’t suck.

I decided yesterday that instead of focusing on everything that I despised about myself I needed to start recognizing things for what they are and not for the worldly ideal I fall short of. Acknowledging these things about myself makes me squirm and makes me automatically feel defensive against other peoples opinions which may rival what I have to say…but really, what’s the worst that can happen? I think something positive? I stop hating myself? Hmm. Seems like a decent trade off for learning a new way of functioning.

Before attempting this foray into the unknown, lets just understand that all which is about to be voiced is said with the intention of reflecting what I know to be true about myself, not necessarily how I’ve acted. I’ve made some bad judgment calls and made plenty of mistakes in life, some intentional some otherwise. That doesn’t change who I am as a person. It means I’m merely human and prone to human behavior. Ok. Now that’s out of the way.

On an intellectual basis, I happen to be above average. I know this to be true not just because of a IQ test score (which is a good deal above average) or my honors status throughout my education, or the position I used to be ranked at when district exams were taken. How I problem solve as well as communicate, both through speech and writing, is generally above that of my peers…and most older than I. I had to speak in front of a courtroom full of people – attorneys, witnesses, government representatives, etc. I spoke my piece directly to the judge as the main witness for the prosecution. Although I knew basically what subject matter to use, I had no idea what to say until the moment I stood at the podium facing the Judge. What followed was about a five minute monologue covering everything from facts about the situation to my opinions and reasons behind them. As I spoke, I could hear an attorney near me say to another “she’s more well spoken than his attorney!”. My parents were present in the courtroom that day and were later approached by various lawyers and court officials who all made remarks in kind. Professors share these opinions and more. Enough about that one.

I’m the kind of friend who will drop everything for the need of another. I’ll loan money, I’ll drive hours just to meet up for lunch, I’ll pick them up in the middle of the night just because they shouldn’t be alone. I’ll stay with them while they’re upset, I’ll come back for them at 4 in the morning and take them from the cold night and back to a place of safety where I’ll remain at their side until daylight. I’ve done surprise parties, surprise “decorating” with candy and balloons in an unsuspecting friend’s bedroom, and made dinner for people to come home to. I’m trustworthy, brutally honest, and I’ll listen to as much as someone wants to tell me. I’ll say what needs to be said, even when it doesn’t want to be heard and rarely will I pull punches that need to be thrown. I’d rather give than take. I’ll act like a complete idiot just to make you smile.

I’ve always said that if I had no need to work and was free to do whatever I wanted with my time, then it would be spent doing something for others. Whether it was volunteering at an animal shelter, or working with Habitat like I did last year – I have to be active and productive. Life planted on a sofa or lounging in a cushy house with nothing useful to do is incredibly unattractive to me. So is waste of resources. I get frustrated with people who have so much but who strive for endless amounts of…what…more? More of what? All they seem to accomplish is furthering the craving for accumulation of wealth – all the while doing nothing of real worth with it. You can’t take it with you. So, why beat yourself to death for it and then hang on to or squander it? Makes no sense.

Anyway.

As a significant other, I know I’m amazing. Years down the line a guy I was with for a year and a half still grumbles about me “raising the bar pretty freakin’ high”. The most recent was one who adored me for everything I was and could do and be. To see his face light up as I came into view at the airport in San Jose – you’d think he’d just won the lottery. Twice. He didn’t allow me out of his arms until the center console of the rented SUV became an obstacle. After that, my hand remained a captive of his until I could once again be by his side. Again in New Orleans, he couldn’t wait to see me and his reaction said so the moment he saw me arrive. When we were out in public, there was zero doubt to anyone that his affections were focused solely on me. When we weren’t in public… The thing is, everything he did for me and all that he was I never took for granted. I always affirmed, complimented, took interest, encouraged, listened, and allowed him to see how he affected me in turn. Hell, I even spent way too much on Christmas for the guy ($160 for a hat…seriously.) I’m the type who will go out of my way to bring lunch to a work site on my own lunch break. I’ll give a back rub just because I’m near enough to do so. I’ll go riding and hiking and enjoy the beauty of creation, but I’ll be arm candy at a say so. No, I’m not a pushover by any stretch of the imagination. I am a better lover than fighter. Really, my strength is love. Even when love means letting go.

Physically. This is the hard one to go through. I know what I see. I also know what other people see. And these differ at times. I’d be an idiot not to acknowledge that God has gifted me with incredible eyes. That one’s pretty obvious. The other things are difficult partially because of my genetic predisposition to body dysmorphic disorder-type thinking, as well as my brief modeling stint. I have long, golden brown hair which can either be curled or straightened and will basically do whatever I want it to do. I’m tall, and that’s something I’ve only recently stopped complaining about. Structure wise, I’m curvy without being ‘big’, have a great torso (cute stomach…and DD’s aren’t something to be complained about – especially when you’re repeatedly asked if they’re real), and I’m capable of muscle and tone if I care enough to try for it. I’ve had the classic “I’m bigger than society wants me to be” syndrome since I was 13, but every guy I know is appalled when I suggest losing weight. From guy friends to significant others and co-workers – they all say the same thing. If it’s not a blatant “You’re perfect. Shut up” then it’s a “if you were more skinny, that would be gross”. I mentioned this concern to my last relationship to which he remarked on his dislike for bones and his love of my curves. Couldn’t stay away from them, actually. Having a flat stomach is also pretty great. Overall…I know I’m at least slightly above average looking. Alright. Maybe a bit more than that.

Moving on.

This is turning out to be far more detailed than I planned on. OK. So, for the rest of it…I’m strong. I’m musically talented. I’m a brilliant people person. I’m confident, outgoing, fun, compassionate, loving, and caring. I can keep up with the boys on a construction site, and will climb just as high on a rock wall. I’ll at least try the unlikely before declaring it impossible. I love new learning experiences. I’m very artistic. I drew my phoenix tattoo and several friends, even my dad’s office at Purpose Driven, have my paintings on their walls. I can bake better chocolate chip cookies than your grandma – but mine are healthier. ;) I’m brilliant in support-role work environments. I make a great assistant. I multi-task, can type ridiculously fast, and can achieve far more in any given time than the average joe schmo. I can handle whatever life can throw at me, and even if it breaks me for a moment, I’ll bounce back quickly and stronger than I was before. I learn from the past and have more life experience than most twice my age. I know when to speak, and when to shut up. I’ll graciously bow out and take a hit to the pride simply to give another peace of mind. I don’t act based on emotion, but allow time to bring logic and reason into the situation. I always consider the other person’s feelings and possible reactions before speaking or acting. If I feel a strong emotional response to someone or something, I’ll at least give it a night and day before allowing myself to act on it. Emotions are hardly reliable resources on which to rely upon. They enhance life, and can be wonderful and amazing…but they can be misleading and an inaccurate depiction of reality. Every guy guy in my life (ex-boyfriends, friends, whatever) has remarked upon the fact that I’m not a crazy emotional “chick”. I still have a ton of feelings, but they’re not insanely across the board or all consuming. I don’t use them as excuses for being a bitch or being moody. That’s what self control is for. Those around me know what I feel and when, so I’m not a robot in any way. I’m good a crisis intervention. I can put my own feelings aside and take care of another when needed. I can shoulder incredible amounts of stress and responsibility. And the list…

Could go on, but at this point I’m tiring and in need of sleep. The whole point of this is to begin to be aware of the positives. I’m sure this will be edited and added or subtracted from over time. That’s a good thing though. The only time we should stop growing and learning is when we’re dead.

And even then, I’m sure God still has something to say.

Not a brilliant conclusion, but hey. I’m not perfect.

The Blog That’s In The Moment

{ May 23, 2008 @ 10:30 pm } · { Blatant Overshare, Me, PG }
{ } · { Comments (1) }

It comes on slowly. Moment by moment it’s subtext weaves a web of hooks and lies in which to tangle its prey. Silently and seductively it binds is victim, little by little, and they hardly feel a thing until they find themselves lost under the surface of a tumultuous sea and struggling just to draw breath. The heaviness of what weighs their heart and mind becomes like a millstone around the neck, drowning the flailing wanderer deeper into the depths of a cold and lonely darkness. Or into the midst of a raging inferno where the captive writhes in silent and intense discomfort.

It can be found in a song. The right combination of lyrics and a fitting strum of a guitar. Music is the soundtrack to emotion. The song its self doesn’t even need to be accurate in its entirety – just enough to get that hook, that draw, that morsel which takes your mind on a tangent away from reality and into a mixed up maze of thought and feeling. The drive of a chorus, the poignant words in a bridge, the repetition of the same words echoing in your own mind but voiced by another who can articulate it far better than you ever could. The replay button becomes a backstabbing friend. It’s a friend which does your biding, but in reality does you no favors. Its sole purpose is to get you through the moment of epiphany and then suck you right back to the pit of despair.

Film can be the morphine of such a state of mind. While the pictures and sound roll you can lose yourself in the visual buffet of beautifully airbrushed people presented as the epitome of perfection. What becomes even more enticing is when these dream people take a liking to each other and you vicariously live with the lie that the story always works out in favor of the hero, true love is just on the horizon, and sex is a passionate and viable expression of freedom for anyone consenting to another’s use of their body for pleasure. The thing is, you end up buying into the fallacy and fantasy becomes an unattainable reality. The character so appealing on the screen doesn’t exist. How they make you feel can only be repeated with the replay of the scene, rather than a tangible encounter.

And so you’re left wanting.

Left craving.

In need of something, and yet not quite sure what it is. Restlessly you bounce between the refrigerator, the computer and it’s array of visual and auditory candy, and land on the sofa with the first two to accompany the film of choosing. In a mood such as this, it is never something new and enthralling. It is a familiar picture. Like a warm fire in the hearth of the soul, the tale plays out before you giving you the courtesy of choosing to follow its playback or leave it in the background. Still it warms. Sort of.

But you’re still left hungry.

There’s still the ache.

Alone in the house, I sit here with the knowledge that the cookie baking extravaganza of yesterday was certainly a lapse in judgment, my laptop rests on my crossed legs, and I completed the second installment of watching Pride & Prejudice a few minutes ago. My intake of this theatrical presentation of joy was interrupted when the restlessness became fatigue and I slept for a few hours. I awoke with insides in pain, a groggy awareness that I have far too much to accomplish and so little drive by which to conquer it, and the knowledge that all that awaits me in this home is the company of three dogs who miss their usual companions. My parents are on vacation in Switzerland for a little while and my brother and I have been left with shared custody of the home and its canine inhabitants.

I lack the familiar company of family. I miss the companionship I grew comfortable with. My heart and mind are in turmoil over a character or two, and an issue or three in my daily life. These are people who possess far more influence than they know and issues which have been battled time and time again with only brief moments of victory. I admit that which I rebel against: I need. I want. I hurt.

There’s a song which I’ve played far too many times recently. It’s by The Appleseed Cast, called “Fight Song”. I’m not sure what it is about it, but every time it is played the rush of familiar emotion comes to the surface and I feel myself break all over again. The lyrics aren’t entirely accurate of my last situation. The one prior, perhaps. In fact, now that I think about it, the lyrics remind me a lot of my relationship with my Marine. I still grieve over that. As much as I deny any present attachment, there is always the memory of all that was promised and hoped for. When he re-surfaces as he occasionally does, my mind remembers these times in the past and wishes for my heart to follow suit. My heart, however, remembers another side of the story and fears to tread down that path – partially because that path is no longer familiar. He isn’t familiar. We’re both different, and with that comes an uncertainty of how it would play out. At this time, that door seems to have closed.

My film of choice is one that always gets to me. Pride & Prejudice. Darcy presents the kind of love I seldom admit to hope for. The love that will love through faults and failings and see the heart of the person above their imperfections. The kind of love that will hope and hang on instead of jump ship at the first sign of rough seas ahead. A man who is both independent and strong, but human enough to admit the need for love of another. “…you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.”. Sigh.

I’m such a chick at times.

Not much else makes me feel that awkward.

And still, the truth remains that this season of life is spent in waiting. It is spent holding off on the right now, and hoping for that of the promised future. It is spent silently struggling to maintain composure when each and every button I have is pressed by that of the unknowing switchboard meddler. I hold back on retorts and examples of factual equality in submission to gracefully allowing the other their moment of perceived triumph. These moments are costly, though. They wound and they weather. They put doubts in the mind and harden the damaged heart they reach. The archer of these arrows has no idea, most likely, that this is the case. To him it is all in humor. It’s said because it’s funny. I’ll agree on most occasions, but when the most consistent sentiment is negative and demeaning, it is hard to believe that all is meant in jest. A positive or two may combat this perception but such a thing is seldom granted. And once again, it costs. I can see it for what it is, but even that doesn’t stop me from reacting in this manner.

All that to say that this restlessness is something I am familiar with – abstaining from the usual quick fixes isn’t so familiar. Trying to act in a different manner feels uncomfortable and abnormal. I can’t even go so far as to bring the usual full circle conclusion to end this on an upbeat and optimistic note. That would be false and forced.

This is me – now.

The Blog About Him, and Him, and…

{ May 16, 2008 @ 6:21 am } · { Blatant Overshare, PG, Them }
{ } · { Comments (1) }

It’s a very odd feeling to be completely tired but fully awake. The body craves the rest it requires and is often denied, but the mind is alive, well, and running in circles. Feels like a hornets nest resides in my being and it’s as easy to sort through it all as it would be to reach inside the nest and pull out a single hornet without the others stinging you. A decent analogy, I think.

The fact of the matter is, I am indeed tired. I’ve been up since before 5 this morning, have worked about 12 hours, been on the clock for 8, and skipped out on soccer because the residual pain from the weekend added to the side effects of my medication cocktail made my feeling of wellbeing take a nose dive. Since I know there’s no thread to tie all this together, I may as well just write about the various topics as they come to mind.

One is the health issue. I mentioned before the incident over the weekend. That was friday and saturday night. Sunday came around a changed a lot of that. I was well aware of the fact that the events and the nonsense I’m dealing with right now were by no means coincidental. They brought to the surface some issues which need to be looked at and addressed. Sunday didn’t do either of these things, but it did bring in a glimmer of what I thought was impossible – hope. I’m one who, in the past, has refused to hope for anything. My theory is that if I live life with no expectations, whether they be of myself, others, or circumstances, then I will have few disappointments. If you can’t look forward to something, you can’t be disappointed when it doesn’t happen. Make sense? Anyway, as much of a self-preservation tactic as this is, it’s also one that leads to a pretty dreary life. Still, it is the fear of being let down AGAIN which makes me refuse this thing called hope. This past weekend gave me a glimmer what it is I shy away from like a vegan to steak, and so it came to no surprise (really) that the week started out rough and continued from there. All this ties into the health thing because of not only the physical damage, but the psychological nonsense coupled with my re-currant weight issue. It’s all pushing me down and bringing it to the point where self appraisal is routine and unyieldingly harsh.

Then there’s the issue of the future as far as school and whatnot is concerned. I’m torn between going back to school at CSUF and looking elsewhere. Likely the focus will be on Behavioral Psychology, but I still can’t get past the reality that I don’t really WANT to go back to school. It’s not something I enjoy. It may be necessary, but it’s till draining to think about. And daunting too.

My mind won’t shut up about a few specific characters.

The one which has barely become a blip on the radar needs to stay as just that – nothing more than a blip. I made a deal with my counselor that there would be no dating for six months…that means October 21, according to when we made the agreement. The thing is at this moment, I haven’t much desire to date anyway. I lack any real drive for relationship. I recognize that there is enough within myself to deal with and work through without adding another human being into the mix. My therapist said something to me when I mentioned losing respect for someone in the distant past. She said “You didn’t respect him in the first place. In order to respect someone you have to respect yourself and you don’t”. Same as the idea of lacking the ability to love another until you are at peace with yourself. She is quite true. I am more than my worst critic. I am judge, jury, and executioner. I agree with her, though. Without respect, there can’t be love. Neither of these can happen until they are recognized within ones self. The blip. The blip is awesome. Quite a cool person, and one I’d love to keep around and get to know.

There’s of course the one from the recent past. It’s odd trying to explain it to people without going into details and somehow trying to make things make sense. I had to do this last week when a sizable arrangement of flowers were delivered to my work. My reaction last time was less than stellar, but that was mostly due to the shit day I had that day. The time before that was just painful timing, but something neither of us had predicted. Then the most recent was unexpected. People at my work know that there’s something atypical about this situation. Their reactions are mixed. I did have to explain to the women in the office about who this guy was. I told them the truth. I always feel the need to give both sides of the situation and mention a few things about him. I add in there that there’s zero malice or resentment aimed his way. The reason we are no longer what we were has nothing to do with how I felt about him and everything to do with right and wrong. Even now, I harbor no ill will, anger, pain, resentment…whatever else you can think of that doesn’t fall under the positives column, it’s just not there. I wish him and his well. Yes, at times there’s still that ache, but it’s not as it was. The cut has been made. It’s now a matter of learning a new way to be human. Learning that it’s ok to risk again and be vulnerable and open with people. It’s hard, but I’m finding out more and more that people get far more upset when I don’t talk than when I do. That’s something completely new to me.

Another character is the one from Monday through Friday. The Boss Man. “Master”, as the kids refer to him as. The one who I enjoy but who frustrates the hell out of me. One who I can’t decide if I like or not. On any level, really. It’s a status that changes day to day, moment to moment. None of the shift is my doing, however. If it is, then it is by some unknown power which I wield. From my point of view it is a matter of an assumed power struggle – on his side. I tend to take the “submissive” role with most males in my life, and as this one is the one I report to on a daily basis, so the posture comes automatically. What confuses me is why he feels the need to point out my supposed inferiority. It’s more than just work basis, though. It takes on an assault on the personal level. On my part, I think he’s awesome in many ways. From his side, I feel as though I’m completely under appreciated and mildly looked down upon. Don’t get me wrong…I don’t need the constant affirmation or validation from this guy, but it makes zero sense to me that someone you spend on average 30 hours a week with should be no more familiar than the person you order your coffee from. We’re supposed to be a team, and for a long time we were. I would have almost considered him to be a friend, but for the last couple weeks it’s been nothing but put downs and coldness. The one exception being this last Friday. I hate that this guy matters in the slightest. I care. That’s my gift and my downfall. I give a shit how he is and what’s going on. Can’t help it. I just don’t want to be looked down upon for being a female who chooses to take a more personal stance than that of a wall. On a logical level, there’s plenty of reasons to not like this guy and call him a dick and be done with it. The problem is that there’s something utterly likable about him. And it pisses me off.

Anyway. There’s plenty to add, probably some that could be deleted, but for now – that’s all she wrote.

The Blog About Getting Beat Up

{ May 11, 2008 @ 11:50 am } · { Blatant Overshare, Me, Not for the faint of heart, R, Them }
{ } · { Comments (1) }

It’s far too late. Or, it’s far too early, depending on your perspective. As the 5-O-Clock hour looms ahead this Sunday morning I find myself needing to talk. I’ve already said some of what lies ahead, but the deeper stuff is something that hasn’t yet been voiced to anyone. Granted, it’s only been a day or two, but even so…

I went out to a movie with a good friend of mine on Friday night. Ironman is a great film, for the record, and I would recommend it to those seeking some decent entertainment. This friend of mine has been around for nearly two years. I met him and liked him instantly. We became good friends, nothing more, and the crush I had only intermittently reared its head and planted thoughts of distraction in my head and heart. Now, there have been maybe two or three incidents where the platonic friend boundary has been crossed. Nothing major, but still crossed. I never can figure out if it’s him actually having that kind of feeling for me or if it’s just lust. Well, that is until the other night.

The tension was there, as it so often is. I’ve always found him attractive, that much is nothing new. What is new is the way that he goes about treating me when those platonic lines are crossed. I used to mess around with guys and really have it merely be a physical thing. No, I never randomly slept with guys. That’s not what I’m referring to. The activity, though, was a physical one with little feeling attached. That was fine with me. As long as both parties were on the same page all was well and fair game. Apparently that has changed, because as he held me with zero feeling and pushed the limits I was trying to maintain – I felt a part of me break. I’ve never felt the kind of sorrow I did then as I once again refused to take things further and he once again pushed it. From my perspective, I was trying to protect both him and me. I know well how to escalate the moment and it would have been easy to do as such. The thing is I respect him enough not to. I care and I don’t want to steal from him what is not mine for the taking. Likewise, I don’t want to just be a body. I want to mean something. My recent relationship taught me the difference between lust and love. It was want with restraint. It was emotion which governed the moment and how each responded to the other, rather than just a pursuit of pleasure. Any sign of hesitation on my part would be a sign to him to alter his actions regardless of what he wanted. On this occasion I felt irrelevant and used again.

So I deal with that with God. I hurt. I needed to talk to someone but was really lacking the appropriate outlet. And that was then…

Now. I sit here in bed knowing that the moment I move, there will be a sharp pain radiating from my lower right ribs – an injury I sustained while being thrown on the floor this evening.

The night started out fun enough. My friends’ band was playing, the music was good, plus I got to get to know someone of interest a little bit better. Nights out with this favorite girl friend of mine usually turn out to be a good time – but also tend to be eventful when her band(s) are thrown into the mix. In this case, the band its self wasn’t the problem. In fact, the most enjoyable element of the evening had a great deal to do with the band. It turned out to be a friend of theirs which turned the night from enjoyable to something significantly different.

They’d been drinking. That one I throw out just to set what could have been the possible backdrop for what happened. We had been sitting on the sofa for a while; myself, the band member, my girl friend, and another one of the guys. There were several other people around, including the band members’ father. The evening was friendly and playful, and I had been talking to and joking around with most of them, especially the one to my left. There took a turn in the evening as someone sitting on the floor decided to pull and my leg, switch my position, and smack my ass. Not cool. In any way, really. What that began was a real-life UFC match between myself and this guy as he dragged me to the floor and began attempting to hold me down, or change my position, or whatever the case actually was. I can’t be sure of his exactly motivation as I was focused more on evading and gaining the upper hand of the battle. This went on for a few minutes and eventually I got free, flipped him onto his stomach with his arm behind his back and had my arm around his throat in a pseudo head-lock. He MAY have let me win, but it’s quite doubtful considering what other people had to say about it…though…

If that be the case, then round two makes a bit more sense. I had recovered and been back on the sofa somewhat cowering next to my former sofa neighbor, when this guy once again pulled me off the sofa and threw me to the ground. This round was rougher. He got violent and I was forced to fight. Each move he made I spent finding the weak spot of the hold and ripping myself free. He threw me back down. Like the first one, I can’t be sure of his motivation – but this time that’s because I couldn’t possibly be thinking about why he was doing what he was, because in my head I wasn’t in the living room of a friend. I was back on the bed in the pool house. Every time I hit the ground in reality, in my head I had hands around my neck once again gripping tighter and tighter…and the harder I fought the harder the grip tightened. He got me in a hold I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t move any longer, and I found myself completely helpless to his actions. I tried to tap out, to get out “let me go”, but it did nothing. I knew in a minute I was going to be somewhat less than ok as my mind finished its flashback. Someone in the background may have told him to let me go, I don’t know. I got up and adjusted my clothing, acted as calm as possible and headed for the bathroom.

Where I stood for the next five minutes leaned over the sink in tears. Arms wrapped around myself, I tried to process what the fuck had just happened and how I was reacting. I knew why I was reacting the way I was. I knew the source, and the source its self has been over and done for a long time, but that doesn’t take away the instinctive reaction. I hated it. I hated showing what I felt to be the damaged side of me to people I hadn’t known long enough.

Don’t get me wrong…it’s not the tumble match that bothered me. I grew up with brothers and have spent the past ten years with significantly more male friends than female. Yes, I’ve been thrown over a shoulder or two in the past. Yes, I’ve got my ass kicked by a friend play wrestling on the floor. The difference is, the ones who’ve been allowed that close to me before are quite few. There’s a level of trust that has to be reached. Really, only two or three that I can think of have been given the trust of my physical wellbeing. This ass from Saturday night is certainly not one of them…and that makes all the difference in the world.

When I came out, the one I’d been sitting next to asked me if I was alright. I said my usual “I’m fine” while pretending to look for something in my purse. He moved slightly so he could see into my averted eyes and questioned me once more. I tried halfheartedly for a moment to show my indifference to the situation, but I failed and we went out of the room for a moment. I stood there in the hallway, ribs already aching, a few feet from someone I barely know and wishing for nothing more than to be held. As odd as it is, as much as guys are the source of the issue it’s also guys that can fix it. We talked for a while, a bit about my past and present…and as time passed the slight tremors lessened and I left with my friend thereafter.

After everything that’s been going on for the last few weeks and the changes in my mindset and heart it makes complete sense that I would be challenged in these areas. They’re my weaknesses, my struggles, and memories of conflicting pleasure and pain. And it’s all being pulled to the surface. Now I bare some mild physical signs of this nonsense: painful ribs, bruised back, sore neck and shoulders, skinned elbow…and the feeling of being alone once again. The physical will heal and fade, and God willing the rest will as well.

The Blog About A Night At RockHarbor

{ May 5, 2008 @ 5:26 am } · { Legitimate Insight, PG, The Silver Lining }
{ } · { Comments (2) }

The harder the fight, the more you know you need to keep fighting. This is something I’ve learned over and over again but is something I still, ironically, have to fight to remember. There have been many things over the last month or two which have been day to day battles for me. Moment to moment is likely a bit more accurate. Every second, every minute that passes by contains the thought or situation demanding to take my thoughts and actions captive. It’s taken a hell of a lot of willpower with some of these battles. Today the battle was church.

I knew that the fact that I didn’t particularly want to go was a decent indication that I needed to do be at Rockharbor’s evening service today. The series has been on Song of Solomon – a series I have been through with Rockharbor before, but this time around has a bit more relevance due to the timing which can be labeled as nothing short of divine appointment. Considering the situation I recently fought my way out of, a series of this nature was quite welcome. The messages up until now have all been awesome and have hit me in varying degrees, but each of them has carried something meaningful and perfect for the moment. Today, however, the moment was a bit more meaningful.

The battle today was more than just attending church. The main fight was once I walked through the doors. I walked in as someone with PTSD. I was scanning the crowd, acutely aware of the people walking into the building around me, and looking for the tell tale height of one and the style of another. In fact, there were four possible characters who’s presence was expected and partially dreaded for the effect I knew they would have on my night. Once I found a seat, the distraction remained and I found myself constantly wondering if one or more of them were aware of my presence. I knew at least one was present – the feeling of someone watching was quite overwhelming through the beginning of service. Which one, I’m not sure. This preoccupation proved to be quite problematic as the sermon progressed. Words which carried such meaning and insight became dulled in the background as my thoughts took center stage. I found myself playing through the events of last week, then projecting what potential interactions would be like with any one of the four in my mind. Several times I had to wage war against my own mind set and get back to focusing on Mike Erre. I’m incredibly thankful that God was merciful enough to help me tune back in when I needed to. Tonight was a turning point.

The end of the teaching consisted of Mike throwing out several possibilities that could represent our view of our own sexuality. There were several I identified with. The reality of being single and settling for counterfeit or the placebo comfort of a moment with someone irrelevant, just so that the loneliness wouldn’t take over. A past of being abused and robbed of what God had gifted by way of innocence. The idea that my past disqualifies me from future happiness and love and that relationship I’ve always wanted. There were more, perhaps, but these were the ones which stuck with me.

What ended up getting me was Mike throwing out the dare to believe that what God already says about us is true: that we are pure, and whole, and worthy in His eyes and that all he had planned for us is still there no matter what our past looks like. No one is beyond redemption. Nothing is too big to forgive. No sin is too atrocious to disqualify us. We are redeemed, adored, cherished, loved, and forgiven people with the eyes of the Living God focused upon us.

When the teaching closed, I went to one of the side rooms to one of the crosses. There on my knees, I did what needed to happen. I started the conversation. It took quite a bit of willpower to continually fight against the distracting thoughts which tried to fight their way into the forefront of my mind. Even still, I laid it all out there. Confession. Repentance. Letting go. Name by name, I gave him every one of the guys who represent something to me. Every one of my crutches, my hopes, my sorrows, my painful memories, my worries, my stresses, my preoccupations, my false comforts. That’s the thing – even the most angst producing characters are still a comfort because they’re familiar. They’re something I know and recognize and hold tightly to as some form of stability. No matter how damaging, they mange to become a part of my identity. I’ve let them define me. I’ve let them be my source of affirmation and criticism and worth. It’s nonsense, but it’s the only way I’ve know how to function. Name by name, they were released and handed back to God. It was uncomfortable and frightening. In the end I knelt there, and in my minds eye saw myself surrounded by this group of guys and one by one they all faded away until it was just me. Alone, I stood there. In a blank and open white space, I stood still and afraid with no one around to shield or hide behind. But the coolest thing is that I wasn’t alone for long. God stood behind me and wrapped His arms around me. His being engulfed mine until I was surrounded by Him – a barrier against whatever I would go up against.

Tears fell to my hands and I was reminded again of Magdalene. How often I’ve identified with her. I’ve wondered what happened to her. Yes, she was redeemed, but then what? She was forgiven an enormous amount but did she end up with a love and family of her own or did she live the rest of her days alone?

What what about me?

I don’t know the near or far future will look like, but I knew that God was asking me to stop being stubborn. This fight is not one to be fought alone.

I stood in the back of the sanctuary and waited for a somewhat familiar face to go to for prayer. Mike Kenyon appeared and stood with me there and prayed. I told him what I had identified with from the service. The interesting thing was what he said at the very end. He said “I have a sense that you don’t believe that God loves you as much as he love everyone else”. At first I didn’t think he was onto something…then a moment later I realized he had got right to the core of what all my doubts can be traced back to. Really, my lack of faith that God will provide or cause hopes to become reality is saying that God isn’t God – and he doesn’t love me the way I see Him loving other people. I’ve looked at the relationships those around me have been blessed with and though that no one will ever love me the way that THEY are loved. I’ll never be the world to another human being. I’ll never be cherished or longed for and love in return. These realities for other people are a gift. God loves them enough to bless them with these relationships. Why, then, do I believe that I’m not worthy or won’t be given that sort of love? That would indicate that God doesn’t love me the same as He loves other people.

When you get to the core of it, Kenyon was dead on. My own feelings of inadequacy and failure have led me to see myself as sub-par and unworthy. Even of God. Especially of God.

But it’s not true.

What I realized/felt/saw/experienced in that moment was the overwhelming reality that I am adored by Him. Completely loved.

And I dare to believe that this is true. I choose to dare to believe that all is not lost – God is still God. And life up until this point is NOT all He wrote. There is hope and a future, and dreams and desires are not given to torture us with disappointment.

A whole new way of functioning. It’s completely unfamiliar and frightening as anything. Thing is, I’m not alone.

I never was.

I walked away and later out of the sanctuary with a completely different demeanor. My body was relaxed rather than tense. My eyes didn’t scan with fear and expectation. I walked out of that building knowing that I was under the complete protection of His will and plan – no one was going to get to me without His permission. I ran into one of the four on the way out. A hug and a brief interaction later, I realized that the short exchange we had was slightly different from how it had been in the past. Instead of speaking based on how I expected his potential reaction to be, I spoke as myself. I carried myself differently. Smiled more. Was open rather than guarded. I was me.

It’s been a while.

It’s slightly sad when you realize you haven’t been you in such a long time that when you finally get back to yourself, you’re slightly unfamiliar. How I felt tonight makes me hope that this will no longer be the case. So be it.

The Blog About Boss Man And A Totally Unrelated Talk About Sex

{ May 2, 2008 @ 6:37 am } · { Blatant Overshare, Me, R, Them }
{ } · { Comments (1) }

Fuck You.

The parting phrase granted to a character in my life as I bid him farewell for the evening. A phrase I reserve for special occasions, really. I may use the abbreviated “F U” in a text – ironically mostly to the one who received the full version tonight, but other than that it is seldom a part of my vocabulary. Tonight wasn’t a spectacularly special occasion. It wasn’t earth shattering or life altering. It was, however, painful. It’s a culmination of a series of interactions, both good and bad and everywhere in between, which have managed to illuminate every single button on the switchboard-o-Natalie. This character possesses the unique ability to push every single damn button I have. This fact likely remains unknown to him, though he certainly is familiar with a few specific issues. The interesting thing is really a couple of interesting things which make me pontificate to a ridiculous degree in attempts to decipher what the hell is going on. First of all, does he realize how much these things affect me? Second, does he realize that several of them are more than just mild joking jabs, and that they are more akin to a swift double edged sword slicing through the chink in the armor of my facade to make a direct and devastating blow to the heart? And third…which, granted, makes it more than a literal ‘couple’ of things…why does he do it?

And why the hell do I enjoy it so much?

I’ve been trying unsuccessfully for the last few months to conceal any and all real emotion and feeling around this one, whether they be about him or completely irrelevant to his existence. Like a few others from the past, he is someone who possesses just enough jackass to make things interesting, but there’s is something else incredibly appealing which balances out how much of a prick he can be and makes him endearing. Oddly enough. Then there’s the sad (not really, but for our purposes it is) reality that there’s an incredible amount of things we have in common, most which he likely doesn’t care to know or see. In addition, I have a huge amount of respect for this guy (something rarely given to men from me) for several major reasons. This doesn’t bode well for a girl like me. Actually it can bode quite well given the right circumstances, but those in this case are more that slightly irrelevant. The thing is, this has all become a one way ticket to Fuckville, of which he is Mayor.

It’s a love/hate thing, really. It makes a good portion of my day much more enjoyable since there’s the element of ‘normal’ human contact and almost commraderie. I’m a relationally driven person. I thrive off of human contact. I need it. But the flip side of that is that which nourishes me also destroys me. My job revolves around people. Juveniles, that is. The environment can be hostile and violent, with both the psyche and body at risk. Instances today, where I’m in the hallway nearly in tears watching a kid I have a good amount of contact with lay there crying having been in a floor restraint a few minutes prior. He had our assistant site director (who I can’t say enough positive things about. He’s amazing and words don’t do it justice) laying next to him in a protective and comforting manner, and watching this broken kid be tended to by someone incredibly strong, but able to comfort even the most violent of kids. It killed me, watching this kid hurt (emotionally, mostly) even though just a few minutes before he had landed a hard and painful kick to my throat and jaw. The physical pain passes, though even now there’s a small amount of pain when I swallow. Whenever these situations happen, though, I find myself having to hole away in an abandoned room. I’ll stand there, arms folded around myself, and fight the tears…and wish I had the human comfort there with me.

My history with men is mixed, to say the least. Violence can be a difficult one for me to deal with at times. When emotions and physical safety are compromised I often end up vulnerable and scared. I need. I need the comfort. At work, this stuff happens all the time and obviously what I need I can’t have. It’s something I have to learn to deal with, and I can usually handle it just fine. There’s been a handful of moments where I’ve not known what to do with myself – I’ve been a mess. I get over it, obviously. And I love my job. It just means that when there’s so much possible psychological input, the consistent human contact I have is what I end up relying on for stability. It’s probably not fair to those around me. I don’t know. It is what it is.

And I’m not sure where to go with that. The whole subject leaves me feeling scattered and adrift. Not work. Once again, I love my job. The question is, what’s the deal? And why?

Since this is turning into a purge fest…on a completely different note.

Something interesting happened the other day. Since my experiences began when it came to guys, I’ve only felt true remorse and sorrow about things that have happened on a few occasions. I’ve half heartedly felt bad for messing up what God intended, but the other half of me sees it as gaining experience and prowess which society tells me I’ll need for that future relationship. I’ve also lived with the assumption that whoever I’ll end up with will have experiences to rival me, so I better know what’s up. So what’s the relevance of that? The interesting this is, a few days back I felt the heart wrenching sorrow for what was stolen. That’s the thing. I can’t ever know for sure what my story would have looked like had my induction into the world of sex been by choice. I’ve often thought, and especially now thought, that if the first hadn’t been taken without my choosing then what followed wouldn’t have happened. Not that there’s a huge track record here (there’s not), but the fact that there’s a record is starting to break my heart. I honestly am at a point where I wish none of it had happened. I can’t cherish the memory of something which tarnishes what the whole experience was created for. It also leaves a perpetual craving for it. No, it’s not a craving that gets entertained. So, it remains a craving – a torturing need which can’t be given into. And that perpetual need is no fun.

As it turns out, there’s still a few good men out there. I mostly count myself out of the running for these ones, figuring they deserve someone of equal caliber. I dunno. I’m likely wrong for taking this stance, at least in God’s eyes. Or maybe not. Wow. This hurts a bit.

The above doesn’t go together. I’m sure I’ll either be deleting this post or doing some heavy editing. But for now…