Archive for the ‘anxiety’ Category

June 28th, 2012 angst, anxiety, Biscuit, cats, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, change, chaos, chemistry, Cherryot, Colorado, commitment, critics, Denver, domestic partnership, dreams, EMOTIONS, experience, Facebook, fatigue, fear, happiness, HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP), hope, Internet Dating, intimacy, lesbians, life, love, luck, meaning, moving, New Zealand, panic, passion, phobias, problem-solving, PTSD, RELATIONSHIPS, Relocation, risk, romance, sacrifice, Sensory Processing Sensitivity, soulmates, strength, stress, TRAVEL, triggers, Xanax No Comments »

Land of New Zeal

Only five more days, and I will be on that flight….The excitement is finally becoming stronger than the fear and stress. Not that I don’t still worry…I’ve never flown to another country before, and dealt with all that entails–like going through customs. I’ve read the Air New Zealand website through and through. All the restriction on baggage and contents, how to check in, what to have ready in zippy bags, how much each can weigh, how big each bag can be. It’s hard to make choices about what to bring when it’s all you’re going to have for a while. If something should be amiss, and they say, “You can’t take that, or your bag is too big,” or whatever, I don’t know what to do because of course I’m only taking a paltry amount and all of it is crucial to me. Just have to hope that doesn’t happen. I have my large cargo/checked bag–pretty standard; and I have a small carry-on rolling bag, and my softside satchel, doubling as personal purse/bag. That’s it. It’s pretty amazing to see your personal requirements reduced to such a small collection of objects. But it does have a way of putting things in perspective. There are things you think you need, which, when it comes down to the wire, you realize you really don’t, or that you can always replace.

I’ve been living like a pauper in this HOT apartment…spending my days on the airbed in front of my computer (which I will mail out the day before, ahead of me). This computer is the only thing that keeps me in touch with my sweetie, and there will be an almost two-day period when I won’t be able to video chat with her all day as usual–see her face, communicate that way (Sounds silly, I know, but we have become quite addicted/dependent on seeing and communicating with each other while we wait for this reunion). I will only have my iPhone and Facebook Messenger until I reach Los Angeles, and then when I get to Auckland, I will have the phone she sent me to contact her between transfers there, in Christchurch and then Dunedin, where she will be waiting for me. And then we will have a wonderful week in a cabin by the water…a fireplace…the gifts we will exchange…and most of all, each other, finally. It is very much like two soulmates kept apart too long, and finally able to absorb each other again. I am living each moment for that.

This whole process has been a real challenge for me, an HSP–every single trigger is present, and still, I trudge forward with complete certainty. There were lots of stressful things to get done in a short amount of time; giving up all semblance of security and routine; selling or giving away or tossing my belongings; selling my beloved Cherryot–my favorite vehicle I’ve ever had; and of course, my two sweet cats. And there’s my crippling fear of flying…I will be on that plane from LA to Auckland for 13 hours…so there will be copious amounts of Xanax.

The truth is, no one can know the breadth and depth of what two people share, except those two people. And we are both quite clear about what we have, and how precious it is. There will be naysayers, and those who speak from their own painful experiences, but unless they have had this, felt it all the way to their marrow, as I do, they cannot and perhaps will not be able to understand it. And I don’t care. As my darling Kate posted recently:

“Sometimes life presents you with gifts of rare value and beauty. After unwrapping them, you don’t look at them and say no, it’s too much, or it must not be real because something this beautiful can only be a deception. You take it and cherish it, value it, and carry it around in your heart where it will never tarnish, no matter what the weather outside.

Jae is such a gift. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve her, but I’m going to make sure she’s safe and loved and happy always. I carry her in my heart.”

Things change when you find true love. YOU change. You are willing to do and sacrifice many things you never would have dreamed of before. And I have had my share of challenges and heartaches and despair…but I have always resonated with this quote, which has become a sort of mantra for me, to bolster my courage when things seem too daunting to conquer:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”(Theodore Roosevelt)

I will ignore the naysayers and critics and be thankful to those who encourage such love and possibility, as I cannot imagine my life without her now, and wouldn’t want to. She is everything to me and I can’t wait to get started on the beautiful life we’ve planned. Love like this is rare, the very odds were so against it ever happening, and so many odd, synchronous things happened to bring us together. Most people don’t ever find this at all, so I will not take this good fortune for granted, especially after the slew of misfortunes my life has been. I will embrace it, leap off that cliff and FLY.

3 people like this post.
Unlike
May 8th, 2012 anxiety, chemistry, commitment, domestic partnership, fear, girlfriends, globus hystericus, growth, HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP), love, moving, New Zealand, parenting, passion, RELATIONSHIPS, Relocation, risk, soulmates, stress, writer No Comments »

Purging: I am, She is

Purging. Good for the soul they say. Also good for the tight-lipped, the guilty, and the occasional cyst. Between hours-per-day of yahoo video chatting with my betrothed, I am mostly engaged in the act of purging. As in domestic purging. This isn’t just a Spring Cleaning kind of purge either. This is the mother of all purges. The one that includes selling, tossing, or giving away 90% of everything I own. It’s necessary, it seems, when moving to another country, and not being someone with a bank account under the name Trump. It really is simpler to just get rid of it all and buy it back later once I’m there.

But this plan requires a type of letting-go that is unusual for most people in this Material World Madonna so engagingly sang about.

There’s a list psychologists use to gauge the most stressful life events. The Holmes and Rahe Stress Scale. In any given year of my adult life, I have experienced 70 to 80% of those, it seems. Some of those which apply now, are:

  • abandonment of family;
  • heartbreak/loss of a relationship and my two band projects I spent 7 years building;
  • loss of social groups;
  • loss of the friends associated with that social group (there is something so devastating about going from a stage, where you are applauded and admired, to just abject isolation and no friends, especially when it includes getting your heart broken by the first woman you were ever in love with).
  • Then after years of isolation, relocation to another state, alone;
  •  money issues all along the way, before and after;
  • then the death of a family member, but being ostracized from that family and not told, nor included in obituary as surviving family member;
  • then to moving again to start another relationship which turned into a nightmare of epic proportions, and also ended in abuse and the arrest of the partner, leading to another move by myself under great duress;
  • then being stressed by the environment I had to live in;
  • then heartbreak again with next relationship;
  • betrayal and abandonment by my best friend of 11 years, and simultaneously two other friends.
  •  And then there was another move, where I hoped to begin again, paying less rent, so I could have money to rebuild the life I wanted, convinced that I would spend my life alone and should try to make peace with that.

But I was circling the drain. I knew that I would never be happy without a partner–the RIGHT partner. I just don’t thrive alone. So I cried everyday. I lost interest in even the things that were my greatest joys–creating. Writing, especially. I was fighting a deep depression that I couldn’t seem to shake.

 And then there was HER.

We connected through our writing–that passion that means the most to both of us. Soon, this connection deepened and expanded. It was like looking at a trench, closing your eyes for a moment and opening them to a view of the Grand Canyon.

 We finish each others’ sentences. We share the same unique quirks. We share the same vocation, similar challenges, and kindred hearts. What i feel for her is an entirely new species of love, and the compatibility is flirting with 100%. I never thought I would meet anyone who matched every criteria I had for the perfect mate (aside from those things I had before listed as incompatible, but which have somehow turned into blessings, too). I know how deep my feelings go and how real they are, just by what I’m willing to do to be with her. What I’m willing to sacrifice, what I’m willing to risk–and without a single second of hesitation or doubt. This from someone who has had so many betrayals. Many of them freshly inflicted.

But she has renewed my belief that there are still good people in the world–though I know they exist, they have seldom crossed my path. And I know she is a good person because she is so much like me and I know I’m a good person. She is all those better things usually found only in increments in other people, and yet they are abundant in her. She laughs easily, perseveres through challenges; she has sacrificed her own needs and comforts for the needs and comforts of those she loves. I admire her parenting skills, and the way she has managed, alone, to raise five beautiful, well-adjusted and intelligent children. I admire how she accepts them and loves them for who they are, and not from some misguided attempt to fit them into boxes of her own devising. I am endeared by the fun-loving banter she shares with them, and the way I can feel their respect and love for her; her patience and kindness and good-humor, even throughout great challenge and sometimes insufferable pain.

I cherish her compassion, her honesty, her beautiful soul; I adore her humor and her laughter; I applaud her intelligence. I admire her ability to create beautiful, compelling characters and stories that say something real and meaningful amid the hordes of tripe in our literary world.  I am thrilled that she shares my love of simple pleasures, and my need for serenity and creativity. And I am most taken with the way she genuinely understands, accepts, and appreciates me for all I am. It feels like she is the one I’ve been searching for my whole life, and she shares that sentiment.

Thus, I will be moving to another country and giving up all my comfort zones, almost all my belongings, including my pets and my car, for all the right reasons, and willingly, to be with someone I believe with all my heart is my soulmate.

But it is still stressful. I have redeveloped a condition called globus hystericus. Modern terminology globus pharyngis[glō′bus \-fə-ˈrin-jəs-\]

SIDEBAR: [It occurs to me that globus hystericus sounds like a condition wherein someone is afraid to travel to the other side of the world.....]

 globus hystericus Etymology: L, small ball; Gk, hystera, womb.

a transitory sensation of a lump in the throat that cannot be swallowed or coughed up, often accompanying emotional conflict or acute anxiety. The condition is thought to be caused by a functional disturbance of the ninth cranial nerve and spasm of the inferior constrictor muscle that encircles the lower part of the throat. The physical examination result tends to be normal, as does the result of barium esophagraphy.

For a long time, I thought there really was something sticking in my throat, but when I think back to the times I had it, I was under a high amount of stress, and my Xanax and a warm compress on it, usually made it go away.

And of course, moving to another country to start a whole new life from scratch with a new beloved…that can be stressful, no matter how joyful the ultimate proposition feels. The stress makes sense. So many changes. The experience of deciding what is most important to me…what I must have to function in a healthy way, and what is just extra stuff I’ve collected that really holds no intrinsic value except that value I chose to give it…the act of going through all my papers and notebooks and files and scrapbooks and photo albums–all filled with remnants of those other things in my life–and being able to throw so much of it away.

Afterward, it creeps up in my consciousness, and becomes surreal. Like I will wake up and say, Wow, I had this really weird dream that I was throwing everything away….And at the same time, it is all so profoundly cathartic, and liberating, and yet still very stressful on some visceral level. I find myself walking around the apartment with a knot in my stomach, and my hands shaking, and feeling like I am just at the edge of panic. But not the panic born of doubt about the decision. Panic stemming from a lifetime of habits put in place to create my own solace–the solace I could not have with previous partnerships, and so was forced to create in perhaps an artificial way, just to get through the days. I am afraid, I am joyous. I am anxious, I am excited. But never do I second-guess the necessity of going to be with her. Of us building a life together in a country I’ve never been to. A country where I will be the foreigner. I will be the one with the accent and the strange customs.

 Another country. When I think of all the adjustments I will have to make, especially as a small percentage of the population who share a unique brain architecture of Sensory Processing Sensitivity…it is daunting. But she is also one of those people, and so I know she will always understand me as only those who share your nature can. She will understand that I will not have all the familiar and comforting things I’m used to (or as many conveniences). I will be, literally, a stranger in a strange land. I will not be able to drive for a while because they all drive on the other (laughingly, read as “wrong”) side of the road and the car steering wheels are on the other side too. I’m afraid that each time I go around a corner on the left side of the road, I’ll freak out, waiting for that head-on collision. I will be giving up one of those crucial things that gives me personal autonomy. And yet, I know she would take me anywhere I wish to go. And some places I don’t even know I wish to go.

Yet on a psychological level, it’s a cognitive dissonance wrought from a lifetime of doing things one way. The thing that makes it worth it–the only thing–is that I have 100% faith in my partner and the great potential for happiness we have together. This is like no other relationship I’ve ever had. And I trust with every cell in my body, and every synaptic connection, that it will be the last one, the lasting one, the right one. The one all humans yearn for. Nothing material, no preconceived idea, no habit sprung from a previous life will keep me from pursuing it.

Whether that makes me brave and crazy–or both–I accept the label. Life is short, pleasures and good fortune, and especially love, are rare commodities, precious cargo. I am leaping off this precipice and knitting my parachute on the way down. Because I know that she is there to catch me, and nothing will compare to the comfort of her arms, the radiance of her smile, the sweetness of her heart merged with mine.

1 person likes this post.
Unlike
April 30th, 2012 anxiety, BOOKS, change, crazy, fear, Hanging the Moon, HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP), hope, Kate Genet, Kelli Jae Baeli, lesbians, love, midlife crisis, moving, New Zealand, PSYCHOLOGY, PUBLISHING, reality, RELATIONSHIPS, Relocation, romance, sensitivity, Sensory Processing Sensitivity, stress, WRITING No Comments »

Neuro-Geological Translocation Syndrome (with a side of Hope-smothered Fear)

Melissa Etheridge is Brave & Crazy. Why not me?

If I could have my way I’d check out right now I’d say out to lunch honey thanks a bunch It wouldn’t work out anyhow But this desire’s too much It’s rented out my brain It’s showing previews of your body Driving me insane And that’s crazy So all that I can do Is to beg, plead, won’t you tell me please What am I gonna do About you Brave….and crazy…

The changes on my personal horizon are formidable. And I’m not oblivious enough to march blithely through my life with no regard for the value of reality checks. I have my feet firmly in reality all the time, except for those moments when I knowingly allow my more fanciful nature to take over. Reality and Fancifulness… I’m knee deep in Fanciful Reality, I suppose, because both are happening right now. I am allowing my heart to feel, to have hope, to dream of the future wistfully, rather than claw away from the future in nightmares. And I am planning, thinking, devising, strategizing, researching, brainstorming to make it all happen in the quickest, most painless way possible.

On one side, there’s this person who came into my life like full-blown technicolor against the backdrop of grayscale, and she gave me back my hope.  She exemplified the tenuous nature of love, and how any alternative path or decision, no matter how minute, might mean the difference between meeting your soulmate and not meeting her. She embodies the Quixotic list of characteristics i made years ago, when considering what the perfect mate for me would be like. And on the other side, there are so many unknowns. So many things that are for me a collection of the most terrifying specters possible for someone like me. I am aware that I tend to have a lengthy list of things that scare me. This, even though I think I have fleeting moments of courage. One friend once said to me, during my relocation to Denver, “You are the bravest person I know.” I didn’t really think I deserved the label. I had to ask her why and she pointed out that I had picked up and moved to another state, all alone, knowing no one there, dealing with all of it myself, 30 hours of driving, and while also being a person prone to panic attacks–and all because I wanted to find my life partner, and I just knew she had to be out there somewhere. Well, fair enough. I guess that was brave. Maybe I am brave. Maybe I’m also a little crazy. Brave and crazy. It continues to come back to that. Perhaps the battle between love and fear requires brave and crazy.

I have been experiencing anxiety, what can be described as a low frequency humming in my consciousness that underlies all other emotions. Not surprising, since the usual paradigm of my life has been up-ended. All my comfort zones infiltrated by possibility, but also the unknown. And isn’t it the unknown that most often frightens us? I would never have imagined visiting another country–the idea was at once frightening to me. And yet, here i am making plans to not just visit, but MOVE to another country–one at “the bottom of the world” as AmericaCentrics are fond of saying. New Zealand.  My Kiwi partner and I often rib each other about those perspectives:

“You’re at the bottom of the world…”

“No YOU are.”

…and even had this conversation, which I shamelessly used in our upcoming co-authoring project, Hanging the Moon:

Lily took a curve, and Jade’s hand went involuntarily to the dash, as if expecting an impact. “This is so weird because you’re on the wrong side of the road.”

“No, ” Lily quipped back. “I’m on the left side of the road.”

“Right, which is the wrong side.”

“No it’s the right side.”

Jade shot back, “I thought you said it was the left side?”

They both burst out laughing with delight.

I admit to a generous portion of fear in my brain. I am afraid of heights. I am afraid of flying. Afraid of being helpless, trapped. Of not being in control of my immediate environment. Most of this stems from my brain architecture as an HSP with Sensory Processing Sensitivity. But for me, as I try to discern what this feeling is like–this moving to another country– it feels like migrating to another planet. An earthlike planet where the locals speak English, even though a modified version filled with colloquialisms with which I am not familiar, and with accents derived from Britain. It’s not like the air there will have different percentages of oxygen or hydrogen, nor that the grass is blue and the sky green, nor that I will be required to learn how to maneuver in a space suit. Nothing so dramatic as that. But there will be, I surmise, a certain geographical confusion that will take some getting used to.

That even happened as I arrived in Denver the first time. It seemed so HUGE, and I was so displaced, and overwhelmed by it. Within a few weeks, it didn’t seem so big anymore, didn’t feel so foreign, but perfectly normal. Funny, how the human brain does that. Let me just coin a phrase, here, and call this Neuro-Geological Translocation Syndrome. The point is, human perception is different in initial exposure to a new environment, than it is after the environment becomes more familiar. I noticed that as my brain adjusted, my neighborhood and the surrounding areas seemed to contract; appearing not so expansive as it did when I first arrived.

That slight digression aside, I know that the same will be true when I board that plan to New Zealand, and will continue when I disembark, and on into a period of time when I arrive at the house I will be living in with my partner.

And in New Zealand, I know there will be products I don’t recognize, customs I find strange, and I will not have access to all those creature comforts and conveniences that served to soothe or steady me. I will likely make my coffee in something called a “coffee plunger” or “press pot.” Coffee grounds are dipped into a usually cylindrical carafe Kiwis call a “jug” and then a plunger presses the grounds to the bottom, and you pour the strained coffee out into your cup. Quite a different concept than the American Mr. Coffee drip brewing system, which most of us use on a daily basis. To say that there will be an adjustment period, flirts with piquant understatement.

But as I awakened this morning from a dream of reciting vows with my partner on a beach near the Moeraki Boulders, I see that the wonder and beauty of true commitment and partnership is quite capable of trumping any visceral, primal fears I have about moving through that unfamiliar landscape toward my future.  I will be free of the rat race cacophony found in the cities ( honk honk! fuck off!) and into a more idyllic and serene environment, which is more suited to my nature. I am already feeling the relief from purging all the material possessions I have carted around for so many years. It’s liberating. And yes, still frightening. But that doesn’t mean I have any intention of second-guessing the decision I made. I will do what I have to do to be with the person I have grown to love more deeply than I ever thought possible. I will face that screaming fear head-on, for the reward that it will bring. Not doubting for an instant that it is something I must do, and that I will forever be glad I did.

 

Be the first to like.
Unlike
April 20th, 2012 adventure genre, anxiety, AUTHORS, Book Excerpt, BOOKS, Building Character, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, change, Colorado, domestic partnership, EMOTIONS, erotica genre, experience, Fiction, GENRES, GEOGRAPHY, Hanging the Moon, happiness, hope, independent author, indie publisher, Kate Genet, Kelli Jae Baeli, Lesbian fiction genre, lesbian literature, lesfic genre, life, love, luck, moving, novelist, novels, PUBLISHING, RELATIONSHIPS, Relocation, Resurrection Sticks, romance, romance-genre, romantic suspense genre, science fiction genre, scifi genre, VOCATIONS, writer, WRITING, writing business, WRITING LIFE No Comments »

Miles to Go, but Loving the Journey

I just never know what project is going to suck me in and go somewhere. I have a whole stack of writing projects that are still awaiting my attention and I think getting them done will require the use of cloning technology–for myself. I find that the business aspects of being an Indie author is so time-consuming, it has cut way back on the time I have to actually write. I’m trying to get to a point where I’ve updated all information on my books, got them all into final draft and listed on Amazon and Smashwords and elsewhere, and then maybe I can just LEAVE THEM ALONE for once. Hoping that. Hoping.

Woman of my dreams.

And now, there is this recent move to a new place, meeting the woman of my dreams, and the impending visit to New Zealand, followed by an actual relocation there at the end of the year–possibly to reside for several years.

I try not to think far ahead enough to consider what will go in storage and what I will take with me to another country.

Everything seems to be happening at once, and I’m just trying to keep up. But I’m happier than I’ve ever been, and that is due solely to my darling Kate, who has inspired me, eliminated my creative/writing blockages, and brought hope and love and laughter back into my life. She’s everything I had ever dared hope for, and MORE. It doesn’t hurt that she’s also drop dead gorgeous and I’m wildly attracted to her!

ARsticks_6x9frcvr_OCT12_248s for my own writing endeavors, though I’ve been getting some whining about where the 3rd in the AKA Investigations series is, currently, I have been sucked in by my story, Resurrection Sticks. It was supposed to be only a short story, based on a weird dream I had. But then as I worked on it, I could see there was more there. Likely, it will be a novella. Kate has been cracking the whip for me to continue it, since she likes it so much. It is a bit of a departure for me. Call it speculative scifi.

And I’ve been cracking the whip on Kate’s new book she’s almost finished writing…(if you can call whining “Where’s the next chapter?” cracking the whip).

Building Character is already a brilliant piece of work and I can’t wait for her to finish. Her writing just keeps getting better and better. I’m so proud of her. I mean what an intriguing concept. Here’s the blurb:

Fen Marshal believes in living her life exactly as she pleases. She’s a writer and a womanizer who has her fun and walks away before anyone has a chance to want more from her. It’s not part of her plan to fall victim to obsessive lust, and as for love, well that just never enters the equation.

 

But Ruby is the woman is the woman of Fen’s dreams – literally. Fen finds herself attracted and obsessed – besotted – with a particularly delicious character from one of her own noir fiction novels.

 

It’s an obsession that brings Ruby to life – somehow, who cares how? Fen doesn’t. Fen just wants to love this creature she’s manifested through the pure strength of her imagination.

 

There’s only one problem. Ruby is not a nice character. Yes, she’s beautiful. But she’s also ruthless, possesses no heart or soul and doesn’t bleed.

 

She may just be the worst mistake Fen’s ever made.

 

How delicious is that? I’m so jealous I didn’t think of it myself.

After she gets that one done, we will have to start the marketing and publishing process on it…(and Resurrection Sticks will probably be done then, too) but we can also get back to the co-authoring of our book Hanging the Moon. Very excited about that project. I have about 100 pages and the general plot on it, and when she jumps in, we should be able to get it completed within two months.

So…lots to do, lots to think about and even more to enjoy. Finally, I feel my life is moving exactly in the direction I have always wanted it to go. And I can’t wait to write the next 26 books! Especially now that ‘ll have my writer-wife next to me, doing the same thing! It’s just a fantasy made real for any writer.

As Frost said, miles to go before I sleep… but it makes a huge difference when you’re loving the journey.

Be the first to like.
Unlike
February 22nd, 2012 aggravation, Aging, anger, angst, anxiety, apartment, betrayal, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, change, chaos, Colorado, conflict, crisis, depression, despair, desperation, disability, disillusionment, domestic violence, Driving, EMOTIONS, exes, fear, friendship, frustration, grief, guilt, harsh realities, HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP), hope, Human Nature, Lakewood, life, loneliness, love, luck, meaning, midlife crisis, moving, need, panic, phobias, problem-solving, PTSD, purpose, RELATIONSHIPS, Relocation, sadness, sensitivity, Sensory Processing Sensitivity, Social Psychology, stress, trust, U-Haul, women, Writer's Block, WRITING, Xanax No Comments »

Stupid, Honorable, High-Road Seeking Fool

In a post from a few years ago (two posts, actually, under Going to Denver Because You’re Dead) I chronicled this transition of moving to Colorado to start a new life; again reinventing myself, with the hope of somehow finding my new place in this ever-changing, ever-challenging world.  I got rid of three-quarters of everything i owned, packed a U-Haul trailer behind my Cherryot, and off I went. A journey that lasted 30 hours on many days of little sleep. By the time I arrived in Denver, i was exhausted, lost, and had this sensation of being on another planet. I was not used to driving in big city traffic, with all its interchanges and exits and geographic complications. I didn’t know how to get to this new apartment I had secured for myself by phone and online. I ended up off an exit in a bad neighborhood, worn out, my iPhone battery overtaxed and at that crucial moment, dead. I launched into a full-fledged panic attack, with some unsavory gang-bangers headed my way, and I dug the .25 out of the console and clenched it, hoping i would not have to use it. The gang-bangers wandered off, and i fell completely apart. I couldn’t go on. But then i realized that there was no one to save me but me. It was a familiar feeling. Somehow i managed to calm myself down, wait for my battery to charge, and checked the map against the street signs i could see, and re-route. I tried again to find where i was going, and got lost again. Finally i just stopped in the road and got out and approached the car behind me–several Latino guys in a jacked up car, and just point-blank told them i was lost and needed to find a a certain address. The driver was kind and helpful and told me exactly how to get there, and i did.

After that, i tried to fashion a life. I didn’t know anyone. I used the internet to meet as many women as possible, hoping to make new friends, find dates, and finally that partner i just knew had to be hiding here somewhere. Long story short, I dated 22 women that first year. All of them either I rejected or they rejected me. Then I met one who seemed genuinely interested. I wound up eventually moving in with her, and so began a nightmare of epic proportions that lasted another 9 months. Her mother would NOT move out of the basement as promised, her family hated me, my girlfriend quit her job started smoking pot every day all day, and drinking, (When she had presented herself as a non drug user and not a problem drinker when we met–and knew that was criteria I would not budge on) and not communicating, and hitting me when we had sex, and sleeping all the time, or having meltdowns where she would destroy the house and scream, all the while using my money to pay her mortgage and her truck payment and not paying MY bills. It ended with me calling the cops and she being arrested for domestic violence against me, and then me having to move in a few days, while injured and upset and exhausted.

There was so much more to that process but I’ll skip it all and just say it was another few weeks and months of stress and misfortune before things settled down. [For blogs about this situation, see  Birthday Bash ; Fleeing Field Mouse  ;    Happy Effing Anniversary  ; EXTENDED STRESS Hotel. ;    Trauma Biscuit  ;  The Biggest Lies of All ]

Then I met someone else, four months later. Someone who made me feel things i hadn’t felt in 12 years. I was falling in love with her, and it had only been two months. My hope was renewed. I thought maybe it was my turn. That all my suffering had finally paid off somehow. But she could not feel sexual/romantic attraction to be 24/7–and thought she should. So we’d go platonic, and then she’d change her mind and want sex. I don’t get how someone can have sex with you 35 times in two months, but wonder if she had any attraction. Her attraction, though, she said, came and went, she said, and this became an on-again, off-again trial by fire. I continued to be patient and loving and kind and nurturing, and I made it all about her, and still, it ended. Trying to take the high road, as always, I agreed to be just friends with her, but then i saw very quickly that she could not be there for me. She could only handle her drama. All the while, I was dealing with my midlife crisis of getting older and facing that upcoming 50th birthday, and being reminded at a funeral for her friend’s girlfriend, that i didn’t get to go to my father’s funeral because my selfish petty family never told me he was sick or dead. And they left me out of his obit as a surviving family member. And i sat in that church–me, the atheist, listening to all that stupid blather, and wondering how many people would attend MY funeral. I realized it would not be many. And that also made me profoundly sad that I had gotten to this point in my life and didn’t have the fundamental things I should have by now. I had nightmares about my dad. Nightmares about me in a casket and no one there to say goodbye to me. Nightmares of drowning in an ocean with sharks circling me, and everyone I knew standing on a boat and watching, but not helping me. But she made it clear when I awoke from those nightmares the morning after that funeral service, that there was no room for my pain. She said “I really can’t take any of your negativity.”

But, like the stupid, honorable, high-road seeking fool that I am, I continued to be supportive and wonderful to her, swallowing my own pain…swallowing my heartache over her not returning my feelings, when it had been 12 long years of me thinking I could never fall in love again after that one gigantic heartbreak with the only woman who had been my first and last great love. I put myself aside again, while KR enjoyed my support, but gave nothing back. As long as i remained cheerful and strong and supportive, she was fine. I hoped it would all normalize and equalize somehow, if I was just patient.

Near this time, having not seen my best friend, JH, in two and half years, though we talked every day on the phone, I was looking forward to her upcoming visit. She knew me better than anyone on the planet and we had been extremely bonded for 11 years. She had planned to move here even before me, but I wound up having to go sooner before I lost my mind, being so unhappy where I was. Finally, then, she came to visit. First, in December. It was to be our bonding time. I had so much I wanted to share with her and i needed her more than ever–to talk to–in person. To help me figure out how to get my life back on track. But I introduced her to my two friends CW and KR (whom I had been dating and fell for, but was now just my friend). JH and CW had instant chemistry, and so it then became about them.  I didn’t get that time with JH. But she assured me she was coming back the next month, to do that. Oh, and also to have me design her book cover. And of course, to see the new love interest, CW.

But that 2nd visit was even worse. Out of the 9 or so outings and plans, that were all planned by my best friend, JH–it was me and JH and CW. Or, it was JH and CW. I began to feel like a hotel, and a chauffeur. None of those plans were me and my best friend. My very missed and needed best friend. None of them. After several days of this, I voiced my feelings, and begrudgingly, she cancelled that date with CW that night and we got Chinese food and alcohol and watched a movie, but i never got the chance to talk with her like I’d wanted to for 2 and a half years. Because she preferred the movie, or talking about CW every few seconds. Another few days passed with the same paradigm. All these wonderful plans with CW, or allowing me to tag along with THEM. They had even made plans to go to Vegas in February, and New York in March for the CW’s birthday, which was near the same date as MINE. Finally I could not bite my tongue any longer.  I had literally drawn blood in my own mouth biting my tongue. I told her how it made me feel (Again) and how much I had needed her, and how I had waited for this visit for two and half years.

Her response was, “Why are you trying to ruin my happiness?”

She was MAD. Actually MAD at me for expecting her attention, and some time together after all that time apart. I became so livid, I knew I would say something I’d be sorry for. I told her I was going to the store and would be right back. I spent an hour sitting in my Cherryot in the park, drinking a Hard Cider, smoking cigarettes I had sworn off of; and calmer, ready to have a rational discussion again, I went back.

She was gone. She had packed her bags and was just………GONE. She ignored my texts and my phone calls, (and after over a month, still no response). I even sent her a text that said “You mean I have lost you because I needed you?” I was met with more silence. Her new girlfriend, CW, then became my EX friend, because she ignored me too, except to send me the name of a counselor she had used. She had her own agenda now, and it no longer included me.  In desperation, I tried to confide in KR, and I was an obvious mess, could not stop crying. She said she couldn’t help me, that I needed professional help. No. I needed a friend, and until that moment, I kind of hoped she’d come through finally, in my hour of need. But now, she was the third betrayal and abandonment within a few days. And no word from her either in all this time.

I called my VA counselor and could not get a regular appointment, because there were so many veterans now who needed help and they were understaffed and booked up. How could i be selfish enough to dismiss those soldiers who had their legs blown off in war, and suffered horrible psychological damage? So I called that counselor CW mentioned. I had a quick appointment the very next day and I thought it went well, and i started to feel like I would be okay. But then I got a call from that counselor, who informed me she couldn’t see me again because I owned GUNS. I am a single woman living alone, and only one of those was my usual one…the other two I had acquired quite by accident and never used. So now I was faced with my fourth abandonment and betrayal–by someone PROFESSIONAL, who I went to for help, because I knew I needed it. I tried to reason with her on the phone, telling her that taking away my guns would not keep me from killing myself if that’s what I wanted to do.  There were a million ways to die, and it would have happened a long time ago, if that’s what I wanted to do. I didn’t go to her because I was suicidal. I went to her because i was profoundly sad and hurt and needed some help dealing with it. Help my “friends” could not give me because they were too busy walking in the other direction, after their own selfish wants. The email exchange is posted appropriately under the entry the Fourth Betrayal.

I now have this recurring nightmare of being bloody and bruised and broken, lying on the ground, and everyone who ever said they loved me, or were supposed to, are kicking me, spitting on me…walking away….

Now it’s February 22nd. My lease is up here on April 1st. I needed to find another cheaper place to live because I’m paying $1200 a month to live here. With more money, I could make other things happen–like fixing my credit that the last relationship ruined, and finally buying a home to call my own. I found a cheap apartment (even though it was up stairs and stairs destroy my knees), but maybe it was some rare good fortune, and I could just deal with it. Even though I didn’t even trust it; I chose to believe that things might be turning in my favor. Then I found out I couldn’t have my DTV dish there, and I was under a bundled contract with my internet, phone and TV. This, after I had already been packing and putting boxes in the garage for a week. I need a TV more than most people. All this time alone. And all those shows with familiar characters and storylines…it makes me feel in some strange way I have this virtual family…and I can also lose myself in the TV, and it keeps me from thinking too much about how I feel. I need that. I NEED IT like I need WATER and FOOD and SLEEP.

Honestly, I have not felt this degree of loneliness and heartache since 1999 & 2000, living in my van, crippled and fighting Big Brother, when all had forsaken me. It is the same now, lo these many years later. I feel crippled on the inside, and it’s no less harrowing and difficult than being unable to walk without crutches…I am lonely because the cold hard truth is no one loves me. Those who professed to, have forsaken me. My cats are the only living beings who I can say for sure have love for me, and how pathetic is that, especially at my age? My heart breaks from abandonment and betrayal. I have cried every day for over a month now. I don’t think I can ever understand or have any peace about what JH has done to me. It’s just three times the injury that CW and KR are also guilty of the same. Theirs is only a lesser crime perhaps because they have not been in my life as long. But does that really make it a lesser crime? The deed is done, no matter how I turn it. And yes, it does seem that JH’s crime is a capital offense. She and I have been best friends for 11 years…how is it that she can throw me away so easily, and for no compelling reason? She has been the only person in my life I could ever depend on. I would have taken a bullet for her. And yes, I realize that I have had her on a pedestal for some time because of that. I made a decision that i will never again need anyone so much, that when they leave, i can’t survive their absence. But it doesn’t take away the pain.

At the very least, it could be compared to a divorce. But it is also deeper than that. I am grieving over a death. The death of our friendship, at her own hand. And still, it seems more intense than divorce or death. When divorces and deaths happen, there are usually other people there to help support you, hug you, tell you everything will be okay and they love you and will be at your side. But what if what has been lost are all those people? What if you have no family and your friends have abandoned you? how much harder is it to pick yourself up off that hard ground, with no hands reaching to help you? There is no ameliorating force to dull the pain or provide strength. The only comfort and strength to be had has to come from inside the person on the ground. And what if that person is particularly sensitive? what if that person’s heart is tender and bruised to begin with? what if that person was reaching out for help with other pains when it happens? I feel that I have been beaten half to death and reached for my friends and they kicked me, and pelted me with stones. Where will I find the strength for this?

I have begun to make new friends, but that process is slow, and it is much too early to lean on those people, even though I desperately need to. They have been as supportive as they can, but it’s awkward to dump this all on them, since they haven’t known me very long. It’s not what I want to build new friendships on..and truthfully, I don’t expect them to stay around either. I fully expect them to just disappear too).

I have tried to keep busy. I have tried to stay in my left brain. I have ignored every painful thought that bubbles up in my mind. I have done all I know to do, and still it is not enough. I still cry every day. Sob. Bury my face in my sweet cats, and douse them with my tears. The medications I’ve tried are not working. The positive affirmations are not working. I am barely getting by. I don’t want to die, but this is killing me. I want to have hope. I want fortune to smile on me. Isn’t it time? Haven’t I suffered enough? Yet, to think this way is to somehow suggest that life is fair and there’s some balancing force that will reward me for trudging on. The truth is it’s all random. There is no fairness, there is only life, and what comes to you. It has little to do with how deserving you are, or how hard you’ve tried, or how good you’ve struggled to be. where does that leave me?

During this time, to have still another computer crash–which seems to happen every 6 months, is another thorn in my side. I was without a computer for a week, and this is not a good thing for me…it’s how I occupy my mind. But I had to sit in front of the TV and struggle through each minute, each hour, each day….I had to order a new computer and spend money on that which I needed for other things. And I am about to move again, in April, when my lease is up, to a cheaper apartment. I hope the extra money will help me reach at least one of my goals, which is to be able to clean up my credit so I can finally buy a home of my own. So now, in anticipation of that, determined not to injure myself by doing it all too fast, I have been packing up all the things I can do without for the next six weeks. I am surrounded by boxes and debris, the detritus of my existence, the things I carry around with me to set up in proper places to create this semblance of a life, but which has become merely the settings for a stage to serve a fictional play that is my life. Shakespeare said “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts…” quite existential–and that’s how I am feeling. I will turn 50 next month. 50. I am closer to my death than to my birth and I still don’t have a home, a partner…and no one loves me. This statement is usually some lament that is not accurate, but shockingly, it is in this instance, TRUE. There is no one in my life who LOVES me. That’s got to be the worst feeling in the universe. Especially while facing this threshold of getting older. I’m afraid. I’m fearful of too many things, now. Fearful of being ill with no one to take care of me. Afraid of something happening to me and no one will know, or even care….terrified of dying alone.

If I give myself to someone in friendship and love, and am repayed with betrayal and cruelty, then I might respond by withholding the precious aspects that make love valuable…but by withholding the very nature of what love is, I garner no interest in anyone loving me, and so I am caught in my own trap of self-protection. So I either have to choose a life of giving with the very real possibility of betrayal and pain, against the choice of loneliness, but without betrayal and cruelty. Which is the more formidable negative? which pain is greater?

Last night I had the same nightmare, over and over. I kept waking up from it, going back to sleep and then dreaming it again. And though I know, emotionally, that it was awful, I can’t remember a thing about the dream.

I can’t just stop caring. Believe me, I’ve tried. And I just go on caring anyway. I wish there was a pill for that, I’d twist the arm of the VA docs until they gave it to me. Sometimes I need to not care so much. It’s really a burden to care. Caring means it matters, and if it matters, it hurts when things don’t go well.

So today, I made the mistake of trying to correct the failing Internet connection on my computer and when using it wirelessly on My Nook. I called Century Link, and the woman wasn’t making sense, had me crawl under unplug and move to other room after I had to hunt for another phone cable and then when i finally get it hooked up in other room she had disconnected me. I wanted to drive down there, find her, and bash her face in. Not the kind of emotions I like to have.

Then Tom calls about my apartment–I can’t have a satellite dish on 2nd floor where my apartment will be. I’m under contract and can’t get Comcast because I am disputing what they say I owe and trying to be in the class action suit against them. So can’t get their service and couldn’t anyway because I’m under contract with Century Link along with DTV, Verizon. But, he said, he will have apt opening up on top floor, but not sure when it will be available because they’re being evicted and might fight it and that will put me over my lease period–and also I can’t climb that many stairs, my knees will blow and moving, will kill me unless I can pay someone to do EVERYTHING. And the past moving experiences have taught me that I NEVER have the help I need, and I wind up injuring myself to the point where it takes me months to get back to normal.

Tom’s supposed to call back.*

SO while I’m waiting, I couldn’t find my charger for my ear bud, and need it, because my neck injury won’t let me hold the phone with my shoulder like some people do, and I keep dropping my phone and If I hold the phone with one hand, like many people do, my hand goes numb, and I drop the phone that way too. If I break that I’m fucked because an iPhone is not cheap to replace.  I did finally find the charger, mislabeled among all the other thousands of cords and cables, and plugged in my earbud. My only stupid victory in months. And I fully expect it to start smoking and catch on fire.

All the while, I am stressed because I’m stumbling through the chaos of packing…and the place is a mess. I’m about to lose my mind.

I’ve been crying again, feeling lost and alone… popping Xanax, drinking Hot Damn and Mudslides and Hard Ciders. Last night I spent $36 at liquor store–had to walk there because I was afraid to lose my parking spot outside because I’m using my garage for all the packing, and if I return to no parking spaces–which is VERY common here, I will have to then move ALL THOSE BOXES in the garage again to make room, and my back and neck can’t take it right now. Now my knees and hips are killing me, because there’s a big hill on the way up to Ohio street by the liquor store, that I simply HAD to climb to get some damn alcohol to try to calm my nerves, deaden my emotions.

I’m afraid I’ll get cancer because I’m smoking again. And that means I’ll deal with dying alone for sure.

I feel fat. I feel ugly. I feel useless. I feel hopeless. I feel alone.

 

_____

*ADDENDUM: Tom called back and said he couldn’t do it. SO good luck finding an apartment, sorry,,etc. SO back to square one. Square one seems to be my default position

Be the first to like.
Unlike
December 20th, 2011 anger, angst, anxiety, AUTHORS, chaos, CREATIVITY, depression, Depressive Realism, despair, desperation, disillusionment, Driving, fear, friendship, frustration, harsh realities, life, loneliness, meaning, PSYCHOLOGY, RELATIONSHIPS, romance, sadness, self-awareness, sensitivity, Sensory Processing Sensitivity, Social anxiety, socializing, stress No Comments »

Why not Me?

Pulitzer and Nobel Prize-winning author, Pearl S. Buck  said,

“A human creature born abnormally, inhumanely sensitive. To them… a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create~ so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, their very breath is cut off…They must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency they are not really alive unless they are creating.”

And we now know Buck was an HSP – A Highly Sensitive Person, as it is colloquially called by the pioneer in this research, Dr. Elaine Aron, PhD. Perhaps ironically, HSPs also have the ability to be more adaptable than the average person, if for no other reason than we HAVE to be to survive, and I suspect that the HSPs who aren’t able to, for whatever reason, end up being overwhelmed to the point where they can descend into isolation or even suicide. Especially if they have little support from friends or family.

But HSPs are uniquely qualified to problem-solve. They have a unique brain architecture known in the literature as Sensory Processing Sensitivity. There is a difference in what they feel, as opposed to most others in our society. If two people are being poked in the leg, and one is an HSP and one is not, the one who is not HSP will interpret that as a finger poking them, the HSP might interpret this as an ice pick. So while they might be feeling more pain, they are also more motivated to make it stop, and because HSPs tend to be analytical and creative problem solvers, they are the ones most likely to find the solution.

With the Holiday coming up this weekend, I’m having to deal with many of my least-favorite things. No, I’m not talking about shopping or relatives. I’m not doing either. I’m talking about that dreadful set of decisions I have to make, which I not only want to avoid, but wish I could just sleep through.

I am in that mode where I’m fighting off depression and sadness because the holidays are always a source of pain for me. I can’t even recall the last time I had one I enjoyed, and most of them, I’ve spent alone. It’s made worse when I look around me and so many other people I know are all glowing and happy because they have someone who loves and wants them…it makes me feel sad. I’m happy for THEM, but sad for me, because I don’t have that, and haven’t, for a very long time. Even worse, is when one of those happy people is someone you recently fell for, and they didn’t fall for you, but then went immediately into another relationship and DID fall for the other person; and you watch as they say things about that other person you only wanted them to say about you, and they post happy pictures and remove the ones that had you in them. I want to be happy for them, and I am, but it always comes with a sadness. Why couldn’t it have been me? Why can’t I ever find love? And then the tears come, and the scar on my heart gets opened up again, and I sit and bleed…wondering when I’ll find a spark of hope or inspiration again.

So it’s helpful if I can be social with the friends I do have during the holiday season, since I don’t have any family, but it’s often difficult to catch them on holidays, because they have families and established friends to do that with, and I still don’t know that many people here. I’m not going to be on the list of first chosen to spend time with. Am I having a pity party? Hell yes. I feel pitiful. It feels unfair. And I’m once again feeling terrible about it all. Thanks to the wretched holiday season.

Here’s the crux of my dilemma. As an HSP, my Sensory Processing Sensitivity means I’m easily overwhelmed and stressed by certain situations. Some of those are chaos, loud noise and too many different types of noises, crowds of strangers, all crammed together in a small space, driving and parking downtown, drunk people. Now, tell me, doesn’t that sound like your average holiday party at a pub? So I am always forced into this awkward position: I don’t want to disappoint any friend I might have who invited me, but I also don’t want to put myself through it, especially since the holidays are already really difficult for me. And sometimes being among drunk strangers just makes me feel more alone (and there’s the added insult that they are all straight people, and I’m gay–another source for feeling like an outcast–why would I want to pal around with a bunch of drunk straight men? Especially when they’re usually putting their hands all over me–or trying. I have had moments when they run the risk of pulling back a stump).  And then, there’s also the parking issue. The last two times I went downtown to socialize, I got two tickets and also got my car towed (and of course this was after I had to spend 300$ on a brake job–so 550$ later, I’m aware of my aversion to going downtown). Driving downtown is also very stressful to me because there’s too much information pelting my senses–

Turn here? [looking at GPS on iPhone]…oops BRAKE LIGHTS!  Nearly rammed someone…Crap! I need my reading glasses because I’m wearing my contacts…what’s that sign say? I can’t read it! oh, take off my reading glasses…. my hands are shaking…oops, I should have turned there…I’ll turn here OH MY GOD THAT’S A ONE-WAY STREET….[backing up]…STOP HONKING AT ME! I CAN’T have an accident….I finally get a decent vehicle and if I have a wreck, I’ll be so upset…I smell something burning…I hope it’s not something under my hood….SAME FINGER TO YOU BUDDY!….plus worrying about paying for it, and being trapped with no transportation….that screaming Serpentine-belt I need to get fixed…so embarrassing when someone hears it, need to get that fixed, but it’s going to be a couple hundred dollars to do…the noise of it is so irritating…is this where I turn? fuck!  I nearly ran over someone on the cross walk…STOP HONKING AT ME!! Did I bring my wallet? What if I have to park in the street? Do I even have change? DO I NEED CHANGE? Stop Honking at me!!

Welcome to my head. That’s a mild version, too. And only about a minute of time in that experience, but it’s what my head is doing.

Now, compare that to a low-impact or pleasant sensory experience….

Wow…the snow is so pretty and there’s so many trees….know where I’m going…it’s three blocks down on Vance, turn right  then into the free parking area. Got a good space up front….walking into the shopping district…it’s so clean, here… the air smells clean, too…yum, this Juicy Fruit gum smells and tastes so good….it feels good to walk, the rhythm of it is soothing to me…I love all the holiday lights strung on everything here…people look happy, walking along…my life is good….I smell barbeque…and popcorn…mmmm……now I’m hungry, but this place has really good food too, so I’ll just order something delicious….the theater is right there…maybe we could catch a movie matinee tomorrow…oh, that’s my favorite Xmas song…..[singing] “have yourself….a merry little christmas….” just around the corner, my friend waits and we’ll have a drink and conversation, and enjoy our connection…maybe we can sit in front of that fireplace…I love fireplaces…so cozy…I love it when she laughs and smiles…she’s a good friend, I feel lucky to have her in my life…this time, I will hug her and not let go first….I’ll just have a nice relaxing drink or two…if we’re there a while, and I drink more than two drinks, I can just walk home…this is my neighborhood, and it’s familiar and safe…what a beautiful night it is tonight….

See the difference? Having that sensory sensitivity might be bad sometimes, but it can also be extremely pleasant other times. That’s why HSPs are generally highly creative, and spend a good deal of time doing creative things–music, writing, art–all three of which I ACTUALLY DO. And HSPs also need to have some control over their environment and their schedules and their social lives., so that they can create a balance of sensory experience.

So, when I am invited into chaos, I always try to make alternate plans so I can see the people I DO know and care about; but they don’t always want to sit in a quieter place and have a cocktail and talk . I guess I really am odd, because that’s one of my favorite things to do. I want to connect with those I care about or am interested in getting to know. Can’t do that in a loud bar where you have to shout at each other, or when the goal is to get hammered.  And by the time I even GET to that location I’m stressed out. Then I can’t have more than two drinks, because I have to drive home, and I just DON’T drink and drive.  And just when I needed a drink the most. Not to mention I’m really nervous because I know that a lot of people DO DRINK AND DRIVE and I’m afraid one of them will hit me.  Call me a party-pooper, but it’s just not the sort of interaction I enjoy. Some HSPs can handle it better because they’re Extroverted HSPs. For the most part, I am an Introverted HSP. I love interaction like conversation and communion in a soothing atmosphere, watching movies, playing a game…but the more chaos and the less control I have, the more stressful it becomes for me. And I’m so weary of having to explain it, and so tired of being made to feel guilty for being who I am. Is it any wonder that it’s easy to become isolated? Or depressed? Is it any wonder why I question the reason for my existence?

Be the first to like.
Unlike
November 29th, 2011 anger, angst, anxiety, Behavior, betrayal, celibacy, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, communication, conflict, courage, dating, depression, despair, desperation, disillusionment, EMOTIONS, ENTERTAINMENT, exes, experience, fear, friendship, frustration, girlfriends, grief, growth, guilt, happiness, harsh realities, honesty, hope, Human Nature, intimacy, Jonatha Brooke, Kelli Jae Baeli, lesbians, lies, life, loneliness, love, meaning, music, PHILOSOPHY, PSYCHOLOGY, reality, reason, RELATIONSHIPS, romance, sadness, self-awareness, self-respect, sensitivity, SEXUALITY, Social anxiety, Social Psychology, socializing, stress, truth, women No Comments »

Letter to a Battered Heart

Open letter to a friend whose heart is battered….

I remember that you were there for me when I was going through a lot and had no one. So I will do my best to be here for you, now.

In this life, you have to separate your mental and emotional things, your habits, your beliefs–like laundry. Whites over there, colors over there, delicates there. You can’t throw them all in together or the colors will bleed and what was once pure and white is now sullied. Some things must be kept apart, some things put together, and you always have to cleanse them on the proper cycle and temperature.

My first concern is how you can miss someone who treated you so badly. What do you miss? Missing someone implies that there were good things big enough to erase the bad things, and from what I know of her, there was little that could be strong enough to erase the damage she did to you physically, and emotionally, the betrayal she brought. What is this power she has? Please bottle it for me, it might come in handy. ;0)

You say your biggest fault is opening yourself up to everybody…that you give your all to anybody who needs help. And you just kind of shut down after being hurt so many times.

Well, Honey, I have been hurt a lot too…but look, here’s the deal…Since moving here, I found that I didn’t initially spend much time looking for a quality circle of friends. I’m looking for that, now, yes. (And I believe I have a few). And I’m looking for someone to date regularly, yes, even if it’s not serious, and just companionship and affection. But ultimately, I want a life partner. I don’t do well single. I like having my person to talk to everyday, to share those moments with, to nurture and support and have that returned, for once. I’ve been primarily single for 7 years, with short interruptions of heart-wrenching sadness and betrayal. So I get how that feels. But I won’t let it steal any potential happiness, because life is short. I just know that when you close a door to keep bad things out, you also block the good things from coming in.  I don’t want to be that person.

You say you have tried so hard to open yourself up but feel you are so weird about that. You are terrified of feeling that hurt again. You speak of how your ex was the first person you ever truly opened up to…and you wonder for what? To be hurt?
You’ll never be able to open yourself up until you feel safe. So you don’t feel safe yet. That’s okay. I just hope you won’t close off so much you miss the good ones that might be out there…I know what you mean about the hurt. I felt that way the first time I got my heart broken. (And there have been plenty of other heartbreaks along the way).  But that first one was the worst. I thought I wouldn’t survive. I began to feel hatred for all women, unfairly applying a blanket pre-judgment to every person of the female gender. But luckily, during my darkest hour,  there was this cutie who thought I hung the moon, and she was right there waiting to pick up the pieces by telling me how wonderful I was, that I was her dream woman, and then it didn’t hurt so bad. I could see things in a different light. I realized I DID deserve to be loved and treated with respect and kindness, even though I had just been given an overwhelming example that I didn’t. Even if there are plenty of people out there who are willing to savage your heart, there are good ones too, they’re just fewer and farther between. Believe me, I have lost hope and then tried again over and over. You’ll see that if you have kept up with my blogs ;^)

I’m not sure what it is that keeps me trying. Maybe just that I know myself, know what I want and need, and know that I won’t ever be completely happy until I find that other person who will show me love again. But I won’t settle.  I’ve learned that I’m capable of being blinded by that need and I can’t let it control me. But I know it’s there and it’s strong, and all I can do is keep putting one foot in front of the other and surrounding myself with as many good people and purposeful things as I can.

If you believe that every woman hurts more than she loves, then that means that everyone is bad. And I hope you don’t believe that. You are just sensitive. You feel everything all the way to the bone, as do I. You’ll have to learn some coping skills or this world and the people in it, will destroy everything good in YOU. So, I’ll be your friend.

I know you will, you said,  and part of that scares me….. You said that you were used to proving yourself to women…But you don’t have to prove yourself, just BE yourself. Yet you feel that who you are isn’t enough, and I would ask you– do you LIKE who you are? You say as a lesbian, Hell yes!! but internally…It’s an ongoing battle.  In your eyes, you say, Women are evil…They hurt more than they love...

Lesbians are defined as women who love women. You hate them. Maybe you’re not a lesbian. LOL. I’m just kidding. But really, what about being a lesbian do you LIKE? And then, what inside you is the battle about? What are you fighting? The need to protect your heart at all costs?

Yes…you say.  It is my heart I am protecting… I LOVE everything about a woman!!!

Well it’s your heart, and you have a right to protect it. But protecting it doesn’t necessarily mean hiding it…so your biggest obstacle is fear.

Boy, do I understand that. I have moments when I think I’m just afraid of everything. And then, when push comes to shove, I somehow manage to survive. It’s all those horrible moments of fear that taught me more about myself, and the strength I have inside. We can’t know light without darkness. We can’t understand pain without joy. And we can’t have love without anger.  There truly is a yin and yang to the universe.

One of the most poignant and pivotal moments of that learning about myself came when I moved here…you might recall what I went through to make it happen–many days of hard labor and stress and obstacles, and then 30 hours on the road, and then when I got to the end of that journey, driving into Denver, overwhelmed, exhausted, and irretrievably LOST, I panicked. I came apart at the seams. And there was no one to help me. And in that moment I made a decision. I realized I simply had no choice. I had to find a way to get back on track and find this place I was about to call home. And I did it. Tearfully, shaking, and near insane. But I did it. And because of that, I know that no matter how lost I am, how hurt, or exhausted, I really can find a solution, because inside me is an inner core of strength. You have that, too, my friend. Maybe you just don’t know it yet.

You say,  Every part of me wants what you speak of, what so many others want…

I know. And fear can be powerful. It’s even more so with highly sensitive people. And perhaps, as you say, you are the most highly sensitive person I will ever know.  Maybe so. All the more reason to launch a mission to find some ways to cope, so that you can be happy and fulfilled. You shouldn’t have to say no to yourself and what you really need.You don’t have to. But it IS a process. I know you know that, but you think it’s hard to find a woman willing to work through your “demons”.

Most people don’t have that kind of patience, it’s true. Our society has trained us in recent years to rush through everything. I’m guilty of it sometimes too. But  first, you have to feel safe. And I see you arranging your life into little walls of safety. Boundaries of okayness…but it’s important to be able to discern what is safety, and what is hiding. I think you hide, mostly…and I guess my wish for you is that you can learn to feel safe without hiding.

This song speaks to that in a most poignant and profound way…

 

I\’ll Try — Jonatha Brooke

listen to it…

I did, and just made myself cry. That song just screamed in my head to play it for you.

You say, I’m not ready to give someone my all. That’s okay.  But realize that dating isn’t ALL. It’s just dating. Personally, I wouldn’t want to get serious with anyone who gave me her all, upfront. But no, you say, I’m not quite ready to give myself up again… A healthy relationship doesn’t require that you give yourself up, either. You answer, You don’t think?  I beg to differ…. But you should never have to lose yourself, is what I mean. It should mesh naturally. But you think you have to be willing to give your all. And I tell you,  that’s not something you decide on the front-end. There’s time, and you should be allowed that time to know what you feel, and why you feel it. You are under no obligation to jump into the deep end of the pool, especially after you nearly drowned the last time.

But you’re guarded right now. I can see that. I was hoping you weren’t, since you said you’d worked through it. Maybe you still have work to do? Maybe this is the lie you tell yourself. You still say it’s an ongoing battle…but I’m not sure it has to be. Yet, you can only do what you can do.

Okay, Jae, you tell me, I DO hide. More than I like to admit!!!! I do not ever want to feel the hurt I felt when she left me…

I know, Honey. I have felt that way too. There are few things feel worse than that. When T. left me, it was like she reached into my chest, yanked my heart out and tossed it on the floor, still beating, still bleeding. Here’s one of the songs I wrote about that…see if it speaks to you.

 

The Fall — Jae Baeli

 

…so I know what you feel. And I know how powerful it can be.

But you can get back up again. One foot in front of the other. Keep passing the open windows…

…and I’m here to jerk you back if I see you put your foot on the sill.

 

Be the first to like.
Unlike
November 22nd, 2011 anxiety, coping skills, DRUGS, EMOTIONS, HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP), honesty, panic, PHILOSOPHY, PSYCHOLOGY, quirks, RELATIONSHIPS, self-awareness, sensitivity, Sensory Processing Sensitivity, Social anxiety, Social Psychology, Xanax 3 Comments »

Positive Anchoring, Honesty & Humor

Sometimes we have to come up with clever solutions to problems. Three of my most cherished and successful coping skills have been Positive Anchoring, honesty and humor.
One of the situations that is particularly challenging is being nervous in social situations. For an HSP, it’s doubly hard and it happens far more often. We often find ourselves overwhelmed by that date we have with someone we’re attracted to. We can spoil an entire evening with the handwringing and insecure self-talk going on in our heads. We can spill our drinks, say something insipid or insulting, or just panic, make up a lame excuse, and go home early. So it helps to do some confidence-building before you leave the house.

For instance, when I was in a particularly insecure place recently, I knew that I was broadcasting that mindset at every turn, and this was counter-productive while trying to Win Friends and Influence People.

So I went back to my well-worn technique which I call Positive Anchoring. I got out my trusty dry erase board and jotted down every positive aspect of myself that I felt a potential partner might find a selling-point. Looking at that list everyday whenever I walked by, has helped a great deal, and it forces me to acknowledge the good things about myself. This, in turn, allows me to project a better self-image to those fortunate enough to reside outside my brain. There is no room for modesty in this exercise, and it has served its purpose effectively many times. The trick, though, is believing it. Sometimes the negative voices will speak louder than that list, but I just have to tell them to shut up.

Another situation where I had to find a coping skill against anxiety was when I performed my music solo in front of a crowd for the first time in many years. When I was in my two bands in the 90′s, I did not usually suffer from stage fright, because I had the reassurance of other band members on stage with me. I was not standing there alone under the lights, with all eyes on just little old me. But when I had to perform alone, all my insecurities rose to the surface, and I knew in that moment that I had to either do something quick, or run out of the venue, feeling like a failure.


My knee-jerk response to everything is just brutal honesty. So I said into the mic, “I haven’t done this in a long time and I’m really nervous…” That statement got me some supportive applause. So I continued, adding humor: “I remember that public speakers are often told to deal with their nerves by picturing the entire audience naked…” Titters swept through the crowd. Buoyed by the new acceptance I was feeling through humor and honesty, I met the eyes of a pretty girl on the front row and bobbed my eyebrows, adding, “How YOU doin’?” This brought the house down in laughter, and I was then sufficiently bolstered so I could begin singing and playing the first song.
So Positive Anchoring, Honesty and Humor are key for an HSP (and for anyone else who suffers from periodic insecurity or sensory overload). Failing that, I just take a Xanax.

Be the first to like.
Unlike
November 13th, 2011 angst, anxiety, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, Colorado, dating, depression, Depressive Realism, desperation, friendship, HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP), intimacy, lesbians, life, loneliness, love, midlife crisis, PSYCHOLOGY, RELATIONSHIPS, romance, self-awareness, Sensory Processing Sensitivity, sex, SEXUALITY, Social Psychology, socializing, stress, triggers 1 Comment »

Agnosco veteris vestigia flammae–I feel once more the scars of the old flame…

Most things for me, now, are in the context of being an HSP. My Sensory Processing Sensitivity is a brain architecture that will never change. It is part of me as much as DNA or eye color or ethnic origins.

I know that one of my main weaknesses in this life, is that I don’t do well as a single person, and by extension, I don’t do well sexless. Those needs get in the way of my common sense in evaluating the character of some women. So I have been so bold as to place ads on adult sites, seeking only casual (safe) sex, hoping that if those needs are met, I won’t be so quick to jump into a relationship, just because I want to have some intimacy.

I have had, in the last 10 years, some forced-celibacy, and realized a few things. One was that for a three year period, right before i moved to Colorado, I had sex three times, once per year. (So there were lots of communions with my vibrator). And those annual encounters were each with a FWB (Friend With Benefits). And during Xmas holiday time too–like it was my one special gift each year. pfft.

Debaucherous, though the encounters were, I was still aware that the “love” thing was missing, and it was really just carnal, and not lovemaking. We would have wild, passionate sex and then land in the living room with beer and pizza and a movie, and laugh it up and have a good time like friends. It was uncomplicated and enjoyable, and helped solve at least part of the problem. I just wasn’t in an environment where I could also date women I was interested in romantically, which is why I moved. But–I much prefer lovemaking. It’s just so hard to find, because you have to feel LOVE in order to have that. I ACHE for that sensation of connecting to a woman on some rapturous, surreal level, where you feel you want to unzip her and climb inside…

This is not to say I want to lead with my sex organs/sex drive, however, which is part of the point of doing it this way. When and if I meet that woman I fall for (hopefully it will be mutual) I will not be in a state of deprivation, will not be thinking with my brain chemicals or my “little head.” I will make a decision based on who she is–the whole person, how she treats me, and my response to her, in a more authentic way.

Now one of my friends stated

“I disagree with your theory and I would be very disappointed to know my potential wife had been sleeping around…safe or otherwise via means of the internet. Of course, that goes with my theory of a full disclosure w/ lovers and you may not operate that way. I just think you’re going down the wrong road. Medicating with women never solves anything and it really just isolates you more. No one is going to die w/o sex. We are also mature women and cannot be led around by our ‘balls’ when it comes to sex. It’s not a healthy approach and could well be exactly why you are at this crossroads. Friendships…start cultivating friendships. Sex and love will work itself out when you stop trying to force it. We aren’t animals who function on drive alone….P.S. forced sex deprivation and a decision are different..”

Well, first,  it’s not a theory….so maybe I wasn’t clear, but I’ll get to that part in a second…but– I only practice safe sex. And if I met someone I was romantically interested in, the sex with the FWB/fuckbuddy would STOP. That’s part of the agreement. So really, that’s no different than meeting someone after you’ve had a previous relationship. I won’t date anyone if I know they’re sleeping with someone else, either. I also date one woman exclusively at a time. And I do provide full disclosure. I have a list of every woman I’ve ever had sex with, along with details of what we did, and will provide that, along with my regular blood panel, upon request.

Second, I’m not medicating, per se. I’m recognizing that I don’t function well when I feel deprived of affection and sex. I am, among other things, an HSP. It involves Sensory Processing Sensitivity, as I mentioned, and this is a neurological architecture I was born with, as are at least 20% of the population–and that’s why this isn’t a simple issue for me. (Important to say this is NOT a disorder. It’s a biological fact, and about the same percentage of other species have it). Few people understand this about me, unless they are a close friend. My brain is wired a bit differently, and if I don’t keep myself in an optimum state of arousal–not too much, not too little–then some very unfortunate things begin to happen. (And by arousal, I don’t necessarily mean sexually. I mean consciousness or alertness). So I’m acknowledging that part of myself and addressing the issue in the safest, most honest way.

HSPs have to be careful to create an environment for themselves that allows them to function well. This is what I am doing. But I don’t expect non-HSPs to understand this, though I hope they will try. Just as I have had two girlfriends who were Synesthetes, (that’s about 1 in 25,000 people) I realize I also have unique brain architecture, too.

The other point to be had here, is that I am unable to fully please myself, sexually. This is not some psychological block, but also about nerves and brain chemicals. I require the sensory input from another person being present. So being single, means being in a constant state of sexual and tactile and emotional frustration for me. It’s not something I can turn off at will. However, it does help for me to be very productive and enthusiastic about some things, and creative, and social. That helps ameliorate the frustration, and since that’s been missing for so long, my condition is a little red-lighted at the moment. Hopefully, that will ease when I have more things in place that address my sensory needs.

I am also cultivating friendships, but I find everyone is so busy, they don’t have time to socialize or spend time except maybe once every two weeks. So I will need lots of friends if I want to have a regular social life, and especially if I want to distract those pathways away from sex. Or even if I want to meet someone I can have sex or a relationship (or both) with.

Now, add to this mix, the impending holiday season. Colorado can be a picture-postcard of holiday symbolism….

...horse-drawn carriages on 16th Street Mall,
…mountain vistas wearing white caps,
…snow bending the limbs of Aspen, Blue Spruce and Bristlecone Pines; …the light-adorned pedestrian shopping districts, piping in holiday tunes that become familiar again, like a friend you haven’t seen since last year…

But the holidays seem to have a power all their own…it’s this unique combination of joy and misery for me–
the joy that goes with beautiful snowfall, the feeling in the air,
how people start treating each other more nicely,
meals shared,
gifts given,
the new year on the horizon, as a chance to make the future what it couldn’t be in the past….

Then like Virgil’s Agnosco veteris vestigia flammae–I feel once more the scars of the old flame…{1} there’s the abject loneliness the holidays always represent for me…the reminders of all that makes me sad. The sharp prodding that stems from my orphan status, and this is just the right combination of cells in the Petri dish of depression. That’s when I have to create my own reminder that Virgil also said, Facilis decensus averni–The descent into hell is easy. We do have some control over the nature of our thoughts, after all. And I would like to believe–nay, MUST believe–that this control is at my own fingertips, and not in the hands of some mysterious force in the universe that insists on vexing me.

To some degree, thoughts really are things, and that which we resist, persists. These ideations are a curious mental carnival, the solution for which can often descend into psychobabble, but which can also edify and comfort us in times of great sorrow or generalized angst. Still, when you are an HSP, it is one thing to know you ought to choose the behavioral and psychological high road, and quite another to convince your wounded heart and psyche to actually do it. HSPs struggle with the synaptic leap from what they feel to what they WISH to feel. Often, it is a formidable obstacle to get around. And this is not about them being weak-minded or insecure, or negative. It’s about that Sensory Processing Sensitivity. Sometimes it’s like walking around with no skin. Or with burns on 50% of your body. It’s like every thought or word is a physical object and we have to constantly dodge incoming projectiles. What we feel and think and sense goes all the way to the bone. So we are often overwhelmed by this world and the challenges in it.

But we still have our needs. Our hopes. Our beautiful contributions. The unique and splendid works of art, insightfulness and love we have to offer. And I can only hope that one day, the world at large will know about and understand this, so that there will be fewer of us locked up in the loony bin, or on medication, or unwrapping the razor blades.

=========
{1} The Aeneid.

Be the first to like.
Unlike
November 7th, 2011 angst, anxiety, Arts, BRAIN, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, CREATIVITY, depression, desperation, disability, EMOTIONS, experience, fear, HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP), Human Nature, intelligence, open relationships, PHILOSOPHY, PSYCHOLOGY, self-awareness, sensitivity, Sensory Processing Sensitivity, Social Psychology, SOCIOLOGY, stress 1 Comment »

Too Much World: A Look at Highly Sensitive People

In an article in Psychology Today,* I again found comfort in the knowledge that there are others like me out there, and my particular brand of weirdness is not “damage” but an inherent brain architecture I am born with. Just like others are born with blue eyes or musical ability.
I speak of those in our species who live with Sensory Processing Sensitivity, which is the scientific term for this trait. More colloquially, it is known as HSP- Highly Sensitive Person, a collection of traits that was identified in pioneering research by Elaine Aron, PhD.
Regarding the nature of HSP’s, Aron tells us:
  • Your trait is normal. It is found in 15 to 20% of the population–too many to be a disorder, but not enough to be well understood by the majority of those around you.
  • It is innate. In fact, biologists have found it to be in most or all animals, from fruit flies and fish to dogs, cats, horses, and primates. This trait reflects a certain type of survival strategy, being observant before acting. The brains of highly sensitive persons (HSPs) actually work a little differently than others’.
  • You are more aware than others of subtleties. This is mainly because your brain processes information and reflects on it more deeply. So even if you wear glasses, for example, you see more than others by noticing more.
  • You are also more easily overwhelmed. If you notice everything, you are naturally going to be overstimulated when things are too intense, complex, chaotic, or novel for a long time.
  • This trait is not a new discovery, but it has been misunderstood. Because HSPs prefer to look before entering new situations, they are often called “shy.” But shyness is learned, not innate. In fact, 30% of HSPs are extraverts, although the trait is often mislabeled as introversion. It has also been called inhibitedness, fearfulness, or neuroticism. Some HSPs behave in these ways, but it is not innate to do so and not the basic trait.
  • Sensitivity is valued differently in different cultures. In cultures where it is not valued, HSPs tend to have low self-esteem. They are told “don’t be so sensitive” so that they feel abnormal.
So each time I find an article about it, I read it with hunger, because it serves to validate me as a worthy human being with special skills that are often misunderstood, but are also responsible for providing the world with some of the greatest, art, music and writing we have ever known. It tends to concentrate itself in creative people, or perhaps more accurately, creative people are more often than not, HSP’s.
In regard toWhy it�s hard to be a highly sensitive (HSP) introvert then, I felt I could have actually written this article–meaning, the author echoes so many of the particular idiosyncratic things about myself that are so hard to explain to others. Some of my reactions are not quite as extreme, but this has only been true in the last ten years, since finding a balance in certain areas; but overall, she describes ME in this article. Like:

“As a highly sensitive person who needs to minimize auditory stimuli, I don’t do well when another person likes having TV or loud music on all the time as background noise. I’m extremely sensitive to other people’s moods; when someone is angry, judgmental or irritated, those emotions come through my skin and into my cells, making me even more uncomfortable. Worst of all, if I don’t have my own space to retreat to and recharge, I’ll eventually have a meltdown.”

I recall one incident at my best friend’s house where I was trying so hard to hear the TV over the other stimuli in the room. My friend was talking on the phone, her ancient, diapered, toothless poodle was walking back and forth in front of me making a smack smack smack nose along with a sound that was like hoo-hoo followed by some grunt one would normally only hear an old man with dementia. Perhaps ironically, I kept turning the TV up louder because I couldn’t understand what was being said in the program I was watching. I even drew a cartoon of this event, and gave it to my friend, which to this day, she laughs about.
The reason for this is, as an HSP, I have a hard time filtering out stimuli. I hear all the sounds at once. For me, this tends to blend into one droning dirge that becomes some version of auditory torture.  Add to that the other senses of sight, smell, tactility, and include being empathic and sensing the emotions of others, and it’s a cocktail for that meltdown she mentions. Dr. Biali continues,

“As an introvert, being around other people drains me (as opposed to extraverts, who gain energy being around other people). That doesn’t mean I don’t like being with others, in fact I love it – but I can only do it for so long before I have to go into my cave and refuel.”

I am this way as well, but it does depend primarily on who those people are. If they are people I know well, who aren’t energy-vampires, then I absolutely ADORE being with them. But even so, I do need recovery time after a highly social event. It’s a precarious and delicate balance and I have had to learn to read myself well, and know when it’s time for me to make my exit, curl up on the sofa in front of the fireplace with a book or magazine, or watch TV. I don’t necessarily have to have silence to recharge. I just have to have control over the content and do something that relaxes me. Often, the best thing for me is to watch a program I enjoy, or journal or paint a picture, or get out the clay and sculpt something.
Biali also nails it with her comments about phones….

“I don’t like being on the phone. The only exception is talking to my husband while we’re apart, or someone else who I’m so similar to that there’s an effortless endless flow of conversation. I dislike awkward silences or pressure to come up with fascinating conversation topics, even with people I know well…What they don’t realize is that I really don’t call almost anyone “just to chat”, unless I have a specific reason that I need to to talk to them – it’s not personal, and I keep asking Armando to explain that to them! Email and Facebook are completely different, I love to communicate that way…”

I can talk for hours with my best friend, but she knows me so well and our conversations are effortless and they flow and they are full of interesting and entertaining things. I do, however always have to have a headset or Bluetooth, because I can’t bear the sensation of being trapped by the phone. It took a while for me to realize that part of my problem with being on the phone was because it was usually plugged into a wall, and I didn’t have my hands free, either, and couldn’t move around. Now, with cell phones, and headsets and blue tooth, I can clean house, or go refill coffee or whatever, while talking, so I don’t feel trapped. I also prefer emails and Facebook and texts most of the time, because I have complete control over that, and it’s not a demand, like a ringing phone can be. Though my first choice will always be a one-on-one interaction with someone whose company I enjoy.Curiously, I am also weird about knocks on the door, or the doorbell. I actually have a stress-response to that, to include a pounding heart and a little trouble breathing, because it’s a sudden, unexpected sound. And it also represents a demand; someone trying to get in, and I don’t know who at that moment…and I have tragic fantasies about it being a robber or a rapist. This is why (since i live alone) I always answer the door with my gun behind my back, if I don’t know the person knocking or ringing.
“As an HSP, I also pick up all kinds of subtleties in people’s voices or comments that make me uncomfortable if they have personal (negative) significance. This intuitive sensitivity works really well when I work as a personal coach over the phone, as I’m able to pick up what’s behind a client’s words and use it to unblock them or help them move forward, but in personal conversations it can be too much information.”

I have the same experience, here, as well. I prefer one-on-one communication, because I have a better chance of picking up on body language and visual cues, so that it’s easier to discern meaning accurately. And even then, if I sense any negativity directed at me, personally, it can feel very much like a wound. That old childhood chant, “Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me” just simply isn’t true for me as an HSP. Words do just as much harm to me as a physical assault.

In an article by Dr. Aron, she quotes Pearl S. Buck, the first American woman to win the Nobel Prize in Literature, on the creative mind. I believe that Buck was, herself, an HSP, which is easily seen by her understanding of how we think and feel:

“The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanely sensitive. To them… a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create — so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, their very breath is cut off…They must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency they are not really alive unless they are creating.”

That is the very quintessence of what it’s like to be an HSP. There will, of course, be variants within any group, because humans are highly individual and influenced by their surroundings and experiences and various other biological and genetic precursors and tendencies, but overall, I feel it is a trait that can be identified quite readily.I believe also, that many, of not most, of the greatest, most influential creative minds throughout history, have been HSP’s. It would explain the propensity toward depression, isolation, oddness but also their ability to zero in on the subtleties of our existence, and create artful representations of what they see and feel below the surface of things. Those creative people for whom we have personal detail are often the ones who could be identified retrospectively as HSP’s. Before I knew about this particular trait, I wrote an article which I posted on this blog, that touches on many of these correlations, called Intelligence, Creativity & Depressive Realism.The list of notable and historical HSP’s is impressive, and it does tend to draw the highly sensitive people out of the ranks of oddity, and into the light of human contribution. People like:

Steven Spielberg, Dalai Lama, Harry S. Truman, Martin Luther King, Leonardo Da Vinci, Vincent Van Gogh, Salvador Dali, Georgia O’Keefe, John Coltrane,  Beethoven, Mozart, Morrissey, Tori Amos, Bjork, Jewel, Alanis Morissette, Leonard Cohen,  Kurt Cobain, Michael Stipe, Chris Isaak, Neil Finn, John Lennon, Sir Thomas Moore, E.E. Cummings, Hermann Hesse, Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Allen Ginsburg, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Edgar Allen Poe, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Emily Dickinson, Woody Allen, Judy Garland, Jim Carey, Mira Sorvino, Adrien Brody, Melanie Griffith, Kim Basinger, Anthony Hopkins, Drew Barrymore, Glenn Close, Mr. Rogers, Andy Kaufman, Jon Favreau, Greta Garbo, Joaquin Phoenix, Elijah Wood, Kevin Kline, David Hyde Pierce, Anton Chekhov, James Baldwin, Kahlil Gibran, DH Lawrence, Henry David Thoreau, Robert Frost, Walt Whitman, Tennessee Williams, Janis Joplin, Billie Holliday, Moby, Natalie Merchant, Bob Dylan, Franz Kafka, Deepak Chopra, Marianne Williamson, Sarah McLaughlin, Celine Dion, Enya, Neil Young, Janis Ian, Picasso, Einstein, Abraham Lincoln, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Eleanor Roosevelt….
With only a partial list like that, it’s easy to see the contributions that HSP’s have made in this world. And thus, more difficult to dismiss them as different, introverted, eccentric, crazy, or in the pejorative sense, too sensitive. Being an unwitting HSP is most likely the cause of many tragic stories in the creative community, and I believe that many of those creatives who escape through drugs and alcohol and extreme behavior, or who attempt or commit suicide are probably HSP’s, simply because they can be so easily overwhelmed, and without healthy coping skills to live in this world, it becomes too much for them.

I have a foot in many creative things. I am an author (I write in 14 genres, but love writing books, and have authored 24 of them to date), an artist (painting, sculpting, pottery, mixed media, photography ), singer-songwriter (over 200 songwriting credits and formerly co-founder and member of two bands). If being HSP means expressing myself creatively, I am definitely a prime example. But long ago, I realized that  this world would kill me, if I didn’t figure out how to exist here within the parameters of who I am. In my younger years, I tested almost exclusively right-brain dominate. So I developed my left-brain over many years, and even elevated my IQ. (For a long time it was believed that you are born with a certain IQ and it couldn’t be changed, but now, with all the research into the neuroplasticity of the brain, we know that intelligence can indeed be increased. I took myself from a 120 IQ to 149). I learned about philosophy and logic and disjunctive reasoning, so that today, I test whole-brain. And I think it’s what saved me. This did not suffocate my creativity, however. In fact, it served to inform and expand this area. But it comes with its own sets of issues. For instance, I can feel one way emotionally, but also feel another way intellectually.  While this can often be a battle of wills inside my mind, and make me feel I have two personalities, overall, it serves to temper me; it offers me some balance that keeps me from falling into the sensitivity void.  It didn’t make me any less of an HSP. It just allowed me to survive. It’s still a challenge to be who I am. As I have said before, Am I too much for the world, or is the world too much for me?

 *If you think you might be an HSP, take the self-test to find out.
———————————————–
[1] Why it�s hard to be a highly sensitive (HSP) introvert. Highly sensitive (HSP) introverts – misperceived by a noisy extraverted world. Published on August 23, 2010 by Dr. Susan Biali, M.D. in Prescriptions for Life

1 person likes this post.
Unlike
November 3rd, 2011 angst, anxiety, Book Excerpt, BOOKS, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, dating, desperation, disillusionment, EMOTIONS, gender-confusion, gender-identity, harsh realities, honesty, HUMOR, Internet Dating, ISO (In Search Of), lesbians, life, lipstick lesbians, loneliness, midlife crisis, nonfiction, personal ads, PHILOSOPHY, PSYCHOLOGY, RELATIONSHIPS, sadness, sex, SEXUALITY, Social anxiety, social politics, Social Psychology, socializing, SOCIOLOGY, Valentine's Day, women 6 Comments »

Hanging the Moon and Lesbian Monikers

I placed another personal ad on Craigslist. Hopefully this won’t turn into a freak-fest like it did last time. And if it does, well, more material for my writing. LOL. The Ad I used before was way more humorous, but I was afraid it might be overwhelming and make ME look a little crazy. Who knows? Here’s the one I used before:
Only seek LOCAL friends & dates. Please & thank you. LDR’s are usually doomed from the start. It’s like being pecked to death by chickens. So not big on them unless you can afford to travel to date me once a week. Especially if you can pick me up in a private jet. I’m afraid to fly, so I won’t ride in it, but it would still be stellar if you had one. We could park it on the tarmac & have some blackberry Merlot.

ME: I have all my teeth. I sleep on memory foam, because it helps me recall my dreams. I own a flatscreen TV & massage table. I like cheese. That’s all you need to know. Let’s get married.

Seriously, I’m an Author, Editor, Singer-Songwriter, Artist, Webmaster, Witty Intellectual; am stable, nurturing, a voracious learner, creative, intelligent, educated, witty, honest, selectively intense, sometimes geeky, always passionate. (Oh, & I’m also a bi-lingual illiterate: I can’t read or write in 2 different languages). I don’t play games unless they come in a box with instructions. I am always productive. You will never see me in a dress, unless I am unconscious, & someone is playing a prank. (those people are evil & must be destroyed). But I’m not Butch. Lipstick Lesbian.

I’m a  positive realist (i.e., I think anything can happen, but it usually doesn’t). I’m a freethinker and humanist, and love cats, fireplaces, snow, Dinner Parties, Game Nights & Hen Parties. Love coffee (drinking it, smelling it, & fondling the beans) & conversation (from the sublime to the ridiculous), bookstores, flea markets (As long as the fleas are humanely treated, free-range & not in cages), movies, TV, reading, live music, stand up comedy, long walks- (I know I’m supposed to add “on the beach” but this is Colorado).
I believe successful relationships are predicated on the 5 C’s: Compatibility, Communication, Commonality, Chemistry & Commitment.

Tired of dates I want to smother with a pillow. I SEEK: a LESBIAN (I don’t engage in sex with Bi or Straight women, though this doesn’t preclude us being friends), who is SANE, with emotional & intellectual intelligence; educated, secure, not afraid of fun, laughter or deep conversations; who can make me laugh out loud, think, & has firm grip on reality & integrity; not afraid to explore her own issues, & be proactive in her personal evolution. I respect women who have their own life, interests & means of $ support, just like me. I am aroused by women who look like women, are confident, capable, witty & intelligent. If you have those qualities, drop everything & contact me right this second.
CRUCIAL CAVEATS: (unpleasant but apparently necessary to say). I have no tolerance for addicts, heavy drinkers, illegal drug users, anyone who needs anger-management class, or the ethically challenged. Really. If you fall in any of these categories, climb back into your little red wagon (or fancy jet) & pass me by.

If, however, you recognize yourself in WHAT I SEEK, & my details titillate or intrigue you, or you’d like to shower me with affection & appreciation, please contact me. ;^} Preferably from the cockpit of your private jet.

At first, I thought it might just make women laugh, while still being revealing and not intimidating, but now I think maybe it’s a little over the top. It’s so hard to tell how you’re being perceived by others, sometimes.So instead I placed a toned-down version…

LOCALS ONLY PLEASE. I’m intelligent, witty, genuine, creative, ethical person who is always productive, selectively intense, sometimes geeky, always passionate. I don’t play games unless they come in a box with instructions. You will never see me in a dress, unless I am unconscious, & someone is playing a prank. (those people are evil & must be destroyed). I’m not Butch. Lipstick Lesbian.

 

Originally from the South, I moved to Colorado because I’ve always loved it here, & now make it my permanent home. Since I had to leave my friends behind when I moved, I seek a local circle of friends, & ultimately hope to find a loving life-partner who also requires meaningful conversation and enjoyable experiences. Stability, pleasure and happiness are my goals.

 

As retired military, I can now spend my time doing the things I enjoy most like writing (this is my greatest passion and identity marker), reading, sculpture, pottery, continuing self-education, watching TV and movies, spending quality time with friends, trying new restaurants, dinner and cocktail parties, gatherings at home with a small group of friends, and exploring this beautiful state. I’m open to suggestion, and will try almost anything unless it’s dangerous, illegal or unethical.

 

I must have a partner who will appreciate me for all the things I am, and all I have to give. I have a great deal to bring to a relationship, as I am honest, self-actualized, nurturing, communicative, humorous, sensitive, loving, affectionate and supportive, but I’m selective about who I will give that to, and at this point in my life, I won’t settle for less. If you are my partner, I want to come first in your life, as you will come first with me.

 

Says me: [Quotes from yours truly, copyrighted]:
“Real connection (and if it’s LOVE, then real love)–goes beyond those not-so-perfect and superficial and idiosyncratic things that simply make us individuals. The trust & longevity of a relationship between two individuals is established through time & learning each other, & discovering a harmony at the core of their connection. And it becomes powerful because of where it resides–at the center of who we are; the very essence of our being.”

 

“It’s one thing to say you think someone ‘hung the moon’ but that generally means they are blind & deluded, and then the relationship fails because they say you changed, when really, they never saw you at all. The real test is if someone sees all your flaws or blemishes or individual differences, and they still think you hung the moon.”

 

As far as romantic relationships go, I have been attracted to many different types. For me, it’s the whole package, and not one single thing you are. But in general, I am drawn to women who are mostly femme, attractive, genuine, witty, intelligent, and who enjoy giving and receiving affection and intimacy. Touch is very important to me. (I have a massage table).

 

Not interested in heavy drinkers, drug users, those with an STD. You must be emotionally available, self-actualized, stable & interested in meaningful (and sometimes lengthy) conversations. Otherwise, I’m not the one for you. A good partner for me will have few if any sexual boundaries, will recognize my value, be nurturing, and show her attraction and affection. I seek someone who wants to get to know me fully and isn’t intimidated by intelligence or passion or sensitivity. I do have a “work-day” of my own and need that time to do what I do, but when it’s time to clock out, I need a woman who wants to spend as much time as possible with me in her own off-hours.

 

If this resonates with you, contact me, and let’s skip the prolonged emailing and texting, and meet in person soon. I will only respond to those who provide RECENT, CLEAR PHOTOS. (Have had my share of those with something to hide, or those who use 20 year old pictures of themselves). That aside, I look forward to hearing from you!

 

We’ll see. Maybe I should put up both ads and see what results they each get. This is so much like scientific research, I swear.
And there’s always some adjustment to be made, such as the moniker “lipstick lesbian.”  On the surface, that term seems self-explanatory, but what it really means is a lesbian who is femme–like who wears jewelry, makeup and dresses and heels and is attracted to other women who are like her. And then there’s “ChapStick lesbian” which is a lesbian who doesn’t wear makeup, but embraces her feminine identity in other ways; she will not wear fake fingernails or get a manicure, nor pay to have her hair done, nor wear dangly earrings or flashy jewelry, and many ChapStick lesbians don’t even worry too much about shaving everything.
Well, I don’t wear heels or dresses, but I wear makeup and lipstick and jewelry, sometimes flashy or dangly, and most of the time made of gold and diamonds, and most of the time, i wear fake fingernails, because mine are more like finger-films that I break off, and the fake French-tipped ones look nice, but I only wear them short, because I use my hands a lot and “claws” get in the way of sculpting, typing, playing guitar, and…well…they can be dangerous during digital sex.
And I shave. If I had my way, except for my eyebrows and the hair on my head, I’d be slick like a dolphin, permanently. I am also attracted primarily to women who are the same, though I have been attracted to those a little more or less femme, if they have a certain combination of everything else, and tweak me in just the right way. So maybe I’m a ChappedLip Lesbian. Or a StickChap Lesbian. sigh. The problem is, I have features of both, but not all, and am, again, camping in the gray areas of life. Extremes have become things I avoid in nearly everything; the truth being in the middle most of the time, after all. The fact that the truth is often in the middle IS one of my truths.
In my book ISO, I talk about this rather confusion identity quagmire, and also coined a new term, that might be useful here. Femepicine.  Here’s the excerpt from the book:

Butch, Femme, Androgynous or Femepicene?

 All that aside, at the risk of being politically incorrect, I must say I find it disturbing that so many lesbians feel it necessary to mimic men. A lesbian, by definition, doesn’t want to be with a man and is a woman who loves women, in the romantic sense. In a very real way, then, masculinity in gay women is a contradiction. It is patently unnecessary to become manly in order to be with another woman. The need to be “manly” then, can sometimes be about gender-confusion, and not about being lesbian. This stance may be offensive to some, but indeed, I could say that I am offended by how easily some lesbians dismiss the beauty and power in themselves by diluting it with masculinity.
     Why would a group of people so vehement about avoiding the control and oppression of the other gender, be so anxious to mimic them to such a large degree? When a gay woman chooses to dress in masculine styles, such as what I call the “lesbian costume” of button-down shirts, khaki Dockers, and Doc Marten boots, she is reducing herself to a cliche of what gay women are: women, mimicking men. It is insulting to me, as a gay woman, that many other gay women don’t think their appearance is important, and don’t embrace their gender as it would seem they naturally would, as women who love women.
     This is not to suggest gay women should wear ball gowns or spike heels and mini-skirts. It just means, embrace the femaleness. Why do you think the L-Word is so popular, aside from the fact that it portrays lesbian lives in general? It’s because gay women are titillated by the beauty of these women. Attend any L-Word Watch Party and that much will be clear. Then, they run their fingers through their hair, tuck their button-down into their Dockers, slap on that ball cap and go home. Lesbians: if you are so tantalized by feminine, beautiful women, why do spend so little energy presenting yourself that way?
     So often I hear lesbians complaining about being stereotyped by the world at large. My suggestion is that if you don’t wish to be a stereotype, don’t dress and act like one.
     In the novels I write, I portray women as feminine or at least as lipstick lesbians, but rarely as dykes or otherwise manly females (which is, intrinsically, an oxymoron). The only time I do portray lesbians as butch or manly is when I’m. . .sort of. . .making fun of them. Stereotyping. I know. It’s not nice. But as I’ve already pointed out, Political Correctness is not my strong suit, nor something I aspire to. I think it does more harm than good, when telling the truth is always much better.
     In doing this, however, I have been accused of catering to straight men or merely “selling out” somehow, and yet, I find this assessment myopic, contradictory and just plain silly. I love women, because they are women. I love the feminine form. I am attracted to the quintessential qualities that make women FEMALE. If I wanted to be with a man, I would be straight. So this whole outrage based on my supposed treason against Sapphic love, strikes me as absurd.
     Why do you suppose that most straight women who experiment with lesbianism, pursue gay women who are manly? It’s a comfort zone, that’s why. They are not straying too terribly far from being with a man.
     The most attractive women, to me, are the ones who are androgynous. I use that term loosely, and colloquially, because the actual definition is way more severe and limiting than the context in which I utilize it here. Androgyny, by its original definition, means ambiguous in gender. Genderless, almost. Like the “Pat” character on the old Saturday Night Live. You can’t tell if the person is male or female. The way I mean it, is more like a woman who blends, in a harmonious fashion, the traits of both male and female, to create a balanced person. This means the woman looks like a woman, but can hammer a nail, ride a motorcycle, or be assertive, all without losing her essential womanliness.
     To whine about how you’re being mashed into a mold created by straight society, and not being allowed to express your natural self, seems a cop-out–a way to avoid embracing the gender to which you are born. It’s also an excuse to be lazy. If you don’t present yourself in the most positive way, i.e., by wearing decent clothes, a little makeup, and taking care of your body, then you are merely justifying the fact that you don’t care about your appearance. And why shouldn’t you care? Do you think that men define what is commonly considered “attractive”? Sorry, but that’s biology, and it extends to both genders. We are wired to be attracted to certain things; not the least of which is accentuating the best parts of ourselves.
     A great fictional character who exemplifies this balanced womanhood would be Xena, the Warrior Princess from television. She was strong, capable, assertive, loving, loyal, always looked fabulous and feminine. Even when she was kicking ass or cutting someone’s throat. . .
     I desperately want another term to describe strong, feminine lesbians.
     HOMOgenized Female. . .hmmm.
     Fembian. MMM.
     Sapphian.
     It occurred to me that epicene meant having the characteristics of both genders, blended. So how about Femepicene? (fem-ep-uh-seen).
     So women who are Femepicene are those most likely to get my attention. I can’t speak for every other gay woman.
     The point is, for me, it’s often difficult to even be lesbian, never mind the odds of finding a suitable mate. It is somewhat like the odds of my getting a million dollar publishing contract: it’s not inconceivable, but it’s not something I can rationally place on the altar of my existence.
So I am femepicene. And I am attracted, for the most part, to other femepicene women. But until the moniker catches on, no one will know what the hell I’m talking about.

Be the first to like.
Unlike
October 9th, 2011 Aging, angst, anxiety, ATHEISM, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, change, crisis, death, depression, Depressive Realism, despair, desperation, disillusionment, EMOTIONS, experience, fear, frustration, harsh realities, HEALTH, HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP), Human Nature, lesbians, life, loneliness, meaning, midlife crisis, mortality, PHILOSOPHY, problem-solving, PSYCHOLOGY, reality, RELATIONSHIPS, romance, sadness, self-awareness, SEXUALITY, Social Psychology, SOCIOLOGY, truth 2 Comments »

Mid-Life Crisis, Much?

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. ~Dylan Thomas

If aging is hard for the average person, imagine how hard it is for someone who has no current social circle, no family, no children, who works at home, is an HSP, an atheist, and a single lesbian.

The greatest of these challenges is, for me, being without a partner. I am not suited to singlehood. I hate everything about it. I need someone to cook dinner for when she comes home each day; I need someone to nurture, talk to, explore with, bond with, hold hands with, cuddle with, to sexually please and be pleased by.  I need to go to sleep next to that woman each night and wake up with her every morning. I need the security and comfort a life partner provides. As I get older, that’s even more important, and its absence even more stark.

One could say that being single at this age is just as difficult no matter what your orientation. But I would beg to differ. When you’re dealing with finding a mate amid a small percentage of the population, on top of all the usual fears of getting older and facing your own mortality and all that entails, along with being a minority in so many ways, the challenge is a formidable one.

Those of us without a big circle of friends, or a family, are even more likely to be depressed and frightened all the time. Friends in the same age group or only a few years older start losing their grandparents, and parents, and they themselves begin developing health issues, having surgeries and other scares, and you begin to see that trajectory, that you are in that same boat and wonder what it is that might cripple you, devastate you, take you down. You realize you are closer to your death than to your birth and your life isn’t exactly as you’d planned it to be. Is it enough? Did I succeed in building a life worth living?

About two years ago, I began to notice things about my body…skin changes, mostly. I would look in the mirror and see that my baby-face now had some wrinkles forming below my eyes, and my cheeks seemed to be sort of dripping slowly toward my jawline. I looked down at my hands and thought These are not my hands. These are my mother’s hands. And what’s that? An age-spot? I have a fucking age spot now? It did not compute. It made me feel ugly and old and despondent.


When I hear of someone entering their 50′s and saying these are the best years to come, or 50 is the new 40, I feel they are speaking a foreign language. I am facing the big 5-0 and it has nothing to do with Hawaii. In only 5 months, I will be dragged kicking and screaming into that awful room, my fingers clawing at the door jamb to stop the suction. I can’t wrap my head around turning 50. It makes no sense to me, it simply can’t be accurate. I don’t feel like I’m about to enter that decade of life. I have an overwhelming desire to lie to everyone about my age, because I feel the number is misleading. I’m not that old. I’m not. Each day now is to me a stark reminder of the hideous inevitability of all things dreadful. It’s a train I’m riding in at high speed and I can’t see the scenery anymore because it’s moving by too fast; a train locked onto tracks arrow-straight and unforgiving, stopping only to board more dark passengers–fear, loneliness, pain, illness, sadness, and death.

Just recently I watched as a friend of a friend was suddenly stricken by an aneurism and did not wake from her coma in the three weeks before she died. She was only 6 years older than me. Now, I could say her health status and lifestyle predisposed her to it, but then again, how do you ever really know that there is some weak blood vessel wall somewhere in your body, and its cause? You can do everything in your power to eat right, exercise and take the right supplements, and meditate and avoid stress, as I do, but ultimately, you still don’t know if it will matter. Maybe there’s just a fate with your name on it. Never mind the accidental or simply unfortunate methods of your demise. You could get hit by a bus or a bullet. Or a building could fall on your head.


The scary part is, health or accidental events like those I mentioned will always happen suddenly and there is little we can do to provide ourselves an early warning system. It’s like a vicious mugger waiting around some impending corner and no matter what route we take that mugger will know where we are and will be there, primed to take something precious from our pockets, our minds, our hearts or our bodies. Or I’m reminded of those scenes in movies and shows like The Tudors where innocent people are dragged toward the gallows to be hanged or beheaded and there is no escape, no last minute pardon from the King–and notably, no merciful God who saves his devout follower from an unjust death. There is nothing they can do about it other than choose the level of dignity with which they face their demise. And where does one find that dignity? That quiet acceptance? I am not one to ever go gentle into that good night. Someone has already tried to kill me and I didn’t die. Because to me that darkness is repugnant. It represents the tragedy and cruelty of limited time. There will never be enough time in my single lifespan to do and see and feel and explore and create and savor all that I wish to.

One of the greatest tragedies in life is the swiftness and certainty of death, and moreover, when you finally reach a level of wisdom and understanding that would allow you to do your best work, offer your best advise, experience your greatest love, your most harmonious and satisfying relationships–just when you finally evolve to that level of maturity–your clock ticks down to nothing and you don’t get to enjoy the fruits of your labor.<

It really pisses me off.

Bring me the magic elixir of life-extension, and I will drink it.

Twice.

1 person likes this post.
Unlike
April 2nd, 2011 anger, annoying people, anxiety, apartment, bad customer service, betrayal, Biscuit, cats, Cherryot, Colorado, conflict, conversations, crisis, depression, desperation, disability, disillusionment, domestic violence, Driving, fatigue, fear, frustration, harsh realities, HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP), iPhone, money, Monkey, moving, panic, RELATIONSHIPS, rudeness, sadness, sensitivity, Sensory Processing Sensitivity, stress, Xanax 1 Comment »

EXTENDED STRESS Hotel.

My Cherryot was loaded to capacity, with the things I thought I’d need for two months, until an apartment became available.

 

At Extended Stay, I checked in with desk clerk–started to unload, and had to take several things up first (5 trips in elevator) before I noticed that there was a luggage cart in front with a tattooed guy leaning on it talking to another guy. “Oh a luggage cart!” I said. “I need that.” He said he only had a couple of things and rushed off to get his task done so I could have it.

Meantime, I wanted to get the cats out of the Cherryot so they’d be safe and I’m sure they needed some freedom. That cardboard box in back of crate with litter was bound to be hard to lay next to.

I was trying to figure out what to do to get the cats up there safely. I also knew there was a limit of one animal, and so I had to be careful they didn’t see two.

I emptied a small gym bag and tried to put Monkey in it, but she doesn’t like being trapped, and I felt awful that I’d have to zip it up and scare her, and it was a small bag; I was stressing her more. So I dragged out the big red rolling suitcase, emptied it, and put her in it fairly easily, and then rolled her down the walk, through the breezeway, onto the elevator, all the while reassuring her in a sweet voice that it was okay and I was right here and we’d be in the room soon, etc. I always talk to my cats, explain things to them, as if they completely understand the English language.

I put Monkey in the bathroom and closed door, went to get Biscuit. She’s always harder to manage because these travel scenarios wear her out. Again, I discovered she was lying in the litterbox and wouldn’t come out. She did that on my move here in 09. I had to move a bunch more things, just to get that huge crate turned so I could get the door open wide enough, because I had to reach all the way to the back to get her. Monkey just came out when I asked her to, and then I just picked her up. With Biscuit, it was another story. I would have to be aggressive and just grab her and poke her in the case, because no amount of quiet explanation would get her to do what I needed her to do. And I had to be careful she didn’t slip out the door of Cherryot and run away. Horrifying thought for me.

SO she was in there and I asked her not to cry too loud so anyone would hear. Just as we reached the elevators, and passed a maintenance guy, she cried once, and I hurriedly coughed rudely continually, punching the elevator button. Finally the car came down and I rolled her in, and had another soothing conversation with her, for what it was worth. Even told her she was a pretty kitty and mommy loved her very much.

Got Biscuit in the bathroom with Monkey, and knew Monkey would console her, while I went to get the rolling cart and unload the rest. It still wasn’t there.

Mind you, there was a memory foam mattress rolled up and attached to the luggage rack of the Cherryot, along with the litter box with that 35 pound container of litter, and couple other things. I didn’t want someone to steal it. The bed, not the litter. My friends know that my foamy bed is as crucial to me as breathing, because I can’t sleep on anything else without my back going out.

Finally I procured the luggage cart from Tattoo Guy and began loading it up. Hard to do, since most things were not neatly arranged in one size liquor boxes or crates. Had to be creative with stacking since a couple of the plastic tubs had no lids. I had to pull them out of the garden shed thing off the back porch of house and clean them out. Anyway, it took about 4 trips to get it all up there.

The entire time, I am limping because of my injured knee (thanks to my Awful X– as in previous, X–as in crossed out, gone, no longer applicable), and my hands were so sore, and my spine felt like it had hot bricks for discs, my feet were throbbing, and my neck was making threats to rupture a disc again. If that happened, I was down for the count, and I would be completely immobilized. I hoped for good fortune and carried on.

Once in the room, I had intended to go straight to bed, too tired to shower. But then I had to find things and then I started unpacking in increments, and then before I knew it, I had unpacked everything, maybe it was just leftover nervous energy.

During this time, I was on the phone with my best friend Justi, and my spirits were considerably higher because I was allowing myself to feel relieved that I was somewhere I could rest. Make camp. I told her about the fine art of controlling a loaded luggage cart; it likes to spin around at will like a go cart with one bad brake.

Then I can’t avoid the need for food any longer and about 12:30, I hoped there was a drive thru open. Problem was, I seemed to be in a section of the city that was a fast food dead zone. I drove North on Wadsworth, and saw nothing. I was going to use my Mango fast food app on my iPhone to find it but realized that app was lost in the last screwy update I did where I forgot to select to save apps. I searched it and got it again, while still talking to her, and she was on her computer trying to find me a place to get food too. Then I said I just wanted a cheeseburger and fries. Small. My stomach was shrunk. I had already lost five pounds from stress and exertion in the last 6 days.

“There’s an Arby’s on Jewel,” she offered.

“I don’t want Arby’s, I want a cheeseburger. I’m looking for McDonalds and Burger King, because I knew they were open late, too.”

“There’s also a Wendy’s on Jewel,” she added.

“I don’t want Wendy’s because I want fries and I don’t like their fries. Too fat.”

I finally located the Wendy’s though, and drove past it looking for ARBY’s because she began extolling the virtues of sliced roast beef and cheese sauce and seasoned curly fries. I didn’t see it, and my stomach was growling and I was a little dizzy from hypoglycemia. I turned around and went back toward Wendy’s. “Fuck it, I’ll got to Wendy’s. At least they have cheeseburgers.” And then I discovered they had something called a Baconator, with natural cut fries with sea salt. Enjoyed a playful conversation with the order taker and got my goodies. The fries were delish, and when I got back to the hotel and tried the Baconator, it became automatically my new favorite burger, so it all worked out.

The fact that I would post this is perhaps an indication that vanity is not one of my shortcomings.

There was much I needed to do–I didn’t have time to actually let the emotional aspects kick in. I was afraid I wouldn’t get things done if I was blubbering like a two year old. I had paperwork from the court and advocacy group people to go through, information to fill out, notes to take in Daytimer, figuring out my next steps and priorities. I still had bills I needed to take care of, (that my Awful X had failed to pay, though she had used my money to pay HERS for about 4 months while she stayed unemployed). I had to update my bank account info before the bills came due, etc. I started my water distiller and drank what was left in previous jug, so dehydrated. My eyes were bloodshot, and I looked terrible in the bright light of that hotel bathroom mirror. So I graced my best friend with a photo of that and MMS’d it to her.

I looked like I’d been dragged behind a horse. Or at least my EYES had been dragged behind a horse. Or maybe a goat. A large, feral goat.

On the TV the size of a breadbox, I’m sort of watching some movie called Teen Witch about a coven of high school witches. Ironically it was partly about them discovering their powers to take vengeance on those who had wronged them, and I wished fervently for a little of that craft. Then I started watching another movie and eventually fell asleep.

Next morning, fire alarms go off, pulling me out the door onto the balcony muttering what the fuck? It stopped and I went back to bed, then the alarms went off again, just as I was dozing. I went back outside to look around to see if there was any smoke or firetrucks and heard a guest below me mutter What the fuck? which made me think that was quite the appropriate response. My nerves were raw by now, this 6th day of the debacle, with 3 hours sleep, on top of 2 on top of 2 on top of 3, on top of 5 on top of NONE and none. I was certainly not going back to sleep now. I checked to see if my direct deposit had been transferred to the new account from the old one, and it hadn’t. I’m getting more and more stressed. I called the bank and they said it would happen within an hour. So I got dressed and went to the front desk to arrange to pay for another day.

Enter, stage right, the archetype of Rude Managers. Anne, I think her name was. I had missed checkout time at 11. And because my money didn’t transfer to my new account yet, I explained and said the bank was correcting, would be ok within an hour, but she said I had to be out by 3p. She wouldn’t let me pay for another day, even with a credit card, she said I had to pay for the week. I said the agreement I had made with them on the phone was to pay for two nights and then pay for a whole month, for this month and then May, until my apartment was available. She said I had to pay for the week. I said I could pay her cash or use a credit card for one more night and then she’d have over a thousand dollars for me to stay the month, and she wouldn’t budge, she said get out by 3p. Now, this was particularly hurtful and aggravating, because I had explained my predicament to her on the phone, and she knew I was escaping a bad situation. Before walking out the door I said “Just remember, lady, Karma is a castrating bitch.”

SO then I’m freaking out, because now, not only am I dealing with the bank glitch, but having to load the Cherryot AGAIN, with no place to go afterward. I’m not good at feeling helpless or trapped, and this was exactly that situation, in spades.

At Justi’s counsel, I called the Apartments office to see if they had a different apartment that would be available NOW, and if not, a month to month one until the other one was ready. If not, where would they suggest I stay? I was trying to go to the bank while talking to Justi and got so disoriented, I didn’t know where I was. Took me 10 minutes to get the map to make sense on my phone. All the while I’m chanting, I am stronger that her (D), I will get through this. I will be okay. And then I was angry that I was dealing with all this because of her, and for the first time in my life, I used that word I hate so much. I shouted, “She is such a cunt!”

Then I had to pull over and take a deep breath, because I was losing it and I had to keep control in order to get myself out of this situation. I continued to chant I’m okay…I’m strong enough to deal with this, it’s just temporary, I’m okay…

I went to the bank, and they were so nice. They did a credit memo, based on my direct deposit, and made $2000 available to me, in cash. I’m standing there at the counter at the bank, tears streaming down my face, my body throbbing, my knee killing me, desperately needing a drink of water, food and some sleep. I redeposited enough cash to cover the 200 dollar security fee, and $20 application fee I wrote temporary checks for at the Apartments, plus some fees for the cashier’s check. Traded out the other cash for that. I kept hearing that song in my head by Billy Pilgrim: Got my own falling-apart-ment….

SO I left with a sealed envelope of $2000 and felt slightly better. Except for the possibility of being mugged. That would have been the first horseman of the Apocalypse. I tried not to think about it. At least I had money. I’d be very careful. I also had the $300 from pawning my guitar–which i was loath to do, as it is beloved, and a symbol of happier days when i was playing and singing with my band in front of a receptive audience… But strangely, having cash is not always helpful these days. Most people won’t take it. And temporary checks are shunned. And I didn’t have a debit card yet to get to my funds that way.

As it turned out, with the apartments, I didn’t even have to go to the second choice of a month to month or third choice of asking them to refer me elsewhere, because they had an apartment. It was a 2br,  with a private garage – it cost more of course, but just as Justi said, I make more now and can afford it. Plus when I get my storage, I’ll have an extra $135 from not paying that; and my Cherryot pays off in May, so starting in June, that will be an additional $330 per month I’ll have. I was relieved, though still shaky and skeptical…

I spoke with Shelia (had spoken to Kayla earlier too) they all knew the story of what had happened. When I got to the Apartment office, Kayla came out of the far office with her arms wide, saying “You poor thing! Come here, you need a hug~!” and she gave me a big hug. It almost made me cry. She said not to worry, I was home now, and everything would be okay. That also nearly made me cry, because it did feel like home. All the things home is supposed to feel–safe, pleasant, convenient, with supportive people around you.

Before any business was done, Shelia came over to sit with us and the two asked me details of what happened. I talked about more of what I’d been through and details about D’s arrest and that night when she threw the gun in koi pond. They were both rapt. It was like sitting with two old friends. They know I’m gay and they don’t care. They were supportive and encouraging. It felt so good and went a long way to relieve my stress. I said I would be writing all about it.  Kayla said I ought to do a memoir about it. I said I already have a memoir about events 10-14 years ago; I had hoped never to have this kind of thing to write about again, at least not if it was nonfiction, and happening to me; but this is another kind of drama that would work as a memoir, yes. Or I could just make it fiction. They both said they would LOVE to read it.

Kayla rushed through the application process. When I went out to get my banking information, I grabbed the new final proof for Achilles Forjan and gave it to Kayla. She was genuinely thrilled and said she couldn’t wait to read it.

So then, I went back to the bank to get a cashier’s check, and re-deposit the 200 and 20 to cover the temp checks I wrote for security deposit and app fee, and trade off cash for cashier’s check. Always nice to be recognized and waved over to a clerk at your bank–but I wish it wasn’t because I had been in there earlier in crisis mode.

All this, I did without a single Xanax.

I headed over to my new place, feeling relieved, stunned, exhausted and a little happy, all at the same time. I kept thinking, and miles to go before I sleep…

Be the first to like.
Unlike
March 29th, 2011 abuse, aggravation, anger, angst, anxiety, arrest, betrayal, cats, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, change, chaos, Colorado, conflict, coping skills, courage, court, crisis, CURRENT AFFAIRS, depression, desperation, disability, disillusionment, domestic partnership, domestic violence, DOMESTICA, Driving, EMOTIONS, exes, experience, Facebook, fatigue, fear, friendship, frustration, harsh realities, HEALTH, herniated disc, Human Nature, injury, LAW, lesbians, liars, lies, life, mental illness, money, moving, pain, PEEVES, PHILOSOPHY, police, problem-solving, PSYCHOLOGY, RELATIONSHIPS, Relocation, sacrifice, sadness, singlehood, SOCIOLOGY, stairs, storage, strength, TRAVEL, U-Haul No Comments »

Vamoosing

Suspended my Netflix account.
Still packing, desperately needing boxes. Downstairs, I pulled up everything in that storage room, which was the contents brought so far from storage when I actually thought I was going to be living here permanently, and her mother had finally moved, so I could do that. But only after we had ripped up the carpet down there and cleaned the unbelievable nastiness her mother lived in. goodbyepenbleach fumes, up and down stairs, aching body. I realized I would have to leave some things behind because it wouldn’t fit in my car or in storage, and I simply could not make another trip up those stairs carrying things. I was lucky I hadn’t ruptured another disc already. So I made some hard choices. All my art supplies, boxes of many things like old floppy discs, which I hoped my writing was not on without having been transferred last time I tackled that project. Took some pictures.
Called Qwest/DTV to put account on hold can’t believe they did that again, since I just took it off and switched it about a month ago. Called Extended Stay again. Still trying to work out a way to get a room for two days. Not enough on my credit card for that. Not enough cash left in the bank. Qwest needed my new service address, so had to call then on 3 way call to get the address.
Debra called–victims advocate. Told me where the court testimony will be heard from me. Victims Witness office. Court building in Brighton. She said it’s likely D will only get 1 year probation.  Still don’t know what all the charges are.
On Facebook, my friend WendyC sent me a message:
Jae,
Psycho Bitch is writing about you on Facebook! She doesn’t realize that she is “friends” with me and Brian!! lolol Do you want us to verbally attack her…or…wait to see what she writes about??
11 hours ago
D. ya, the dumb bitch lied and had me arrested for domestic violence. She distroyed my house and then told PD I did it. I NEVER expected this from her. I am so glad to be rid of her.

Infuriating. Especially, since in front of the cops (and for their benefit on Wednesday, she said “I just want to say, I’m sorry and I love you.”) How dare she blame me for what she did. Coward.

Surprisingly, when I called to beg for help from HHB card -a manager gave me a one time credit of $76. I intended to use that to pay for the u-Haul, as I had previously misread the data and where it said balance, I thought it meant available balance. So I didn’t have what I thought I had and now needed it because I had to go turn in U-Haul and HAD NO MONEY to pay for it. She said it would post on Thursday.
Then I realized after I hung up that wouldn’t help me pay for U-haul Now. Then I remembered I had those temp checks so I was going to pay that way. Then wen I went to turn in U-Haul she said the amount went through fine. Weird. So I didn’t have to write a check to them. Even though I wasted one by starting to write it.
Then I realized I needed that card balance to pay for my hotel, since they would not take cash or a check. And of course I didn’t have my debit card yet on new account. So I thought of pawning my Adamas. I hate to do that. It’s a $2000 guitar. And I love it. And sentimental value of my music days. But it IS a liquidatable asset. And I had to have some money. She even suggested putting the cash on one of those Walmart mastercards and using that, but they wouldn’t take that either because it wasn’t a “real” one. Pfft. Had to pawn Adamas.
I had to come up with a way for me to organize all the things I had to accomplish; problem solver extraordinaire. I had to alter it a little because of constraints my friend CW had in her schedule, but made it work.
  • I would take hotel stuff plus mattress and bedding and fireplace to storage. Make room in storage for other things.
  • Get the cats and crate and PC, take to CW’s downtown by 11am.
  • 1pm, court in Brighton.
  • After court, back to CW’s to pick up cats, PC, using keys CW gave me.
  • Take her keys to her at work downtown.
  • Get chg of address done at post office.
  • Go back to storage for hotel stuff and mattress, add to Cherryot, attach mattress rolled up on top.
  • Check in at hotel
 Now that sounds simple enough, except it involved more struggling, lifting, carrying, etc. CW has apartment on 3rd floor. But she was trying to get ready for work and I started without her a little. But she came down and helped me carry Crate O’ Cats the rest of the way. Carried up my computer and monitor, too. I tried to open the water dish with lid on it for them inside but it had of course all leaked out. Replaced it and headed for court in Brighton.

Be the first to like.
Unlike
February 24th, 2010 Aging, angst, anxiety, Attraction, awkwardness, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, change, chemistry, dating, desperation, disability, disillusionment, EMOTIONS, fat, frustration, harsh realities, Internet Dating, lesbians, life, loneliness, love, midlife crisis, moving, Relocation, sadness, sex, SEXUALITY, singlehood, socializing, stress, women No Comments »

Fat Chance: Lament of a Transplanted Single

Before moving here, I never had to worry about what my friends thought of me. They knew me. Sometimes for 10 or 20 years–a few of them longer than that. And I was in relationships usually. Serial monogamist. So I didn’t have to worry about the impression I made, or if I was going to get laid anytime soon, or whether there was someone to confide in, play with…now, it’s all new. New State, new city, new people, and SINGLE, though not NEWLY SINGLE. Aside from a five month relationship, I’ve been single for what? 4 or 5 years? Add to this paradigm, the difficulties of being a small percentage of the population in several Identity markers, and being older, and it’s a recipe for angst. Dating was never something I did much of, because I was always either in a relationship or leaving one to go into another.

I’m still puzzled by the dynamics of dating. Women will tell you things that aren’t true–either because they think it’s what you want to hear, or because they’re not self-actualized enough to know what the truth is. And then they punish you later for behaving according to the information they gave. (like having a profile that portrays them as ready and open to finding love, going on 4 dates, saying point-blank they are attracted to you, postponing going out in favor of a kissfest in front of the fireplace, and then suddenly disappearing, only to pop back up with a Dear Jane note that they are simply not ready to date or have a relationship, like they thought). Or the shorter variation of that: they will behave as though they like you and they are enjoying a rapport with you and then just evaporate, like you were someone they just chatted with at a bus stop.
I had to start looking at how * I* responded to women in order to get some insight about why THEY respond in certain ways to me. I wanted to understand what they might be thinking. The edification wasn’t always complete. But this is what happens for me. When I meet women. I might not be attracted physically, or not attracted personality- wise, or there’s some other deal breaker. Or any combination of the three. Or,  rarely, I will meet a woman I am actually attracted to. Like a little giddy-crush-type attracted. Like being distracted by their lips when they talk, and wondering what it would be like to kiss them, sort of attracted. This is something new for me since moving here. i just can’t recall the last time I met someone in my previous life I was actually chemically attracted to–strongly. Attractions were always predicated on concessions. “Ok, not attracted to her voice, but she has a nice smile” or “hate the way she’s so butch, but she’s sweet.” or “She’s got a drinking problem, but she makes me laugh.” Stuff like that. When I say really attracted to, I mean, voice, lips, eyes, diction, hair, dress, personality, ethics, worldview, etc–the whole nine.
But when that happens, then the stressors begin–does she like me too? is she attracted to me? if she seems to like me, is she just pretending? Is she losing interest because I talk about writing too much? Because I have too much to say about too many things? Because she can sense my need for sex and intimacy and, ultimately a partner? Or is it just because I’m fat? I say fat, because that’s how it feels. I am “overweight.” But to me, it’s fat. I don’t have Body Dysmorphic Disorder.  When I look in the mirror I don’t plunge into a depression and stick my finger down my throat or carve FAT in my arm with a pickle fork. I can appreciate when I look good aside from the weight. Sometimes I might say, “Oh, I’m having a good face day.” And a few times, after checking my appearance in the mirror before a date, I’d say. “Okay. I’d date me.” And I know if I ever could get the extra tonnage off, I’d be the first one to parade around in my underwear, or have no qualms about getting naked with a hottie, while the lights were still on in the room. But fat is ugly. I don’t like it on me, and I’m not attracted to it on others. Though, I must digress here and qualify that with this: I am also not attracted to skinny women. I like curves, softness. I don’t want to feel like I need to wear a Michelin Man suit to keep from being impaled by a hip bone. And I could still be attracted to an overweight woman–and HAVE, more than once. I guess it’s just about how she carries it and dresses, and whether she has other qualities that intrigue or attract me.  But I am disgusted by my own naked reflection, and that’s not going to change until the reflection does.

I hear some people saying, “You should love yourself as you are, you’re beautiful on the inside.” bullshit. No one will ever see how beautiful you are on the inside until they can get past the outside. That’s just how it works. it’s a rare person who does not see or respond to the attraction-factor. it’s hard-wired into the human brain. An evolutionary fact. Those who can be attracted to anyone might have an advantage when it comes to finding dates and partners, but then again, i wonder if that’s actually a DEFECT…and besides, if I am with someone who can be attracted to anyone they like on “The inside”, no matter what they look like, how does that make me feel special? “I love being with you Jae…or that crack whore over there. Either one, doesn’t matter.”

So, while I was too dense to appreciate the body I had when I was younger, I care that I don’t have the body I want now –because I think that maybe that woman I’ve just met and enjoyed coffee or a glass of wine with is thinking “She’s nice enough, but I’m not attracted to fat girls.” 

And then I get mad and feel persecuted on some esoteric level because it took so many years for me to even be able to WALK again. (One previous girlfriend during one of those particularly trying disability binges even said she was embarrassed to be seen with me on those forearm crutches. I guess if you’re going to be a Jerry’s Kid, you better be really cute, and a KID. Her comment has never left my head, and I can still recall the profound anger and pain it caused me to be rejected for being disabled). 

So–the fat-thing– It’s not like I just sit in front of the TV 24/7 eating Twinkies and Chic-o-sticks. (though I love TV, Twinkies and Chic-o-sticks. One of my favorite meals is also biscuits and gravy, but I’ve had that once in the last two years.) I have done everything within my power to get all this extra weight off, to include dieting, food science, portion control, drinking gallons of water, and consuming any number of other supplements and pills and potions. But since I couldn’t exercise for so many years due to injury andpain, I just could not lose weight. period. And even though I have a great deal of mobility and don’t LOOK like I have limitations, I still do. Eating less never works for me. I just stay at one weight. (Overeating, though, will make me gain. Yay). I have one of those metabolisms that doesn’t respond to starving or eating less.

 Looking back at my weight in the Army and when I was younger, I can see that the problem for me is, I don’t get enough exercise as I did during those times–or enough of the right exercise. Because, while I can do way more than I used to, I can only do certain things without risking re-injury.  And I hate that with the red hot burning passion of a thousand suns. 

I went on a full-fledged exercise binge when I discovered i could play racquetball again. And then I started working out everyday on the Gazelle and lifting light hand weights, too. Then POP! Blew a disc. Cervical disc rupture. Herniated Disco –and it took 8 weeks of special treatments, pain meds, and being in bed 99% of the time, to heal that. And I had to do it all by myself with no one to help me. 

So, now, I do a lot of walking. I’m thrilled that I can walk 2 or 3 miles at a time, when not so many years ago, I couldn’t walk 2 or 3 yards. Preferable to the Crutches, and the scooter before that, and the wheelchair before that, I assure you. Yet, all this walking doesn’t seem to change my weight.

The upshot is, no one knows or cares about your physiological history or your challenges in the past, when they meet you for the first time. They only see the packaging. And while I try to make the package as attractive as possible, there’s only so much I can do with this extra blubber and the effects of aging. I quit smoking tobacco and now use electronic (vapor) cigs; I use Apple Cider vinegar on my skin because it gives it a vibrant and healthy glow; I use a Derma-Wand device on it too–it’s a home face-lift type thing; I take mega-vitamins and supplements in a shake everyday. I tan, I use coconut oil as a lotion, because it’s natural and beneficial in many ways to skin and system; I wear makeup when I go out in public and always fix my hair, and wear nice jewelry. I always try to dress attractively too–especially if I’m meeting anyone for the first time.  As the saying goes, you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. And while I don’t consider myself a sow’s ear, I still only have so much to work with. 

What I want–crave–is to find someone who will not only be attracted to me, but to whom I will also be attracted, and that we will enjoy a harmonious lifetime commitment filled with love and laughter and hope and purpose. 

And the voice in my head grunts, FAT chance.


Be the first to like.
Unlike
August 8th, 2009 Aging, anxiety, awkwardness, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, change, Colorado, dating, Denver, disillusionment, Driving, EMOTIONS, friendship, harsh realities, HUMOR, Lakewood, lesbians, life, loneliness, midlife crisis, moving, PSYCHOLOGY, RELATIONSHIPS, SEXUALITY, Social anxiety, social politics, Social Psychology, socializing, society, SOCIOLOGY 1 Comment »

Making Tracks

So my first First Fridays at Tracks.

I went, faithfully following my GPS, and watching the little pulsing blue dot that was me on the map, as I veered repeatedly from the route I was supposed to take. I’ve discovered that if I just drive straight shots through town, I do better. The Highway is confusing and I end up taking the wrong lane and having to circle back and start over.

Later I ran into Tina and her friend and spent a little time with them. Everyone wanted to steal my electronic cigarette. I must get some stock to sell. Or get a referral fee from the guy I send them to online…

Anyway, I have re-verification, now, that one cannot make friends at a nightclub. One must have friends first and go with them, or meet them there. Otherwise, you wind up the solitary creature holding up the East wall. So what do you do when you just moved and have few friends in the area? hang out with them, and make new ones as you can, outside the nightclub. I have spoken.

I went home at a respectable hour, and on the way, got a text from Rheana that she was at Tracks and was I still there? I turned around and went back. I wanted to see Rheana. I hadn’t seen her in years. And besides, i needed the practice driving around.

I was equal parts excited and uneasy. I am, after all, a recovered agoraphobe. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many women–gay or otherwise- in one room at the same time. There must have been around a thousand of them. One person commented that it was “A slow night.” I was there a few hours and felt stupid, being alone.

While Rheana danced with her girlfriend, I stood aside and took a few pictures. A young woman sidled up next to me and started a conversation. After initial introductory small talk, she asked, “Do you live in Denver?”

“Lakewood,” I said, “I just moved here.”

“Oh? Where did you move from?”

“Hell,” I said. She giggled, possibly because she didn’t believe me. I couldn’t bear to burst her bubble. There really were many hells to be had on earth.

“Are you a lesbian?” she asked next.

I laughed. “Why yes, I am.”

“It’s just that you don’t look like one.”

“Thank god,” I said, like the true atheist I also am.

“How old are you?” she wanted to know.

I hate that question. “How old do i look?”

She squinted at me in the strobing, pulsing lights. “Twenty nine.”

“Bless you, my child.” Kills me how everyone always thinks I’m younger. I guess I should not complain, since I’m smack dab in the middle of a mid-life crisis.

 

Be the first to like.
Unlike
August 4th, 2009 anxiety, ATHEISM, atheist humor, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, Colorado, danger, Denver, Driving, EMOTIONS, experience, Facebook, fatigue, friendship, GADGETS, HEALTH, herniated disc, HUMOR, injury, iPhone, Lakewood, life, moving, panic, phobias, PSYCHOLOGY, RELATIONSHIPS, RELIGION, Relocation, Sleep, SOCIOLOGY, stress, TRAVEL, U-Haul 1 Comment »

Going to Denver Because You’re Dead (2)


In this second installment, I am on my way, the tone of the journey being set right away in Joplin, a mere 60 minutes from my starting place…

Fri August 1 at 9:08am~
Jae:: in Joplin at loves truckstop. Having food and getting ice for my neck. It’s swelling. It’s tedious already driving 45mph I feel like I’m going to CO on horseback.

Veep: but not bareback…..right?

Jae: Yes, bareback, where all the trouble is to be found.

First, i get back on the exit and take the wrong turn, winding up on an access road next to the interstate, but not actually on it. And of course there are no convenient on ramps. Just a one lane blacktop that begins to look as though it leads to nowhere. Finally, i have to try to turn around and that’s not an easy task when you’re pulling an overloaded trailer. The best turn around is always to make a complete circle. But of course there was no room to make a circle where i was. I found a “Y” in the road and maneuvered back and forth for a long time until i finally was able to circle around. That wasted a good 30 minutes of drive-time. I got back on the interstate, and endured the sensation of ice water dripping down my back from the ice pack on my neck. Now, every time i got out, my backside would be soaked. It would look like i didn’t make it to the potty. And i didn’t care. I just wanted to get this trip over with. And it had only just started…

Fri at 9:21pm~
Jae: after stop am almost to Wichita. Back on the road now.

Fri at 10:06pm~
Veep: Glad that you missed the Reverend Fred Phelps in Wichita with his “God Hates Lesbians with Cats and U-Hauls” sign…..and that after checking, all your fluids are normal…..Oh, I mean vehicle fluids that is…:-)
Jae woulda kicked his ass!

Fri at 10:05pm~
TPenny: Kansas is so boring!!!!!!! My son, Josh, the architecture student, says Wichita is the ugliest city he has ever seen! LOL! You be careful out there!!!!

 

Jae: Correct. It is also the city of my birth. But believe me it was nothing like it is now. I shall make haste out of mind numbing Kansas. Luya Sat at 12:18am~

 

Somewhere during one of my turnarounds, i got lost again, and came across this big sign that says “This is God’s Country. Where Jesus is Lord.” That explained it. It was a conspiracy against his godless one who was trekking toward a new life. I wish I’d had time to take a picture of that sign.

July 31 at 10:40pm
Veep: she’s GOING….homo

TPenny: This is strange, but I miss you as if we actually saw each other every day while you were here. You let me know you are okay.

Jae: Aw. I will. I feel like that with u too. I think we were meant to be friends, we just didn’t know until we crossed paths again. I hope you’ll come see me soon.

July 31 at 11:05pm~
TPenny: Does anyone else feel like Jae leaving Arkansas has somehow made the entire state feel emptier? I told her that I already miss her as if I saw her everyday, and, hell, I haven’t actually seen her since high school. Weird and sad. Be glad when she gets there and starts her chatter on here. It’s too quiet without her.

July 31 at 11:21pm~
Veep: She’s trying to get some sleep right now and I’m calling again in a bit to make sure she’s ok. Yeah…..I hate the Hell out of it. I’m sad. But it’s good for her…..it’s good to see her happy again, making plans, feeling energized, getting her creative juices “flowing” (I know she’s gonna make something our of that and I walked smack into it…) being somewhere that lifts her up…so even if it ain’t good for the rest of us…if you love her…you gotta listen to what it is she says she needs and support her in it…ya know?

TPenny: yeah, most definitely…it’s gonna be fun sharing her adventures vicariously on here, and, hey, we still gotta do our fear and loathing thing sometime!!!! LOL.

Veep: Oh yeah… Fear and Loathing ..The Road Trip…absolutely. We can stop and picket at Fred Phelps church with dark shades on, cigarettes on long holders…..signs that say ” God doesn’t even hate YOUR ignorant ass…..but wishes He hadn’t wasted the flesh”

TPenny: LMAO!!! That would give me such pleasure, you just don’t even know how much I would love to do that!!!! To him, and a thousand other “good Christians” like him.

Jae: ok shut my eyes for 20 min. Back on road with cats in the cubby hole behind the seats. Biscuit won’t get out of litterbox. She’s lying in it –Freak feline. I’m off.

TPenny: Or that she’s scared shitless, so it’s okay to sleep in there…

Veep: August 1 at 1:13am~ lol….yeah that!

August 1 at 12:25am~
TPenny: Really nasty line of storms around Wichita, but once that line passes, you are free and clear. Maybe just stay put for a bit. strong winds and hail are likely in that storm.

Jae: Thanks Tan! Put I’ll stay. I was about to say I might nap but this is not a gentle rain. Lightning cracked over my head and gave me palps. Whew.

August 1 at 12:40am~
TPenny: What are you doing now???? Maybe you should just get a room for the night and get out of that storm. I’ll give you my card number if you need money for one.

Jae: Wow Tan. U are so sweet. It’s calmed a bit I’m gonna see if I can go slow. If not I’ll pull over again. We have to (re) meet so I can go ahead and call u one of my best friends. Love u for being u. Keep sending weather info. I’m north of Wichita heading toward Salina on I-35 then will go west toward co Loading…

TPenny: Ok. But please don’t be a hard head. If you need to sleep, I want you to sleep somewhere safely, preferably behind a locked door. I’ve just eaten a half can of cappuccino mix, so I’m wide awake and right next to ya. LOL! The storm is moving southeast, so thankfully you should be moving in the opposite direction and out of it.

1:27am~Where are you now? Once to Salina you should have smooth sailing and out of the storms all the way in to the Denver area.

Brian Cunningham: Weather Underground says 50 to 60 percent chance of thunderstorms until 10am

Sat at 1:25am~
Jae: Great. Until the time I’m supposed to BE there. Hells bells. Thanks Tan and Bri for keeping tabs on me. Veep has Been calling me every couple hrs. I have great friends!

Stopped to change to different type of contacts, hoping it would improve the vision. At a rest stop in Wichita area. And that’s when the rainstorm began. I can tell by how it’s rocking me sitting still that it was a good thing I was pulled over. (sigh)

August 1 at 12:46am~
TPenny: Me and Veep are going to do the Fear and Loathing thing. You are going to die laughing when you open your front door and there we stand dressed like that. I’m gonna jump thru the doorway, ducking and muttering about the bats. LOL!

August 1 at 12:53am~
Jae: Lol oh where is my mega butterfly net. Or I guess that would be bat net! Love u guys!

TPenny: re Hunter S. Thompson, I want the long cigarette holder. I’d give it to you but I’m not sure your electronic cig would work right in it.

Jae: I’ll just use my long ecig. It looks that way anyway. And apparently I need to refresh myself on Thompson.

Sat at 12:22am~
TPenny: I did not know that!!!! There’s the new thing I’ve learned today. Well and some stuff about Veep too. I got her to start telling me her life story and I agree with you, she definitely should write this down. She’s evil with her chapter endings too! Stops on a cliffhanger every damn time. Please keep me posted on your whereabouts. And back at cha my sista!

BrianC: August 1 at 10:30am~ are you still in Kansas?

Jae: Dude, I was in Kansas for 40 days and 40 nights, i think. They should not …ALLOW…Kansas.

Sat at 12:20am~
Jae: ok shut my eyes for 20 min. Back on road with cats in the cubby hole behind the seats. Biscuit won’t get out of litterbox. She s lying in it Freak feline. I’m off.

Veep: Biscuit is being a pissy pussy….or trying to tell you that this road trip is a real crapper….

TPenny: Keep those eyes open!!!! August 1 at 1:05am~

TPenny: August 1 at 1:29am~You might just be the bravest woman I know. If I were out there, I’d be like Biscuit – scared shitless!

Jae: August 1 at 2:16am~Really? Maybe u know something I don’t know. U work with cops afterall. But brave? This is my life. I’m usually all on my own.

3:01am~
Jae: pulled over at Mcpherson. am~ sleepy now! Stress and fatigue finally catching up to me.

August 1 at 3:06am~

Tried to get into hotel to use restroom and inside door locked. Resolved myself to debasing some leaves and scandalizing squirrels. But lady comes to door lets me in. Then bitches about how she’s tired of her place being the public restroom for the area. So wait, I think. You came out & called to me & let me in but only so you could complain about having done so? You should just keep your fat ass in your chair, Scooter.

Sat at 3:38am~
Veep: i just called you. no answer. please be bcuz you are sleeping? Pissing on the leaves and the squirrels?

August 1 at 3:53am~
TPenny: All right, I’m going to bed. Hopefully you are talking to Veep. I’ll check on you when I wake up. It was a blast talking to you…but strange in that it seems that we have never stopped talking. Be careful the rest of the way and good luck. Good Night or morning or whatever the hell time of day this is!!!! Be seein ya! (hugs)

Jae: Ditto. We’ve been friends on some other level for a long time it seems. Wish we’d re-met yrs ago! But I look fwd to a fantastic lifetime friendship with you Tan. And I’ll take ur advice on you-know who. Nap time. Catch ya later sweets.

Sat at 4:45am~
TPenny: did u get thru to her? If so, tell her I found my glasses. They were on my head…..LOL!

Sat at 4:56am~
Veep: just talked to her….you goob. I couldn’t go back to sleep because I was so worried that she was hydroplaning into the abyss with all her crap in tow…..when a funnel cloud appeared with an ugly witch on a scooter laughing hysterically at her cat lying in the litter box with John Denver music in the background and midgets……everywhere…..

Jae: That was a laugh i sorely needed, Veep! Thank you!

TPenny: scooter people suck almost as badly as do circle queens!

Jae: Daily dose of pithy commentary we three peas on a pod.

Sat at 4:58am~
Jae: ok after an hour call with TPenny: I guess I should really take that nap.

Jae >>>TPenny: I LOVED talking to u. I told u we’re cosmic twins. XOXO.

Jae: Thanks, Tan.

TPenny: Goodnight you two…my brain just crashed…I’ll check on you when I wake up Jae bird, but please be careful.

Sat at 5:01am~
TPenny: “Murphy is my guardian Angel, see, with a full dance card and A.D.D”……..awesome lyrics


Kansas just never seems to end. That well-known phrase, “you’re not in Kansas anymore” is just wishful thinking or an outright LIE. Even on my GPS, in places, it looked like i was in the big middle of nowhere. In the photo>>>that really is what it looked like. That’s me, the lonely blue dot in the nothingness.

It inspired me to write a poem….

August 1 at 9:32pm~
Jae Baeli:
thru the vast expanse of neverending Kansas
at speeds not quite reaching aunt myrtle
with my home in this shell, and my neck straining forward
it’s rather like being a turtle.

August 1 at 2:18am~
Jae: Thx. U know u can call me. I’m just sitting here. We should at least talk on the phone once since ur right beside me in that hotel bed. Lol

August 1 at 2:21am~
TPenny: You are so bad!!!!! calling you, standby….

I was supposed to be sleeping, but once i got on the phone with TPenny:, it was like we were never anything but close friends all our lives. It’s so strange to know that we shared such a huge portion of our younger years and then lost touch for so long, and that now, it’s as if we are in each others lives daily. Not only that, but we seem to be Cosmic Twins–kindreds. We are so much alike, it’s scary.

That conversation lasted an hour and revived me to the point i could not take a nap. Not that naps were anything i can ever do if i’m driving a long distance, tired. I get those little terrors that make you wake up and go oh my god, i fell asleep at the wheel! You lose track of reality. Your brain gets confused. So the only sleep to be had is after i reach my destination, and then it will have to be drugged sleep so i won’t keep having terrors.

August 1 at 2:13am~
Jae: Refer to status update. In parking lot of hotel. Gonna nap. Storm gone. And Thanks for your concern and especially saying that you’re right next to me in that hotel. Mmm lol

TPenny: The idea was to go inside the hotel…and, ahem, I meant next to you in the Blazer, you goober! LOL!

Jae: Ah… My bad. (your loss) hehe. I’m just talkin smack. Smack-talker. Talker of smack.

TPenny: just another thing that makes you the wonderful goober you are! :)

With a good four hours to go, I could not fathom trying to get a hotel.. That would have wasted valuable time, because i knew i would have to try to dig the kitty cats out, and they had burrowed under in the back and there was no way i could leave them there while i went into a hotel room. Plus, by the time i got in there to crash, it would have only been a few hours before i had to leave again.

So i knew i simply had to stay awake. Coffee, my longtime companion, was finally not enough to get the job done. I stopped and got the 8 hour energy drinks. TWO. Problem was, they didn’t work. I could not tell the difference. So much for the advertising. So i bought a Red Bull and a large Double Strength Rockstar drink. THOSE worked. I was alert. I knew i’d make it then.

Bolstered by my renewed hope, I did the math and was chagrined to find that i still might not make it on time. The night agent would only be at the apartments until ten, but i called and he needed me to be there by 9p at the latest. I was saved when i noticed the time difference between stereo clock and iPhone. I realized that that I was on Mountain time, now. I had been given an extra hour.

So I was pumped.

Shoes and Biscuit were still hiding in the cubby hole, and i used a flashlight to check on them whenever i stopped. Monkey had, by this time taken to riding behind my head on the stack, or on the console, leaning on my arm. She was very good at traveling, overall.

When i got closer to Denver, I was so relieved to just know it was up ahead that i didn’t pull over to regroup. I drove right into town, following the GPS, but I had no idea which exit i was supposed to turn on. By this time, it was nearing 8pm.

That’s when my situation became clear. I was in a big city, in big city traffic, on an interstate highway, with cars all around going mostly above the speed limit, and I was driving 45mph with an overloaded trailer behind me, 3 days on 6 hours sleep, 30 hours of drive-time, and it was getting dark.

Then my GPS went blank. I thought it was the automatic shut-off. But it wouldn’t come back on. My phone was dead.

So I’m trying to put the charger into another receptacle and still keep myself not only on the road, but between the lines. Vehicles are whizzing past me, some honking at me, while I’m checking left and right mirrors to keep the U-Haul in the lane–i had about 8 inches leeway on each side, it seemed. Meanwhile, i was trying to get my GPS back up because without it, i was drifting in foreign space. I didn’t know where i was going. I tried to read the exit signs and get some clue, recognize some name that might ring a bell in my belfry. No such luck.

That’s when i realized i was nightblind. Moreso than throughout the rest of the trip, which i thought was simply fatigue. Now i knew i could not read the signs without being right on them. And that, combined with the other issues, was a recipe for disaster. I’d come so far. How stupid and senseless it would be for me to get myself killed now.

I got off on the next ramp and circled through town, stopping in a parking lot. Trying to get my bearings. Trying to make my brain work again. Sitting there, I tried to get my iPhone back up. I knew it had been plugged into the cigarette lighter adapter the whole way. So i thought maybe the receptacle was bad. I put it in a different one and it was red-lining, but charging. It meant i couldn’t pull up the map until it had enough juice. I looked around and didn’t feel very confident that i was in a good neighborhood. Some ominous looking guys were coming my way. I pulled my pistol from the console and stuck it under my right leg. It made me feel better, but i was in no shape to engage in a shootout or hand to hand combat. So I just got back on the Interstate again. I thought if i kept moving until the GPS came back, i could figure something out without becoming a statistic. AGAIN. tried to reassure myself that that time, i didn’t have a gun and this time, i did. It didn’t make me feel much better. Though pulling a trigger required much less effort than what i was already doing.

As I continued down the highway, my iPhone came back on and i tapped over to the map. I was way off course. I got off the highway again and circled back and got back on the other way. A big rig whooshed past me and sent my trailer fishtailing and i had to fight to control it while i stayed in between the lines and braked steadily.

Feeling the stress crawling up my throat, i took the next exit and found another small lot to pull over. Then a call came through.

Veep.

I spoke to her for a moment and told her what was happening– that i had no GPS sometimes. She offered her strength and comfort and then started mapping on the computer to try to help. Then my phone went dark again. It didn’t have enough juice for the phone call and the map. I had to defer to the map. A text came through from Veep with instructions, but i couldn’t look. I felt there was no way she could have understood where i was and which streets were one way, and…i just didn’t believe she could help from where she was, though maybe she could have. I was so tired…

Then the phone rang and it was her again. But i couldn’t answer. I had to concentrate. Even though i wanted nothing more than to hear a friendly voice–to have someone tell me it was okay. But it was not okay. I realized i was exhausted beyond retrieval. And no one could help me. I had to have the map.

I plugged the phone in again using a different cord i had found in my bag. The screen showed no charge and all i could do was wait and hope it came back up. I had to get my GPS back. What was I going to do now? If i had no GPS, I had no navigation. It was like being in the middle of the ocean and your life raft had deflated. And there were plenty of sharks circling. My technology had saved me many times, but this time, it was up to me. My strong, problem-solving survivor had been weakened terribly by stress and fatigue and pain. I wanted sleep. I wanted to stop driving, stop thinking. I wanted someone to just take over. Someone to hold me and tell me it was okay and the ordeal was over. Why wasn’t there someone? Why was I alone again?

And then i felt it. That thing i haven’t felt for years. That thing I thought i had conquered.

Panic.

Unless you’ve had a panic attack, you cannot appreciate the power it has. My pulse was pushing at my throat, i broke out in a cold sweat, felt dizzy, and there were frissons of fear shooting through me like hot arrows. I was in a strange city, a big city. No matter how smart you are, if you’re not used to being in a big city, you can still do something dumb. There were those who would think nothing of snuffing out your life. There is always something you don’t know, that could get you killed. Something as simple as not locking your door. Or being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Or being an exhausted woman alone, and lost. Like me.

Then i went to that other horror that all women carry in the backs of their minds. A fate, sometimes worse than death. I could get raped. And my fear-saturated brain then began to provide all kinds of variations on that theme, to include a replay of the attack i had suffered for real in my first college years in the 80′s. I was feeling the same sensations, i realized, that i felt then. Knowing i was going to die. I was going to die.

DIE.

I started sobbing, and just fell with my head against the wheel. Sure that i was only a speck in vast expanse of universe and I didn’t matter at all. I could be gone in a whisper of wind and no one would know. I was all alone.

Panic, panic, shaking, crying.

I can’t BREATHE.

After a few moments of this hideous lack of self-control, this mindless keening and sobbing, I took a deep breath.

My rational mind kicked in. No one could help me. I could sit there and cry and be afraid, or i could think of a solution. Force my weary brain to comply.

Instead of the interstate, i turned toward the city streets. I remembered that i needed to go the other way and so I pulled over into a warehouse area turned around, stopping at the traffic light. There were no other cars until one pulled up behind me. A Latino guy and a young woman in front, and another Latino guy in the back. I swallowed my fear and stereotypes and got out of the Blazer and walked right up to their window.

Politely, i asked for help. I told them i was horribly lost and trying to get to Ohio Avenue in Lakewood. They were all very nice. They gave me instructions how to get back to the right highway, and then to keep going until i saw Wadsworth, and take that exit. He said it was a few miles down Wadsworth. I thanked them profusely and they were gracious and understanding. The driver even smiled and said. “Welcome to Denver.” I thanked him, laughing a little, and walked back to my Blazer, with tears rolling down my face.

Next street, left, interstate. Wadsworth. Next street left, interstate, Wadsworth.

I chanted that the whole way.

When i turned onto Ohio, and saw the Parc Belmar apartments sign. I just cried tears of joy.

I called the manager and asked him how to get to where he was. The place was huge. I parked where he told me and went into the office, where i signed about 10 pages of the lease, not caring what any of it said. he hurried me through the process because he could see how exhausted i was. He even back my out of that alleyway and told me where i could park until the next morning when the movers would be there.

TPenny: I’m freaking out now. Veep told me that you just got into Denver about an hour ago. OMG I had no idea you were out there all day!!!!! I would have been on here bugging you and makin sure you stayed awake. Let me know when you get to your place.

My ordeal wasn’t quite over, But i knew that it didn’t matter. The worst was in the past. I still had to dig out the cats and get them in a box without them running away. I’m afraid i was a little rough with that process. I couldn’t deal with losing my cats, too. I had to make three trips with the dolly to get the stuff inside that i had to have for the night–airbed, airpump, blanket, sheet, pillow, change of clothes, overnight bag, catfood, litterbox…all those little things we rely on to function. I sent out a few texts letting my friends know i had made it. I took care of the cats, aired up the bed. Then i took an Elavil, and collapsed. Feeling like I i had just come home after surviving a disaster. I was alive. I was here. I had made it.


August 2 at 9:12am~
Jae: Ty so much. Tan. ur support was invaluable. Love you. Veep can fill u in on details as she knows the most about my hell night last night. I’m trying to recuperate but feel like the victim of a disaster, the next morning. I took 2 Elavil at 11:30 last night and yet still woke at 6:30. I flossed brushed & took a shower ( sans the shower curtain ) and that helped but have the shakes. I’m so hungry and have NOTHING to eat. Have to order out as I can’t drive. Or maybe there’s something within walking distance. Can’t begin to describe how squished I feel.

August 1 at 8:56pm~
Veep: Just a little thought before you rest sweetpea
Journey to the end of day,
come the firefly, come the moon;
say a prayer for God’s good grace
and sleep with love upon your face.
Don’t know who wrote it, but i like it and it fits.
I love you,
Veep

August 2 at 9:10am~
Jae: Ty so much, Veep! Don’t know how I would have made it without ur support. You were my rock. Love you for that. I’m trying to recuperate.

August 2 at 9:31am~
Veep: I am so worried about that happening to you……1) missing your regular meds can cause that….2) nervous exhaustion definitely will. 3) sleep deprivation can also. You muscles used up the “stuff” that is usually replenished when we sleep. Your short sleep pattern might contribute to some of your muscular aches for that reason, when you’re on your normal schedule. Sweetpea, you are suffering a lot of things like, translocation….we don’t relocate as well at our age. Your brain is trying to adjust to the altitude, getting its location bearing etc. so is burning more fuel than you are providing. I saw the coffee set up in the kitchen, but warn you that you need extra water right now so that your muscles get the flush out they need. Take some b6 a double daily dose….100mg. That should help with the shakes. It will take you about 3 days to get past this and you know another couple of months for your brain to have a “fix” and be operating kinda subconsciously in the area.

Eat some good protein and green leafy’s with some vitamin c. you’ll feel better quicker.
Feels like you are a million miles away……I’m sad. But I’m happy for you!! Can’t wait to visit….might move it up to November!!

Jae: Thank u for taking the time and making the effort to give me all that info. I’m usually pretty in touch with my body needs. And I am not craving coffee I am~ craving my distilled water while I make more. Also craving those green leafys And my vitamin shake and ginkgo. I will do as you say my Nurse! And I hope u will visit as soon as u can. Love.

Veep: I promise u. It will be as very soon as possible- u get the massage this time

 

 

Be the first to like.
Unlike
July 21st, 2009 anger, angst, annoying people, anxiety, Behavior, betrayal, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, conflict, EMOTIONS, ethics, exes, Facebook, friendship, frustration, harsh realities, HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP), honesty, Human Nature, life, music, nostalgia, pariah, past, PHILOSOPHY, PSYCHOLOGY, quirks, RELATIONSHIPS, rudeness, sadness, self-awareness, self-respect, sensitivity, Sensory Processing Sensitivity, social politics, Social Psychology, society, SOCIOLOGY, stress, TIME, triggers 27 Comments »

Turn, Turn, Turn

{reposted from Facebook}

I just had a really unsettling experience. I’m trying right now to just calm my thumping heart, and take a breath.

One thing that is no secret about me, is that I don’t have many secrets. I am pretty open. I have to be, because I am a creative person who produces creative material. But I don’t pretend that I’m so special that i don’t have a day to day life with day to day struggles and victories that i wish to share with those in my life. Nor do I pretend that human nature is always simple. There’s something else I make no secret of about myself. I will be the best friend in the world to someone, if they treat me right. But the second they turn on me, all bets are off. A longtime friend with whom I haven’t had much regular contact in recent years, just got really hateful & posted a couple of confrontational and venomous statements to me. I tried to click her on my friends list to write to her and find out what the hell was going on, but discovered she had removed herself from my friends list, so I couldn’t.

BACKSTORY: Earlier today, a friend called and asked my permission to give this person i mentioned above, my new phone number. I told her of course, but was confused because she was on my friend’s list and could have just asked me. A bit later, i wrote to this longtime friend and asked her why she didn’t just ask me for a phone number instead of asking another friend of mine. She was on my friends list. I would have been happy to provide it. But since we hadn’t been in touch a lot lately, I didn’t think to give it to her. I wasn’t hateful, i just wondered why she went through the other friend, instead of simply asking when she was on Facebook posting about her shows. Her response?

“No, I have better things to do than sit on Facebook for hours looking up information. I went straight to a source so that would have it.”

Better things to do than be on Facebook–I guess like THE REST OF US LOSERS. She effectively managed to trivialize the relationships we build by keeping in touch with each other each day. And some of us do want to be able to network according to other things we wish to share, like our music, our writing, our art….She had better things to do…Yet, has no problem using that friends list to announce her performances. I guess it’s just business, then, and not that she really cares about all those people.

It seems the big transgression was that i posted an inscription in a book given to me from an ex gf from TWELVE YEARS ago. I did it because it was a blast from the past & gave me a chuckle. This angry person made that hateful comment, and then I discovered she made another, under the inscription picture i posted. See, she’s still friends with that ex of mine, so that’s the connection. beneath all the other posts on that page, she said:

“Facebook is a wonderful tool for staying in touch with friends but digging up personal business and making it public is crossing the line. It absolutely serves no purpose.”

Um—digging up PERSONAL BUSINESS? An ex who wrote that she thought i was an alien sometimes but she loved me? TWELVE FREAKING YEARS AGO?? how personal can that really be? And it only had her first name on it…WTF?

I will say this. I am aware that there’s a group of people from that period in my life who insist on judging me by who I was then, during some pretty tough times for me. I moved on, i tried to evolve, and I even tried to remain friends with them. But no. I was evil. That’s just really sad.

But here’s the part that hurts. I never did anything to this angry longtime friend. We had kept in touch on and off over the years. So why now, is her allegiance to my ex so profoundly strong that she felt the need to attack me for posting an innocuous inscription from ancient history???

Is there something I’m missing here? What is my crime, again?

I have written this because I want it all out there. All honest and no pretense. I always try to take the high road. I always try to do the right thing. Sometimes I screw up, but I always admit to it and try to figure it out and do better. I want to be clear where i stand on this.

So, to Becky Haynes, my longtime friend who decided to attack me unprovoked, I say this with the utmost sincerity:

Fuck off.

Be the first to like.
Unlike
June 20th, 2009 Aging, anger, angst, annoying people, anxiety, betrayal, BOOKS, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, change, Colorado, conflict, conversation, Denver, depression, Depressive Realism, disability, disillusionment, Driving, EMOTIONS, exes, fatigue, frustration, harsh realities, HEALTH, herniated disc, HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP), injury, lesbians, life, loneliness, memories, midlife crisis, moving, music, novelist, problem-solving, PSYCHOLOGY, RELATIONSHIPS, RELIGION, Relocation, sacrifice, sadness, self-awareness, self-respect, Sensory Processing Sensitivity, SEXUALITY, social politics, Social Psychology, SOCIOLOGY, songwriter, stress, Supernatural Hypocrisy, The Cognitive Dissonance of a God Cosmology, TRAVEL, triggers, writer 4 Comments »

On the Heels of…

 


I had a marathon conversation last night with an ex from 10 years ago; and reconnected with her (Terra), via something she came across in my blog. The last half of the conversation created a feeling of great discomfort for me–both then, and this morning. My dreams were filled with people from the past, and anxiety tinted the start of my day.

I was aware that in this phone conversation, I had slipped back into old habits and patterns of response and emotion. Our conversation was triggering me like a pack of firecrackers. She is, at the moment, inextricably attached to so many painful memories. She is attached to that battle with the Government/VA, that pain, disability, depression, ostracization, helplessness, and sense of generalized abandonment. While I know she was not responsible for all of that, she was still attached to that time period, and there remains a strong association in that regard.

She has an association also with my first and second bands, and with the only woman who broke my heart; the one I was recovering from, when Terra came along. Terra gave me back that feeling that I was valuable and worth loving.

Last night, I didn’t even realize I still carried all that emotion from my life 10 years ago. The way I somehow became the villain, the scapegoat for everyone concerned. I thought I had healed and left it all behind. (These are the lies we tell ourselves). I guess I had merely buried it, ignored it and got on with my life as best I could. But you musn’t bury something that isn’t dead, or you run the risk of something along the lines of Pet Cemetery…specters raised from the dead to terrorize you. But how do you kill something without a MEANS of killing it? I never got closure in that situation. So I buried it alive.

A lot can happen to people in ten years. I had hoped that talking to Terra might allow me to reposition her in my life–not as that person a decade ago, but as someone familiar, yet new. Obviously, that’s going to be more challenging than I thought. I have a great deal more self-work to do when I get settled into my new life.

This re-connection came on the heels of recovering from the ruptured disc for 8 stressful and difficult weeks, much of which included the most excruciating pain I’ve ever had, being bed-bound, (while my computer crashed twice, by the way); coupled with this renewed realization of how truly isolated my life has become, and how there are few people for me to turn to, here. And nothing that interests me in the least. It all became vividly clear to me during this recovery period. I was even more resolved to move and start fresh. More convinced of my own brilliance in simply identifying the problem and taking steps to repair it, and reach for that happiness I have always so vehemently sought.
This reconnection with Terra also came on the heels of a series of betrayals by a few people in my life–who, in one way or another, showed themselves to be disingenuous, two-faced, and sometimes just plain mentally delusional or downright crazy. (I know most of my readers can relate). When Terra and I got on the topic of various social “Friends lists” I had such a caustic, strained and bitter response to it. No one REALLY has a hundred friends, I argued. That’s just a way for people to create some artificial self-confidence. They are only pictures. And very few actually understand the definition of what being a friend IS. One of those friends abandoned me in my greatest hour of need, after promising to be there for me in exchange for living here rent free. I had two relapses because I was forced to do things physically I should not have done, that she had promised to take care of. Not only was she a no-show, but she stopped calling for weeks, when I was in the middle of needing her help so desperately. And this person had done this sort of thing to me about 4 other times, and I had always forgiven and taken her back when she begged forgiveness and made new promises. So that was another trigger. Friends.

Terra’s mention of my previous bandmates, and other “musical people” topic in general, to include looking at professional photos on the Internet she had taken of them, also triggered me. I have always felt betrayed by them. After I was the one who did the bookings, the management, the publications and marketing, provided the van to carry the equipment, which was purchased on MY credit, and never got reimbursed or compensated for the wear and tear on, and gas for my vehicle, and also being the principal song writer…it was doubly hurtful to be pushed out of both bands. On top of performing with my ex (the one who broke my heart) and being mistreated and insulted by her at every turn…I had to walk away from something that was very much like a marriage to a person I was still in love with; while still being in love with that person still in the band. Now, I see these musical people from my past doing the music again, and enjoying that process and being respected, accepted and admired, and those feelings of betrayal and unfairness well up again. Why didn’t I get to have that? It wasn’t like I didn’t work hard enough for it.
This reconnection is also coming on the heels of a complete and utter dismantling of my own personal SH_vol2_COC_11Feb11frcvr1FINAL2_138x212worldview, which has been a two year process of letting go of all I used to believe about the existence of a god and what my purpose was in this life. Until you have walked down that road, you have no idea how completely devastating it can be at first. I embraced my atheism, and of course found that the Bible Belt is a terrible place to do that. Especially if you’re also a lesbian. This (currently) 630 page book about it (“Supernatural Hypocrisy: The Cognitive Dissonance of a God Cosmology”) was draining to write, but had to be done. Yet, facing my own personal truth with raw honesty also took its toll and I know that it will still be some time before I am completely at peace about it.
This reconnection with Terra also came on the heels of me finding myself isolated again, while those in my life moved, took other jobs elsewhere, found relationships, had children, and generally moved on with their lives, leaving me in the floodlights of waning purpose. Yes, I worked on my self and tried to be the most ethical and honest person i could be, even when it hurt like hell. Yes, I have written 13 books. And yes, I am proud of that. Yes, I recorded more songs and shared them, and yes, I created all kinds of art that was also something about which i was proud. But none of those things engaged me in a healthy interaction with other people on a daily basis. I kept exemplifying the definition of stupidity that I always counseled others about when they sought my advice: doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I had moved from place to place, thinking that it would alleviate the broken parts of my life, and then finally it dawned on me. My mistake wasn’t in moving place to place, seeking the life I wanted, it was moving to the SAME types of places, in the same region, and expecting things to change.

I was saved only by the information from my best friend who had returned from Colorado to inform me that change had come to that area too, in the form of affordability and an even wider variety of experiences waiting to be had. And then I researched again and found that every single thing I was missing in my life, was to be had there. That’s when I gained another caveat about life: Just because you have made a decision previously, it does not mean it still applies now. Things change, people change, and you have to look at the facts all over again and see if that decision you made still applies. Fortunately, I discovered mine didn’t and this opened up other possibilities for me.

So I began the goal of relocating, and it has taken me a solid year to get within 6 weeks of actually getting out of here. Setback after setback, betrayals, disappointments, misfortune, new health issues, and loneliness all colored the fabric of that scratchy cloak, but I wore it. I wore it and I vowed I would be free of it as soon as humanly possible.

And after coming out of a process in which a neurologist told me I had no choice, I created a choice, and having proved that prediction wrong, I was hopeful again. Laughing. Feeling my real self emerging once more.

Then a blast from the past unearthed my tenuous bomb shelter. And I was reminded with as much shock and ferocity, that I never really did have a grip on all of it. I had merely chosen to ignore it until it appeared to move away.

But I’m not done. I refuse to let go of this dream. I will not let this be my life. I will create another one. Again. And while I am weary and struggling to keep my chin up, I’ll push through this obstacle too, because this pinpoint of light shining in a dark place is searing my eyes, and it’s all I have.



Be the first to like.
Unlike
May 10th, 2009 anxiety, fear, HEALTH, herniated disc, injury, pain, surgery No Comments »

Herniated Disco: Motivations & Ruminations

Tried to stay positive today but had a hard time. A long-time fear which has simmered on the back burner for some time, is now moving toward the front burner. I was thinking about what it might mean…this situation…I intend to do wholeheartedly, start to finish, the steps outlined in the book by Dr. Daulton, when I have all the “ingredients” in place, but if the methods don’t ultimately heal me, then what? I had this sort of sick feeling every time I thought about surgery. I don’t know if it’s just my inherent fear of surgery, in and of itself, or if it’s an intuitive warning. I just cannot see how it would be a good decision because what I would deal with after that (and before/during) would more than likely cause even more problems and deny me any quality of life; whereas with the more natural approach, I at least have a chance at regaining some pain-free mobility, even if it takes longer than normal. Maybe it will even take 6 months. A year. I would still do it, because in the long run it’s better for me. And all this will likely push the move to farther in the future, which makes it doubly frustrating since everything I’ve tried to do to make the relocation happen has failed.

But the deeper issue is about pain and immobility. If I am in moderate to severe to unbearable pain all the time during this process, then this is obviously a huge obstacle. Though it would seem I can still write and do my computer-oriented tasks, and lie down whenever I need to…I would not be able to write at my desk, or shop, or clean the litter boxes, etc., because these things make the pain worse, and pain medication might help, but it renders me incapable of driving or even functioning well; to say nothing of the specter of becoming dependent on it, and it endangering my organs eventually. How long would I be able to hold out if I continued to have severe pain? How long before I would just want the pain to end– Once and for all?

When I think of how dismal my immediate and near future might be, I am then flung into despair, and more fear, and stress. I have so many things I want to do, see, experience; so many more books to write, art to create, music to record, friends to make and ultimately, dating and partnership. All the things that make my life worth living. How long before that pain and suffering leads me to desperate acts? How long before I am begging to make a deal with the devil? Unfortunately, I don’t believe in the devil, so once again, it’s an option that does not exist.

I suppose it makes little sense to be afraid of death. Death is the Grand Oblivion. To reach it means to reach perfect nothingness. What I am really afraid of is suffering. And, perhaps oddly, I’m also profoundly afraid that my life will be cut short or damaged to the point where I will not get to have those things I have sought for so long; ego aside, it would be tragic for me to be prevented from reaching my goals. I have so much to give. My creative endeavors are the closest thing to a purpose I have. What about all those unfinished manuscripts, unwritten songs or recordings, unpainted pictures, unmolded sculptures? What about all the valuable lessons I have learned, the wisdom I have accumulated? What good does it do anyone else, if it isn’t ever shared? So death or incapacitation seems more fairly visited upon those who contribute nothing, or those who contribute evil in any of its forms. But this would imply that Life is fair. And most adults understand that fairness is not something Life offers us. I am far more rooted in the NOW than ever before, since releasing my hold on religion and belief in any gods. This makes my life even more precious. I don’t have that false reassurance that I will either be rewarded or offered a better life next time. This life is all I have.

My spirits got a much needed boost by–of all things–going shopping. Bought mini trampoline and therapy ball for the Daulton program, and groceries, *ibuprofen,* *shiatsu neck Massager,* etc. But the boost came when I realized throughout my shopping, that the usual nerve pain didn’t appear. In fact, there was little difference between how I felt when I went in and how I felt when I came out. Even carried in all the perishables, and put them away and STILL didn’t feel worse. This is encouraging. Since I know the nerve pain comes from impingement, I am a little excited that maybe the impingement has either worked away from the prolapse, or the prolapse has shrunk a bit.

 

Be the first to like.
Unlike

  • Copyright Warning

    All content here and in my books are protected by copyright. Violators will be prosecuted.

  • Almost Famous Quotes of Kelli Jae Baeli

    "It only takes a straw, a last straw, to break a brittle back. Trouble is, you can never predict when that last straw will fall, nor whether your back can stand it."

  • Subscribe to new posts via email

    Email:

  • Quotes for Writers

    The purpose of a writer is to keep civilization from destroying itself. ~ Albert Camus

  • Word of the Day

    reconditeREK-uhn-dyt adjective: Difficult to understand; abstruse.

  • Quotes I Like

    When a true genius appears in this world, you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in confederacy against him. ~ Jonathan Swift

  • The Indie Writer’s Network

  • Primary Topics

    loneliness society change AKA Investigations series dating friendship mystery genre desperation Kate Genet hope AUTHORS WRITING lies life PSYCHOLOGY PUBLISHING lesbian literature reason God Writing tips SEXUALITY experience WRITING CRAFT Christianity anxiety cats HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON (HSP) ATHEISM SCIENCE writing business ethics betrayal evergreen harsh realities EMOTIONS love WRITING LIFE BIBLE Social Psychology disillusionment PEEVES nonfiction Fiction The Cognitive Dissonance of a God Cosmology Internet Dating depression exes poem GENRES Supernatural Hypocrisy honesty Colorado Book Excerpt midlife crisis HUMOR ENTERTAINMENT PHILOSOPHY sensitivity writer self-awareness fear CREATIVITY Relocation annoying people novels Driving RELIGION Lesbian fiction genre BRAIN Sensory Processing Sensitivity Behavior RELATIONSHIPS moving Facebook Book Reviews lesbians romance-genre sex blogging HEALTH lesfic genre truth BOOKS POLITICS & GOVERNMENT memes stress Human Nature women SOCIOLOGY frustration sadness CHALLENGES & MISHAPS socializing Also Known As DNA truthiness romance social politics angst suspense genre Kelli Jae Baeli

  • Tag Cloud

    adoption advice affirmations AlphaSmart Alzheimers America apostrophe article Astro attack balance bathroom Blondie boat Book Cover Design BOOKS bored with food breakups Carl Sagan cell phone cheap chess Chinese Christ coma comfort commercial conclusions contract conundrum craigslist cramps critique Dan Barker Dancing With the Stars dark date-rape David debate decapod deception defense definition Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome Dick Cheney diet disagreement dish sponge on a stick DNA Door Christians dramedy DSPS Dunedin E Pluribus Unum economy education Egyptian end of the world Everything You Know About God is Wrong exam famous Father Furniss female female heart attacks fingers fire alarm flood flying focus FUBAR Gazelle Germs Gilgamesh glow worms God Delusion golf course gound hair hands handwriting Hen Party Hitler horror hotel Hurricane Katrina hysteria ideas idiot infidelity introversion Jael James Patterson Jephthah Jews John Grisham Judges 4 Keith Olbermann kids kill killed killers kindness kissing kitten Krispy Kreme Law of Attraction legibility lemmings logic loss luggage M-Theory maintenance massage Matthew Lesko maturity Men at Work metaphysics microwave minister misogyny Mississippi misunderstanding morning mortgage motivation murderer Netflix neurologist new age New Jersey news nightmare nightmare dates Njoy Noah nonsense notes NY OCD Ocean Ocean research odd old days online opinions outcast PA packing pagans painting paradigms paradox pastor PC penmanship photography pink plaque plotting post pottery prayer prequels propaganda pseudoscience rap red flags redacted Robert Frost running Santa Claus Science Daily secular humanists Shroud of Turin Stevia stings stocks stupid surge syncopation Ten Plagues tent peg texting The Descent The Gone-Away World The Tudors The X-Factor Theodore Roosevelt Thomas Beatie Thomas Jefferson torches university Virgil Virginia Tech wisdom Witty Segues Woodchuck workout World Health Organization

  • Post Archives

    • ▼2013 (30)
    • ►2012 (61)
    • ►2011 (75)
    • ►2010 (23)
    • ►2009 (101)
    • ►2008 (147)
    • ►2007 (52)
    • ►2006 (3)
    • ►2005 (7)
    • ►2004 (11)
    • ►2003 (18)
    • ►2002 (4)
    • ►2001 (2)

  • Contact Me

    Your message was successfully sent.
    Thank You!

  • Noble Arcana

    First Draft

    6,043 of 40,000 words (15%) complete

  • award

    intellectual-blog-award

  • award

    award_witty

  • Behind the Left: Authoring the Apocalypse

    First Draft

    8,446 of 70,000 words (11%) complete

  • The Girls in the Band

    First Draft

    33,629 of 35,000 words (94%) complete

  • Buy my ebooks on Smashwords

    smashwordslogo

  • Buy my books on Amazon

    amazonprintKindlelogo

  • My Booklets

    Available at my author site. Print & Kindle versions of my books are also available on Amazon Digital versions on Smashwords The links when you click on the cover will go to the Kindle digital version. They are also available in various formats from Smashwords.

    All Content, © Kelli Jae Baeli
    All Rights Reserved.
    Any reproduction, sale, distribution or use of this work
    is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.  

     

     

  • My Articles

    Available at my author site. Print & Kindle versions of my books are also available on Amazon Digital versions on Smashwords

    Click on the covers for detailed information on each.

    ARTICLES/ESSAYS

     

    All Content, © Kelli Jae Baeli
    All Rights Reserved.
    Any reproduction, sale, distribution or use of this work
    is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.  

     

     

  • Hanging the Moon (w/ Kate Genet)

    first draft

    24,201 of 77,000 words (31%) complete

  • In Progress:

    Curse of Cache La Poudre

    30,270 of 30,000 words (100%) complete

  • Quintessence

    42,607 of 40,000 words (105%) complete

  • Somewhere Else

    First Draft

    40,600 of 40,000 words (100%) complete

  • HSP Test

  • HSP Test Results

    If you clicked 18 or more responses, you are probably an HSP. the higher the number, them more likely. For more information, and a supportive new community, please visit my forum.

Switch to our mobile site