Category Archives: My Favorites
This is the first Sunday I haven’t had to go to the laundromat. My laundry basket was a third full, and, I was not going to muse a load and spend money on that.
Friday, I heard so many songs that resonated with me – the most important being, “Turn the Page” via Metallica.
I found myself lost in the lyrics and substantiating it with my anxiety disorder. Let’s walk through this.
I get up.
I take my meds.
I take my dog outside.
I come inside.
I feed all pets. (Butters plus my fish and Nic’s that he left)
I bathe and dress.
I take Butters out again, because she never goes the first time.
I watch some news.
I walk Butters again – just in case. Also, fix my lunch.
I walk out leaving cartoons on for my dog and say “gimme kisses and smisses”
Every. Single. Day.
Turn the page.
It’s fucking Groundhogs day!
But, I’m also diagnosed agoraphobic and have severe anxitey and panic disorder.
I have some comfort in repeated things.
I feel safe driving to work, being there, driving home.
I feel safe driving to the store – then … BOOM!
I’m lucky if I get through the shopping.
This might be too much information, but, if I’m helping just ONE person, I’m glad to share – my issue when I leave my house is like … Stomach flu. I get INSTANT tummy troubles. It manifests itself physically.
So, I hear this song on Friday on my way home. And it’s this.
I got this … Um, feel or glow or understanding the way I understood it. I KNOW obviously what he’s talking about. But, it SO resonated.
“You can think about the woman or the girls you knewthe night before”
For sure. Me. Knowing me. What I’m capable of being and who I am today. Who I used to be.
“But your thoughts will soon be wandering the way they always do.”
“When you’re riding sixteen hours and there’s nothing much to do, and you don’t feel much like ridin’ you just wish the trip was through.”
I’ve had those moments too. Wanting, just … To be done.
“There I am, on the road again.”
There’s only so many places I can go. I am terrified on big traffic highways. My anxiety comes on and I can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t feel my limbs. It’s serious.
Also speaks to my daily drive to work, which I CAN do. But the repedeance is bonkers.
“There I am up on stage.”
Yup. With a mask and a smile and a positive attitude.
Me with makeup:
Me, with nothing but Chapstick.
“Out there in the spotlight, you’re a million miles away. Every ounce of energy you try to give away. As the sweat pours out your body, like the music that you play”
And, again, I’m exhausted every. Single. Day. I am. And I know the source.
And people that say “Anxitey” or “Depression” isn’t real, seriously need to talk to THEIR doctors about it.
“GET OVER IT”
“IT’S ALL IN YOUR HEAD!”
Let me take that route.
“Later in that evening, as you lie awake in bed, with the echoes from the amplifiers ringin” in your head, you smoke the day’s last cigarette remembering what she said.”
Me: you’re leaving? But wait …
Me: I love you so much
Nic: May Neptune watch over your soul
Nic: May Neptune watch over your soul
Me: (internally) Wtf?
Me: (out loud) ok (followed by massive sobs and ugly crying noises)
Nic: bye for now
It all happened too quickly. Can I get a do over? Please.
(My status on Friday, the 6th of January.)
I knew it was going to hurt. I had no clue how much.
Considering the state of me the day before, work told me to please take the day if needed. I knew as I arrived home Thursday that it would be needed.
To pull closer to your home, only to see your child’s car surrounded by cases and ‘I’m going away’ items well, let’s just say I was sobbing by the time I had put the car into neutral and pulled my emergency brake.
This was it.
The last night.
I walked, wet cheeked, into a home I had shared with him since High School.
Suitcases and vacuum sealed bags lay about the living room and kitchen. His bedroom littered with debris from a lifetime together.
This was really happening.
I stood, purse in hand – unable to stop the tears.
The following morning was a blur.
After watching him drive off – I entered the house (no longer feeling like a home) and broke.
Into a thousand pieces.
I cried myself to sleep.
I cried some more.
I finally found the strength to enter ‘his room’.
And wished I hadn’t.
I grabbed a pillow abandoned on his unmade bed. Inhaled deeply and returned to bed with it. I clutched it so tightly.
And slept again.
In between the crying and the sleeping was the worrying – he was after all, embarking on a 27 hour trip across country.
Physically navigating terrain he’d never navigated before.
Just as I was emotionally.
It’s been 5 days since he left.
My dog, Butters has been out of sorts.
I’ve been trying to be ‘chipper’ at work. Albeit, quite unsuccessfully on Monday. I had made it through the entire day – catching up, slammed.
I was crunching year-end numbers just as I was informed the copy machine was acting up.
“I can only focus on one thing … I’ll call the copy people in a minute.”
A boss responded, “No, finish what you’re doing, don’t worry.”
And, out of my mouth?
“But if I don’t call now, Nic won’t come!!”
Our copy guy’s name is Christian.
Freudian slip led to tears.
They continued to fall as I stayed a little late and got everything done while everyone trod about me on eggshells.
Another jarring moment was yesterday. Nic had told me he would send photographs of where he was (having, obviously, safely arrived at his destination.)
I followed up and his response was:
“I haven’t been home yet. Lol I’ve. Been out all day”
Wasn’t ready for that sentence.
Not ‘our’ home.
And I’m going to have to get used to that.
I’m told repeatedly by people with the best intentions that his flight from the nest is a testament to my successful raising of him.
But I’m still trying to accept that. And, it’s hard. And it hurts.
However, I’m also very proud of him for taking such a ginormous step and embarking on a new chapter of his life.
For following his heart (literally, he left to be with his girlfriend of over three years.)
For bravely starting from scratch in a place he’s only visited a couple of times, and accepting the challenge to ‘adult’.
I’ll always be here for him.
I’ll always miss him.
And perhaps most importantly, always love him enough to let go.
When I heard the agonizing scream from outside to the table I sat notarizing documents upon, I knew something horrific had happened.
Then I heard the second “NO!!!!!”
I could barely focus – immediately the empath in me had eyes watering and vision blurred.
I absolutely felt the sorrow.
I had just seen the gentleman last week. And when I say ‘Gentleman’ I mean that truly.
This was a happy, loving, GIVING person. Fortunate due to the effort he’d put into his life and … suddenly gone at 56 and alone in his chair when he did so. His wife was here waiting for his arrival when she got the news. He passed alone.
He wasn’t sick. He had plans, as we do. But, time doesn’t factor that in for us does it?
A long time client and very dear friend to two of my bosses.
Today was filled with tears because, when someone I love is hurting, I FEEL their pain in a visceral way.
Also, I had experienced this person so recently and knew what kindness and generosity he shared.
I found myself questioning again ‘The Higher Power’s’ choices.
One of my dearest friends started chemo today.
I’m ashamed to say, a fact I found out later in the day after receiving no response from her.
I was sick last week – and isn’t it silly that I didn’t want to visit her in my condition considering hers? But, I didn’t want her immune system compromised for her impending procedure.
The woman who has given of herself and loved the helpless and hopeless.
Why not the pedophiles?? Why not the evil at heart???? WHY???? Why the good ones? And don’t come back at me with ‘He has a plan.’
What plan would any father have to subject his smallest, youngest children to cancer? To famine? To fear and war?
None I say.
I’m a little bitter right now if you haven’t noticed.
As we wept, I considered the fact that the two most affected already have a plan.
They want to spend the rest of their days together. Retired.
And I’ve been looking at my life too.
What do I want for myself?
Nothing material, that’s for sure.
But with every ‘spell’ every ‘bad day’ physically, I find myself contemplating my last days.
And bottom line is:
Preciousness of the time I have remaining.
It could be gone in a minute.
Then I remember what is important.
I always do.
People. Service. LOVE. Loving others. Friends, family, strangers.
Not cars or clothes or cash.
It’s never been those things for me. And I’m grateful I’ve always had that attitude.
But I DO ask myself is:
THAT is what is important.
So, if my last day on the planet is tomorrow – I hope I’ve fulfilled that last one at least!
Standing at the work station counter sorting condiments. One knee against the bottom of said counter.
I feel a presence.
Then I feel a hand on my bottom.
“When are you going to share this?”
Shock. Startle. Freeze. “My butt?”
“No, THIS.” Hand shoved down the front of my pants and into my underwear.
Never did I focus so much on my knee and the feeling of the wood against it – I focused so much on my left knee and as the rest of me spiraled out of control and panicked, I felt safety in that grounding sensation.
I raised my son alone. Well, I had the help of my parents. A roof over my head and a mom that adored my bundle of joy.
I hated that I missed his first smile – first laugh. Hated that I had to work and miss all the good stuff.
But, it was necessary that I work to support him.
His, um, ‘Sperm Donor’ made it very clear when I announced my pregnancy that he wanted nothing to do with it.
To the point that “If you try for child support, I’ll quit my job and move in with my parents.”
I was also very young and acting out back then. We had both experimented quite thoroughly with drugs. I stopped … he didn’t.
I didn’t want such a person in my son’s life. My son didn’t deserve someone in his life that didn’t want to be there.
And as I’ve consistently pointed out to my son, it wasn’t a personal attack on him, because he didn’t KNOW him and REJECT him, he just didn’t want to be a father, period.
I didn’t take that out on the paternal grandparents however, and gave them an opportunity to be just that.
They didn’t want it either.
And there you have it. No paternal support. Not emotionally, not physically and not financially.
I bring all of that up so you realize how important keeping my job was to me. Sole provider.
I drove to the home I had at the time – a yacht.
I was shaken. Crying. One of my best friends happened to be outside on his boat.
Saw me – called me over. I bawled and shared everything.
We happened to know a lawyer.
I was pensive to say the least.
Terrified to lose my job and not be able to support my child, terrified to confront my assaulter.
But, I knew what he had done was so completely wrong and if it was that easy for him, probably other’s had been through it.
Time had passed and my lawyer recommended I wear the same color clothing as my eyes. “It makes you more believable.” Wait. What?? I was only going to tell the truth anyway.
Lawyers know what they’re doing. I complied.
I had already quit the job.
He was there.
He sat there – with a polystyrene cup over his nose and with his mouth, munching on it.
That’s how seriously HE took this. His assistant manager (Should mention ‘he’ was the owner of the entire company) silently scolded him. I found it extremely offensive and was already terrified to be in the same room with him. Assistant Manager was actually very kind to me the whole time I worked there and I like to believe was just as disgusted with his boss as I was.
I had to answer many questions.
I had to answer them in front of my predator.
“Did you wear a revealing Halloween costume?” “Have you been an actress?” (I was in a local murder mystery play). “You say on your resume you’re a published author, how is this true?” Me: “I’m in the library of Congress”.
“How many sexual partners have you had”
(Like that has ANY bearing on CONSENSUAL touching).
“Who is the father of your child?”
That’s where it stopped.
I didn’t want him involved.
Did not want someone unhealthy forced into interaction with my son.
Did not go to trial.
“Why do they wait?”
When you are assaulted, so much goes through your head.
Is it worth losing my job over, I really need my job.
Will anyone believe me over someone so prominent and powerful?
I’m going to embarrass their wife/partner.
I’ll be talked about.
I’ll have to face them.
Public defenders do their job, and I’m NOT putting them down. Because God forbid, I ever need one, I need them on my side.
But I’m pretty certain when a case comes up and they have to advocate for a guilty person, they don’t sleep well at night.
I hope they don’t anyway.
Because I was VERY credible and VERY violated and he did not go easy on me in that room.
Accusers. “WHY DIDN’T THEY COME FORWARD SOONER?” And I read this from WOMEN!!!!!!! Why?
Because it’s horrid. It’s embarrassing. Because your entire PAST is brought up.
YOU are treated like a slut.
Someone that ASKED for it.
That’s their job.
I’ve been through two rapes.
I’m not allowed to vote, because I’m a ‘legal alien’
So, I’m reading comments about ‘those women’ who are accusing and how disgusting they are. And feeling very angry.
I actually unfriended a very good friend not because of their political beliefs, but because they questioned ‘the accusers’ very insultingly. And I can’t handle that anymore.
I just can’t.
I AM broken.
But, I am not beyond repair.
I’ve made my life livable and made my life loveable.
I have fallen in love with someone and STILL support and love my son. Maybe I’m not as broken as I thought I was.
I numb myself, and am working on fixing that. Because I shouldn’t .
I degrade myself because I feel small. And I shouldn’t.
But the ‘why now’ thing … If I HAD kept an assault quiet, then years later heard my assailant on the news speaking so horribly about women – then denying any wrong doing, that would be a trigger for me. Then imagine that person could hold the highest office in the country. I would HAVE to come forward in the hopes of doing anything to try to stop that from happening.
Go easy on the “Why are they coming forward now?”
If you haven’t been through a rape kit – shut the fuck up. And if you haven’t felt like your job is on the line if you don’t put up with things, shut the fuck up.
I hate the vulgarity that I have used. But this is clearly a very emotional topic for me.
And I will say now, “Telly Telly” is going to be ‘he who shall not be named’s” downfall.
When I was small, I asked “May I please watch the Telly?” Television. And I’m pretty certain “The candidate” didn’t share THAT nickname with anyone outside of his circle.
I hope shudders went down his families spine when that phrase was uttered. Although, I think they knew all along.
Too much detail.
Too much dread with him.
PLEASE don’t vote for him.