When I was young I didn't know that divorce existed. I didn't know that marriages could end. I was young when an uncle went through a divorce and because it was news to me that marriages could end I asked my parents why my uncle wasn't married to my aunt anymore.
I was told that my uncle's wife just woke up one day and decided she didn't want to be married anymore. Years later a 2nd uncle's marriage ended. I was a teenager and asked the same questions. I'd had a friend by that point whose parents divorced but I wasn't bold enough to ask her why. So I asked again why this 2nd uncle wasn't married anymore.
I was told again that this 2nd uncle's wife just woke up one day and decided she didn't want to be married anymore.
Now, I do understand that these were attempts at age appropriate answers to hard, complicated questions. Through my adult eyes I understand marriages end for a myriad of reasons that are rarely completely 1one persons fault. But to my kid eyes it seemed a reasonable enough cause, I guess.
It's no secret I have relationship issues, and abandonment issues exacerbated by long-term relationships (specifically those of the romantic nature). A couple of months ago I reconnected with a family member and we began swapping stories and information. I relayed the stories of my uncles divorces and the reasons I was given for the end of their marriage. But as I sat on the sofa messaging with my family member it hit me, that was probably not actually the reason my uncles were divorced.
I know, duh. Right?
Here I was, 33 years old, still believing the age appropriate reason for divorce. It struck me that combined with my sense of abandonment, that people always leave, and the entrenched belief that these two uncles who I loved deeply and I had put on the pedestal fun uncles are often put on were left by women that just decided one day they didn't want to be married anymore; it's no wonder I'm certain any marriage I might enter into would only end in being left.
If people can just wake up one morning and decide to leave then what's to stop it from happening to me? I mean; I get now that it's not true. But I still sort of believe it, in large and small ways.
It's definitely on my list of "things to talk about with my therapist", but this last month the impact of realizing how deeply I believed that people just wake up one day and decide not to be married has been churning inside of me.
I don't know where it goes from here, but the freedom of discovering another lie, another broken belief and knowing that once it's discovered it can be fought against and overcome has been overwhelming.
Showing posts with label Memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Memories. Show all posts
10.14.2012
12.02.2011
Poisoned Fruit
I've been watching a lot of Law & Order lately. When they get to the courtroom scenes there is often a battle over what evidence should be admitted in the trial. If one big piece is omitted then it can have a domino effect on a lot of other smaller pieces of evidence.
Fruit of the poisonous tree is what they call that evidence.
That's how life feels lately.
Every broken relationship
Every cutting comment
Every knock down drag out fight
Every shaming scoff
Fruit of the poisonous tree.
The generational sin and brokenness that feels like poison seething through my veins so I want to rip the roots out of my familiy tree and plant it in less fallow ground.
I feel panicked wondering how I can change my own behaviors and attitudes to help change the tide of bitterness, anger and snark that rears its hideous head.
I feel afraid, wounded and damaged. Wishing I could strike back like a snake. Teaching lessons and hurting those that hurt me, shame me and others. Putting a stop to those who belittle and dimiss others. I wish I could shout loud enough to make their eyes open to the damage their indifference and cruelty is causing.
But I can't. I don't have a pretty bow to wrap this all up. All I know is that I am called to be gracious and loving to everyone; even when I feel like they don't deserve it anymore.
The tension for me is in setting boudaries and keeping them while at the same time being gracious and kind.
Loving the best I can the people in our family even when they behave so unloveable.
Fruit of the poisonous tree is what they call that evidence.
That's how life feels lately.
Every broken relationship
Every cutting comment
Every knock down drag out fight
Every shaming scoff
Fruit of the poisonous tree.
The generational sin and brokenness that feels like poison seething through my veins so I want to rip the roots out of my familiy tree and plant it in less fallow ground.
I feel panicked wondering how I can change my own behaviors and attitudes to help change the tide of bitterness, anger and snark that rears its hideous head.
I feel afraid, wounded and damaged. Wishing I could strike back like a snake. Teaching lessons and hurting those that hurt me, shame me and others. Putting a stop to those who belittle and dimiss others. I wish I could shout loud enough to make their eyes open to the damage their indifference and cruelty is causing.
But I can't. I don't have a pretty bow to wrap this all up. All I know is that I am called to be gracious and loving to everyone; even when I feel like they don't deserve it anymore.
The tension for me is in setting boudaries and keeping them while at the same time being gracious and kind.
Loving the best I can the people in our family even when they behave so unloveable.
9.15.2011
I remember
I remember the feeling of you more than you. I remember you mostly through stories re-told to me for years and decades of my life.
I have a picture of you, at graduation, smiling down at whoever was taking the picture and I wonder about you. I wonder what would have been different had you stayed longer.
I remember a feeling of you under my knees and poking hands as I clambered up and up and up until I could reach your face to pat it softly on the side.
I remember a room, with a bed in it, with brown carpets and heavy wooden furniture. I remember the hose
itching my legs and the lace itching my neck and wrists.
I remember a long ceremony and a new lady that I liked well enough.
I remember in snippets and breaths of feelings and flashes. I remember in the breathing in and realizing I'm smelling a scent that really belongs to you.
I remember a room filled with strangers and how it was the first time I recall disliking the smell of flowers when there was a big box in the room with them and tears falling on my head.
I remember wondering, why you weren't around anymore and trying to figure out where you went. I remember knowing that asking wasn't an option. Because even that small I remember feeling shamed by my questions and inability to understand things way beyond my maturity.
I remember your room with the wall of books. I remember wanting a wall of books in a heavy wooden case just like yours. I remember looking out your window and wondering what you thought when you looked out them.
I remember you more in feelings than fact; in disjointed flashes and shared stories from mostly people that I can no longer trust to tell me truths about anything.
I have a picture of you, at graduation, smiling down at whoever was taking the picture and I wonder about you. I wonder what would have been different had you stayed longer.
I remember a feeling of you under my knees and poking hands as I clambered up and up and up until I could reach your face to pat it softly on the side.
I remember a room, with a bed in it, with brown carpets and heavy wooden furniture. I remember the hose
itching my legs and the lace itching my neck and wrists.
I remember a long ceremony and a new lady that I liked well enough.
I remember in snippets and breaths of feelings and flashes. I remember in the breathing in and realizing I'm smelling a scent that really belongs to you.
I remember a room filled with strangers and how it was the first time I recall disliking the smell of flowers when there was a big box in the room with them and tears falling on my head.
I remember wondering, why you weren't around anymore and trying to figure out where you went. I remember knowing that asking wasn't an option. Because even that small I remember feeling shamed by my questions and inability to understand things way beyond my maturity.
I remember your room with the wall of books. I remember wanting a wall of books in a heavy wooden case just like yours. I remember looking out your window and wondering what you thought when you looked out them.
I remember you more in feelings than fact; in disjointed flashes and shared stories from mostly people that I can no longer trust to tell me truths about anything.
9.12.2011
Possession
When someone touches me it feels like they're trying to take possession of me.
I don't like it. Even the most platonic and non-sexual touch makes me cringe. It takes months or even years of time spent for me to feel comfortable with touch.
I know it comes from a lot of things.
That damn back room and the way she would rest her age spotted hand on my shoulder when whispering how rotten I was, the pinching tightness of her only slightly younger age spotted hands gripping my upper arm hissing at me the things to say to never have to go home again.
The way the only touch I ever felt comforted under was hidden in secrecy of too young and too soon. The way even that touch would disintegrate with the stunning rapidity of shifting teen allegiances.
The way I knew I could use touch to change a topic or divert attention from a searching glance or reassure myself that you cared enough to spend the night.
So now these many years later touch has become bad. All touch. I have to really believe that you won't hurt me to allow touch, and I don't really believe that a lot of people won't hurt me.
Even with dear friends, the closer geographically they get, the less we touch. Long weekend are punctuated by obligatory hugs but I hate to linger. It feels like a trap. Like I won't be able to escape (these dear people that I otherwise have no desire to escape).
I had a friend once, and believe me when I say we were really just friends. We would go walking in benign places and hold hands just for the comfort of having another anchor in the world. There was poking and arms casually slung around shoulders, soft touches to the back or face just to say, "I'm still here. This is still solid ground."
I miss that friend. Because life shifted as it will and it's no longer appropriate for us to comfort each other, even platonically, that way. His wife would probably mind, which is completely appropriate and understandable.
But outside of the desperate and often manipulative context of teenage sexuality I cannot recall any other person or relationship that contained such an ease of touch. Nothing sexual, nothing inappropriate, just one person saying to another that they were there.
It's the last time I didn't feel that constricting need to flee at even the slightest touch.
I don't like it. Even the most platonic and non-sexual touch makes me cringe. It takes months or even years of time spent for me to feel comfortable with touch.
I know it comes from a lot of things.
That damn back room and the way she would rest her age spotted hand on my shoulder when whispering how rotten I was, the pinching tightness of her only slightly younger age spotted hands gripping my upper arm hissing at me the things to say to never have to go home again.
The way the only touch I ever felt comforted under was hidden in secrecy of too young and too soon. The way even that touch would disintegrate with the stunning rapidity of shifting teen allegiances.
The way I knew I could use touch to change a topic or divert attention from a searching glance or reassure myself that you cared enough to spend the night.
So now these many years later touch has become bad. All touch. I have to really believe that you won't hurt me to allow touch, and I don't really believe that a lot of people won't hurt me.
Even with dear friends, the closer geographically they get, the less we touch. Long weekend are punctuated by obligatory hugs but I hate to linger. It feels like a trap. Like I won't be able to escape (these dear people that I otherwise have no desire to escape).
I had a friend once, and believe me when I say we were really just friends. We would go walking in benign places and hold hands just for the comfort of having another anchor in the world. There was poking and arms casually slung around shoulders, soft touches to the back or face just to say, "I'm still here. This is still solid ground."
I miss that friend. Because life shifted as it will and it's no longer appropriate for us to comfort each other, even platonically, that way. His wife would probably mind, which is completely appropriate and understandable.
But outside of the desperate and often manipulative context of teenage sexuality I cannot recall any other person or relationship that contained such an ease of touch. Nothing sexual, nothing inappropriate, just one person saying to another that they were there.
It's the last time I didn't feel that constricting need to flee at even the slightest touch.
8.02.2011
Wake Up
My mom had a brother named John, we called him Johnny.
He was sick a lot, there were some things wrong with him and he was also a short but rotund man. But he was Uncle Johnny. He died when I was 3ish.
The story goes that he slept a lot, because of the decreased amount of oxygen he was receiving. Whenever we would go over to the farm house and he was there he would be sleeping on the sofa.
I would take it upon myself to climb up his belly and pat him on the face telling him I had arrived and it was time to wake up and play with me. He would wake up and I would continue to climb all over him.
When he died I hear I was told that he fell asleep and woke up in heaven with Jesus. He would stay there forever. So when we went to his funeral and I saw him laying in his casket I believed he was asleep. There were also those little Catholic kneeling things in front of his casket.
So when I was unattended I wandered over to the casket and climbed up the "steps" and looked at him.
Yep, he looked asleep.
So I kept climbing and crawled into the casket and up his belly until I could reach his face. I put my hands on his face and I said, "Wake up Uncle Johnny, I'm here! It's time to get up and play with me!"
I don't know what happened next, that part of the story was never told. I can imagine that my Grandma, his mom was pretty upset as were a lot of the other adults. He was pretty young when he died.
I do remember asking my Grandma about it when I was 16. I was trying to find out more about Uncle Johnny and what he was like, since I didn't remember him that well. I only really remembered how I felt when I was around him. After a little bit of small talk I asked her if the funeral story was true.
She stopped talking for a moment and just looked at me with hard little eyes. Then she said, "Yes. I can't believe what a selfish and cruel girl you were to do that to me at my sons funeral. I will NEVER EVER forgive you for what you did."
As all memories and stories go I remember more about how I felt during each part of the story than the specifics. The story had been told and re-told so often that I honestly wasn't sure if it even happened. That's why these are memories, that are probably only partly true. But I remember the shame I felt. Because I believed her when she said I was selfish and cruel, I believed her when she said I was bad.
I believe that she never forgave me until the day she died. There was no reason to doubt a woman that held a grudge for over 70 years couldn't nurse one for over 15.
He was sick a lot, there were some things wrong with him and he was also a short but rotund man. But he was Uncle Johnny. He died when I was 3ish.
The story goes that he slept a lot, because of the decreased amount of oxygen he was receiving. Whenever we would go over to the farm house and he was there he would be sleeping on the sofa.
I would take it upon myself to climb up his belly and pat him on the face telling him I had arrived and it was time to wake up and play with me. He would wake up and I would continue to climb all over him.
When he died I hear I was told that he fell asleep and woke up in heaven with Jesus. He would stay there forever. So when we went to his funeral and I saw him laying in his casket I believed he was asleep. There were also those little Catholic kneeling things in front of his casket.
So when I was unattended I wandered over to the casket and climbed up the "steps" and looked at him.
Yep, he looked asleep.
So I kept climbing and crawled into the casket and up his belly until I could reach his face. I put my hands on his face and I said, "Wake up Uncle Johnny, I'm here! It's time to get up and play with me!"
I don't know what happened next, that part of the story was never told. I can imagine that my Grandma, his mom was pretty upset as were a lot of the other adults. He was pretty young when he died.
I do remember asking my Grandma about it when I was 16. I was trying to find out more about Uncle Johnny and what he was like, since I didn't remember him that well. I only really remembered how I felt when I was around him. After a little bit of small talk I asked her if the funeral story was true.
She stopped talking for a moment and just looked at me with hard little eyes. Then she said, "Yes. I can't believe what a selfish and cruel girl you were to do that to me at my sons funeral. I will NEVER EVER forgive you for what you did."
As all memories and stories go I remember more about how I felt during each part of the story than the specifics. The story had been told and re-told so often that I honestly wasn't sure if it even happened. That's why these are memories, that are probably only partly true. But I remember the shame I felt. Because I believed her when she said I was selfish and cruel, I believed her when she said I was bad.
I believe that she never forgave me until the day she died. There was no reason to doubt a woman that held a grudge for over 70 years couldn't nurse one for over 15.
7.20.2011
Drive Time
I couldn't wait to get my license.
My sister had tried to teach me how to drive stick at 14 but I just couldn't get the clutch/shift timing down...oh and there was the time I drove by the cop while trying to get out of 1st. That was fun!
But I couldn't wait.
So I didn't.
From 14 forward whenever I was home alone and there was a car available I would take the car and disappear down the country roads around my house. I would drive as fast as possible as far as possible until I had to turn around so I could make it home in time.
But before I would go home I'd go to the gas station and fill the tank up to the level it was at when I left so no one noticed the car had been used. I also got home early enough for the car to cool down before anyone thought to check it.
It was glorious.
One time I was driving through town and a cop pulled up behind me. Oh crap! He was pulling me over! I started to shake and had no idea what I was going to do. I just sat there freaking out trying to remain calm. He sidled up to my window as I rolled it down and said, "Yes, officer?" (and I may have batted my eyelashes a little bit....)
Thankfully he replied that he was just pulling me over because there had been a bad accident at the intersection ahead of me and the road was blocked. The last road to turn around on was just in front of me and he didn't want me to get stuck.
(PHEW!)
Another time I was at the gas station topping off the tank and accidentally shut the drivers side door. This was bad because the door stuck and often you weren't able to get back in at all.
This was also bad because I left the keys in the car and the passenger door was locked.
How was I going to explain being stuck at the gas station?!
Sometimes if you hit the handle just right you could get the door open and I stood there banging on the door and yanking on the handle for about 15 minutes before the door opened. Then I had to rush home and barely made it back in the house before mom pulled in from work.
Oh lordy!
But that still didn't dissuade me and I kept up my secret drives until they didn't have to be secret anymore.
I miss driving fast, windows open with the radio blaring. Well, I don't miss driving fast, I still do that.
My sister had tried to teach me how to drive stick at 14 but I just couldn't get the clutch/shift timing down...oh and there was the time I drove by the cop while trying to get out of 1st. That was fun!
But I couldn't wait.
So I didn't.
From 14 forward whenever I was home alone and there was a car available I would take the car and disappear down the country roads around my house. I would drive as fast as possible as far as possible until I had to turn around so I could make it home in time.
But before I would go home I'd go to the gas station and fill the tank up to the level it was at when I left so no one noticed the car had been used. I also got home early enough for the car to cool down before anyone thought to check it.
It was glorious.
One time I was driving through town and a cop pulled up behind me. Oh crap! He was pulling me over! I started to shake and had no idea what I was going to do. I just sat there freaking out trying to remain calm. He sidled up to my window as I rolled it down and said, "Yes, officer?" (and I may have batted my eyelashes a little bit....)
Thankfully he replied that he was just pulling me over because there had been a bad accident at the intersection ahead of me and the road was blocked. The last road to turn around on was just in front of me and he didn't want me to get stuck.
(PHEW!)
Another time I was at the gas station topping off the tank and accidentally shut the drivers side door. This was bad because the door stuck and often you weren't able to get back in at all.
This was also bad because I left the keys in the car and the passenger door was locked.
How was I going to explain being stuck at the gas station?!
Sometimes if you hit the handle just right you could get the door open and I stood there banging on the door and yanking on the handle for about 15 minutes before the door opened. Then I had to rush home and barely made it back in the house before mom pulled in from work.
Oh lordy!
But that still didn't dissuade me and I kept up my secret drives until they didn't have to be secret anymore.
I miss driving fast, windows open with the radio blaring. Well, I don't miss driving fast, I still do that.
7.19.2011
Vodka (on the rocks)
When we were 11 my sister and I each got to travel by ourselves on a plane to see our Aunt and Uncles in St Louis. For a week.
It was a HUGE deal.
When it was my turn I was so excited, not only to be going, but to be traveling...by myself.
It was so grown up!
So I packed my bag and snagged my teddy bear and the book I was reading and boarded the plane. Before lift off the stewardess that was assigned to "watch me" during the flight came over to make sure I was settled ok. It was a mostly empty flight, so I figured she probably didn't have anything else to do anyway.
I was settled in my center seat with Teddy buckled into the seat by the window (he was really bossy and insisted if I really loved him he would get the window seat) and was cracking open my book. I was halfway through it and it was so deliciously creepy.
The stewardess sidled up and asked me how I was. "Fine" I replied, trying to brush her off because I was at a good part of my book and didn't want to be bothered.
"Can I get you something to drink, sweetie?"
"A coke" I replied absentmindedly. I was soooo the proffessional traveler.
But this woman wouldn't go away. She rambled on about flying and how scary but fun it was and was it my first time, was I nervous, who was I going to see, what book was I reading.
Oh! I could show her my book. That usually got adults to shrink away and leave me alone.
So I looked up, met her eyes and slowly closed my book and showed her the cover. It had a terrifying clown on the cover with eyes dark like coal and bright red hair.
I was reading It by Stephen King.
At 11
While flying on a plane by myself.
My plan worked. She stumbled backwards and said she'd get my coke and be right back.
Then, when she returned she tried to engage me again.
Oh what a cute bear! What's his name, how long has been with you?!
I replied that his name was Teddy and I've had him since I was born.
She said, that's adorable. Would Teddy like anything to drink?
I sighed.
I lowered my book slowly and raised my eyes to meet hers.
"Yes, he would just LOVE a vodka. On the rocks of course."
She didn't really come bug me anymore after that.
I also never got that darn vodka on the rocks.
It was a HUGE deal.
When it was my turn I was so excited, not only to be going, but to be traveling...by myself.
It was so grown up!
So I packed my bag and snagged my teddy bear and the book I was reading and boarded the plane. Before lift off the stewardess that was assigned to "watch me" during the flight came over to make sure I was settled ok. It was a mostly empty flight, so I figured she probably didn't have anything else to do anyway.
I was settled in my center seat with Teddy buckled into the seat by the window (he was really bossy and insisted if I really loved him he would get the window seat) and was cracking open my book. I was halfway through it and it was so deliciously creepy.
The stewardess sidled up and asked me how I was. "Fine" I replied, trying to brush her off because I was at a good part of my book and didn't want to be bothered.
"Can I get you something to drink, sweetie?"
"A coke" I replied absentmindedly. I was soooo the proffessional traveler.
But this woman wouldn't go away. She rambled on about flying and how scary but fun it was and was it my first time, was I nervous, who was I going to see, what book was I reading.
Oh! I could show her my book. That usually got adults to shrink away and leave me alone.
So I looked up, met her eyes and slowly closed my book and showed her the cover. It had a terrifying clown on the cover with eyes dark like coal and bright red hair.
I was reading It by Stephen King.
At 11
While flying on a plane by myself.
My plan worked. She stumbled backwards and said she'd get my coke and be right back.
Then, when she returned she tried to engage me again.
Oh what a cute bear! What's his name, how long has been with you?!
I replied that his name was Teddy and I've had him since I was born.
She said, that's adorable. Would Teddy like anything to drink?
I sighed.
I lowered my book slowly and raised my eyes to meet hers.
"Yes, he would just LOVE a vodka. On the rocks of course."
She didn't really come bug me anymore after that.
I also never got that darn vodka on the rocks.
4.25.2011
Back Room
I hated going there.
Nothing ever really happened, in the really happened sense.
It just felt wrong.
A bird nose and magnifying glasses
Hands that lingered a little higher and longer than needed when helping me stamp in time.
Hugs that made me establish no touching days with people that gave appropriate length hugs with hands clasping and clutching my upper back instead of my upper ass
Pulling my hair back and moving a thumb down the back of my neck slowly
Resting an arm around a waist while discussing practice charts
Whispering, "You're so special" in a tone that made me wish and hope to be never be anything special at all
A little window and a waiting chair just outside the door may have kept the hands technically within bounds but they were out of bounds all the same.
You were trusted enough for a change of venue to your home
With no small window, no waiting chair
Jumpy and scared I hid behind insolence and refusal to sit anywhere near you until she returned
It was the last time
I got in trouble for being so rude
But it was worth every harsh word to never return to your side again
Nothing ever really happened, in the really happened sense.
It just felt wrong.
A bird nose and magnifying glasses
Hands that lingered a little higher and longer than needed when helping me stamp in time.
Hugs that made me establish no touching days with people that gave appropriate length hugs with hands clasping and clutching my upper back instead of my upper ass
Pulling my hair back and moving a thumb down the back of my neck slowly
Resting an arm around a waist while discussing practice charts
Whispering, "You're so special" in a tone that made me wish and hope to be never be anything special at all
A little window and a waiting chair just outside the door may have kept the hands technically within bounds but they were out of bounds all the same.
You were trusted enough for a change of venue to your home
With no small window, no waiting chair
Jumpy and scared I hid behind insolence and refusal to sit anywhere near you until she returned
It was the last time
I got in trouble for being so rude
But it was worth every harsh word to never return to your side again
4.06.2011
Santa Claus and Thunderstorms
When I was a kid I began to suspect that Santa wasn't exactly who he said he was. I'd heard rumors of course, but I figured they were just rumors.
But one year I decided to test him.
I told my parents and Santa's helpers at the malls what I wanted but I omitted one gift that I really wanted. A My Buddy (or Kid Sister) Doll.
I wrote a letter to Santa and stuck it in a mailbox one Saturday when no one was looking.
On Christmas morning I opened all of my gifts and there was no doll.
And I knew.
I knew the truth.
On another note I was terrified (and still am) of thunderstorms. They seem very end times ominous and it just seems that bad things are more likely to happen when the skies are raging. As a kid my parents would try to soothe me and reassure me so I wasn't so scared.
They told me that thunderstorms were God having a bowling party in Heaven. That the thunder was when someone got a strike and lighting was everyone taking pictures at the party.
What a fun God right?
Wrong.
I was even more upset and freaked out.
Because I was TERRIFIED and God was having a PARTY!?!?! What was that about?!
Now I was going to die and probably go to hell because God was BOWLING?
What.Ever
These are mostly funny anecdotes that I tell people because they are the funny ramblings of a weird kid. But I was telling the Santa story the other night and it occurred to me that these were sneak peeks at how I view relationships (and in a lot of ways how I have viewed humanity as a whole).
Untrustworthy.
Can't really count on them.
Will let you down.
Will forget you.
You don't matter.
Liars.
It made me really sad.
It made me sad to realize that beneath the silliness of these stories there seemed to be this little girl that was pretty convinced she'd be forgotten or overlooked in some way. There was a little girl that didn't trust she could believe in people and she had to sneak around and "trick" people into revealing the truth about themselves (or the lack of themselves as it were).
It made me sad too to realize that underneath all of my funny stories and anecdotes on life today that there's still a little girl trying to figure out if she'll be forgotten, overlooked and left yet again. That little girl still struggles with the idea that she has to "trick" people into showing who they really are because she suspects they aren't real.
I'm struggling between two very different realities in my head lately. The truth I know in my head and what I believe to be true in my heart.
I know the world isn't black and white.
I know that people aren't either good or bad.
I know that there are nuances to relationships that always make it work to remain close.
But I believe that the world is black and white. That there is a clear right and wrong. I believe that people are either good or bad that that relationships are either on or off.
I'm trying to stitch my heart back together and get it in line with my head. But some days I wake up and I've run out of thread and my needle has dulled.
Storms rolled through earlier this week and I was reminded once again of my fear of being forgotten and my fear of the bad and scary. Tossing and turning through the night I dreamt of people long dead and those I wished would just die already (as if that would really solve anything, but I'm an adolescent child and terrible person sometimes, sorry to break the news to you).
I woke hungover from the fears and paranoia surging through my heart. I looked out the window and I saw blue skies and was reminded.
I remembered that I am no longer a little girl that must submit herself to others authority just because they are bigger than me.
I remembered that even though Santa didn't come through for me I had parents that heard me telling the funny story and came through for me in the silliest and smallest way more than a decade later.
I remembered that God is a big God and he doesn't really throw bowling parties and forget about scared little girls.
I remembered that I have help with all the stitching back together that is being done in my life right now and that I'm the one that gets to let people in or usher them out of my life and that just because people say something with authority doesn't mean it's true.
I remembered that right before a thunderstorm there is high tension in the air. It prickles your skin and you feel the electricity surging through the air. The tension increases to a point that it's almost unbearable until the skies open and rain falls down, thunder claps and lighting flashes. I remembered that the atmosphere purges itself of all of this and after there are skies of brilliant blue filled with cool breezes and new life.
I'm in the middle of an overwhelming thunderstorm right now. Far enough in that it's too late to stop, but still so far from the end you wonder if you'll ever see blue skies again.
But I know there will be blue skies again, I know there will be new life and cool breezes and some days I can even believe it.
But one year I decided to test him.
I told my parents and Santa's helpers at the malls what I wanted but I omitted one gift that I really wanted. A My Buddy (or Kid Sister) Doll.
I wrote a letter to Santa and stuck it in a mailbox one Saturday when no one was looking.
On Christmas morning I opened all of my gifts and there was no doll.
And I knew.
I knew the truth.
On another note I was terrified (and still am) of thunderstorms. They seem very end times ominous and it just seems that bad things are more likely to happen when the skies are raging. As a kid my parents would try to soothe me and reassure me so I wasn't so scared.
They told me that thunderstorms were God having a bowling party in Heaven. That the thunder was when someone got a strike and lighting was everyone taking pictures at the party.
What a fun God right?
Wrong.
I was even more upset and freaked out.
Because I was TERRIFIED and God was having a PARTY!?!?! What was that about?!
Now I was going to die and probably go to hell because God was BOWLING?
What.Ever
These are mostly funny anecdotes that I tell people because they are the funny ramblings of a weird kid. But I was telling the Santa story the other night and it occurred to me that these were sneak peeks at how I view relationships (and in a lot of ways how I have viewed humanity as a whole).
Untrustworthy.
Can't really count on them.
Will let you down.
Will forget you.
You don't matter.
Liars.
It made me really sad.
It made me sad to realize that beneath the silliness of these stories there seemed to be this little girl that was pretty convinced she'd be forgotten or overlooked in some way. There was a little girl that didn't trust she could believe in people and she had to sneak around and "trick" people into revealing the truth about themselves (or the lack of themselves as it were).
It made me sad too to realize that underneath all of my funny stories and anecdotes on life today that there's still a little girl trying to figure out if she'll be forgotten, overlooked and left yet again. That little girl still struggles with the idea that she has to "trick" people into showing who they really are because she suspects they aren't real.
I'm struggling between two very different realities in my head lately. The truth I know in my head and what I believe to be true in my heart.
I know the world isn't black and white.
I know that people aren't either good or bad.
I know that there are nuances to relationships that always make it work to remain close.
But I believe that the world is black and white. That there is a clear right and wrong. I believe that people are either good or bad that that relationships are either on or off.
I'm trying to stitch my heart back together and get it in line with my head. But some days I wake up and I've run out of thread and my needle has dulled.
Storms rolled through earlier this week and I was reminded once again of my fear of being forgotten and my fear of the bad and scary. Tossing and turning through the night I dreamt of people long dead and those I wished would just die already (as if that would really solve anything, but I'm an adolescent child and terrible person sometimes, sorry to break the news to you).
I woke hungover from the fears and paranoia surging through my heart. I looked out the window and I saw blue skies and was reminded.
I remembered that I am no longer a little girl that must submit herself to others authority just because they are bigger than me.
I remembered that even though Santa didn't come through for me I had parents that heard me telling the funny story and came through for me in the silliest and smallest way more than a decade later.
I remembered that God is a big God and he doesn't really throw bowling parties and forget about scared little girls.
I remembered that I have help with all the stitching back together that is being done in my life right now and that I'm the one that gets to let people in or usher them out of my life and that just because people say something with authority doesn't mean it's true.
I remembered that right before a thunderstorm there is high tension in the air. It prickles your skin and you feel the electricity surging through the air. The tension increases to a point that it's almost unbearable until the skies open and rain falls down, thunder claps and lighting flashes. I remembered that the atmosphere purges itself of all of this and after there are skies of brilliant blue filled with cool breezes and new life.
I'm in the middle of an overwhelming thunderstorm right now. Far enough in that it's too late to stop, but still so far from the end you wonder if you'll ever see blue skies again.
But I know there will be blue skies again, I know there will be new life and cool breezes and some days I can even believe it.
3.16.2011
I Grew
Some junk went down almost 10 years ago. As a result our family went back to the farm house. It was the first time I had been there in probably 5 years.
I was startled at how it felt to be there again.
I thought maybe I'd feel more powerful going back after a "win"
I thought maybe I'd feel sad because of all the death that had happened between growing up there and now as an adult.
I thought maybe I'd be angry because of how people were treated in that house.
But I just felt....empty.
I wandered around looking at walls that held the words callously flung from bitter lips. I sat at the top of the stairs where secrets floated up to my too small to understand ears. I touched the door handles worn smooth by hands that pushed the elderly into walls and I was empty.
The house held a body memory for me. Because the body remembers even when the mind slips into blissful oblivion.
I remember moments in spotlights of sun playing and coloring and digging holes to China in the yard. I remember jumping in piles of leaves and pretending I was lost so Ellen would come pee-pying for me.
I remember playing with my GI Joe tanks and Barbie Doll convertible car and I remember 100 brushes before bedtime. I remember ice cream sandwiches under weeping willow trees and imagination among rhubarb plants.
But I also remember the dirty nasty girl. The stupid silly girl. The you don't deserve this and you are a spoiled rotten girl. I remember the rhubarb plants and willow switches hiding me from the words of angry enraged women. I remember the mustache cup being chipped and her back, curved from years of work, slamming into the wall by the hutch. I remember the stories of how she didn't really love me she was just pretending to until she had a chance to kill me "on accident". I remember the side of the barn with the balls flying at my head while I tried to duck them. I remember thinking, at least I'm being included. I remember the totem pole and the jam-packed full out buildings and the way the lily pads hid things dangerous and unseen.
For the longest time I would only remember the first set of memories. I pretended the others didn't exist at all. Then he was revealed as a liar and I couldn't forget anymore, so I forgot the good and only remembered the bad.
Now, I'm beginning the process of combining the two. I'm working on grieving the bad and the abusive and still holding onto the good and loving. It's really difficult for this black and white seeing girl, much more difficult then I ever thought it would be.
But I feel the old farm house cracking open after what feels like years of being locked inside. I'm working to remember that it wasn't my whole world then and it shouldn't be my whole world now.
I was startled at how it felt to be there again.
I thought maybe I'd feel more powerful going back after a "win"
I thought maybe I'd feel sad because of all the death that had happened between growing up there and now as an adult.
I thought maybe I'd be angry because of how people were treated in that house.
But I just felt....empty.
I wandered around looking at walls that held the words callously flung from bitter lips. I sat at the top of the stairs where secrets floated up to my too small to understand ears. I touched the door handles worn smooth by hands that pushed the elderly into walls and I was empty.
The house held a body memory for me. Because the body remembers even when the mind slips into blissful oblivion.
I remember moments in spotlights of sun playing and coloring and digging holes to China in the yard. I remember jumping in piles of leaves and pretending I was lost so Ellen would come pee-pying for me.
I remember playing with my GI Joe tanks and Barbie Doll convertible car and I remember 100 brushes before bedtime. I remember ice cream sandwiches under weeping willow trees and imagination among rhubarb plants.
But I also remember the dirty nasty girl. The stupid silly girl. The you don't deserve this and you are a spoiled rotten girl. I remember the rhubarb plants and willow switches hiding me from the words of angry enraged women. I remember the mustache cup being chipped and her back, curved from years of work, slamming into the wall by the hutch. I remember the stories of how she didn't really love me she was just pretending to until she had a chance to kill me "on accident". I remember the side of the barn with the balls flying at my head while I tried to duck them. I remember thinking, at least I'm being included. I remember the totem pole and the jam-packed full out buildings and the way the lily pads hid things dangerous and unseen.
For the longest time I would only remember the first set of memories. I pretended the others didn't exist at all. Then he was revealed as a liar and I couldn't forget anymore, so I forgot the good and only remembered the bad.
Now, I'm beginning the process of combining the two. I'm working on grieving the bad and the abusive and still holding onto the good and loving. It's really difficult for this black and white seeing girl, much more difficult then I ever thought it would be.
But I feel the old farm house cracking open after what feels like years of being locked inside. I'm working to remember that it wasn't my whole world then and it shouldn't be my whole world now.
it took me by surprise
this old house and these old feelings
walked round and looked inside
familiar walls and halls and ceilings
where I'd dream and plan
every moment of sunshine
this was my whole world
it was all I knew
like the hull of a seed
this old house cracked wide open
as I grew
Sara Groves - This House
12.20.2010
Sand Traps
Growing up there was an old picture framed hanging over the davenport (northerners call it a sofa I hear) at the farm.
I was told at one point it was a painting of "the old pond" that had since dried up. But since hardly anything I was told at the farm was true I suspected for a few years that it wasn't actually.
I was told that the pond I usually swam in, and lost my shoe in, was the "new pond". It was man made because the original "natural" pond had mostly dried up years before.
My grandfather would allow people to pay to fish in his pond and he would take the grandchildren out to fish with him too. I mostly played around the pond and removed fish lenses from their eyes once my cousins caught them, but I called it fishing... :)
I remember wandering away from the "new pond" while my grandfather was fishing one day. He was with a customer so my sisters, cousins and I wandered down a path and stumbled upon the "old pond". I was about 6 or 7 and had on burgundy hard shoes.
I remember because I left them there.
As we were climbing around the mucky bottom of the old pond I started sinking. I got stuck and couldn't get out. My cousins and sister created a chain and tried to pull me out, I think there was a really long stick involved. But I was stuck and stuck good. By the end I was almost up to my waist in muck. (although in my memory it was actually quick sand)
My cousins ran up to the new pond and seeing that our grandfather was still in the middle of the pond with his customer they ran up to the house for their dad and mine. They came chugging back and I was pulled to freedom. Finally!
At least, I think that's what happened. I'm told it never happened. I'm told I WAS caught in the muck in the general vicinity of the pond and that there WAS an old pond that had dried up on the property but it had dried up and grass had grown over it when my grandparents filled it in with the dirt from the man made pond.
But in my head, I once almost died sinking into quick sand and there's nothing you can do to talk me out of it dammit.
(small aside: years...and I mean YEARS...later the painting hung in my living room over my sofa. I told the story above to Dan about the old pond and he laughed for an obnoxiously long time. I asked him why he was laughing and he pointed out the WAVES cresting in the picture and the CLIFFS in the background and asked me how I could wonder if it was really a pond since most ponds don't have either cliffs or waves..but whatever I digress)
I was told at one point it was a painting of "the old pond" that had since dried up. But since hardly anything I was told at the farm was true I suspected for a few years that it wasn't actually.
I was told that the pond I usually swam in, and lost my shoe in, was the "new pond". It was man made because the original "natural" pond had mostly dried up years before.
My grandfather would allow people to pay to fish in his pond and he would take the grandchildren out to fish with him too. I mostly played around the pond and removed fish lenses from their eyes once my cousins caught them, but I called it fishing... :)
I remember wandering away from the "new pond" while my grandfather was fishing one day. He was with a customer so my sisters, cousins and I wandered down a path and stumbled upon the "old pond". I was about 6 or 7 and had on burgundy hard shoes.
I remember because I left them there.
As we were climbing around the mucky bottom of the old pond I started sinking. I got stuck and couldn't get out. My cousins and sister created a chain and tried to pull me out, I think there was a really long stick involved. But I was stuck and stuck good. By the end I was almost up to my waist in muck. (although in my memory it was actually quick sand)
My cousins ran up to the new pond and seeing that our grandfather was still in the middle of the pond with his customer they ran up to the house for their dad and mine. They came chugging back and I was pulled to freedom. Finally!
At least, I think that's what happened. I'm told it never happened. I'm told I WAS caught in the muck in the general vicinity of the pond and that there WAS an old pond that had dried up on the property but it had dried up and grass had grown over it when my grandparents filled it in with the dirt from the man made pond.
But in my head, I once almost died sinking into quick sand and there's nothing you can do to talk me out of it dammit.
(small aside: years...and I mean YEARS...later the painting hung in my living room over my sofa. I told the story above to Dan about the old pond and he laughed for an obnoxiously long time. I asked him why he was laughing and he pointed out the WAVES cresting in the picture and the CLIFFS in the background and asked me how I could wonder if it was really a pond since most ponds don't have either cliffs or waves..but whatever I digress)
12.16.2010
The Corner of my Mind
I was stalking casually perusing a friends pictures on Facebook the other day.
I say friend, because that's what Facebook calls us. I haven't talked to her in years. I haven't talked to the person whose interaction with me is the only thread that holds me to her anymore at all in over a year although there are the occasional texts.
It's odd to me, how people that can be so encompassing and important in your life fade to mere numbers in your friend count on Facebook.
Lately I've felt overwhelmed with any aspect of relationships. While I acknowledge my desperate need to relationships and community I have felt terribly vulnerable and unsafe to the point of complete isolation for awhile now. I just can't seem to shake it.
But I was struck at how consumed I was by friendship with this person several years back and how so much can change when you move away.
As you often do I pinged through numerous mutual friends pages and clicked through photo albums here and there and I was startled at how easy it was to find my mind sliding back into the drama, back into the angst and back into these relationships that while I cherished them at the time are much better off in the past tense than the present for me.
I found myself wondering if I had been who I am now, so much healthier mentally and emotionally than I was then, if I would have walked away sooner. If I would have cut ties with those toxic relationships that I can only really appreciate as toxic with all this time and geographical distance between us.
It's just funny, relationships. We're built to need them so badly that we risk so much to have them. I'm just having to remind myself lately they are worth having.
I say friend, because that's what Facebook calls us. I haven't talked to her in years. I haven't talked to the person whose interaction with me is the only thread that holds me to her anymore at all in over a year although there are the occasional texts.
It's odd to me, how people that can be so encompassing and important in your life fade to mere numbers in your friend count on Facebook.
Lately I've felt overwhelmed with any aspect of relationships. While I acknowledge my desperate need to relationships and community I have felt terribly vulnerable and unsafe to the point of complete isolation for awhile now. I just can't seem to shake it.
But I was struck at how consumed I was by friendship with this person several years back and how so much can change when you move away.
As you often do I pinged through numerous mutual friends pages and clicked through photo albums here and there and I was startled at how easy it was to find my mind sliding back into the drama, back into the angst and back into these relationships that while I cherished them at the time are much better off in the past tense than the present for me.
I found myself wondering if I had been who I am now, so much healthier mentally and emotionally than I was then, if I would have walked away sooner. If I would have cut ties with those toxic relationships that I can only really appreciate as toxic with all this time and geographical distance between us.
It's just funny, relationships. We're built to need them so badly that we risk so much to have them. I'm just having to remind myself lately they are worth having.
11.04.2010
Plot from Law & Order SVU
When I first moved to Cincinnati I got a job at a Christian book store. It was interesting to see this sample of people that shopped there, and often shopped there daily. I met a lot of really sweet people, I met a lot of grumpy and out right mean people and I met one specifically creepy person.
I'd seen Terry (names have been changed to protect the creepy) in the store several times. He always shopped with his mom who was a little spacey. Oh, and did I mention he was probably in his 60s or 70s, because he was.
He would always buy an odd smattering of things and would talk about movies and music. It wasn't creepy at first, just off feeling.
Then one day the book store started selling ACTUAL crowns of thorns.
In one sense it was kind of neat to think of churches having it on a table presenting communion, but in another sense IT WAS AN ACTUAL CROWN OF THORNS.
But I digress....
Terry began talking to me excitedly about the movie Passion of the Christ by Mel Gibson. It was being re-released into some theaters around Cincinnati and he was excited to see it again. He also began buying up the crowns of thorns.
One day, while purchasing his THIRD crown of thorns (which I was convinced by this time he used on unsuspecting coed he abducted from local campuses) he mentioned again how excited he was about Passion being re-released. He then said, "You know, you should come with me to see it. That would be fun."
(Fun...wasn't exactly the word I was thinking of...)
I said no.
He came back a few days later, bought ANOTHER crown of thorns (I mean these suckers were like $50, why did he need them all?! I was to afraid to ask.) and asked me again.
I said no.
The next time he came in I had the night off and he started asking for me. He tried to get my home phone number from the other employees who thankfully didn't give it to him.
Shortly after this I transferred to another store and was able to shake him for good.
But what part of this story doesn't smack of a plot on Law & Order SVU?
I'd seen Terry (names have been changed to protect the creepy) in the store several times. He always shopped with his mom who was a little spacey. Oh, and did I mention he was probably in his 60s or 70s, because he was.
He would always buy an odd smattering of things and would talk about movies and music. It wasn't creepy at first, just off feeling.
Then one day the book store started selling ACTUAL crowns of thorns.
In one sense it was kind of neat to think of churches having it on a table presenting communion, but in another sense IT WAS AN ACTUAL CROWN OF THORNS.
But I digress....
Terry began talking to me excitedly about the movie Passion of the Christ by Mel Gibson. It was being re-released into some theaters around Cincinnati and he was excited to see it again. He also began buying up the crowns of thorns.
One day, while purchasing his THIRD crown of thorns (which I was convinced by this time he used on unsuspecting coed he abducted from local campuses) he mentioned again how excited he was about Passion being re-released. He then said, "You know, you should come with me to see it. That would be fun."
(Fun...wasn't exactly the word I was thinking of...)
I said no.
He came back a few days later, bought ANOTHER crown of thorns (I mean these suckers were like $50, why did he need them all?! I was to afraid to ask.) and asked me again.
I said no.
The next time he came in I had the night off and he started asking for me. He tried to get my home phone number from the other employees who thankfully didn't give it to him.
Shortly after this I transferred to another store and was able to shake him for good.
But what part of this story doesn't smack of a plot on Law & Order SVU?
10.15.2010
Mirror Glasses
When I was young my parents bought my seester and I a spy kit. At least, I'm fairly certain that's what it was.
We had stickers with fingerprints on them (in fact I still have a juice glass with a fingerprint sticker on the side of it), little cardboard tubes for looking around corners and some wicked awesome sunglasses that had mirrors on the sides of them.
When I say mirrors on the side I don't mean like sticking out the side, I mean that on the inside outer edges of each of the lenses was a mirrored coating that you could see what was happening beside you just by looking at that portion of the lens.
I wore them all the time. (Perhaps the first signs of what has become my intense paranoia in regards to killers)
But you know, eventually I started running into things. Because I was so enamored with what was behind me that I forgot I needed to look forward.
I was telling that story half jokingly to some co-workers the other day when I felt like I was hit upside the head. Because I've been running into things a lot lately.
I'm staring behind me so much, I've become so enamored with how things are or were that I'm not looking forward with intentionality to what could be coming up in the future.
It's not the first time I've been smacked upside the head with that thought.
My natural default is to remain lost in memories, what ifs and way back whens. The future has always been very scary to me and I tend to not dream or acknowledge the dreams that thrust themselves on me because to move forward is so terrifying.
But little by little I'm learning to stop gazing longingly in the mirror showing me what has passed and is no longer. Little by little I'm learning to skirt the edges of the pit instead of swan diving into the muck and mire.
I take a several tentative steps forward then a giant leap back.
But I'm looking forward for the first time that I can really remember.
We had stickers with fingerprints on them (in fact I still have a juice glass with a fingerprint sticker on the side of it), little cardboard tubes for looking around corners and some wicked awesome sunglasses that had mirrors on the sides of them.
When I say mirrors on the side I don't mean like sticking out the side, I mean that on the inside outer edges of each of the lenses was a mirrored coating that you could see what was happening beside you just by looking at that portion of the lens.
I wore them all the time. (Perhaps the first signs of what has become my intense paranoia in regards to killers)
But you know, eventually I started running into things. Because I was so enamored with what was behind me that I forgot I needed to look forward.
I was telling that story half jokingly to some co-workers the other day when I felt like I was hit upside the head. Because I've been running into things a lot lately.
I'm staring behind me so much, I've become so enamored with how things are or were that I'm not looking forward with intentionality to what could be coming up in the future.
It's not the first time I've been smacked upside the head with that thought.
My natural default is to remain lost in memories, what ifs and way back whens. The future has always been very scary to me and I tend to not dream or acknowledge the dreams that thrust themselves on me because to move forward is so terrifying.
But little by little I'm learning to stop gazing longingly in the mirror showing me what has passed and is no longer. Little by little I'm learning to skirt the edges of the pit instead of swan diving into the muck and mire.
I take a several tentative steps forward then a giant leap back.
But I'm looking forward for the first time that I can really remember.
8.19.2010
Right Foot
In October 1998, a little over 6 months after I broke my left foot I was back in school in Youngstown and friends with a girl who lived across the hall my freshman year named Megan.
Megan had moved out the year before and was living in an apartment on top of a funeral home across the street from our dorms.
One night she had a party. There were adult beverages. There was a wheelchair she stole from a K-Mart. Heck, K-Marts still existed in most towns!
I was joyriding back and forth in the wheelchair and curbed it pretty hard, breaking it. Whoops.
A few hours and several drinks later I walked upstairs through the main area of the funeral home and into the apartment to get more jello shots out of the fridge. In the apartment I ran into a girl I sort of knew, but you know...I'd had a few drinks and everyone was my best friend.
She just got into nursing school and was super excited. Around 1130pm I grabbed 6 jello shots, grape and cherry, and started walking down the stairs with her asking her about school.
Then, when I was two steps from the bottom I thought I was really only one step from the bottom and I skipped a step. Down I fell jello shots flung in what seemed like slow motion through the air and my right foot twisted and I landed on the inside of it crunching the outside.
It might have been the pain, it was probably the alcohol but I immediately began to dry heave and felt wetness all over my bottom.
Nursing School girl ran for a trash can and Megan came up the stairs to see what happened. After ralphing into the trash can a few times I asked someone to go get Alaina from our room across the hall and to have her bring my car keys.
I stood up and told nursing school girl I thought I pee'd my pants. She looked at my bottom and burst out laughing. What?!! What!?!??? I asked. She said, you didn't pee, you landed on the jello shots.
Apparently I had purple and red splats all over my tan pants covered bottom.
I hobbled down the stairs and onto the porch where everyone else at the party was regaled with the tale of my clumsiness. We lamented the broken wheelchair that would have been best suited to take me to the parking lot where my car was parked.
Alaina came, laughed and then we got in my car and went to the nearest hospital. The nearest hospital being the one in the middle of the ghetto since our university was on the edge of the bad part of town. I was busy trying to sober up, seeing as I wasn't actually permitted to consume adult beverages legally....
Alaina dropped me at the ER door, I hobbled in, checked in and crawled into a wheel chair to prop my foot up. In the mean time Alaina left the hospital and went to a store to buy me some saltine crackers (I think, people at the party might have sent them with us, I can't quite remember).
The inner city ER was fascinating. There was one very very drunk and alternately belligerent and slap happy man wandering about. He wandered over to me and said, "Whassamatterwitchu?" I told him I think I broke my foot. He pointed to my right foot and said, "Thissun?" I replied yes. So naturally, he grabbed my newly broken foot and said, "When chu get betta, you runna one for da gipper!"
I had no idea who or what the gipper was, and I didn't ask for fear he would start shaking and squeezing my foot again. (Someone later told me the gipper is apparently Ronald Reagan)
About two in the morning I was taken back and put in a room.
About five after two in the morning I was taken out of the room and pushed (literally pushed then let go to roll freely) across the hall where I came to rest by a hazardous material waste bin because a drive by had rolled in and they had more critical patients.
But all that was ok with me, because it gave the saltines time to kick in.
Finally about 430 in the morning we were released and I had a partial cast running up my whole calf with an ace bandage wrapped around it and crutches to walk on. It was the exact same break as the left foot, just on the other foot. But the hospital was all out of air casts and I needed to go to my family doctor for one of those.
Since my parents are early risers I called them when I got back to our dorm room about 6am. I told them what happened and that I needed an air cast boot thing just like before but they can be used on either foot.
My dad said, "Shit! I JUST threw the boot away"
So he bought another one, for another $400.
To this day, that man still has the boot in his attic and he's fairly certain that's why I haven't broken a foot since.
Megan had moved out the year before and was living in an apartment on top of a funeral home across the street from our dorms.
One night she had a party. There were adult beverages. There was a wheelchair she stole from a K-Mart. Heck, K-Marts still existed in most towns!
I was joyriding back and forth in the wheelchair and curbed it pretty hard, breaking it. Whoops.
A few hours and several drinks later I walked upstairs through the main area of the funeral home and into the apartment to get more jello shots out of the fridge. In the apartment I ran into a girl I sort of knew, but you know...I'd had a few drinks and everyone was my best friend.
She just got into nursing school and was super excited. Around 1130pm I grabbed 6 jello shots, grape and cherry, and started walking down the stairs with her asking her about school.
Then, when I was two steps from the bottom I thought I was really only one step from the bottom and I skipped a step. Down I fell jello shots flung in what seemed like slow motion through the air and my right foot twisted and I landed on the inside of it crunching the outside.
It might have been the pain, it was probably the alcohol but I immediately began to dry heave and felt wetness all over my bottom.
Nursing School girl ran for a trash can and Megan came up the stairs to see what happened. After ralphing into the trash can a few times I asked someone to go get Alaina from our room across the hall and to have her bring my car keys.
I stood up and told nursing school girl I thought I pee'd my pants. She looked at my bottom and burst out laughing. What?!! What!?!??? I asked. She said, you didn't pee, you landed on the jello shots.
Apparently I had purple and red splats all over my tan pants covered bottom.
I hobbled down the stairs and onto the porch where everyone else at the party was regaled with the tale of my clumsiness. We lamented the broken wheelchair that would have been best suited to take me to the parking lot where my car was parked.
Alaina came, laughed and then we got in my car and went to the nearest hospital. The nearest hospital being the one in the middle of the ghetto since our university was on the edge of the bad part of town. I was busy trying to sober up, seeing as I wasn't actually permitted to consume adult beverages legally....
Alaina dropped me at the ER door, I hobbled in, checked in and crawled into a wheel chair to prop my foot up. In the mean time Alaina left the hospital and went to a store to buy me some saltine crackers (I think, people at the party might have sent them with us, I can't quite remember).
The inner city ER was fascinating. There was one very very drunk and alternately belligerent and slap happy man wandering about. He wandered over to me and said, "Whassamatterwitchu?" I told him I think I broke my foot. He pointed to my right foot and said, "Thissun?" I replied yes. So naturally, he grabbed my newly broken foot and said, "When chu get betta, you runna one for da gipper!"
I had no idea who or what the gipper was, and I didn't ask for fear he would start shaking and squeezing my foot again. (Someone later told me the gipper is apparently Ronald Reagan)
About two in the morning I was taken back and put in a room.
About five after two in the morning I was taken out of the room and pushed (literally pushed then let go to roll freely) across the hall where I came to rest by a hazardous material waste bin because a drive by had rolled in and they had more critical patients.
But all that was ok with me, because it gave the saltines time to kick in.
Finally about 430 in the morning we were released and I had a partial cast running up my whole calf with an ace bandage wrapped around it and crutches to walk on. It was the exact same break as the left foot, just on the other foot. But the hospital was all out of air casts and I needed to go to my family doctor for one of those.
Since my parents are early risers I called them when I got back to our dorm room about 6am. I told them what happened and that I needed an air cast boot thing just like before but they can be used on either foot.
My dad said, "Shit! I JUST threw the boot away"
So he bought another one, for another $400.
To this day, that man still has the boot in his attic and he's fairly certain that's why I haven't broken a foot since.
8.18.2010
Left Foot
In February of 1998 I had a boyfriend, my dad was in India and it was the day before Valentine's Day.
Some friends came over to hang out since I was home from college for the weekend and we decided to go out to shop and buy my boyfriend a gift.
As we were leaving my mom came to the door and asked me a question. I can't remember what it was, but I paused on the threshold talking to her.
For absolutely no reason my left foot turned out from under me and fell off the doorstep onto the front porch. I lost my balance and fell with my bottom landing on the inside of my foot and crunching the outside.
I just sat there shocked and slightly nauseous because my foot hurt.
But my mom said it was probably just a sprain and to shake it off. I had never broken anything before and it wasn't terrible so I figured she was probably right. I did still need a gift for boyfriend so I hobbled to the car, got in and drove to the neighboring town with my friends.
Three hours and many many shops and food places later we were in Dairy Queen and I was feeling really nauseous and in a lot more pain. I told them I needed to go home because my sprained foot really hurt.
Home I went. To sleep I went.
When I woke up the next morning I went into the kitchen and told my mom about my foot. I sat down, she called our neighbor who was (and is) a physical therapist. He said to soak it in ice ice ice cold water. I removed my sock, we both gasped at my now black foot that swelled to twice its size in front of our eyes.
After an hour of water torture, I mean I was fairly certain I was going to pass out, the neighbor said it might be broken and I should go to the hospital.
My mom was anxious, because my dad was scheduled to come home that day and he had been gone for nearly a month. I'm fairly certain it was the longest they'd been separated the whole time they'd been married.
But off the the ER we go. We had to wait for the x-ray, then we got the x-ray. We weren't getting it read there, we were going to some dudes house (the one with the hot son) so he could read it later.
However, it was getting late and my mom needed to go get ready to pick my dad up from the airport. So she left me at the hospital popping wheelies in a deserted hallway.
Ok, not exactly. She called my Gma and told her I would be waiting in the ER waiting room for her to pick me up and take me home.
Home I went and when mom was done getting ready she ran me to the doctors house who said, yep, it's broken and either wrote me a prescription for an air cast or just told us to go to a local pharmacy/medical supply store and buy one.
An hour later I was home and mom was jetting off to the airport.
It took my foot almost 5 months to heal because what was probably just a hairline fracture became a complete break thanks to my walking around on it (and maybe going to boyfriends junior (yes junior, I liked em young) prom in heals without my air cast). But finally, FINALLY after 5 long months I was able to be completely free of the air cast and walk around like a normal person.
For at least another month or so......
Some friends came over to hang out since I was home from college for the weekend and we decided to go out to shop and buy my boyfriend a gift.
As we were leaving my mom came to the door and asked me a question. I can't remember what it was, but I paused on the threshold talking to her.
For absolutely no reason my left foot turned out from under me and fell off the doorstep onto the front porch. I lost my balance and fell with my bottom landing on the inside of my foot and crunching the outside.
I just sat there shocked and slightly nauseous because my foot hurt.
But my mom said it was probably just a sprain and to shake it off. I had never broken anything before and it wasn't terrible so I figured she was probably right. I did still need a gift for boyfriend so I hobbled to the car, got in and drove to the neighboring town with my friends.
Three hours and many many shops and food places later we were in Dairy Queen and I was feeling really nauseous and in a lot more pain. I told them I needed to go home because my sprained foot really hurt.
Home I went. To sleep I went.
When I woke up the next morning I went into the kitchen and told my mom about my foot. I sat down, she called our neighbor who was (and is) a physical therapist. He said to soak it in ice ice ice cold water. I removed my sock, we both gasped at my now black foot that swelled to twice its size in front of our eyes.
After an hour of water torture, I mean I was fairly certain I was going to pass out, the neighbor said it might be broken and I should go to the hospital.
My mom was anxious, because my dad was scheduled to come home that day and he had been gone for nearly a month. I'm fairly certain it was the longest they'd been separated the whole time they'd been married.
But off the the ER we go. We had to wait for the x-ray, then we got the x-ray. We weren't getting it read there, we were going to some dudes house (the one with the hot son) so he could read it later.
However, it was getting late and my mom needed to go get ready to pick my dad up from the airport. So she left me at the hospital popping wheelies in a deserted hallway.
Ok, not exactly. She called my Gma and told her I would be waiting in the ER waiting room for her to pick me up and take me home.
Home I went and when mom was done getting ready she ran me to the doctors house who said, yep, it's broken and either wrote me a prescription for an air cast or just told us to go to a local pharmacy/medical supply store and buy one.
An hour later I was home and mom was jetting off to the airport.
It took my foot almost 5 months to heal because what was probably just a hairline fracture became a complete break thanks to my walking around on it (and maybe going to boyfriends junior (yes junior, I liked em young) prom in heals without my air cast). But finally, FINALLY after 5 long months I was able to be completely free of the air cast and walk around like a normal person.
For at least another month or so......
8.11.2010
Chocolate
"Chocolate's a fun word, no ones feelings were ever hurt by the word chocolate"
That's what she said when I was in her office.
I knew I had been bothering my co-workers. Part of it was my hyper talkative, lonely and obnoxious self. But part of it was because I asked one of my coworkers to stop talking to me about the affair she was having and the other about the pot she was smoking.
I knew I bothered my boss because she was an angry woman that wore the same shirt in different colors every day and wasn't being promoted any higher than she already was and somehow this was my fault.
But, I just couldn't believe that she just said that.
I had been pulled into her office and told that I annoyed my coworkers and they would prefer that I just not speak at work anymore. Even about work things they could barely stand to hear the sound of my voice I was so annoying. So they all got together and decided it would be best if I just didn't speak anymore.
My boss said that probably wasn't possible seeing as I needed to speak on the phone for a living. She came up with this brilliant plan. They all agreed on a code word.
Chocolate.
When I got to be to much, when I was to annoying and when one of my coworkers would feel like I should just shut up already they would sing song out the word chocolate. That would be my cue to not speak for the rest of the day unless I had to answer my phone.
Because chocolate is a fun word, no one's feelings were ever hurt by the word chocolate.
Furthermore, she felt it would only be appropriate for me to write letters of apology to my coworkers for the trials I put them through by being so annoying. I would be required to apologize specifically to the two aforementioned coworkers because I had made them feel terribly about their life choices.
We would begin as soon as I left her office. I sat there gaping at this woman with nails the color of nicotine and struggled to find my voice.
How do you respond to this?
Somehow, I found the courage to say, "Well let me take this to the HR Rep and if she's ok with it then we can put it in my file"
My boss said, "Oh, well it was just a suggestion you don't have to do it. Go back to your desk and get back to work"
Two years I worked in that environment.
About 6 months in I got saved and immediately began to beg and plead with God to remove me from that situation. I applied at other jobs, I knew I had heard God tell me I would be moving to Cincinnati but He didn't tell me when. I would cry on my way to work some days because I just couldn't take listening to my coworkers talk around me and act like I was invisible sometimes.
But I learned to start finding my voice in that time.
I learned it was needed for me to start learning how to stand up for myself and that just because someone has the balls to say something to me doesn't mean it's true.
Thankfully this experience didn't ruin chocolate for me, because that would have been a real travesty.
That's what she said when I was in her office.
I knew I had been bothering my co-workers. Part of it was my hyper talkative, lonely and obnoxious self. But part of it was because I asked one of my coworkers to stop talking to me about the affair she was having and the other about the pot she was smoking.
I knew I bothered my boss because she was an angry woman that wore the same shirt in different colors every day and wasn't being promoted any higher than she already was and somehow this was my fault.
But, I just couldn't believe that she just said that.
I had been pulled into her office and told that I annoyed my coworkers and they would prefer that I just not speak at work anymore. Even about work things they could barely stand to hear the sound of my voice I was so annoying. So they all got together and decided it would be best if I just didn't speak anymore.
My boss said that probably wasn't possible seeing as I needed to speak on the phone for a living. She came up with this brilliant plan. They all agreed on a code word.
Chocolate.
When I got to be to much, when I was to annoying and when one of my coworkers would feel like I should just shut up already they would sing song out the word chocolate. That would be my cue to not speak for the rest of the day unless I had to answer my phone.
Because chocolate is a fun word, no one's feelings were ever hurt by the word chocolate.
Furthermore, she felt it would only be appropriate for me to write letters of apology to my coworkers for the trials I put them through by being so annoying. I would be required to apologize specifically to the two aforementioned coworkers because I had made them feel terribly about their life choices.
We would begin as soon as I left her office. I sat there gaping at this woman with nails the color of nicotine and struggled to find my voice.
How do you respond to this?
Somehow, I found the courage to say, "Well let me take this to the HR Rep and if she's ok with it then we can put it in my file"
My boss said, "Oh, well it was just a suggestion you don't have to do it. Go back to your desk and get back to work"
Two years I worked in that environment.
About 6 months in I got saved and immediately began to beg and plead with God to remove me from that situation. I applied at other jobs, I knew I had heard God tell me I would be moving to Cincinnati but He didn't tell me when. I would cry on my way to work some days because I just couldn't take listening to my coworkers talk around me and act like I was invisible sometimes.
But I learned to start finding my voice in that time.
I learned it was needed for me to start learning how to stand up for myself and that just because someone has the balls to say something to me doesn't mean it's true.
Thankfully this experience didn't ruin chocolate for me, because that would have been a real travesty.
8.10.2010
White Out Tape
I've told you before about the first date where I told the fella turtles could breathe out of their butt.
But here's how we flirted.
We worked for the same bank and I would talk to him in my "boy voice" (see high pitched and breathy with a lot of unnecessary giggling) and my co-workers would make fun of me.
Well, one day he was talking about how his white out tape was broken and he was trying to fix it.
What is white out tape? I couldn't figure it out. I would ask him and he would describe it but I couldn't figure it out.
I would usually bring it up when I didn't know what else to say and it would keep the conversation going (I'm a nerd, I get it.)
Then one day I received an inter-office envelope. This wasn't unusual I got them a lot as part of my job. But I opened it and out fell 4 packs of white out tape.
But here's how we flirted.
We worked for the same bank and I would talk to him in my "boy voice" (see high pitched and breathy with a lot of unnecessary giggling) and my co-workers would make fun of me.
Well, one day he was talking about how his white out tape was broken and he was trying to fix it.
What is white out tape? I couldn't figure it out. I would ask him and he would describe it but I couldn't figure it out.
I would usually bring it up when I didn't know what else to say and it would keep the conversation going (I'm a nerd, I get it.)
Then one day I received an inter-office envelope. This wasn't unusual I got them a lot as part of my job. But I opened it and out fell 4 packs of white out tape.
There was also a lovely note about white out tape and all sorts of other things. I of course had to reply and agonized over it for a ridiculously long time before I could sent the reply email.
I mean, a relationship based on a mutual admiration of white out tape...how could it have gone so horribly wrong?
So even though I talked about poop and tutles butts on our date I still think of him and smile when I see white out tape...which is often, I work in an office.
8.09.2010
A Car Like That
When I first moved to Cincinnati I transferred within the bank I was working at. I split my time between two banking centers and was a regular old teller with a connection to the area manager.
Before I was a teller I worked in teller corrections and fixed/researched teller errors. So as a teller it was difficult for me to not try to be helpful when I saw other tellers making mistakes (which I would also inevitably make).
But because of my connection to the area manager they decided I was a tattle tale.
During the summer 4 people were fired. I had nothing to do with it, I promise. I didn't "tell" I didn't even know this stuff was happening. But the other tellers decided it was so.
The one banking center decided to call a meeting after the manager was fired for nefarious activity and the team leader was on vacation, so there was no one in charge. Just the other tellers the private bankers and me in a meeting in a dark banking center after close.
One by one they lined up and took turns telling me what was wrong with me. They told me I was ugly, fat, stupid, mean. They wondered why I thought I was so much better than them, they asked me why I was such a f**king b**ch and thought I could play with peoples lives.
I protested. I tried to tell them that it wasn't me, that I didn't know what the manager was doing and I certainly didn't turn her in. I tried to tell them I was just trying to make it through the summer. But they wouldn't relent, they wouldn't stop telling me why I was so awful.
I tried to gather my purse and leave, but they circled around me and just kept taunting me.
Finally I relented. I told them I agreed that I was terrible and didn't deserve to live. I told them I would quit and never come back.
But I didn't cry. Because crying is weak and I was terrified to show them they were affecting me.
They let me out. I called the area manager on my way home and told her I didn't want to go back to that banking center for the rest of the summer, which thankfully was only about another 2 weeks. She asked me why, I told her it was the commute. She agreed.
The other morning I was driving to work and I got behind a car that the banking center manager drove. The whole time I just kept wondering, if she really took all that money why was she driving a car like that? I thought about her driving this car that wasn't that nice and I thought about all those tellers in that dark banking center.
Only this time, I didn't believe them completely.
Before I was a teller I worked in teller corrections and fixed/researched teller errors. So as a teller it was difficult for me to not try to be helpful when I saw other tellers making mistakes (which I would also inevitably make).
But because of my connection to the area manager they decided I was a tattle tale.
During the summer 4 people were fired. I had nothing to do with it, I promise. I didn't "tell" I didn't even know this stuff was happening. But the other tellers decided it was so.
The one banking center decided to call a meeting after the manager was fired for nefarious activity and the team leader was on vacation, so there was no one in charge. Just the other tellers the private bankers and me in a meeting in a dark banking center after close.
One by one they lined up and took turns telling me what was wrong with me. They told me I was ugly, fat, stupid, mean. They wondered why I thought I was so much better than them, they asked me why I was such a f**king b**ch and thought I could play with peoples lives.
I protested. I tried to tell them that it wasn't me, that I didn't know what the manager was doing and I certainly didn't turn her in. I tried to tell them I was just trying to make it through the summer. But they wouldn't relent, they wouldn't stop telling me why I was so awful.
I tried to gather my purse and leave, but they circled around me and just kept taunting me.
Finally I relented. I told them I agreed that I was terrible and didn't deserve to live. I told them I would quit and never come back.
But I didn't cry. Because crying is weak and I was terrified to show them they were affecting me.
They let me out. I called the area manager on my way home and told her I didn't want to go back to that banking center for the rest of the summer, which thankfully was only about another 2 weeks. She asked me why, I told her it was the commute. She agreed.
The other morning I was driving to work and I got behind a car that the banking center manager drove. The whole time I just kept wondering, if she really took all that money why was she driving a car like that? I thought about her driving this car that wasn't that nice and I thought about all those tellers in that dark banking center.
Only this time, I didn't believe them completely.
7.18.2010
Golden Girls
I've been watching re-runs of the Golden Girls lately. They ran the finale the other night and I teared up at Dorothy's good-bye monologue. So lovely, and I so didn't appreciate it when I watched it the first time.
These are memories that I'll wrap myself in when the world gets cold and I
forget that there are people that are warm and loving.
Your friendship was never something I expected at this point in my life and
I could never have asked for a better surprise
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