"How many of our friends spend hours hating on their ex and picking apart the women that replaced them? How many of our mothers let their lives stop when our fathers left them? How often do you find yourself referring to someone from your past enough to the point where your friends can finish your sentences because they’ve heard it so many times before? We live in the past because that’s what our present is made up of. I get it. I do it. But it’s time to move on.
He left you. He hated you. He called you crazy. He picked you apart. He slept with his back to you. He cheated. He lied. He forgot your anniversary. He loved someone else more. He ignored you. He never listened. He made you insecure. He broke up the family. He didn’t keep his promise. He changed. He never changed. He stole your best years from you. Well, the worst thing he ever did was take up permanent residency in your thoughts. Some of us still haven’t moved on from the mistakes our dad made. He was the first man we let stop us from moving forward. That’s a long time to hold on to something. It’s also a little creepy. His job was to teach us our manners and scare us out of being late for curfew, not be our example of love from a man."
Recently I've acquired a serious addiction to http://www.hellogiggles.com/. It's inspiring and beneficial to read what these smart, witty women who are all twenty-somethings with similar experiences like me have to share about themselves and the world around them. I first read this article a few weeks ago and continue to go back and re-read it. Each time I read it, a different part screams out to me, but the underlying theme remains the same. Letting go. Specifically letting go of the resentment I hold that's holding me back.
I've had two fathers walk away from me in my 23 (almost 24) years of life. First when I was 4 and second a year ago this summer. That's rough. And I don't want you to think I'm the only victim in this. The strange, ill-composed family I once knew is now shattered. I like to depict myself as a bitter, independent 23 year old woman who relishes in her ability to stay detached from those around her. But, the fact is it's easier to be bitter towards my dads. It's easy to not get hurt if you don't form new relationships with others. It's a lot less scary to stay in my house and watch American Dad reruns.
He was the first man we let stop us from moving forward.
The more I allow my bitterness and anger towards my dads (and others) build up inside of me the more I am holding myself back from connecting to anyone on more than a surface level. And that's super lame and not who I want to be.
http://hellogiggles.com/single-girls-guide-11
Friday, September 9, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
The Art of Finding Yourself
These past few months have been filled with many "firsts" for me. First time in a foreign country. First time being single since preschool (maybe not really but that's what it feels like). First time kissing a boy who didn't speak the same language as me (literally, not figuratively). First time feeling truly alone.
There I was, my bags of clothes, books and toiletries spilling out all over the floor, my shoulders aching from the heavy load, sitting on the uncomfortable European mattress, listening to the first silence I had heard in weeks. When the taxi dropped me off, I thought he had gotten the wrong address. I was at a bar, miles from the center of town. He assured me this was my hotel and I was ushered inside where I tried to communicate with the waitress who spoke about as much English as I speak German. She showed me to my room up the tiny spiral staircase and I gratefully locked the door behind her and collapsed onto my bed. It was then that it hit me. I had been traveling the last 36 hours and had not had time to absorb that I was completely alone, in a country where I didn't speak the language and I knew no one. I suddenly felt overcome with grief and for the first time since I got on the plane in San Francisco three weeks earlier, I felt scared.
It was just getting dark when I arrived. Too early to go to bed, but too late for me to safely maneuver through a town I had never been to before. I tried to fill the silence by turning on the tv. The German language dubbed over the American television only angered me. I longed to hear anyone speaking English. I missed my new friends from school. All I wanted was to connect to someone.
This wasn't a new feeling that had suddenly appeared for the first time. I've been spending my entire life trying to connect to those around me. The majority of these connections end poorly for me, with those I trust pulling the rug out from under me just when I start to settle in. I had spent the few months prior to going abroad trying to learn how to be content with just myself. I read more. I spent more time alone. I went out with friends who I had spent too little time with in previous months. I felt so independent and so prepared to "find myself", but when I put myself in a situation where I would learn more about myself than I ever had before, it terrified me. I finally realized while sitting on the bed in Dachau, with Family Guy playing in German in the background, that my months of soul searching led me to the inescapable fact that I have no idea who I am, and I'm not ready to define myself. I felt like by figuring out who I am meant putting myself in a box and sealing it up; there's no changing who you are once you go down that path. Perhaps I'm just scared that once I figure out who I am I won't like what I find but regardless, I know that I create my own destiny and as cliche as it is I am the one who gets to decide who I become. No amount of bad parenting and poor choices can take that away.
Now that I'm back home I've decided I'm in no hurry to find myself. I know where I am today and I know where I'm going tomorrow and that's enough for me.
There I was, my bags of clothes, books and toiletries spilling out all over the floor, my shoulders aching from the heavy load, sitting on the uncomfortable European mattress, listening to the first silence I had heard in weeks. When the taxi dropped me off, I thought he had gotten the wrong address. I was at a bar, miles from the center of town. He assured me this was my hotel and I was ushered inside where I tried to communicate with the waitress who spoke about as much English as I speak German. She showed me to my room up the tiny spiral staircase and I gratefully locked the door behind her and collapsed onto my bed. It was then that it hit me. I had been traveling the last 36 hours and had not had time to absorb that I was completely alone, in a country where I didn't speak the language and I knew no one. I suddenly felt overcome with grief and for the first time since I got on the plane in San Francisco three weeks earlier, I felt scared.
It was just getting dark when I arrived. Too early to go to bed, but too late for me to safely maneuver through a town I had never been to before. I tried to fill the silence by turning on the tv. The German language dubbed over the American television only angered me. I longed to hear anyone speaking English. I missed my new friends from school. All I wanted was to connect to someone.
This wasn't a new feeling that had suddenly appeared for the first time. I've been spending my entire life trying to connect to those around me. The majority of these connections end poorly for me, with those I trust pulling the rug out from under me just when I start to settle in. I had spent the few months prior to going abroad trying to learn how to be content with just myself. I read more. I spent more time alone. I went out with friends who I had spent too little time with in previous months. I felt so independent and so prepared to "find myself", but when I put myself in a situation where I would learn more about myself than I ever had before, it terrified me. I finally realized while sitting on the bed in Dachau, with Family Guy playing in German in the background, that my months of soul searching led me to the inescapable fact that I have no idea who I am, and I'm not ready to define myself. I felt like by figuring out who I am meant putting myself in a box and sealing it up; there's no changing who you are once you go down that path. Perhaps I'm just scared that once I figure out who I am I won't like what I find but regardless, I know that I create my own destiny and as cliche as it is I am the one who gets to decide who I become. No amount of bad parenting and poor choices can take that away.
Now that I'm back home I've decided I'm in no hurry to find myself. I know where I am today and I know where I'm going tomorrow and that's enough for me.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Me
I am a figment of my own imagination; a thoughtful creation in my own mind. I drink too much coffee. I spend too much time doing what I’m told and not enough time doing what I want. I drive too fast. I feel sympathetic to any type of animal, except for snakes, which I despise. I cry when I watch pedigree commercials and animal cops. I like to watch cartoons because you don’t have to think to know what is going on. I like to drive around at night with the windows rolled down and the heat on my feet. I drive shoeless and only with my big toe. I dream of a bigger existence than I have. I am not afraid of death, though I think of it often. I talk with a lisp. I stick my tongue out when I smile. I have a scar of a smiley face on my forearm. I want to learn another language. I want to live in other places. I want to get married to someone who I would want to grow old with. I will only marry once so I hope I get it right the first time. I don’t want to make compromises on what I believe. I hope someday to be as great of a mom as my sister is. I hope that one day I can look my parents’ in the eye and tell them I was happier without them. I hope that Lyndsie and I stay friends forever, just like our moms. I like to think that I make mostly good choices. I couldn’t imagine life without Gidget or Ziggy. I hope that I can always tell people how I feel. I wish I were more confident. I am afraid of never being able to figure out what I want to do with my life. I have a case of the Mondays, every day I have to work. I want to always see the world through the lens of a camera.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Reconciliation
In the past year, so much has changed. Where I thought I'd be now, is nowhere near where I am. I feel like it's time to reconcile the changes in my life from the past year.
What I've lost:
My home
My stability
My comfort zone
My confidence in my ability to overcome
My dad
What I've gained:
A new home just for myself
A new me
A new perspective on life and relationships
My renewed independence
What I've lost:
My home
My stability
My comfort zone
My confidence in my ability to overcome
My dad
What I've gained:
A new home just for myself
A new me
A new perspective on life and relationships
My renewed independence
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Scars
"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars." Kahlil Gibran
10/14/10
I was awoke at 4:30 in the morning so the nurses could take my vitals. They left again and I drifted back to sleep. I dreamt that the walls were flooding in the hospital. It was raining outside and everywhere you looked it was leaking. I went to take a shower and found a razor in the stall. I freaked out when I realized I was in the staff shower. I was afraid I would get caught in there and they would extend my stay. Three days was three days too long. That's all I remember from that dream, but I felt the anxiety still when I was awake.
I was awoke again at 5.45 to them telling me I needed to go to the front desk to get my blood drawn. I went back to bed a second time and awoke in a panic, thinking I had missed breakfast. I didn't want to seem defiant by not complying to all the meal times. A staffer walked me down to the mess hall and everyone again stared at me. The 3 people manning the food line were 2 woman and 1 man. They offered me cream of wheat, to which I turned down. Then they offered me french toast, to which I also declined and replied, "I'm allergic to bread and wheat." The girl at the end of the line scoffed and I felt embarassed. He then offered me eggs, to which I gladly took, not wanting to seem like more of a freak. I completed my meal with juice and extra hot coffee that burnt my tongue when I drank it. I sat by myself at a table and noticed everyone around me looking very complacent and far off. A staffer was having a hard time getting one girl to eat. And I sat there, feeling very tired, thinking I must look just like them. A staffer was watching me at all times since I was still under line of sight. He was just staring at me thinking, "you belong here." After breakfast, I went back to bed and slept for a few more hours. When I awoke I was covered in sweat. I felt terrible. I went to the nurse's station and asked if I could get my temperature taken, since I felt like I had a fever. No fever though. I asked if I could take a shower. They gave me a rough little white towel and locked me in the shower room. I wasn't allowed to keep the shampoo and conditioner that my mom had brought me for, because the bottles were too big and they were afraid I would try to drink them. The water had one temperature, freezing cold. I couldn't even stand in it, it was so cold. I sponge-bathed and got dressed and felt a little bit better.
I went out into the common room. The tv wasn't on and people were just sitting, staring at the wall. A staffer came in and said she was taking people outside, whoever wanted to go. I jumped at the chance. We had to walk through all sorts of hallways and locked doors to get to the outside area. Outside was a small grassy area, a basketball hoop, a plastic bin with jump ropes, basketballs, and hula hoops, and large wire fences with chickenwire at the top. When we got outside, a few guys went straight for the basketball court to shoot hoops. One guy, a tall guy with glasses who reminded me of an IT worker, didn't miss one shot. Another girl who panicked on the way out that she might go blind once she went outside, decided she would exercise. Another girl with a walker, which I wasn't sure she really needed, decided to follow along with her. One girl, who I had seen the night before, was trying to coax a cat down from the top of a staircase. A male staffer came out and told the girl who had taken us that I wasn't supposed to go outside, because of the line of sight rule. I went back inside, sat down on my bed, and waited till I was called by the doctor.
The doctor told me I had to stay till Saturday. He increased my medication and started me on a sleeping pill, since they think my insomnia over the prior weeks led to my breakdown. I didn't much care for the doctor. He asked me a lot of the same questions the intake nurse asked, and he seemed like he wasn't really paying attention to our conversation. My guess is he was trying to decide in his head what he was going to have for lunch. If I were him, I would have chosen Mexican. Or Pizza.
At lunch today, I introduced myself to the tall basketball player. His name was Thomas and he turned 27 the day before. He was supposed to be getting out today. I told him he should go somewhere special for dinner to celebrate. Thomas sounds like the name of an IT worker.
Then I met a girl named Roxanne, who talks in a calm even tone all the time. She was the girl who was afraid she would go blind if she went outside. She is going home today too, and I asked her if she was excited and she said, "yes, very excited," with no inflection whatsoever. She's the same age as me, and she just graduated from a college down south. I think she was so busy with school that when she graduated and she found herself with nothing to do, she had a nervous breakdown.
Then I met a boy named Steve. He is not close to his parents or his siblings. His parents are overly controlling and he has very little friends. He's lonely and starved for social interaction. I told him I couldn't wait to get out of here, and he told me he liked it here because of all the people. "He's crazy," I thought. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Is that how the saying goes? He's 17 years old and he's in here because his parents caught him trying to stab himself in the chest. He had to get 6 stitches.
I met with my social worker today. Her name is Jamie and I like her a lot better than the doctor. She listens to what I have to say and tries to convince me that I am trying to do too much, with school and work and the craziness that is my family. I guess I see her point, but I don't want to give anything up. She told me I might be able to get out tomorrow.
I spent the majority of my afternoon with Steve. We hung out in the common room and watched the other people in the hospital. I told him that I heard things on the other side of the hospital and I was fairly certain they were conducting expirements on patients somewhere. He told me he was going to tell them I was hearing voices so they would make me stay longer. It was refreshing to have someone else in the hospital who had my same sense of humor.
Today while sitting in the common room, a patient came in and asked if my name was Sarah. He said there was a call for me on the pay phone. It was Valerie. She was calling to check in on me. It was good to talk to someone outside of the hospital.
Tonight we get to have visitors...
I was awoke again at 5.45 to them telling me I needed to go to the front desk to get my blood drawn. I went back to bed a second time and awoke in a panic, thinking I had missed breakfast. I didn't want to seem defiant by not complying to all the meal times. A staffer walked me down to the mess hall and everyone again stared at me. The 3 people manning the food line were 2 woman and 1 man. They offered me cream of wheat, to which I turned down. Then they offered me french toast, to which I also declined and replied, "I'm allergic to bread and wheat." The girl at the end of the line scoffed and I felt embarassed. He then offered me eggs, to which I gladly took, not wanting to seem like more of a freak. I completed my meal with juice and extra hot coffee that burnt my tongue when I drank it. I sat by myself at a table and noticed everyone around me looking very complacent and far off. A staffer was having a hard time getting one girl to eat. And I sat there, feeling very tired, thinking I must look just like them. A staffer was watching me at all times since I was still under line of sight. He was just staring at me thinking, "you belong here." After breakfast, I went back to bed and slept for a few more hours. When I awoke I was covered in sweat. I felt terrible. I went to the nurse's station and asked if I could get my temperature taken, since I felt like I had a fever. No fever though. I asked if I could take a shower. They gave me a rough little white towel and locked me in the shower room. I wasn't allowed to keep the shampoo and conditioner that my mom had brought me for, because the bottles were too big and they were afraid I would try to drink them. The water had one temperature, freezing cold. I couldn't even stand in it, it was so cold. I sponge-bathed and got dressed and felt a little bit better.
I went out into the common room. The tv wasn't on and people were just sitting, staring at the wall. A staffer came in and said she was taking people outside, whoever wanted to go. I jumped at the chance. We had to walk through all sorts of hallways and locked doors to get to the outside area. Outside was a small grassy area, a basketball hoop, a plastic bin with jump ropes, basketballs, and hula hoops, and large wire fences with chickenwire at the top. When we got outside, a few guys went straight for the basketball court to shoot hoops. One guy, a tall guy with glasses who reminded me of an IT worker, didn't miss one shot. Another girl who panicked on the way out that she might go blind once she went outside, decided she would exercise. Another girl with a walker, which I wasn't sure she really needed, decided to follow along with her. One girl, who I had seen the night before, was trying to coax a cat down from the top of a staircase. A male staffer came out and told the girl who had taken us that I wasn't supposed to go outside, because of the line of sight rule. I went back inside, sat down on my bed, and waited till I was called by the doctor.
The doctor told me I had to stay till Saturday. He increased my medication and started me on a sleeping pill, since they think my insomnia over the prior weeks led to my breakdown. I didn't much care for the doctor. He asked me a lot of the same questions the intake nurse asked, and he seemed like he wasn't really paying attention to our conversation. My guess is he was trying to decide in his head what he was going to have for lunch. If I were him, I would have chosen Mexican. Or Pizza.
At lunch today, I introduced myself to the tall basketball player. His name was Thomas and he turned 27 the day before. He was supposed to be getting out today. I told him he should go somewhere special for dinner to celebrate. Thomas sounds like the name of an IT worker.
Then I met a girl named Roxanne, who talks in a calm even tone all the time. She was the girl who was afraid she would go blind if she went outside. She is going home today too, and I asked her if she was excited and she said, "yes, very excited," with no inflection whatsoever. She's the same age as me, and she just graduated from a college down south. I think she was so busy with school that when she graduated and she found herself with nothing to do, she had a nervous breakdown.
Then I met a boy named Steve. He is not close to his parents or his siblings. His parents are overly controlling and he has very little friends. He's lonely and starved for social interaction. I told him I couldn't wait to get out of here, and he told me he liked it here because of all the people. "He's crazy," I thought. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Is that how the saying goes? He's 17 years old and he's in here because his parents caught him trying to stab himself in the chest. He had to get 6 stitches.
I met with my social worker today. Her name is Jamie and I like her a lot better than the doctor. She listens to what I have to say and tries to convince me that I am trying to do too much, with school and work and the craziness that is my family. I guess I see her point, but I don't want to give anything up. She told me I might be able to get out tomorrow.
I spent the majority of my afternoon with Steve. We hung out in the common room and watched the other people in the hospital. I told him that I heard things on the other side of the hospital and I was fairly certain they were conducting expirements on patients somewhere. He told me he was going to tell them I was hearing voices so they would make me stay longer. It was refreshing to have someone else in the hospital who had my same sense of humor.
Today while sitting in the common room, a patient came in and asked if my name was Sarah. He said there was a call for me on the pay phone. It was Valerie. She was calling to check in on me. It was good to talk to someone outside of the hospital.
Tonight we get to have visitors...
Saturday, April 16, 2011
What's Up
This is me:
This is my bike:
These are my crazies:
This is my icon:
I'd love to hang with these gals:
That's what's up.
This is my bike:
Where do I begin...
10/13/10
I'm here. In an inpatient facility and I'm scared to death. The people scare me. The nurses treat you like you have a flesh eating disease. And I'm lonely. And I miss my best friend Brandon and I miss my mom and my sisters and Aubrie and my dad and Heather and my doggies. I've only been here for a few hours and I want to go home.
What brought me here? Months; no years of practice. Practicing pretending to hold it all together. I don't ever stop and think about how I feel. I skate through life, barely surviving. I want to feel. But as soon as I start to feel again, I LOSE IT. It's too much. I have no balance in my life. Too much; too little. I need to start taking control of myself, my body, my surroundings. I am a shattered soul, and I want to piece myself back together.
When I first got here I felt scared, vulnerable, sad, regretful. Every one of the patients stared at me like I was fresh meat. I suddenly had this panicking thought of "what if someone tries to rape me? or beat me up?" I feel insecure and un-secured. There's no locks on any doors. There's no mirrors in the bathrooms. The bedrooms are huge but amazingly under-furnished. Two shelves, two beds, one nightstand, and a window that I stood at, on my tippy-toes trying to get a glance at my mom when she came to bring me clothes. I was balling my eyes out in my room when one of the staff came in to tell me my mom was dropping off clothes. I knew she was coming and had went to my room to cry because I knew visiting hours were over and I could not see her. The nice lady told me "try to cry as little as possible. If the doctors see you crying it'll take even longer to get out of here. The nurses and the social workers will give you tips to cope with your emotions and feelings, and just try to think of those things and practice and the sooner you'll get out of here.It's only for a few days, that's all. I'll go have your mom wave to you through the window."
After seeing my mom we went through my belongings. 6 pairs of underwear, 7 shirts, 4 pairs of pants, 2 sweatshirts, 1 pair of flipflops, contact lense case, glasses, tooth brush, toothpaste, shampoo and conditioner, deoderant. My life. And all I could think was, "that's a lot of underwear". She gave me a few magazines too. Real Simple and a book about sand in my bra and something about panties. Embarassing. "Thanks mom, for grabbing the only things you had in your car."
There were warning signs of a scuffle in the common area tonight. A woman, with crazy grey/black hair, wearing sunglasses at 11:00 at night, inside, keeps trying to make small talk with people. "I used to be a teacher," she says, to whoever will listen. "Is that why you're so smart," a male night nurse says coyly. I had been placed under "line of sight" due to my 5150 status, which meant a staff member always had to have me in their line of sight at all times. I felt totally awkward. "Does this mean I have to ask permission to go anywehere? Will I get in trouble if I walk to another room without permission?" Not that I'm much in the mood for exploring. I'd rather sit here and try to blend in with this chair and watch the scene before me unfold.
"What grade did you teach," he asks her. "1st-12th," she says, "but not kindergarten."
Tomorrow I will learn how to deal with myself.
I'm here. In an inpatient facility and I'm scared to death. The people scare me. The nurses treat you like you have a flesh eating disease. And I'm lonely. And I miss my best friend Brandon and I miss my mom and my sisters and Aubrie and my dad and Heather and my doggies. I've only been here for a few hours and I want to go home.
What brought me here? Months; no years of practice. Practicing pretending to hold it all together. I don't ever stop and think about how I feel. I skate through life, barely surviving. I want to feel. But as soon as I start to feel again, I LOSE IT. It's too much. I have no balance in my life. Too much; too little. I need to start taking control of myself, my body, my surroundings. I am a shattered soul, and I want to piece myself back together.
When I first got here I felt scared, vulnerable, sad, regretful. Every one of the patients stared at me like I was fresh meat. I suddenly had this panicking thought of "what if someone tries to rape me? or beat me up?" I feel insecure and un-secured. There's no locks on any doors. There's no mirrors in the bathrooms. The bedrooms are huge but amazingly under-furnished. Two shelves, two beds, one nightstand, and a window that I stood at, on my tippy-toes trying to get a glance at my mom when she came to bring me clothes. I was balling my eyes out in my room when one of the staff came in to tell me my mom was dropping off clothes. I knew she was coming and had went to my room to cry because I knew visiting hours were over and I could not see her. The nice lady told me "try to cry as little as possible. If the doctors see you crying it'll take even longer to get out of here. The nurses and the social workers will give you tips to cope with your emotions and feelings, and just try to think of those things and practice and the sooner you'll get out of here.It's only for a few days, that's all. I'll go have your mom wave to you through the window."
After seeing my mom we went through my belongings. 6 pairs of underwear, 7 shirts, 4 pairs of pants, 2 sweatshirts, 1 pair of flipflops, contact lense case, glasses, tooth brush, toothpaste, shampoo and conditioner, deoderant. My life. And all I could think was, "that's a lot of underwear". She gave me a few magazines too. Real Simple and a book about sand in my bra and something about panties. Embarassing. "Thanks mom, for grabbing the only things you had in your car."
There were warning signs of a scuffle in the common area tonight. A woman, with crazy grey/black hair, wearing sunglasses at 11:00 at night, inside, keeps trying to make small talk with people. "I used to be a teacher," she says, to whoever will listen. "Is that why you're so smart," a male night nurse says coyly. I had been placed under "line of sight" due to my 5150 status, which meant a staff member always had to have me in their line of sight at all times. I felt totally awkward. "Does this mean I have to ask permission to go anywehere? Will I get in trouble if I walk to another room without permission?" Not that I'm much in the mood for exploring. I'd rather sit here and try to blend in with this chair and watch the scene before me unfold.
"What grade did you teach," he asks her. "1st-12th," she says, "but not kindergarten."
Tomorrow I will learn how to deal with myself.
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