Whining... My Favorite Pastime

I am feeling two very strong, and very diverse, emotions all at once, which is basically just giving me a stomach ache. 

I often get conflicted about the whole blog scene because of, well, all the weirdness that goes with it, which I have already bemoaned ad nauseam. But the fact of the matter is I love it here. I love the tiny extra bit of validation I get from having my words read and understood. I love having a few far away people keeping tabs on me, even in the slightest of ways.

And I also love how so many creative minds and hands are right here at my finger tips. Some of them friends, some of them strangers. Regardless, they all inspire me. I get excited to see all the amazing possibilities for artistic expression. The jewels, the photos, the clothes, the really cool stuff that makes me happy just to look at. It makes me want to create. Anything. 

But it's never long before I start feeling bad about myself and the fact that I have no artistic talent whatsoever. Put a paintbrush in my hand, and you just get nothing because I don't know what to do. Sit me in front of a sewing machine and you get crooked seams and gloves sewn shut. Give me a handful of glittery beads, and well, I could probably whip up a pretty fierce keychain. Woo Hoo! 

I know I am being self-indulgent and I am focusing on my 'can'ts' instead of my 'cans', but come on, admit it... There's something really cool and special about creating something other people can look at and admire. Something artistically appealing and moving to the soul. See? I'm right! 

And by the way, please don't tell me to go take a class. I've gone down that road, and it only reaffirms my aesthetic hopelessness.

Okay, done feeling sorry for myself, and off to go look at more pretty things...

As the Whole Damn World Turns

I swear you gals are going to start thinking I am making all of this up. Can one person really have so much drama and countless balls up in the air at once? I thought that only happened on All My Children.  So I guess if I ever tell you I am a mafia princess who's just been kidnapped by an evil Russian aristocrat, you'll know I am just a big fabricator. In the meantime? Back to the ugly truth...

I am in Texas. "Home", if you will, to visit my brother who is still in the ICU with the remnants of multiple organ failure. He's actually improving medically, but he has, it appears, much, much bigger fish to fry.

Anyway, cutting to the chase, my family is a mess. That really is no surprise, and part of the reason I live so far away. But at the core of this particular nightmare is my brother's newly discovered (to my parents and me, it's just been over 24 hrs) alcoholism. 

Suddenly the health issues are not quite so mysterious. His psychosis and delirium are probably really DT's and withdrawal. He's having a tough time, as is the rest of the family (naturally), and I can't help but feel compassion. My parents and sister in law, on the other hand, are so mad, which is also understandable. I am not sure my mom knows to process this as an actual disease. I think she's trying to go down the whole "he's just been under a lot of stress" road, and the drinking will stop when the problems do. I am no expert, but I am thinking not.

So, we are all trying to get a handle on this information. I am suddenly the calm, rational one, which is a real role change. I am trying not to let it go to my head, but I have to secretly admit that I am somewhat relieved to discover that I may not have been a black sheep in a family of morally superior saints after all. I am thinking the whole damn herd is probably a lovely shade of grey. But that's okay by me. Now I just have to find a way to convince the rest of them.

I'll be back home soon. I am missing my family. 

Ghosts in the Attic

First, an aside... I hope anyone who reads this blog regularly doesn't think I am on the brink of some sort of major breakdown (although I could very well be). I know every post seems to be more depressing than the one before it, but I guess that's the by-product of having a blog dedicated solely to the inner workings of my brain. 

So, let's get right to it... I have a few things that have happened in my life that might be relevant to my current state of mind. There was that 'weird thing' that occurred with a much older cousin when I was five. Then in college, I had a summer from hell, including being held at knife point in my own apartment, and a bad enough car wreck that I had to drop out of school. Top that off with having a child with a deadly genetic disease, and you could probably understand why I am such a nutcase. 

And I agree... if someone else were to tell me about even one of those things happening to them, I would feel nothing but compassion. But when it comes to myself, something in my head prevents me from feeling 'worthy' of any kind of emotional pain resulting from any of the aforementioned incidents. Are you following? 

If asked, I would tell you that, no, I have never suffered any kind of child abuse, or no, I don't have a child with special needs. To me, my problems don't meet the threshold for legitimacy in my own eyes. I think other people will think I am just seeking attention, or that there are others whose problems are much, much worse than mine. The latter is definitely true. How dare I talk about my fears surrounding my son's illness, when there are babies dying right and left? 

On one hand, I feel like I should be more open and allow myself the freedom that always results from releasing a burden, but on the other hand, I feel like I should suck it up, because my 'issues' pale in comparison to the pain that I see around me. Or is that just an excuse to keep these dark secrets that are obviously haunting me tucked neatly inside? 

I'm Sorry...

Simple words. They should roll right off the tongue. Are they words that are difficult for you to say? For me, yes and no...

On one hand, there's a part of me that is constantly apologizing. Always seeking forgiveness for asking favors, borrowing things, or basically for any inconvenience I might cause. My friends think it's silly, and I do, too. Because the things for which I apologize aren't things for which I would expect an apology. So by apologizing, am I somehow trying to stake out the moral high ground? Position myself to be more giving, more understanding, less intrusive? Maybe, I guess. I don't really see it in myself, but I do know that my mom (here I am bringing up my parents again!) loves to play the martyr. I try to be honest with myself, and the explanation I give myself is that I just want to be independent. I don't want to owe anyone anything. I want to be able to "do it on my own". 

But why? It's supposed to "take a village," is it not? Yeah, not so much. I am not big into that. Yes, I like the idea of the community watching out for each other and all of us contributing to the health and growth of our children, but ultimately, most people seem to be looking out for their own kids ONLY. I'm a little off course here... back to I'm sorry. (Sorry!)

So we've established that for little things, the apologies just pour out of me. Now, to the big things. Well, those I am pretty good at, too... To certain people. Again, putting on my Freud hat, I remember so many fights with my parents. I can't imagine I was wrong about everything, but on the surface it would seem that way. My parents never apologized to me. Ever. That led to a lot of resentment. It also led to me feeling completely misunderstood, which, I think, has carried over into my grown up years even more. 

I am very aware of this, so I am pretty good about apologizing to my kids. If I yell, but they were, indeed, in the wrong, I fashion my apology to cover the inappropriate response, while remaining steadfast in my opposition to the "wrong doing" of the child. Yay, me. I think that is one tiny area over which I have control.

But with my parents, and big things with my friends, it gets harder. I go into complete avoidance mode. I guess this is, yet again, a version of not being able to "Say what I mean." I get scared and totally want to avoid the conflict. 

So now I have written two posts (and have a million more in my head) that basically point to fear of conflict/confrontation as the underlying problem. This is so bizarre to me and to anyone who knows me because I seem to be more than willing to engage in conflict and confrontation. Just ask my husband. Or any number of store managers. Or teachers. Or the lady involved in the car accident I had Sunday evening (and the cop who took the report, for that matter).

I guess I sort of understand this about myself and your comments on the last post really helped (how I found such smart, compassionate women is beyond me). Maybe I need some "how to's" regarding communication. Is that what I need? An Effective Communication Seminar? Oh Lord...

So, call me Jekyll or call me Hyde, or just call me a coward. I'm not sure how else to wrap this one up. I promise I'll try to move onto something else soon. I've promised Em I'd rake my mother over the coals (kidding, sort of). I've certainly laid the ground work!

The Heart of the Matter

I have a hard time saying what I really mean (hence that clever title up there). I don't know if it is because I am afraid of people's reactions to what I want to say to them, or if I am not sure what it is, exactly, that I want to say. Or both. On top of that, throw in a little "I'm convinced that most people don't really want to hear anyone else's opinion anyway" and you have the total communication disaster that is yours truly.

I do know that I usually operate in one of two modes. One: I just kind of go along with whatever... saying whatever makes people happy, and practically convincing myself that it makes me happy, too, whether I mean it, or not (which is usually not). Two: flying off the handle and being so confrontational that there really is no choice but to cut ties and walk away from the relationship entirely (aka: bridge burning extravaganza). There's no middle ground. No talking it out, exchanging respectful points of view. 

I know how to act, think, and talk like a grown up because occasionally I do, and I quite enjoy it. And maybe I am putting too much onto the other person, when really the instigating force comes from within myself. It's so easy for me to point the finger and say "oh, well, she's superficial," or "she's just looking for someone to agree with her," when really it is my own fear and apprehension preventing me from simply speaking my mind. 

But what am I afraid of? 

I do remember being quite outspoken as a child. I also remember feeling shamed for expressing my opinion. I remember talking to my parents about something that they felt differently about and my dad scolding me for "arguing" with them. I didn't think I was arguing. I thought I was just giving them my opinion. But that was then, and I am not big into blaming all my faults on my parents (only some of them). The question is, what am I going to do about it now?

Introducing Me

It's time to get real. No, I mean really real. So real, in fact, that there may not be anyone who's interested in sticking around very long. But if I am, indeed, left with only myself, at least I will enjoy my own company from now on. I'm done playing the games that I don't even realize I am playing. Games that have protected me, yet betrayed me. Games that have stopped being games and have become habit... ways of life. 

So join me as I put on the brakes, do a little soul searching, and live, speak and choose for me. I'm anxious to get started and very curious to see what life looks like on the other side. 

If you're still here it's probably because of one of the following:

1)  You know how badly I need you.

2)  You've got some soul-excavating to do, too.

3)  You like a good train wreck.

So, shall we?