Category Archives: People

One Step Closer

one step closer

Yesterday, I went on a gorgeous hike at Point Lobos State Park with a friend of mine from work- I do this fairly often now, go hiking, and I enjoy it so much. I love the exercise, for one thing, the way my legs burn, the rush of endorphins, I love gaining all those steps in my Fitbit challenges (I’m not gonna lie, I have a competitive streak). But I also just enjoy being outside, being in nature, being somewhere beautiful.

After that, we grabbed a quick coffee at Starbucks, and booked a room for our trip coming up in October. We are going to Salem, Massachusetts, just because it sounds like fun, and I couldn’t be more excited! Booking the room makes it feel like it’s really happening! Anyway, I dropped her off at her house, and made a beeline over to my sponsors house, where I finally worked my 10th step and got started on the 11th. When I realized how close I am to actually completing the 12 steps of Narcotics Anonymous, I got a little choked up. I am just so proud of myself for actually putting in this work! And let me tell you, it has really been WORK. When you are doing these steps right, it means something, it changes you. So, that was a pretty cool moment for me.

I went home, feeling a little bit lighter, and a lot more connected to my program, the way I always feel after working a step. I spent a little time picking up my house, and had just settled in to doing nothing when a girl I had offered to take to a meeting reached out to me. I hadn’t heard from her, so I assumed she had decided not to go, and I was fine with that, but…she sent me a text and wanted to go. The meeting I had offered to take her to was in a neighboring town, about twenty five minutes away. I briefly thought about saying no, that I wanted to stay home, that she should have let me know sooner. But of course, I didn’t. I got up, got dressed, and offered to pick her up early and grab a coffee. Which is what we did. The meeting was great, the speaker was great, the whole entire day had been great.

So what, you may be wondering, is the point? The point is, I woke up this morning feeling so blessed, so lucky, so grateful for where I am. Sometimes I get a little disconnected from the program part of my recovery- the part where we attend meetings regularly, work with our sponsor, be of service, help another addict. Writing a blog about the things I have been through and the things I have learned is great, but there is a lot more to it than that- writing this blog is not a substitute for the actions I need to take to keep myself feeling the way I want to feel. The way I feel right now, which is connected, at peace, capable of giving something back. If I don’t do those things, pretty soon I’m not going to have much to write about, because I won’t be adding anything new to my experience.

The other thing I want to point out is this- Holy Shit! I’m a person who goes on hikes now, and loves nature! I’m a person who plans trips, and keeps appointments, and does the right thing, for the right reasons, on a regular basis. I don’t live in fear anymore, and I’m not filled with shame over who I am and what I am doing. It hit me the other day that my seven year old daughter takes for absolute granted that she can depend on me. That she knows, every day, when the bell rings at school, that I will be there, waiting to take her home. She knows that I will be there if she wakes up in the middle of the night and needs me. She knows that I will feed her, provide for her, and do all the things I have always done, because I always have. There is no insecurity, because I have never given her a reason to be insecure. My older daughter told me once that she was always afraid that I wouldn’t show up. I was always the last one there, the after school program was always waiting on me so that they could go home. The feeling I get when I think about this never gets easier. It breaks my heart.

But today, I don’t have to live that way anymore. I am not only one step closer to the end of my stepwork, but I am one step closer to being the person I always hoped I would be someday. There have been times, even in recovery, when I was filled with despair, believing I would never, ever get better. That I was so fucked up, such a terrible person, that I would never be able to change. I kept moving forward because I didn’t know what else to do- I didn’t want to use, but a lot of times I was just going through the motions, sure it was pointless, that I was going to be this miserable, angry person forever. Well, once again, I was wrong. I know for sure there will be hard times ahead, but I am not afraid. I know wherever I am, if I keep moving forward, things will always change for the better.

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Three Things, Late Edition

three hearts

I tried, I really did, to get this thing written last night, but…unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond my control ( it was after seven in the evening, and I had eaten peanut butter pie after dinner) I just wasn’t able to form any type of cohesive sentence-like structures for this blog. It’s a little before five now, so I might not do much better, but I am going to take a shot. Here goes:

  1. This has been a weird week. My schedule got screwed up, being basically on quarantine with my sick kid, and I have learned that I am highly dependent on my routine to maintain my sanity. I don’t know when this started- I mean, I lived a life that was the very opposite of “routine” for most of my years on earth, and suddenly, a few days are a little different, and it’s enough to take me down. I want so badly to be the kind of person who just goes with the flow, but I guess that just isn’t who I am. I have to try a little harder- or at least it feels that way to me- than most people to maintain my equilibrium. I often wish I were different…but you know what would also be cool? Being totally okay with who I know myself to be. That would be refreshing! Also, Cam is fine- she had a little cold, aggravated by some seasonal allergies, and now she is good as new.
  2. I wrote a post this week that I am really proud of. I don’t usually do this on my “Three Things” blog, but I am going to this week- if you haven’t checked it out already, I would love for you to. You can find it here . The truth of the matter is, when you are trying to maintain a blog with regular posts, you want to write from the heart all the time, but it can be hard. Sometimes, you just can’t access the deep stuff, it’s just not where you are at. Or sometimes, you are in a funny mood, or just need to share something mundane. But every once in a while, you write something that really means something, and that happened for me the other day. My journey in life isn’t ALL about recovery from drugs, but it is a huge part of my story, and I want to share it with the people who might need to see it. So there it is.
  3. Valentine’s Day happened this week, and I didn’t mention it at all. Mostly because…well, why would I? I have SERIOUS issues surrounding romantic relationships, and overall, Valentine’s Day is just not my thing. But it’s hard not to feel a tiny bit left out when Instagram is basically flooded with lovey-dovey posts and pictures of happy couples. I’m not completely dead inside- I do remember what it’s like to feel that way, and I miss it sometimes. So, by Valentine’s evening, I was feeling a bit…deflated, you might say. Well, my ex showed up with balloons and a card for me, from my daughter, and I thought that was really nice. He also got me a vaguely threatening coffee mug that says “Family is Forever”, but I’ll give him a pass. I’m sure he didn’t mean to freak me out.

And that is it- those are my three things for this week! I will be back here one day this weekend to share something brilliant (or mediocre, maybe) and I hope you all have a fantastic and quick Friday.

Mementos

letters

I spent a good portion of last weekend cleaning my house. It needed to be done, and it always feels great having order restored, however temporary that order may be. But, when I found myself house-bound with a sick child both Monday and Tuesday, I was sort of at a loss for what to do. I could have folded the three loads of laundry that are sitting in a basket on my couch, but for whatever reason, I just can’t quite bring myself to deal with that. I did my normal avoidance routine, consisting of screwing around online, and binge watching yet another show (Mom this time, on Hulu- if you haven’t watched it, check it out. It’s pretty hilarious.). Eventually, though, I had to do something else, something productive, and I knew it was time. Time to deal with The Closet.

The Closet is in the hall, four doors, two on the bottom, two on the top, and I have been avoiding it for three years. Well, three years in March. That’s when I moved into this house, and that’s when I shoved The Closet full of bags and boxes of paperwork and keepsakes and God only knows what else, and left it to rot. I was still getting loaded when I moved into this place, and to be honest, I’ve been a little afraid of what I might find if I went poking around in there.

But on Monday, I put my big girl pants on and started digging- one bag and box at a time. There was a lot of junk, sure…things I should have thrown out eons ago. Printer cartridges for printers I don’t own anymore, file folders full of bills that no longer exist, insurance information for cars I no longer own. I filled up my recycle bin in the space of a few hours. I didn’t find anything to be ashamed of, though, and certainly nothing that put my recovery in danger. So that was a relief.

And then…and then I found some other stuff. I’ve kept boxes for each of my children- those fancy, pretty banker boxes- not the plain brown kind, but the ones you can buy at Marshall’s or Target with the beautiful designs on them? I’ve kept them for my kids and for myself for quite some time. I never really thought about how long I’ve kept them, and I don’t know if I’ve every thoroughly, soberly, gone through them since I started, but…I’m really glad I did.

Although I am working hard on my opinion of myself as a mother today, in the present, my opinion of the kind of mother I have been in the past has become rather concrete. I was a horrible mother, I decided, with no redeemable qualities, and my daughter would have been better off with anyone else. I was heartless and unloving and drug addicted, and I can rarely think of a time when I didn’t suck, heartily, at the task of parenting my eldest child. But her box of mementos tells a different story. I have every art project, every note to Santa and the Tooth Fairy, every report card and hand-made note she ever made for me- so many that I might need a bigger box. This “horrible mother” wrote things my daughter said to me on sticky notes and kept them, all these years. There are pictures of us that I had forgotten about, and we are laughing and playing, and clinging onto one another with love. My mind, my awful, lying mind told me a story and I believed it, and I have carried it around with me for all these years, without question. The things in this box tells me that maybe there is more to that story, more that I need to remember.

In my own box, I found cards and letters- real, hand written letters- from people whom I love, and who love ME. Letters from my best friend Grace, and letters and cards from my grandparents and mom, and a whole bunch of letters from Joe, my friend who died in August. You can’t imagine, you really can’t begin to imagine, how much that meant to me. Reading through all of those words from people who cared so much about me, not just when I was clean, but throughout the worst parts of my life, reminded me that I still had value, I was still worth so much, even when I believed myself to be worthless. I may not have been well, but I was loved, and I was worth something to all these people.

It blows my mind that living the crazy, chaotic life that I lived for so long, having lost nearly everything I owned on more occasions than I can remember, I managed to save these amazing items. I lost households of furniture and closets of clothes, but I have the discharge papers from my daughter’s birth in 1997, and all the cards from the people who visited me at the hospital. I lost everything, except the most important things of all- the slips of paper, the glossy cards, the letters that could fill in for me the memories I lost along the way. The story of a girl who wasn’t all dark, who always had a little light, a little more worth, than I could have remembered on my own.

The Closet is nearly done now- just one more shelf to go, and it will be neat as a pin. I put those boxes away after shedding a few tears, and I sat down on the couch full of wonder and feeling so much lighter. I am not exactly who I thought I was, and for once, I was so glad to be wrong…and anytime I start to forget, or start listening to the lying voice in my head, I know I can just pull one of those boxes down out of that closet, and find all the evidence I need that I’m not all bad. That there was something worth saving in me all along.

Parenting Fail

parenting

As I mentioned in yesterday’s blog, I have been on a bit of a roll since I decided to pull myself up by the bootstraps and get my life rolling again after a few days of wallowing in my figurative shit. Well, I was so busy conquering the world on Saturday that I left my little one to her own devices- literally, she was on her Kindle the ENTIRE day, which is not something I normally allow. However, I was super busy, and she, like me, deserves a little time to over-do it, right? Okay, who am I kidding- the truth is, I was busy and didn’t really notice until late in the day that she hadn’t gotten out of bed aside from a trip to get fast food with her dad. Who, by the way, was watching her on Saturday, so he gets some of the blame, right?

Anyway, yesterday, I got up bright and early, did my normal morning writing, and headed out to the gym about 8. When I got home, she was still in bed, on that damn Kindle again, while her dad snoozed on the couch.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” I griped, “This is ridiculous. Let’s go to the Flea Market in Santa Cruz like we talked about.”

No one really wanted to go- it was getting late, and Cam wanted to stay in bed, claiming she didn’t feel good. I wasn’t buying it. I whined and pleaded and, finally, bribed Camryn with promises of all the good toys she was sure to find at the Flea. That got her moving.

So, off we went, on a beautiful sunny day, a quick 45 minute drive over to SC to check out the bargains. Except…halfway there, I looked back to find Cam, who was uncharacteristically quiet, curled over the armrest with her eyes closed. She looked a little pale.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m just tired. And my head hurts. And my knee hurts a little bit. And my tummy hurts. And my throat hurts a lot.”

Uh-oh.

In my defense, I really thought she was just tired from laying around too much. I thought once we got her out of the house, she’d perk up. I was kind of right- she did perk up a little, once we were inside the market. There were toys everywhere (much to my relief, because I wasn’t sure there actually would be.) and she scored a bunch of dollhouse furniture straight away, which is like her favorite kind of thing ever. About ten minutes in, however, she was ready to go. I, feeling bad for her, kept compulsively checking her neck and forehead for warmth (she was definitely warm) and nagging at her dad to leave, even though I had basically forced everyone to go in the first place.

We stayed maybe an hour, and stopped for a quick lunch at a little deli nearby- that’s when I knew for sure Cam was sick. She didn’t want anything to eat except for a Snickers, and she didn’t even eat that. This kid LIVES for junk food- to pass on gobbling down her own Snickers is unheard of. The guilt came for me full force.

She slept all the way home, and as soon as we got back, she went straight to bed. I tried giving her some kids Motrin, but getting her to take medicine is like trying to get a cat in the swimming pool- it’s not only difficult, but can be terrifying and dangerous. My normally sweet girl can throw herself into such a state that it’s a little bit alarming. Pair with this the fact that her dad will pop in throughout the ordeal asking me to reconsider whether she really needs the Motrin or not…for God’s sake! YES, she needs it! Suffice to say that by the end of it, she took maybe half a dose of Motrin (not helpful at all), she was upset with me, I was upset with her dad, and who cares who he was upset with.

She rallied enough in the evening to eat a MASSIVE dinner (yay!) and take a long, lavender scented bath drawn by yours truly, after I scoured the bathroom from top to bottom- guilt is a big motivator for me, and I felt so bad for dragging her out earlier in the day. I sat with her while she soaked, and we watched an episode of Bob’s Burger’s on my phone. Not really the most kid-appropriate show, I know, but luckily most of the adult humor goes right over her head.

Finally, I tucked her into bed in her bright pink raccoon PJ’s, and we embarked on a very long night of barely sleeping. She was breathing weird by this point, and definitely feverish, and I just don’t sleep well when my kids are sick. I just wished I knew exactly how she was feeling so that I could judge how worried I should be…

I woke up at quarter to four this morning with one working nostril and a pounding headache. I guess I got my wish. Well played, Universe. Well played.

Is This My Life Now?

insomnia
Literally me

Something you may not know about me is that I am, like, a PRO sleeper. What I don’t mean is that I am someone who is for sleeping- I mean, of course I am, who isn’t? What I do mean is that I am very, very good at it. Or, at least, I always have been until recently. I’m still really good at falling asleep, but…staying asleep? That has become somewhat of an issue.

Last night, for instance, my eyes popped open, hoping it was time to get up. I looked at the clock and groaned in dismay- it was dead-on midnight. 12 on the dot. Nope, not yet. I closed my eyes and fell asleep again, only to repeat this scenario two and half hours later. This time, I turned on the TV (sleep timers are the best!) and let Bob’s Burgers lull me back to sleep. It worked. Well, for like an hour, anyway.

At 3:30, I waved the white flag of surrender, and just said FINE. For three out of the past four days, I have found myself up at what is, for all intents and purposes, the middle of the freaking night. I mean, I have always loved to be up early- my alarm is now set for 4:30, which is still pretty insane, but it gives me the time I need to write daily, and meditate. But 3 in the morning? Give me a break.

frog

I’m not sure what is happening. I’ve tried staying up later (well, nine is like super late for me) but that hasn’t helped. On Sunday, I passed out at 6:30 in the evening (this may have been related to a chimichanga overdose) and I know for sure that going to bed that early isn’t helpful. I drink way too much coffee, that is a fact- but so would you if you were up at three every morning! Also, I don’t drink regular coffee. The coffee I drink is more like espresso, but in very big cups. Maybe I need to look at that.

Sigh. I don’t know. It’s one thing when I am working from home, and I can slip into a zombie-like stupor from about noon onward. But today I have to go and dress up like a professional, and haul my ass into the office for the day. They really don’t appreciate my incessant yawning and heavy sighing for hours on end. Also, they frown on me putting my head down on my desk for a little rest. Picky, picky.

On the positive side, I am getting a lot of writing done. Some of it is even coherent, with a bit of work. I’m certainly caught up on reading my fellow bloggers’ blogs. So I guess that’s a benefit.

This is so weird. Sleeping has never, ever been a problem for me you guys. My sleeping has, at times, been a problem for other people. Friends and family have often expressed frustration over my inability to make plans for anything after eight p.m. “Can’t you just make an exception, this once?” they ask. The answer is always no. On the rare occasions I try staying up later than I want to, I’m not what you might call fun. The only thing I am thinking about is how tired I am, and how pissed off I am that I am being kept away from my bed. This much has not changed.

But why oh WHY am I waking up so early? Dear God, any tips and tricks would be greatly appreciated. I guess I better go find a grown-up costume to put on now, and maybe brush my…stuff. May you all have a better day than I’m about to.

Most of the Time…

miss you

 

I am fine, most of the time.

And then, some days, like today, I miss you. I miss you being in the world, and I miss knowing you will be by, eventually, to check in on me. To check in with me. I miss the possibility of you. I miss that so much that it feels like the wind has been knocked out of me, and I want to double up and protect myself from the hurt, the physical pain of your absence.

I feel guilty for missing you so much. I have lost grandparents and friends, and I miss them all, of course I do. But this longing has legs, and it keeps creeping back up on me. You were…you were YOU. There is no one else that I looked at the way I looked at you, and I can’t help that. I’ve never known what to do with that information, not when you were alive, and even less now that you are gone. My love for you was almost embarrassing while you were here, and it is inescapable now that you’ve died. I keep bumping up against the truth of it, the way my heart won’t allow me to deny it, not to myself, not now. You may be somewhere else, but this weird relationship lives on. Not that it feels unusual for me to be in it alone- I spent a lot of time this way. But you always showed back up, always. Not this time.

What can I say? That you never had any business messing with me? I was so young, and you should have known better? Yeah, it’s true, but…I’m so glad you did. Should I say that I am sorry that I loved you, and I feel so bad for the hurt my loving you caused? I am. I’m sorry for the hurt I caused, but I’m not sorry that I loved you. I will never be sorry for that. I have so many regrets about my life, but that has never been one of them. I have loved others after you, and I will probably love others still…but I know that I will never love anyone the way I did you. You only get one love like that.  And besides, I will never be a nineteen year old girl again, able to love with reckless abandon, able to invest so much time in her devotion. I wouldn’t want to.

All these memories I have…you were the only one who knew, besides me. The way we would laugh about the crazy, stupid things we did. I never thought when I was with you, I was never afraid. I just knew you’d keep me safe, and you did. Now I remember alone, and it’s all tinged with sadness. What fun are memories you can’t share with the person you made them with? It’s just me, crying like a dummy in her kitchen, running to change the song that popped up on shuffle because it hurts too much right now to hear it.

I’m sorry it’s over. I know your life was not what you imagined it would be, and I know it wasn’t how you wanted it, and I know you wanted to change. I’m sorry you didn’t get what you were after. I hope wherever you are, you are happy and peaceful, and with your mom and dad, your sister. I hope you hear me when I talk to you, and that you know that I pray for you every single day. I hope you don’t get annoyed when I am weepy, but it wouldn’t surprise me.

And I’m so glad I chased after you, the last time you visited, and demanded one more hug. I don’t know why I did, but I was just so happy to have seen you. It was a good hug, and the expression on your faced stayed with me- amused and maybe a little baffled, like you wondered why I still liked you so much, after all these years. The answer is easy…because you were you.

You were you, and tonight I really miss you.

6 Years Old

6

A few days ago, I received a notification that my blog has been around for 6 years! Oh my goodness, that really is hard to believe- I remember very clearly starting this blog, and what I thought I wanted to write about. Funny how that wound up working out- my writing had other plans, and took me in a very different direction.

Sometimes I want to go back and remove some of the posts I have shared. There are plenty where it is clear to me that I was not doing so well when I wrote them, and it causes me a bit of shame to read the words I wrote when I was not in my right mind. But I haven’t done it yet, and I don’t know if I will- that’s kind of what this blog is; a real life account of an addict, both using and clean. I can confirm that this is true with simple math- the blog is six years old, and I have two years, eight months, and one day clean. There were many small stretches of sobriety interspersed here with other stretches of not-so-much.

There were long periods of time when I didn’t write anything at all- maybe one or two disjointed posts over the stretch of many months. There were times when I promised to write again regularly, and meant it, only for life to show up and take me for a ride in a different direction. There were times when I thought about abandoning this particular project all together, but just…never got around to it. I’m glad I didn’t do that.

I was fooling around with the stats of this blog the other night, and there is a way to see how many other countries have viewed your blog. Let me tell you, in six years, I don’t think there is one country that hasn’t at least popped in. Countries I honestly didn’t know existed have viewed this blog! It blew my mind. There have been thousands and thousands of views, thousands of likes, and hundreds of comments. I mean, that is so freaking cool!

So, happy birthday to my blog, and thanks so much to all of you who take the time out of your lives to read my ramblings, who reach out to me and let me know you are really feeling what I do, and who make me feel like I have something to offer. This has been a wonderful part of my journey.

RLG Family 4

I am happy to report that I am not the same person who started this blog six years ago. I have been through so much, but I have learned from all of it, and I am in a much better place now than I have ever been before. My life is calm (for the most part), my recovery is solid, and my heart has more peace in it than it ever has before. I have learned that I do not have to be afraid of myself anymore- I have learned to trust myself to do the right thing. This is huge. There was a time when I feared that if no one else could save me, left to my own devices, I was as good as dead. I’m so glad to report that I was wrong. Somehow, and with some divine intervention, I’m sure, I became the hero of my own story.

Not only can I depend on myself, but other people can depend on me- my job knows I will show up. My kids know I will be there for them. My friends can call me, day or night. I might not pick up the phone every time, but I will definitely come through as soon as I can (hey, I’m not perfect, give me a break). My bills get paid, and the chores, eventually, get done. My dog gets walked, my cats get…whatever it is that cats need.

In short, my life has become a safe place to be, and it blows my mind every single time it sinks in. Like, whoa! How did I get here? It is truly staggering, the reality of how I turned this ship around. I am proud of it, sure, but more than that, I am deeply, profoundly grateful.

And I look forward to sharing it all with you, going forward. Thanks for hanging out!

 

Three Things 1/25

three fingers

It’s Thursday, and you must know by now what that means! I give myself 15 minutes to write about whatever it is I feel like writing about (not including the time I spend googling images to attach to this blog, or the time it takes to think up good tags!) Here are my 3 Things for today:

  1. I was just nominated for an award- The Blogger Appreciation Award, to be precise, by the nonalcoholic student blog, which I have tried and failed to link to here. I will have to get back to that, because, after all, I really only have 15 lousy minutes. I am so technologically challenged, it’s kind of amazing I can blog at all. Thank goodness WordPress makes it easy. Anyway, I am going to graciously fulfill the instructions for accepting this award later, but it feels awfully good to be appreciated. 🙂
  2. I have been writing my ass off- I am super excited to share with you that I have been chosen to contribute content to an upcoming recovery site, with regular contributions to their blog about parenting in recovery. Something I happen to know quite a bit about. So, while I may not have been quite as prolific here as I have been in previous weeks, I am indeed writing lots of stuff, and I will be posting links to their site and my writing as soon as it is up and running, next month. This is really thrilling for me, and I can’t tell you how much it means to me! Especially because I am down to like seven minutes now.
  3. And finally, I am going through some deep changes in my life lately, and I can’t help but think that the catalyst for this was me distancing myself from Facebook. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it’s true! Letting go of one thing has led to me letting go of several other things that were really weighing me down, and I feel better than I have in years. I think I may be kind of streamlining my life. I will be posting a blog that goes more in-depth about that very, very soon. So look for it!

That’s all the time I have today, kids! I hope to be catching up on some blog reading today, and I want all of you to know how much I enjoy the little glimpses I get into your lives. I hope I provide the same feeling for you. Have a beautiful day!

Down the Rabbit Hole I Fell…

rabbit hole
courtesy of pinterest

I woke up this morning in a fine mood- excited to be going to spend the day hiking with my older daughter, looking forward to doing something different and fun. Then I grabbed my phone off the charger, and was met with this all-too-familiar warning: “iphone storage is full-manage storage in settings.”

Well, shit. I would like to first say that I have just about had it with this stupid phone. I don’t know what is going on between my phone, my laptop, and my cloud. I don’t even think I really understand my cloud at all, to be honest. But with previous phones I’ve had, and previous laptops, you can upload all of your photos into your computer and move on with your life. I don’t know why, but my photos on my phone don’t want to go onto my computer. It’s a whole thing, and it pisses me off, and I just can’t deal with it.

Anyway, I knew I was going to want to take a lot of pictures today, and there is nothing worse than grabbing your phone to snap a shot and getting that stupid message about not having space on your phone. Ugh. So, I tried messing with my cloud. I tried figuring it out, tried seeing where the hell my pictures were going. I backed up my phone. I went through my phone and manually deleted about three hundred useless photos- horrible selfies, pictures of food, pictures that are already on Instagram. Then, I went into my Kindle and deleted books that I have already read. I went into my podcasts, and deleted downloaded episodes. I cleaned my phone. I deleted a couple of apps that I never use- literally, a couple. I use all of them, daily.

Then I went into my messenger app. This is when all the trouble began. Did you know that you could delete messages in there since forever? I apparently did not know that. I have messages dating all the way back to 2009, and to be honest with you, I wish I hadn’t gone into any of them. I am just sitting here feeling so many uncomfortable feelings right now, thinking about things I haven’t thought about in so long…

You know, my ex, he cheated on me. More than once. One of the things I did to figure out the truth was, I liked to reach out to the women he cheated with and try to befriend them, to get information out of them. I would find out all the awful things he said about me to them, and confirm that all of his lies to me were…well, lies. I would figure out a way to get them to divulge stark truths to me, and it was like a compulsion for me- I needed to know EVERYTHING. What did he say on this day, and where did he take you, and what did you do? I got screen shots of text messages, and full on letters back and forth. I had forgotten about so much of it, and it still really hurts.

I’m not mad at the women- not by a long shot. I am grateful that they shared what they knew with me, not that it wound up helping me very much in the long run. I continued to stay with him, for what reason, I couldn’t tell you. Maybe I have low self-esteem, maybe I needed to prove that I could, that I won, who knows what my reasoning was. I feel a lot of sympathy for that person that I was then- I know she was in a lot of pain, and I know she knew better on a certain level. Leaving was too hard at the time. What I know now is that staying was much more destructive than leaving would have been. I never forgave him, and you can’t make a relationship work when all you want to do is punish the other person. That isn’t even a relationship anymore. It’s something ugly and hard on everyone involved.

Seeing all of this now, it’s no wonder to me that I am hesitant as fuck to start dating again. It’s no wonder I would prefer not to be vulnerable, and just stay to myself. No big surprise that I have no interest in opening up to anyone, that I have real issues where love is concerned. I made some really bad choices, and now I am left with what I have- some serious baggage.

And here’s the funniest part of all- not ha-ha funny, but what the fuck is wrong with me funny…I can’t bring myself to delete the messages. I still want to have proof. Proof that I was right, proof that he lied, proof that love is a gamble I should not take again, maybe. I need to do it, I know. I need to get rid of it, because it’s over, and it’s in the past and it doesn’t even matter anymore. It shouldn’t even matter anymore.

But it does.

Anyway, I have enough room in my phone to take some pictures today. So I guess that’s good. 😦

 

The Cat Whisperer

You know…I never, ever wanted nor intended to be the cliched, weird “cat lady” on my street- or on any street for that matter. Bad enough that I didn’t get my original little black kitty fixed soon enough, and she jumped out the window the first night I lived in this house, showing up a week later pregnant, with a giant abscess on her hind end. Even worse, I didn’t get rid of her two kittens fast enough (both pure black, like their mama) and now they are my babies- so, for anyone keeping count, I now have three black cats, and a giant, goofy black Labrador Retriever named Lucy, for good measure. The baby cats, who aren’t babies anymore at all, are named Rose and Frankenstein, respectively.

But now it looks like I might have accidentally picked up another cat. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, but I do know it’s been hanging around outside, eating the food I leave for my original cat, who refuses to come inside, due to overcrowding. He- lets just call him ‘he’ for practical purposes- he finally came over to me last night, and let me pet him. I could tell that he belonged to someone at one time, because he is super tame and sweet, but very thin and nervous. So, I sat with him a while, and gave him lots of love and scratches on the butt. I felt pretty good about it.

Anyway, I went back inside, and that’s when the crying began. I mean, he sat there and cried and cried and cried until I finally opened the door. When I did, he darted inside, and now he refuses to leave. My other cats are very distressed, hissing and spitting and growling, but this cat gives no fucks at all. He’s like, I’m here, get used to it. I tried putting him back outside, but he is having none of that at all.

My older daughter Aisley calls me the Cat Whisperer, because cats love me. I think that’s a kind way of calling me a Cat Lady. Either way, it looks like I have a new cat. Dammit.