Co-Dependent

Sometimes, I am just sad.  It does not mean I am unhappy about my life, it does not mean that
something terrible has happened or that I am suffering from major depression.  I am simply just sad.  After years of analyzing this and being sad about things that you are rightfully sad about, I can only see this sporadic sadness as a mini breakdown of my emotions.   Ninety-nine percent of the time I am positive about things in my life.   I know that the bills will eventually be taken care of.  I understand the little stress causing factors in my life and I acknowledge them and handle them.  Outwardly, it looks like I'm standing strong and facing the little obstacles and flavors life hands me.  Inwardly, I think things over.  I analyze and work through scenarios to find the best course of action.  I worry about things that haven't happened and I worry about things might happen.  I also self-berate and criticize my appearance, my conversations, my actions and my unanswered dreams.   Inside is where my weakness lives and demands to be released but that strong outer shell keeps it at bay.  
You can only be strong to a certain extent.  Those things you keep trapped inside need to be let out once in a while or it boils over and causes all sorts of havoc.  A counselor once told me that as I sat in her office sobbing about the thousands of thoughts and life factors that made me want to simply give up.  She told me I needed to let it out so I could stay strong.  Give myself a day to just be weak, the world would not end if I admitted that I cannot handle all that its handing me without freaking out a little.  
With that little tidbit of knowledge I know its okay on the mornings that I awaken less than thrilled about life.   Its my stress emotions slipping out and making a grand escape.  I am allowed to feel this way.   I do not have to stay strong every single day, every single minute.  I can show weakness once in a while and not feel guilty for needing someone to comfort me instead of the other way around. Its not selfish to want someone to give to me what I always give to them… a shoulder to cry on, an ear for me to vent to, a moment where someone is being thoughtful of my needs and desires without expecting anything in return.  
The problem is…  I am sad all by myself.  Things still need to be done, others still need to be cared for, and someone else is sad and needs comfort.  I feel melancholy by myself.  I shed a few tears when no one is watching, and I wage war deep inside.

Tomorrow…   tomorrow I will be strong again and no one will be the wiser.

They're Just Boys

I picked the boys up from the sitter, a wonderful girl who had nothing better to do over the summer so she happily agreed to watch over the kids for a mere four hours a day.  They usually had a good time while hanging out with Jenna, but even I knew it couldn't last.  Today,  Eldest was crying because they didn't go play in the creek; apparently this was most tragic thing that could happen to an eight year old.  He said I had gotten there too fast and needed to come back.   Eight year olds really don't have any concept of time or responsibilities of having a job.  He was less than understanding when I told  him I needed to return to work.
Youngest was angry because he got yelled at for being a hindrance while Jenna was trying to clean up the house. He wanted to go to the creek too and felt it was "stupid" to clean the house.   Jenna look relieved to see me there.
I understand. When they get an idea in their heads it's difficult to sway them from their goal,  they think they are invincible and pay no heed to warnings given to protect them from harm.  If you don't set boundaries they run rampant and they live in the moment, with no consideration for the consequences of their actions.   Every moment spent with them is a teaching moment and there are times you wonder if it is you teaching them or them teaching you.  They will test you, look for your weaknesses and they will exploit them at every chance.  
They are children, after all, and we are the adults who are secretly envious of their ability to throw caution to the wind.


Youngest is right.  Cleaning house is stupid.  

The Dream

There it was, hidden in an email from one of my very best friends. The one thing I had failed at that I regret  almost daily.
My friend was sharing news of the success of one of our former classmates but rather than make me excited, I was filled with a burning jealousy.  This former classmate, younger than me, had set out and achieved the dream that I was still just talking about achieving.
When it comes to reasons why I have not pursued this passion in my life, I have a million of them:  I am good enough , I have to live some life and get experience before I can sit down and write about it and my all time favorite…  I was too busy raising my son and paying the bills.
I'm now in my mid-forties.  I've written stories for newspapers and countless beginnings of stories that still swirl in my head.  I've had plenty of adventures and experiences to fill hundreds of pages, and my son is almost 20 years old and attending college in another state.   The excuses I can come up with today are just as implausible as the ones I've made my mantra.
This is my own fault.
Its time to stop reading the published works of others and feeling as if I can never write as well.
Its time to stop using work and family as an excuse for me not sitting down and pouring out the words that long to escape.
Its time to prioritize my duties, my hobbies and guilty pleasures.
Its okay to "ignore" everyone around me for a few hours each day and concentrate on my dream.

Its time for me to start writing

Figgy

Today I bought a package of  Mission figs.  I didn't even know if I liked figs, I just knew that my sweet tooth needed to be fed and it was a healthy choice.  

That's the thing about eating healthier, every purchase must be well planned out.  When you look at them though, they're not very appealing. That's another thing about healthy things... they are not always eye-pleasing.
Turns out, I like figs.  When I looked at the plump brown seed shaped fruit, I was hesitant to take that first bite. What if I found out I was allergic and had to be rushed to Urgent Care?  What if they made me sick to my stomach or caused hallucinations?  ( this is the way I freak out in my head ).  After I finished "rationalizing" in my head, I held my breath and sank my teeth in.

"Oh my gosh! Fig Newtons!"   The memory came hard and fast. Me, six years old, sitting in the kitchen of a farm house that had been in the family for generations.  Grandma pouring me a glass of milk and scooting the crinkling yellow package over to me and my brother. It was a time long before any other varieties of the Newton cookie was available;  no apple, no raspberry, no strawberry, no fat free.. just the plain old fig kind.    Ah, how I adored Fig Newtons!  It was the "fig" part I liked the best, sweet and just the tiny bit crunchy. I recalled trying to get all the cookie part off just so I could have that fig filling.

I'm not allergic, obviously. Figs are awesome!  

Placing the Blame

Dear Society,

                        I honestly want to lay all the blame on you for the battle I must face each day.  I want someone to blame… anyone to blame but the one who is truly responsible for this.  

You did exactly as I asked.  I wanted food, but not just any food.  I wanted something easy, something quick and something reasonable.  You granted me microwave meals, an array of fast-food restaurants, convenience store munchies, five-minute side dishes, mouth-watering desserts and a grand selection of carbonated beverages.  You gave my milk flavors, offered me sweet cream for my coffee, provided energy in a handy chocolate bar and took the pulp out of my orange juice.  It wasn’t enough, I wanted more.  I wanted comfort food as well.  You offered me fat and juicy cheeseburgers with crunchy bacon, crisp, salted French fries, and ice cream with a variety of yummy toppings.

                However, Society, in granting my requests, you were terribly quiet in your warnings. You did tell me, however, you didn’t shout it out like you did when you were informing me about all these things.  You didn’t post pretty pictures or hit me with subliminal messages in your advertising about the dangers I was facing by indulging in all these tasty foods.  So I didn’t pay attention.  I didn’t worry about the high calories, I blatantly ignored the sodium content and the fat and gave in to the addiction to these processed treats.  You weren’t very loud about telling me I wasn’t getting my daily recommended nutritional value in all the food groups, or that continually indulging would wreak havoc on my body. In all fairness, though, when I did hear you, I ignored it.   After all, everyone had cheeseburgers, pizza, sodas and other wonderful fried food goodness all the time.  I was going to buy it anyway because it was cheap and it curbed the hunger for the time. 

                Yes, I could blame you, Society.  That would be the easiest way to cope.  Blame you and demand the government step in and start doing something to change your ways, to stop you from giving me exactly what I demanded of you.  Or I could simply accept that I am responsible for myself.  You did not force me fill my cart with pre-processed goodies, chips and simple meals. You did not take me into the kitchen every time I was sad, lonely, or bored. No… that was me making that decision all along. 

                See, I like food.  It’s always been my comfort, and my downfall. Thankfully, Society, you know about people like me and you spin it both ways.  You cater to what I demand, even though it’s not good for me, and you offer me a way out, that’s harder and not near as comforting as a good piece of cheesecake drizzled with cherry sauce.  You now offer countless online sites to guide me in a quest to be healthier, to eat like I should be eating.   You label nutritional values ( and let’s face it, you always did ) and you are now making it easier to see those same values when I do go into a fast-food place.  Support groups are now plentiful and let’s be honest, those healthy foods may seem expensive, but they really aren’t when you realize you don’t eat near as much of them.  You are doing much better at educating me and leading me in the direction I need to follow.  It is a hard road to travel,  after living on the fast and easy for so long, and I admittedly stumble quite often.  This road is not lonely though, more and more are merging in and that makes it even better. 

                Society, I still blame you a little, but ultimately, I know this is up to me. 

Talking to Strangers

                I have a friend who is an introvert.  Let’s call her “Emma”.  I never saw this characteristic about  Emma until she pointed it out to me.  As an extrovert, I suppose I just chalked it up to her being shy since the day I met her in third grade.  I’m a mixed bag of introvert and extrovert with more of the extrovert that leads the way.  It made life as a single parent  challenging only in the aspect that my son was even more extroverted than I am.  We were constantly doing new things and venturing into unknown territories. There were times, I admit, that I counted on him to lead the way.  In his own right, he brought out more confidence in me than I realized was there because he forced me into situations in which I truly needed to lead the way. Emma, also a single parent, has two young children. One is very much like her, shy and cautious.  The other is outgoing and confident, very much an extrovert.  This provides a very challenging dilemma for Emma.  She wants to provide the best parenting for both her children and still must battle her own personal challenges of being an introvert.  It’s not an easy road for her and I applaud each effort she makes.   

                Emma and I keep in touch via e-mail and Facebook.  We’ve been friends forever and my moving eight hundred miles away was never going to change that.  I mentioned to her about people I have met in my day to day life and she came back and said,  “You sure talk to a lot of strangers.”    I thought about that statement, curious where she had gotten such an idea.  Apparently, in my correspondence, I’ve told her about chance meetings with people.  The guys I met at the laundry mat, the folks I conversed with at the grocery store and the list goes on.  Emma was right.  I talk to strangers.   That’s the thought that went through my head while standing in line at Wal-mart last night.   The line was long and not moving very fast so I struck up a conversation with the guys behind me.  Turns out they were from out of town and we ended up discussing the differences of living here verses where we were each originally from.  When I left the store I walked to my car, smiling at the door greeter and wishing them a goodnight as I left.  I was driving away and mentally calculating how many people I had struck up conversations with just that day that wasn’t related to me doing my job.    Yesterday I clocked in at five that I can think of right away.  

               For Emma… this is not normal behavior.  For me though, this seems to be just who I am.  

To be bullied

Bullying is watched so much more close now, people are aware of it because of the wonders of technology.  I never thought the things I went through was considered bullying, but it turns out that I am a bullying survivor.  Life has a way of putting things in perspective.   I went to preschool and things were good -  at four years old, we weren't thinking about styles, who our best friend was or what boy was the cutest.   Kindergarten went pretty much the same way, I had friends and I got to have a juice and cookie break.   First grade was when it occurred to me that maybe I wasn't quite the princess I had envisioned myself as being.   Natalie was.  She was beautiful with just a dash of freckles across her face and pretty blonde hair that swept to her shoulders.  Everybody liked Natalie and I found myself wanting to be her friend to.  I spent days gathering up the courage to say "hello", and I practiced it in front of the mirror over and over.  Only I thought her name was "Madeline" like the character in one of my favorite books.  It was an honest mistake that opened the door to a lifetime of silly little mistakes that were blown out of porportion.  Not only did Natalie laugh when I called her by the wrong name, she also got all her friends to laugh and make fun of me.  I was utterly humiliated.    I do believe it was at that point that I began to realize that some girls are princesses and some girls are mere servants.  I was of the latter.  A servent to the mightly dragon of jealousy.   I wanted to be beautiful and thin like Natalie and have all the kids want to be my friend.  I especially wanted Mike from town to like me so I spent my recess chasing him all over the playground so I could pin him down and kiss him.  In retrospect, I can see that was the wrong way to get his attention, but I really wanted him to like me.   
By the fourth grade, it was pretty much established that I was never going to be Natalie's friend.  It didn't matter at that point, I had a best friend, Becky J and we were like two peas in a pod.  We liked the same things, enjoyed the same subjects... if Becky J liked something I didn't, I tried it any way and vice versa. 
I moved away that summer and my new school was full of the same kind of girl Natalie was.  They were popular, pretty, thin and the boys really liked them.   I was the outsider - hair that was always unruly, rumpled hand-me-down clothing, a bit on the heavier side than my anoerexic peers.  I didn't fit in at all, but  I sure tried.   I wanted to be them...  I just didn't know how.    I have thousands of memories of bullying, taunting, and jeering... they probably never knew I went home feeling miserable and alone, in fact, they probably never once thought about any of those things once I had fled the scene in quiet desperation. 
Enter junior high -  the bullying continued, the jeering persisted and I learned quickly that I was but a shadow in the light of the beautiful girls.   Magazines were filled with girls who looked just like them and nothing like me.  I handled it okay those first years, but I was deteriorating.  I dreaded getting on that school bus, I detested gym class and the girls who insisted on reminding me that compared to them I was "fat"  ( I really wasn't,  just bigger than they were ),  I felt self-concious about everything and I was certain that every time I walked by a group of kids, they were surely saying something horrible about me.   Sometimes they would walk up to me in the hall just to say something hateful, and more times then I can count, they verbally attacked as a group. 
It steadily got worse through high school.  I dropped out of basketball because the girls on the team made me feel so clumsy and unwelcome,  I joined theater but always felt awkward and stupid on stage,  my home life was less than stellar and I thought many times of running away or simply just ending things because I was so miserable.   No one...  not even my family knew how close I was to the edge.  I had perfected the "I'm Okay" me on the home front.  I never told my parents how awful things were or why my grades kept slipping, they had more to worry about with my brother being very sick and their own marital difficulties.  My older brother never knew either.  How could I tell him that his own friends were two of the worst that would attack me and remind me daily how little I mattered?    Sometimes I wonder how I got through it, and then I remember those girls who were always there for me.  I didn't tell them what was going on, they witnessed a lot of it and they were sometimes victims themselves.   Lori and Pam and Bethany were the three who knew how unhappy I was because at one point, I cried nearly every day and they still didn't give up on me. Just being with them made it better though,  They were my friends through some of my darkest years...and they are still my friends to this day.
All it takes is one friend to make the difference on your life.  I was lucky to have three.  Bullying is a horrible attack on a person's feeling of self-worth.  People don't always think before they spout off a hateful comment, they don't see the effects.. the long lasting effects.    I read daily about the bullying that goes on in the schools and how people think the school can somehow be responsible for it.  Let me tell you, when you are being bullied, the last thing you want is more attention.  If you get one bully in trouble, there are five more in the background lying in wait to jump you and get even.  Kids keep it to themselves because they are scared.  The only thing you can do is teach your children to treat one another like they want to be treated...  press this issue with them, make your voice a reminder in their head each time they open their mouth to tease, taunt or terrorize someone who appears to be weaker than them.  Teach them to be a friend.

I am a bully survivor.