Sorry

I'm feeling sorry for myself.

I am. I know it's the nature of depression, to feel sorry for myself sometimes. Not all the time, not even most or much of the time...but sometimes. This is one of those times.

I wasn't. Feeling sorry for myself, I mean. I was, in fact, feeling rather good about things earlier today. I tried to help, and I hope succeeded in helping, a friend. I played with my son. Did some laundry and tidied the kitchen a bit. Made lunch.

And then?

I don't know.

Then I started feeling...low. Lonely. Feeling what's always there, just below the surface, waiting until I am unawares to bubble up and remind me that I'm not a happy person, however much I may be smiling lately.

Maybe it started with another blog I read, one that triggered memories of emotional and verbal abuse from my childhood...echoes of a cold, calculating voice telling me I'm not good enough, I'm boring and stupid and fat and weak and no one really wants me, they're just being nice, they're all out to use me and when I'm no longer useful they'll leave me alone again and...shut up, shut up, shut up...

Maybe it started when my son asked if we could order pizza - something he used to have once a week with his father before the divorce, on the one night a week I had a few hours to myself and as part of their special time together - and I had to tell him no, we can't afford it. He was philosophical about it...but it hurt me to tell him no to such a simple request.

Maybe it got worse when I finally admitted I needed a friend to talk to...and then realized there's no one I can (or want to) call. My mother is sick, and I really don't want to bother her. What about this friend? No - out of town for business, doesn't need me bringing her down and anyway, she's probably really busy. How about...? Nope - out of town guests in for the weekend, and two kids...really, she'd take the time but I won't ask. Or there's... No, wait, she hasn't been well, her mother's in and out of the hospital, her roof leaked during the floods last month, and she doesn't need my petty little foolishness added to all that. I could call... No, no I couldn't...because I don't want to trouble someone who's having issues of his own with what amounts to nothing more than memories and mood swings.

I came to the conclusion that I'm the one everyone else knows, KNOWS, they can call. Any time, for any reason, if they need me, they know without question they can call, and I'll answer. And if they need me to, I'll come over and be there for them. I have driven to New York on a moment's notice, because a friend called. I've dropped everything to smuggle a baby chicken into the hospital for a friend (funny story, that, and not at all as weird as it sounds). I've helped bury pets, talked a Vietnam veteran down from nightmares night after night, gotten money to stranded people, driven out to Las Vegas and back to get someone home, cooked and delivered meals to sick or hungry people, given money I couldn't spare to someone who had less, opened my home to someone who would otherwise be homeless, been available to help rescue battered women, ready to drive them to a shelter or a secret house, and always, always, I answer the phone and listen.

But when I think about the people I know and love...I can't think of anyone I want to bother with my irrational tears and feelings of worthlessness. It's not that they say "Don't call" Quite the opposite - they invite me to reach out.

I suck at reaching out. Sometimes, no matter how much I'm hurting, I can't tell anyone...I'm so used to carrying it within me, silent...but if only someone would notice, would ask, would tell me they KNOW something's wrong and then wait...sometimes then, I can find a way...

Sometimes, too, I feel like it's an intrusion on their lives, despite their words. It's so easy to SAY "If you need me, you can call any time." Much harder to understand what that means and maintain the sentiment. People have jobs. They have families and lives and things that have meaning to them...and really, I just don't figure I'm one of them. Well...not like that, anyway...not in a boring, needy, depressed now and always sort of way.

So I'm feeling sorry for myself, and lonely, and alone, and I can't do anything about it because I'm bound up in my own misery and trying very hard not to let it impact my son, and...sigh...

Sigh...

Necessary Roughness

I'm having an unpleasant day. I'd call it bad, but I can't stir myself to be that invested in it.

For some reason I have not yet quantified, I am not sleeping much or well...and for the last few nights, I have quietly wept myself to sleep. It's a nebulous thing, indefinable...a mid-grade unhappiness...combined with an overwhelming lonliness that's kept at bay during busy daylight hours, but late at night feels free to roam the gardens of my mind, planting the seeds of its strangler vine where it will...

Yesterday, my son got into an ant pile. He washed the ants off his feet with the hose and went back to playing, cool. Not cool were the pustulant welts on his feet this morning - The Boy is allergic to the bites, and one of them is swollen and oozing, black around the edges, and generally fairly horrible to look at. It'll heal...but it's nasty and painful and I hate that he has to suffer it.

I have a pulled muscle in my neck/shoulder/back/I may need an anatomy lesson to figure out that part, and it bothered me all night - every time I moved, it woke me, and I don't sleep very well as it is. I couldn't even tip my head back to rinse my hair in the shower yesterday, which made the job awkward. I have a tremendous lot of house cleaning to do, still, and it won't be easy when I keep getting checked up by "Ow, that motion hurts. Ow, reaching up or down like that is unpleasant. Ow, ow, ow..."

My son, for some unexplained reason, got out of his bed in the middle of the night, wandered into the living room, and fell asleep in the massive recliner that I loathe but sit in because I don't have a choice right now...and he wet himself during the night. I've cleaned it up as best I can, and I didn't yell at the little guy - how can I be mad at him when he tries so hard? I'm more concerned with what has him wandering about in the middle of the night.

One of the cats knocked over a 9/10 full large Coke from Burger King last night (yo, FTC, this is not an endorsement, it's a reference - I just want the reader to understand the size of the thing), splattering it all over the floor. I had a large, sticky mess to clean up when I got up this morning.

I'm not feeling mentally well. Lack of sleep, worry, stress, loneliness, plaguing dreams, the constant drag of cleaning a house that is too cluttered, needs painting and drywall patched and floors thoroughly swept and mopped and toys tidied away and furniture removed or moved and, and, and...it's wearing on me. Coupled with that is the constant fear that things will go wrong (don't ask me what things, I don't know what things...if I knew what things I could do something about the things, but I don't know what things so I'm lingering in thing purgatory).

I'd like to take The Boy to a movie, get out of the house, go do something fun...but I can't. I can't pay the phone bill right now (and if that gets turned off, so does the modem, which means good-bye Internet until I can pay to have it turned back on), let alone help support the Hollywood Entertainment Complex.

I'm feeling sorry for myself, and I don't like it. The depression is pecking away at me...

And...like the sun shining through the grey and gloom...

He calls.

For no other reason than He feels like it. Right in that moment when I was typing about depression pecking...the phone rang and it was Him, and I could hear the smile in His voice when I answered, surprised - it's not His lunch time, and He doesn't usually call me during the day, anyway...except when he does it just to surprise me and make me smile. Just when I was thinking I could really use hearing His voice...

I didn't tell him I'm feeling rough today...if we only have a few moments to talk, I want to hear Him, hear His voice and His happiness and His plans...and my mental state bores me, and I can't imagine why anyone else would want to know about it, too.

So I had that minute or two...and believe it or not, that will help get me through the rest of what is looking like a very long, distressing day full of little trials, necessary roughness that every life contains but that makes the sweetness all the...sweeter.

Last night I woke from a dream
More real
Than the night-dark room around me
Lingering warmth
Reminded me
Where your hand rested
Phantom hand
And where you'd kissed
Phantom lips
And my own lips burned
With the memory of having tasted you
Of wanting more

Was it real?
Did we ever really touch?
Or did I dream it?

I woke to an emptiness
Not strictly physical
Returned to slumber
Where I could lose myself
In a dream more real
Than the night-dark room around me.

Stupid Misfiring Neurons

Have you ever wanted something? Wanted it more than you've ever wanted anything else? Ached to have it? Just about needed it to live? Yeah, me too.

Have you ever been so close to having what you wanted that you could taste it? Or brush it with your fingertips? But every time you get close...it's just a little out of reach? Yeah, me too.

Have you ever had a dream that seemed so real, it lingered after you woke, almost memory? Yeah, me too.

I love a man. He's a good man, easy to love. He loves me back. I am not a good woman, not easy to love...but he's managing it. Bless him. Sometimes I have to stop, close my eyes, and breathe, I'm so overwhelmed by the feelings he engenders in me. Sometimes I think of him and smile and feel like I'm floating...and then I look around to speak to him and he's not right there next to me and I crash back down.

Last night, I had a bad dream. He doesn't need to know about it. He has enough troubles of his own right now, he doesn't need my stupid misfiring neurons to burden him too. That's why I have this place, right? Sigh. He can't read it right now, anyway...one of his troubles, no Internet access. I am hoping he'll right that, for his sake and for the sakes of the other people who give a damn about him (I'm not the only one who loves him, whom he loves - he has a generous heart), but it'll be a while before he can.

So. Bad dream.

I dreamed he went away. Just up and left, off into the wilds of...I don't know where. He took his computer and his phone with him, but he didn't answer e-mails or calls. He just...forgot me. I didn't matter any more. In the dream it seemed I never mattered in the first place, and he was just tired of me so he decided not to bother any more. I was lost, confused, and deeply hurt...and I couldn't breathe, couldn't think...I was blinded by a sort of desperation to find him, to know he was alright, because within the dream itself, at first I didn't know he didn't want me any more, that I was annoying him with my persistence; all I knew was that he'd disappeared and I was frantic to find him and couldn't.

After searching for a little while I realized he just didn't want me, and my heart shattered. I woke up.

That dream has lingered. All morning, it has haunted me, teasing the edges of my mind. I know it's just a dream. My admittedly limited rational self knows it was a dream. But my emotional self? Yeah...that part of me is convinced it was real and he's going to stop calling and stop answering and leave me empty and alone...

Sigh.

You'd never know that a few months ago, before I met him, I had made up my mind I would just be alone for the rest of my life and be OK with that - that I figured I'd be better off...everyone would be better off...

Stupid misfiring neurons...why can't I dream the winning lottery numbers??

Just Click Your Heels

It's all fun and games until it isn't.

I was playing a game, passing some time, trying to convince myself that I didn't really need to eat one of the brownies I just baked - don't ask me why I'd bake brownies and not eat them, I'm a girl and we're not logical.

Anyway, I was done with one section of the game and clicked a button to return to another section, and the game asked "Do you want to go home?"

Oh...oh, yes please.

Home isn't a place, really. Or...it is a place, but outside of the space we perceive as space. It's a place within ourselves, I think. A sense of belonging. A sense of being in the right place...the right place in space, and time and our lives, of life, in general, being right as it is in the moment, through a succession of moments...a sense of completion...

You know what? It's damnably difficult to nail down.

But I know I'm not there...yet.

Yet.

I will be. Home. I will be home.

Poor Eponine...

...sometimes, I know just how she feels.

Worth

When you cry, do your tears make your face itch? Or is that just one more way I'm weird?

I have cried a lot in the last few days.

I'm tired. I'm lonely. I am hurting. I am scared.

My head won't leave me alone.

Now it's telling me that dreams are futile...that no matter how much I hope, no matter how much I want to believe that maybe I have value...it's an illusion, a delusion.

My head is telling me I'm worthless, and the sooner I accept that, the better.

It doesn't help that I can't seem to make anything of myself...can't sell my art, or my words, can't even really sell my music...can't hold a job like productive people do...can't do anything but take up space.

I remind myself that I cannot expect anyone to value me when I don't value myself...

Yeah, I'll let you know how that works out.

Have you ever felt weak? Physically, emotionally?

I feel weak. I want to curl up on my bed, under the covers, and cry. I've been working all day, and since mid-morning I've wanted to leave my work undone and hide in my room.

I feel shaky and unwell.

I feel very alone, and empty.

I wish I had someone to put an arm around me, pull me close, and comfort me. A shoulder to cry into. I could use a good cry.

I miss something I've never had, and it sucks...and I have this fear that I never WILL have it, and that sucks, too.

Sometimes, I hate my emotional self.

I'm Feeling...

Lonely
Hurt
Angry
Frustrated
Tired
Worn
Frightened
Uncertain
Lost
Alone
Depressed
Adrift
Overwhelmed




Loved

So I Weep

I'm not feeling well.

I'm not sick, really, just not feeling...well.

Actually, that's not true.

I feel like crap.

I would usually rather burn my hair than admit that in public...or private. I usually grin and bear it. But I made this blog so I could bitch, moan, and complain at will.

I stopped taking my medication last October because we ran out of money...and then my husband lost his job and we had no insurance AND no money. They're not psych meds, so hush. They're for...never mind. If you know me, you know why I take them, and if you don't know...you may ask or wonder.

Anyway. Last week, my mother offered to fund a return to my MD and medication. Bless her.

Trouble is, restarting the meds means I get to feel like three kinds of Hell for a while, until I get used to them again. Yay.

I've had a headache since yesterday, bad enough it's made me cry a few times. I've been the only parent home with the boy all weekend. He is unrelenting in his boyishness, his energy, and I have tried very hard not to shed tears in his presence or to yell at him for being himself. I have succeeded, at the cost of a little more of my sanity. Sigh.

I'm exhausted, despite a decent night's sleep - and all I really wanted to do tonight was talk to Someone for a little while, crawl into my bed alone, and die until tomorrow, when I have to peel myself up and go get blood drawn for labs.

Sigh.

Denied.

The chat service we use to connect online is being mean to me, constantly dropping me out of chat. Someone keeps disappearing, and I don't know if it's the chat or because he's also busy tinkering with a new gadget, or may have fallen asleep - it's getting late, he works long hours and has to be up early in the morning. I could call...but his phone is off because it was misbehaving, and anyway I don't like to call after a certain time in case he's sleeping.

Sigh, again.

And my head still hurts.

I'm frustrated, and lonely, and could really use hearing Someone's voice, and I'm whining and ill...and so...I weep.

I am going to go bury my head in my pillow and hope the phone rings soon...

Staccato Dreaming

Went to sleep: 3 AM

Woke up: 4 AM, 6 AM, 7 AM, 8:30 AM, 9 AM

Got up: 10 AM

Figure half an hour to get back to sleep every time I woke up, sometimes a little more.

In those brief moments of dipping into Morpheus' realm, he and I danced frantic steps, a tarantella of images, sounds, impressions, whirling past my mind's eye, dizzying.

Morpheus, by the way, tends to step on your toes when he's dancing with you. But he has a nice smile and laughs freely, and he's always sorry after, if he bruised your piggies.

I dreamed of fire. Of looking at a map on the computer, some sort of satellite image, and seeing fires raging from Texas up to Canada and East to Alabama. Walls, curtains of flames flickering, eerily still and silent, not marching onward but just...there. They could not be extinguished, and I remember remarking that someone set the Salamander loose.


I dreamed of wind, sweeping across the continents, a wall of air scrubbing the land clean. Trees bowed, bent, or broke. Houses lost roofs, people were flung about like rag dolls. It was relentless, a sound that accompanied day, night, thought, constant, notable only in its rare absence. The Sylphs were on the march.

I dreamed of a flood, flowing forth from a bathroom sink, filing the house I was in, flowing outward into the neighborhood that looked alien in the dream but was, I knew, a place I'd lived before. The water filled every hollow, every declivity, rolled and rippled onward until it built itself into a tremendous wave...the Undine making her presence felt.

I dreamed of trembling earth, of mountains tumbling down, landing in scattered piles of stone, dirt, debris. Trees toppled, and houses and buildings, and no one could take a steady step - walking required loose hips, loose backs, or the ability to float above it all. The surface cracked, and out poured gas, fire, heat, and a sort of howling, creaking, shrieking noise, as if the planet was being rent to her core...and the Gnomes were tunneling, tunneling, tunneling...

I dreamed of a space shuttle going up, up, up... I was there, outside the shuttle, perhaps a cloud or the wind itself, watching the fragile roaring tube force itself through the air and into the cold dark. At the same time, I was a person on the ground, in a tall building. I was trying to find all my possessions in a room and pack them up, carry them downstairs. As I worked, I was reassuring someone else in the room that the shuttle was fine, that now was ignition, and now it was climbing, and now the main fuel tanks were done and shed, step by step telling the other person what was happening and that everything was fine.

I was carrying boxes down the stairs, wondering when I got all this stuff in my short stay, and a little grumbly because someone was supposed to be helping me but he (don't ask me who - in this dream, everyone was "someone", indistinct, amorphous) was too busy doing...I don't know what, but it wasn't helping. I had to be certain I got everything out. I don't know why, only that it was urgent.

All of these things I dreamed in minutes, snatches, fragments, staccato dreaming coming in fits and starts as I tried (without trying, because making an actual effort to sleep rather defeats the purpose) to sleep.

I wonder what I will dream tonight??

The Empty Room

Gods cursed little voice, nattering away at me - if I didn't know better, I would claw at my own head to dig it out, make it stop. I can understand trephaning, really - perhaps those ancients who practiced it had evil little voices, too, hurling nasty, hurtful things at them from within their own skulls until they couldn't bear it any more and had to relieve the pressure any way they could.
~~~~~

Hello?

Hello??

Nothing...an echo in the dark.

Hello?

Echoes.

I'm in an empty room, and I'm echoing.

There was someone here not long ago, and the room was full to overflowing.

Now? Now, it's empty.

There was a need greater than mine, and the presence left to answer it.

There is always a need greater than mine. Always has been. Always will be. I've gotten rather used to it, had many years to grow used to it, to that other need that is louder, more insistent, pulls stronger. Story of my life. Sigh.

Hello?

Nope. Still alone in here.

Rather used to sitting in the dark, listening to the rustling remnants of conversation, of motion and light, things that shattered, scattered, fell to dust when the room emptied of everyone but me.

I can't leave.

And anyway, where would I go?

Hello?

Nothing...

Just an empty room.

I Endure

It seems I am prolific, of late.

Especially in the later hours (although THIS hour is not so very late compared to some I have kept), I seem to write for this place. Especially of late, when I am happier, lighter of spirit, than is my wont.

Why is that?

I am in love with Someone, who loves me back. Sweetness, that. This loving has wrapped itself around me, infused me with a sort of happiness I have never known. When I think about Someone (a few hundred times a minute), I smile...and everyone who knows me, who has known me, remarks on how I've changed, how I shine. The dark one shines. Armageddon can't be far behind.

When a friend asked me today, if my feet were touching the ground yet, I laughed...and winced. I told her I was still very much in love (I am...oh yes, I am)...but I don't know how to maintain happy. I've had 31 years of misery...I know how to live in, around, and with that. Happy? Not so much. I don't know how to simply be happy - my mind will constantly manufacture fears, doubts, questions. It wears me down.

Despite that, I endure.

For once, I am choosing to trust in the feeling, to ignore the angry, hurt, spiteful voices in my head. It's a struggle, though, especially late at night when I'm alone. Late at night, when the house is quiet, the boy is sleeping, the phone is charging in it's cradle, and there's no one but a feline or three to talk to...then I begin to wonder...do I really know how to love someone? Do I have a right to try? To ask a person to love such a deeply flawed person...can I do that? I don't know that I am worth it.

It hurts, to doubt...but I endure.

I wondered, one night, if I should stop answering the phone...stop answering the e-mails...fade away. I wondered if Someone would be better off without me distracting him...tugging at him...dividing his attention between me and his life, the life he's living so far away. I don't doubt he'd be hurt, maybe angry...but it would fade with time. I'm not saying I want that...far from it...but if my presence in his world causes uncertainty or difficulty, shouldn't I withdraw? Before we met, he had dreams, plans...what right have I to hope I may become part of that? What right have I to imagine he may change them even a little to include me? I should bow out now, I thought, before this goes too far and one day he realizes he made a mistake. Just the thought hurt enough to bring tears to my eyes - I would be miserable.

I would endure, though.

I wondered if this will last...this feeling, this loving, will it last? What if it's fading and he doesn't want to tell me? What if he's realized what it means, to be woven into this chaotic pattern that is the tapestry of my life? What if he comes to regret...?

Almost beyond bearing...but I'd endure.

That's what I do, I endure. I slog on through the muck and mire, because there's nothing else to be done.

Trouble is - this love thing? There's no muck. No mire. It's beautiful. It's astonishing. It's overwhelming. And it's not something to be endured - it should be celebrated, reveled in.

It hurts, I won't lie - he IS far away, far enough that actually being in the same space at the same time is impossible on any sort of regular basis. He has a job, a life...and, while I am not employed in any traditional sense, I DO have a life, a son that I have to consider. I can't go haring off to...Somewhere...just because I feel as if half my spirit is there. It's frustrating.

But I endure...I tell the doubts, the questions, the fears and frustrations to go away...or natter on, but I won't alter my course. He mentioned how long it would be before we could meet again...and I sighed and admitted I hated to wait so long but if it must be borne...I will endure. At least I have the hope that, at the end of THIS endurance...there is something worth the ache, the pangs, the enduring...

Boundaries

Earlier this evening, when I was hanging about with a friend and our children were tumbling about her house like two Tasmanian Devils on a serious sugar high, I chanced to mention respecting boundaries, respecting the needs of others, sometimes ahead of my own. We had a rather lengthy discourse about this, which led me to some thoughts. I'm sharing them here, because the thought chain started out fine but didn't end well.

Warning - it's long and it rambles.

Let's talk boundaries, shall we?

I know when my friend M is at work, and when she's home, and what time she tries to take a nap because raising two kids is not so easy, even when your husband is freakin' amazing. So...I don't call her until I am fairly sure she's awake and can talk. Sometimes it's hard to wait, especially when I need a friend, but I respect her need for rest, for family time. It's not a huge boundary, but it's there.

I don't give out people's phone numbers or e-mail addresses without their express permission. That's a huge boundary, to me, and one I respect mightily.

I know that my mother doesn't like it when someone messes with the temperature or radio settings in her vehicle, and I don't do it unless I have permission - won't even ask unless I'm desperate. Her vehicle, her boundaries.

My friends know that there is no time I won't answer the phone if they call - any time, day or night, if they need me, I am here for them. If I don't answer right away, it's because I didn't hear the phone ring and I WILL call them back. No boundary, there...cross at will.

I have learned Someone's daily schedule fairly well...enough to know when he's working, when at lunch, when driving home, when napping, when likely writing, gardening, or on the phone with another Friend. I don't call during those times because, however much I may miss him, want to hear his voice, be lonely or hurting...those are boundaries I won't cross. I wait my turn, and that's fine. There's a pattern to his day and he works me into it when he can.

I don't like people touching my computer. On rare occasions, I will permit its use...to special people...but it's unusual. That's one of my boundaries. I can't begin to tell you how it irritates me to find someone has been using my machine without permission, especially when I can see they've been digging through my files. Yes, they're public, no I don't password them - it's my machine, I shouldn't have to do that, and if someone is uncouth enough to root through my files and they find something they don't like, well...too damn bad for them. They chose to cross that line.

Another is that it's not OK to give out my contact information, real name, or any other identifying information to anyone else. Not even my own mother. If I want someone to be able to find me, I will give them that info. If you have it and they want it...YOU contact me and ask me to tell them. I don't like strangers calling, writing, e-mailing me...unless I gave them permission. I am mildly paranoid...work with me here.

This blog is a place for me to dump my heart and mind, to empty them of darkness and evil, to put the things I can't or won't internalize, remain silent about. It's a nasty little sanctuary for my darkest thoughts. For the most part, the people who read this were invited here. I didn't think I'd need to password protect it - it's not linked to my mundane life or other blog in any way, there's nothing to connect it with the rest of my life. I have generally asked, when I've told people about this place, that they not pass it on to anyone. I've made exceptions, when merited. I've requested that it not be linked to me in any way. I have mentioned that there are certain people I don't want reading it unless they happen upon it entirely by accident - mostly because I just don't think they ever will, and if they do? They likely won't recognize my writing here, or themselves should I mention them.

I don't write about physical characteristics or identify people by more than an initial...sometimes not even that (in the case of Someone, whose privacy I certainly won't fracture).

I try to be as untraceable as something slightly more than ordinary care can make me.

I try to write more about my own internal process and less about others. Sometimes I need to vent about how another's actions (or lack thereof) have angered or hurt me, and I will. It's a way to process without hurting anyone else.

Someone (not THE Someone...just someone) didn't respect the boundaries. Some person thought it would be a good idea to post a link and some text from this blog on another blog. It was hurtful and mean...nay...cruel...to do so. I wondered if one of my friends would have done it. Perhaps they meant well. Then I realized...no...I hold my friends in higher esteem than to believe they would anonymously do something that harmful. They would write their own words, sign their own names, would not hide behind MY words or do something to threaten MY well being or the other blogger's. They would respect the boundaries, defined and implied.

Because of that kind soul, I now must make a choice. Their action happened weeks ago, but I'm only getting around to considering my options. I could drop this blog, kill it and create a new one (or not)., but I LIKE this blog, its content, its design, its general spirit. Another blog won't have those things - it will be its own entity.

I could password protect it, make it invitation only. I don't know how useful that would be, and despite my attempts at a modicum of privacy, I don't like the idea of being exclusive. Also, I did want to show people - invited or random searchers - that horrible thoughts don't make a horrible person, and it's OK to make a place to put those thoughts so they don't fester. I wanted a place to be honest, especially when that honesty is dark, depressing, angry...any of the negative emotions.

I could filter what I write, cater to the people I know are reading, start writing fluff and be dishonest...but why bother??

I could just soldier on, trusting that the person to whom I was linked will keep his word and not read here any more...although he HAS, since saying he wouldn't...and that makes it awkward, knowing that he's still exposing himself to the things I don't want him to have to see.

Still...I prefer to keep up with this blog, keep my dumping ground as it is.

I don't know who crossed the line, or why. I'm not angry with them...with you...for doing it. I'm hurt that you would be so careless of me, of the other party, of common courtesy. I wonder why you didn't first ask if I would mind, or if you acted knowing I wouldn't like it. Perhaps you thought I needed help, that you were doing me a favor.

Whatever the reason...I'm asking nicely...don't do it again. I haven't traced your IP (easily done) or made anything more than a minor effort to suss you out. I am choosing to believe that your action was on of misguided good intentions...that perhaps you acted out of love or concern for my well being. Please don't cross that line again.

Respect the boundaries, people - I don't think it's too much to ask...

I Don't Go

This was rattling around my head, wouldn't let me sleep. I figured I'd plant it in the Lament and let it grow here instead of in my cerebellum.
~~~~~

I don't go where I'm not wanted.
Once upon a time, maybe
Maybe I would
Sneak in
Past the guardians at the gate
Sit in a quiet corner
Wait
Hope
Maybe this time
They'll want...
Me

I don't go where I'm not wanted
Not any more
Not today
It just isn't worth it
Was never worth it
To sit in a quiet corner
Wait
Hope
Maybe this time
They'll want...
Me

I don't go where I'm not wanted
Not even when
I'd very much like to
Not even when
I think it would be good
To sit in a quiet corner
Wait
Hope
Maybe this time
They'll want...
Me

I don't go where I'm not wanted
Sometimes...I don't go anywhere at all.

Mixed Messages

"I love you... just wanted you to know...I'll always love you...I said I was going to tell you that so you wouldn't forget... to remind you...until you tell me to stop..."

Ten minutes later, he's out the door, heading for his girlfriend's place. Oh, wait...she's not a girlfriend, just a girl who's a friend...whose bed he sleeps in...but they're not having sex...even though he asked me to buy him some condoms...

Umm...

THAT'S not a mixed message, is it?

For the record...I don't mind that he has a girlfriend. When we were still married, I TOLD him to find a girlfriend, that it was fine with me - he could even bring her home if she would do chores. I wouldn't have minded if he had sex with another woman, or man, as long as he was honest and up front about it.

I DO mind that he made me feel like shit for asking if he could watch the boy Wednesday night because he mumbled something about having plans...after he had clearly told me a few minutes before that he would be home all week.

Again...not like that's a mixed message or anything.

I mind that he said he would watch the boy tomorrow so I could run some errands for someone else, a few hours out of the day, that's all, of being a parent...and now he says I should call him when I'm headed out (ostensibly with Bird in tow) if I haven't heard from him before then.

Not mixed, at all.

Is it too much to ask that someone honor their word? If you tell me you'll be here...then bloody be here! If you say you're going to call...then bloody call!! Don't leave me hanging here, dangling in the wind, wondering what the Hell happened...

I know I'm no lady...but still...you should never keep a lady waiting...even if she DOES mean less to you than the computer, the TV, or whatever has you so frikkin' distracted you don't hear your own words, let alone her...and of you're going to be that way, can you really wonder if she thinks maybe you don't love her, after all?? Not like she's getting mixed messages...

Solas

I've been listening to this band's album The Edge of Silence for a few years, now...and I love their sound. I thought this song appropriate, considering my rather less than chipper mood, of late. I like to turn it up, sing along, and (as long as no one's watching) dance to it. Yeah, we all know I'm an odd one. Cheers, y'all!

Not Asleep

Sigh.

I thought if I wrote about the eclipse and some of my thinking afterwards, I could maybe go to bed, get some sleep.

Want to make the gods laugh? Tell them your plans.

No sleep. Not yet.

A hot shower didn't help. That voice was nagging me. About saying "fuck", and being lonely, and how it's my own damn fault.

Hey, voice? Guess what? It isn't. Not entirely.

You see, I would have been lonely anyway. I was lonely when I still thought my husband and me had a chance. I was lonely because he was more interested in the computer than his wife. More interested in the television. More interested in the stereo, the iPod, the cell phone, the video games, the latest gadget or gizmo.

I was lonely back when I went to bed alone more nights than not (despite my best efforts), and cried myself to sleep I hurt so much inside. I was lonely when I had to squeeze a pillow tight because it and the cats were the only sympathetic things in the room. I was lonely when I would have given anything for my husband to touch me, just touch me, instead of sitting at the computer surfing the net for one more political post, one more opinion, one more...I don't know what...

I was lonely when I would (rarely) get sick, and hope for some sympathy but instead received a litany of why he was sicker, why he hurt more...and never, not once, did he just hold me, offer comfort.

At least this sense of loneliness and loss has more to do with distance and the foreignness of loving someone and feeling loved in return than with being in a house with someone who says they love you but doesn't notice your sorrow and pain...doesn't or won't.

Yeah, I'm lonely tonight...the kind of lonely that cuts deep and bleeds freely...but it's a bearable loneliness. It's one that can be remedied, that can be soothed by hope. And I would have been as alone with T in the house as ever I am when he's gone.

So shut up, stupid voice. Quit keeping me awake with doubt, hurt, fear, and recrimination - I know I'm doing the right thing.

Know how I know? Because I made this choice before I was graced with loving Someone. I was determined to end this marriage before I ever hoped and then knew Someone had feelings for me. I believed that I would end up alone with my son, walking my path on my own for the rest of my days, and I made my peace with that. No one wanted me before...I know how to live with that. I could live with it again...and even better than before, because now I know what folly it is to try and pretend that believing someone wants me is enough...and I won't be that cruel ever again. If I'd known then I was being cruel...well...things would have taken a different course. I'm not evil, stupid voice.

Sad, yes. Pathetic, probably. Miserable, often. Evil, never.

So yes, stupid voice, I am lonely and frightened by the prospect of being alone - but it won't make a difference.

Lonely can be gotten through, stupid voice, despite what you want me to believe. So piss off and let me sleep...please...

Eclipsed

Yes, part of this is posted elsewhere...but it took a turn, one that didn't belong in that other place. It belongs here, with the other dark things.
~~~~~
I was outside just now, enjoying the coolth (yes, that is too a word) and the waves of night song washing over me.

Somewhere in the world, people were watching as shadows played Hob with their day. Earth, Moon, and Sun bowed to their partners, bowed to their corners, began the dance of the Eclipse. Here, it was, it is, dark. Night is well fallen, well beyond evening and into darker time. Somewhere, though, it is day, if obscured.

I made a wish. Why not? New moon, eclipse, why not?

I wish that every man, woman, and child who lives in fear of another blow, in fear of abuse, neglect, or abandonment, knows peace.

I wish that every man, woman, and child who lives with hunger, homelessness, uncertainty, want, or need, knows peace.

I wish that every man, woman, and child who is waiting for the next gun, the next bomb, the next invasion or act of violence, knows peace.

Peace. I wish for peace.

It's my wish...I'll spend it how I like. Wishes aren't supposed to be realistic - they are supposed to reach beyond the bounds of reality and into that place called Hope, that soft place in the human Heart, the human Soul, where the last of Pandora's gifts shelters, waiting for us to notice her.

I wished, and I talked to a friend and watched the clouds disintegrating, dissolving into inky night and shining stars, one of them (the clouds, I mean) looking for all the world like a great, beautiful swan drifting serenely across the firmament, neck arched, staring down at my insignificance as it moved on...moved on...until there were stars and stars and stars above me and I could have fallen upward to swim among them, myself.

I thought about wishing for something I dearly wanted...something for myself...but...I didn't. Couldn't. Can't bear to think the wish will be denied. Can't bear to think that wishing for what I want...might mean someone else loses their dream, their hope, changes the course they want their life to take to satisfy my selfishness. Better not to wish at all than to cause harm to another...any other. I won't. I can do without...I've proven that. It's doing with that's the unknown, the mystery, the fearful thing. But fuck, I'm lonely. I feel like a cup that was, for the briefest time, filled...and now knows exactly how empty it can be.

The call ended too soon...but then, forever isn't long enough to hear that dear voice. I stayed for a few minutes with the night wrapped around me, a security blanket for the soul. I thought about the ground on which I am figuratively walking, how uncertain it is...how uncertain the future seems, just now. Like walking through a swamp, never knowing which step will fall on solid ground, which will land me up to my ass in muck. I felt lost, and awfully alone.

I wept, a little...gave in to what's been there for weeks, that lonely longing, the hurt that seems ever present, despite the love and kindness of others, of Someone...

I think I need a better cry, a real one, a snot-faced, body-shaking, gut-wrenching release, before the sun can shine fully on my spirit again. I need to give the shadows their due before they will move on. Only I can't seem to let go enough...and so I'm eclipsed by my own need, want, hope, fear, great shining shades mantling about me...obscuring the light I so crave...

Thought Prism

The day started with promise - the boy slept late, and so I slept late, a boon to a mother who was awake through the wee hours. We snuggled for brief while, his sweet head resting on my shoulder, his eyes inches from mine.

Once up, I made the bed - it's nice, having a made bed, and I didn't know I'd missed it until I started the habit again. I started some laundry, emptied the dishwasher and loaded it again, did a little cooking, went on with my day.

A good start.

The last few hours, though...I don't know.

I feel...distracted. Tugged this way and that. Fractured. I can't focus.

I tried writing a bit. No dice - the pieces of fiction I've been juggling for a long while now are slippery, words falling from my grasp and shattering on the keyboard. The non-fiction is just as elusive, nothing coming out right, all tangled up and out of order.

I have been pacing up and down the hall, up and down the stairs, into my room and out again. Folding and stowing laundry was automatic, a minor distraction from my distraction. I called a friend - no answer, no distraction there. Called another...ditto. Wrote some blog posts. Deleted them. Wrote some poetry. Deleted it.

As an aside - you know I think it's truly awful when I delete it, as I tend to save even the failures as object lessons.

I keep looking at blogs I've already read, hoping for something new to look at, something new to hold my attention, help pass the time. It's the weekend...slim pickin's in Blogopolis.

I am restless, but don't want to go anywhere. I start household chores and leave them half done as I gaze out the window at...nothing.

I am impatient. I snapped at the boy for acting like a boy. I apologized...then snapped again a few minutes later.

I dozed a little in the chair, only to start awake after a few moments. I thought I felt something, soft as a moth's wing, brush my temple, my forehead, my lips. Nothing was there. Just my imagination.

I stared at some dust motes dancing through a beam of sunlight, and rather than enchanted I felt...almost frantic.

I am worried. That's it. Worried. I don't know why, or about what...but it broke open and washed over me a few hours ago and now I can't shake it.

My minutes are hours, fractured by a prism into tiny segments...I am waiting for my scattered thoughts to coalesce...with no idea where it came from, all I can do is ride it out and hope that it's not connected to someone I love, that some unnamed catastrophe had struck family or friends and I know before being told.

I would very much like for it to pass...