Monday, February 28, 2011

THE END.

Well, my questions have been answered. The LOML is no more. I just learned from his girlfriend, yes, you heard it right -- live in girlfriend of the last five years -- that he's been living with another woman for years. Does it hurt? You betcha -- more than I care to write, even if I could manage to find the words about how much this bastard betrayed me, humiliated me, and lied to me...for years. I will say this - he was one damn good liar and I was one big fat fool.

A piece of me died last night when he finally confessed to me at gunpoint.

So, farewell blog. You served me well.

Friday, February 25, 2011

Who was he to you?

Dr. B said, "Don't think about who your father was, think about who he was in relation to you."

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

screwed in life...

and now, screwed in death by dear old dad.

I asked my sister today if she thought our father left any provisions for his first set of children in his will. It is a sore topic, not just for me. She made some clumsy vague excuses for him, saying she wasn't surprised that he didn't think of us. I told her I thought that was bullshit and of course, he remembered his children. If we are excluded from his will, it wasn't because he forgot we existed. It's not surprising that he remains a prick in his death but I had really hoped he wasn't. Maybe the will hasn't been distributed. Maybe there is something but we just haven't been told. My sister intimated, "yeah, right, when pigs fly..."

Money is always nice but acknowledging that we existed would be even nicer. My sister offered up the excuse that maybe his wife and their son somehow convinced him to erase any responsibility or love of those other children.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

It's the evening before a holiday and no one's home but me. I've spent my day working on web stuff, frustrating myself, trying not to eat my sorrows away. It's been difficult. My love is angry and I'm struggling to stay in communication with him because it depresses me. (Oh, he's not angry with me.) My cholesterol is too high and my vitamin D levels are too low.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Not your typical Valentine's dream

I had a valentine's dream last night but perhaps not what one would expect. I dreamed I was dreaming that a cushioned manilla envelope was delivered to me. I opened it and pulled out this long, very sharp sword with fresh blood dripping off the end and little bits of human flesh. As I held the handle of the sword, I had the vision of the sword being thrust into this person's back (a male) and being pulled back out again, killing the person. I felt the excrutiating pain as the sword was jabbed into the flesh and withdrawn. I dropped the sword. Later in my dream I was telling my love about this dream with the sword but he wasn't interested. I went and got the envelope and brought it to him and asked him take the sword out but he wouldn't. Again, I reached in and pulled the sword out to show him the fresh blood dripping off the end of it, but before I could I collapsed in horrific pain from feeling someone else getting a sword blade ripping through their flesh and piercing their heart.

And I dreamed this dream more than once in one of those many layered dreams.

weight woes

"O, woe is me, T'have seen what I have seen, see what I see!" - Ophelia.

Poor, poor, overweight me! I went to the doctor last Friday and she very seriously stated, "Just imagine carrying around a 50 pound sack of potatoes with you everywhere you go. It weighs on your joints." Yes, it does and it hurts them joints! I don't have 50 extra pounds but I got the point. I have gained 45 pounds since I was 30 -- that's above and beyond the normal weight gain that comes with age. Start with 25 pounds, she said.

Woe-is-me that seems rather daunting but I am taking it with the utmost seriousness. I don't want my joints to deteriorate under my poundage and end up needing joint replacement 5-10 years down the road.

I have seen and lived through too much. I don't need to protect myself anymore with layers of fat hiding my otherwise voluptuous curves. I keep telling myself this; maybe now I need to believe it. It is a challenge but one I'm up for.

Monday, February 14, 2011

It's a celebration I may soon want to forget

The party in memory of my father has the potential to rapidly evolve into a frenzied free-for-all of derisive commentary fueled by too much alcohol, too little sensitivity, and a household filled with self-inflated, pompous, know-it-all drunks. Just like daddy dearest, I fear. Of course, we will all love one another, because really we do. But the competition is fierce to be the funniest, loudest, wittiest, and, of course, smartest of everyone. There will be the outsiders who will look on and laugh until they realize how sad and painful it all really is. I must stay sober and not get engaged in the family rivalry.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Dr. B said...

Dr. B really pushed hard on me to remember more about what went wrong in my relationship with my father. I related to her the time my mother told me my father wasn't coming home. This was after a summer of being away from home and returning to learn of my father's departure.

"How did you feel when you found out he left?," Dr. B inquired. Relieved. Happy, not angry. I believe I may have smiled and my mother got angry. "This isn't really a laughing matter." I wasn't laughing though I kept my mouth shut. No kidding, but I was a huge sense of relief.

"Well let's go back to that dinner table discussion. Do you remember why you felt relieved?" Yes, because I didn't like him and I didn't want him near me. "Why didn't you like him?" Because he called me a whore and accused me of banging three guys when I was 13. "Is this the first time you remember being so angry with him?" No, I didn't like him before that. "Why?" I'm not sure. I didn't like the smell of him. He stunk like stale alcohol and garlic and just disgusting. Thinking about it makes me nauseous - I feel like puking. "When did he smell like this? All the time? Were you in a specific place where you noticed his odor?" Oh, I know what you're getting it. I don't know. I just don't know. I can't remember. I can't. "Okay, how are you feeling?" Just fine. No, I'm not. Oh my god, I'm detaching. I can feel myself leaving. Holy shit. "Okay, breathe. Let's get you grounded. Feet on the ground...find that spot in you that is comfortable or at least not hurting." I'm not hurting, I'm numb, I'm gone. "Okay, look around the room. It's Thursday, February 11th, 2011, you're here with me. Look around the room, see what catches your eyes. There's lots of colors and textures."

And on it went until I could calm down and get grounded again. My breath slowed down and I felt a very slow re-integration of myself begin to emerge.

Wednesday, February 09, 2011

and life goes on

And life goes on, even when your emotions teeter on the edge. Death - my mother, who is rapidly approaching the age of potential, is terrified of just that - dying. She's obsessing about the impending death of her husband. It's hard to tell whether it scares her or she's anxiously awaiting his demise. I think both. She doesn't want to go to my father's memorial service. She has no feelings or so she says.

"Do I have to say 'sorry for your loss'?" Well, it is the appropriate thing to say but you don't have to say anything. "Well, I don't feel sorry for their loss." Okay, then, say nothing. She's dreading going. I tell her that there will be no sorrowful displays of emotions, at least not while sobriety exists. But I suppose that won't be long.

So, I mope around feeling a little disoriented, a little more sadness, and quite a daunting dose of anger. I am trying to process but I just feel let down and yes, maybe I even feel abandoned again. It feels silly to write that but it's an issue that has taken seed and grown over many decades. Death doesn't kill the emotion.

It will be an interesting weekend - not one that I am particularly looking forward to but I will see some long, lost cousins and that I hope will be positive.

Saturday, February 05, 2011

no rest for the weary

It's 2:44 a.m. and my soul is steeped in anguish and torment. There is no peaceful rest happening in my bed tonight. I don't know what's happening but it sucks and I'm very tired.

Friday, February 04, 2011

Another Friday night

and I'm home alone. No drinks with the upstairs neighbor which in some respects is for the best because the alcohol, although it tastes yummy going down, invariably leaves me blue the next day. Not hung over just dull minded.

I ate a rice cake with salmon cream cheese and a dark chocolate bar for dinner. Can we say "fat" and "sugar" addictions?

I asked my love to stop by tonight so that we could discuss vacation together. I was so nervous that he would distract me from this conversation with sex that I had all these rehearsed responses packed up in my brain. But I didn't need them. He listened and fondled me and hugged me and seemed genuinely interested in the Honduras vacation idea. I hope he was sincere. I think so but time will tell if he chooses to respond or not.

I need a vacation...with or without him but my preference would be with him. It is always my preference but one which I rarely get.

Thursday, February 03, 2011

I AM an addict, am I?

Okay, this subject rears its ugly head again. A year or two ago I addressed this issue with myself - addiction. Don't know if I ever posted about it because it was, at that time, a very troubling topic for me to even admit to. So am I an addict or do I just have these obesessive habits which I use to deflect my feelings or not deal with stuff at all? Or is that part of being an addict? But I can stop, except for my sugar & fat addiction. Does it still count as an addiction if you can give up one bad habit (or addiction) only to switch to another ill-fated habit?

I'm going to look up the meaning of addiction in the online dictionary. Just one moment.

the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, as narcotics, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma
Geez, that's all I need -- one more thing in my life to cause severe trauma. No, I don't think I'm an addict. But wait. Does eating myself into poor health and low self-esteem count? If so, then YES I have a problem.

I have a couple of questions. Can you be addicted to lying or being perpetually late? Lying, I would think, goes hand in hand with an addiction. I ate bad foods and then I lie about it so no one will give me grief about it. Of course, I'm not fooling anyone, most especially myself. Just look at me or just look in the mirror. Instead you could avoid friends - more lying - I'm sick today; I have no money; I have too much work to do...the lies never end. And, of course, avoiding mirrors and wearing extra large clothing so nothing feels so tight helps.

This is not my first addiction; hopefully it will be my last and I will be able to disengage myself from this unhealthy habit of overeating sweets. Again, I conferred with Mr. Dictionary and a "habit" can be defined as an "addiction." Mine would be a BAD habit.

I'm still not perfect. Oh well.

maybe it's the winter blues

Maybe it is the winter blues. I surely feel in the dumps lately but it is that time of year when sunlight is scarce and I spend way too much time indoors. It's not that I couldn't go out but I just don't feel like it...not even to walk the dog.

I quietly cried in my car this morning on my way into work. Why? I'm not really sure but I chalked it to those darn blues. A few minutes later I blamed my newly found self. I don't have to deal with all the issues that continually bombarded me for decades. Oh, I still have plenty of issues but I can face them and address them while being totally present and conscious. It's certainly not the old me but it leaves space in me that needs to be filled. And quite honestly, I don't know how to fill that space or what to fill it with. It's a little frightening. I have ideas but I am frozen in stagnation. I have excuses but I don't buy them.

And I am very very tired. I just want to sleep and then sleep some more. Maybe it's a low grade depression caused by the winter blues. I keep going back there and I think it's a contributor but it's not the cause. The cause is my freedom. I am freer than I have ever been to take care of myself and do for myself and I don't know how to do it.

For example - we had an ice storm yesterday. I spent hours de-icing my daughter's car and chipping away at the ice around her car so she could get out. I didn't do mine and this morning in the bitter cold, I am outside with the ice scraper trying to dislodge two inches of ice from my windsheild -- with no gloves on. My neighbor scolded me when she came out, "you're not setting a good example for your children." She smiled. She's very good at taking care of herself.