Patheticness

Yeah, I tried to calm down this weekend. Do the zen thing to get my stupid blood pressure down to acceptable limits. Didn’t work. I’m sitting here bawling like a newborn because I hate my life to extremes. I’m so tired of putting on the happy show; I can’t believe what a good actress I’ve become, and shame on these people for just wanting me to be better. Shame on me for keeping it all inside.

Shame on me for sitting here feeling sorry for myself when so many other people are in worse situations than me. I just can’t get over my own stupid life. I feel like I want to press the re-do button and try it again – just to hurry and get out of this shit mess. I’m so mentally and emotionally screwed that I’m making myself sick. So, maybe I will get out of this world faster than originally thought if I can’t let go. I can understand how people die of broken hearts now. My heart’s broken because I can’t even see my life anymore. I’ve lost my ability to trust anyone. Anything someone says, I just assume they are lying. I don’t know why they’d lie to me about stupid random things. But, there it is. The gorilla. Everyone lies about everything. I can’t let that go.

I’m 34 and wanted a family. I wanted the whole deal. So I’m not gonna get that. And thusly, I’m mourning that right now. So, yes, my bp will be high. This is right up there with major life changes. Having to rework all my thoughts and hopes and dreams since I was a child. Yeah, that’s a little bit stressful, so I’m working my way through the death of the life I had wanted. I have to accept the life I will now have – the whole being alone thing. It’s not an easy thing to accept.

Left alone

I have never felt as lonely as I do tonight. I don’t know why. But it’s like the night has closed in on me and I’m pushing back, but it’s of no use at this moment. The cold fingers of the dark have me all wrapped up in a cocoon of aloneness.

Maybe it’s because it’s not been sunny in over two months; or maybe it’s the howling wind and grey skies that promise despair and coldness to even the most happiest of souls. Miley Cyrus’s bouncy beats are even failing to move my lonely thoughts. I know I shouldn’t be so melodramatic about such things. This lonely thing needs to be conquered.

I have to accept that I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life; and it’s moments like this when I think like that when the thought overwhelms me and I do realize just how alone I am. It doesn’t matter how many friends one has if there is no one who is willing to partner up and help carry part of the responsibilities and worries and fears.

I had no clue what a massive thing that was until I had to do it all myself. I’ve cried more in fear of being alone for the rest of my life than I’ve ever cried before in my life. It’s a silly thing to be afraid of being alone. I can do what I want when I want; in fact, I really have little desire to be with someone lest they make me conform to their ideals and thoughts on life.

These horrid nasty little spidery alone thoughts only creep into my consciousness when I’m sick and my body is rebelling against me. There’s no one here to ask how I’m feeling. No one to bring me a glass of water if I’m coughing. No one to bitch that I sound like an elephant calling her young. It’s not really that romantic to be so solitary. The great poets and writers were unto themselves for the most part; and most died some horrific death or penniless.

I know why. They no longer cared about themselves. There really isn’t a reason to keep yourself in shape or in good health if there is no one else to think about. You become a selfish creature and do what you want. Why should I worry about adding years to my life when it’ll just be me? I won’t miss when Im gone, and I won’t have anything to live for. I get why married couples live longer.

So, the dread of the alone has me in its nasty, scary grip. I want someone to snuggle with when Im terrified of the world, or when the world has me beat down. A little island of refuge would be heaven, and yet, as realization settles upon me like the night, it will never happen.

Me. Alone. Get over it, self.

Floating

Floating in the ethereal world between reality and insanity is a tight spot to be in all the time. It’s always a hard landing when my balloon filled with unfulfilled dreams mixed with bits of broken heart and tossed with a heaping helping of distrust and self loathing. Whenever my precious little balloon, which does a suberb job of keeping me afloat is popped by some errant arrow of deceit or niceness or other worldly emotion, I come crashing down and land with a distinct thud on earth.

Earth is cold and unforgiving. At least in my space above the fray of life I don’t have to deal with the everyday mundane bits of life that are required to be a human. Walking on clouds of disbelief and numbness is a comforting place to be instead on this hard surface. I don’t have to face a variety of realities when I’m floating aimlessly in the clouds.

I don’t have to worry about losing my house every month in my fantasy world. In fact, I float around in a hammock so whenever I want to drift off to oblivion, I’m ready to roll. I don’t have balance my checkbook on the razor’s edge between skipping meals and turning off my internet every month. Buying a book or a new CD is strictly verboten now; purchasing my favorite soft drink – a yummy sweet, cold Coke requires a certain amount of scrounging around in my car for loose change. This sends me straight back to my safe zone as soon as the Coke hits my lips.

In addition, I don’t have to listen to my principal telling me he’s going to start writing me up if I miss any department meetings – even though I have yet to miss any meetings. So, I’m coaching a bunch of high school kids and extend my day at school to 7 p.m. everyday. I could lose my house and I’m dedicating 12 or more hours of my life Monday-Friday to a school system that wants to write me up for missing a 30 minute meeting two times a month. What the hell is that? When did sanity take a left turn and common sense stranded on the island with no way off except through the guts of sharks. Oh, this excludes the 14-hour Saturdays that start in April and last every weekend till June. Loyalty is not wanted here.

All this makes me wanna blow up my balloons and ascend to safety more than anything else. However, there was one bright spot this time on Earth. I found out my ex is about rack up 15K on credit cards for his whore to buy all NEW appliances for the house they are buying together. 15K – in this economy, and neither’s job is secure. I can’t help but to smile. Let the epic fail begin in earnest.

Okay, my balloon’s are all set, filled with essential necessities to keep me ethereally floating for another 30 days. I do pity the poor fellow who manages to totally suck all the air from my balloons (all black) and force me to earth for an extended period. I wouldn’t want to deal with my crankiness at being yanked from my self-induced exile and being forced to trust someone again.

first day of being old

i actually felt old today. All 34 years were hanging out. My legs didn't want to cooperate, my lungs were screaming, and my wrists asked me what the heck i was doing.

I didn't have an answer other than to say - this is what I do. I can still do to demonstrate - but I'm a clunky dinosaur, lumbering and slow. My kids are the young raptors. Agile and fast. They move like I used to. I move like my old coaches used to.

I feel creaky and hot and cold all at the same time. My smile is my defense, my brain is my offense.

UGH. I don't like being old.

Dear Diary,

hello again diary. life is still less than stellar, oh wait, it's down right dark at the moment.
my parents, wonderful insane people they are, offered a good part of their retirement to me to pay down the cost of the house so the payment isn't so high. Because, well, i can't afford it at the moment, while the ex is sportin' a $500 watch and a 70K salary now, and will likely be couch surfing by next Thanksgiving. That's going to be embarrassing, a homeless teacher. Woohoo. Luckily, i talked them out of it. I'll just skip meals to keep costs down.

It's Valentine's Day - no flowers, no bear. Nuthin. Sums it up nicely. Still not worth anything.

I'm also on railroad tracks again. Just hanging out, paintin' some graffiti on a nearby train. I thought I was doing pretty well, but, i hear the next train coming. So, big decision - do I hang out and hope the train takes a different set of tracks or just wait to get splattered again. Do people even pay attention when they hear the train whistle? And worse, is the dude I've been hanging out with that naive to think that I'll hang around when the train does hit? I'll be splattered, but I'll be sure to be splattered alone.

I think I've ruined my wrists from all the stupid shoveling of the 4 feet of snow that's finally starting to melt.

So, yup. I'm waiting on good stuff to happen.

Snow Strength

Snomageddon, Snowapaloosa, Snowalots – it doesn’t matter what the name is given the insane 3 feet of snow that currently covers my lawn like a hungry lion on the rump of a zebra. I’ve been shoveling since Friday – almost all night, and I hate it.

Of course muscles that have been dormant for months, some possibly years, have sprung to life in a variety of flaming pain induced spasms. And, the Superbowl is on Sunday, and I have no tv. This will be the first time I’ve ever missed a superbowl. That’s sad, too. But, at least I won’t be alone in not seeing the big game that might be even more sad.

For the past year, I’ve been mopey about how I need a guy in my life. Now Im starting to rethink the whole man thing. Battling three feet of snow has shown me that I really don’t need a male. In fact, I was just thinking the other day about how it’d be nice to have someone sleep over – then it hit me. No it wouldn’t. I couldn’t just be me. I’d have to be a version of me for this other person. I like the version I am, and don’t want to have to change it for another person.

I don’t want to have to worry about food anymore. No longer do I have to listen to a grown man whine like a two-year old about how hungry he is or what’s for dinner, or hurry we have to eat. It’s nice to just eat when I’m hungry and if all I eat is cottage cheese, then, yay for me.

So, surviving the snow has taught me something. Not that it’s over by a long shot. It’s still hovering like a perv outside an elementary school; but I don’t have to be afraid. I’m strong enough to overcome it on my own. I don’t need someone else to do things for me. I’m tougher than I realized – which is way cool.

But, too bad for the guys, cuz, I don’t need ya anymore. And now, you’ve missed out on me. Too bad for you, I’m a cool person.

Snow bites

Hell isn't hot. it's cold. really cold. No love in hell. It's full of snow. A constant stream of white particles slamming on your head with the velocity that an F4 would crave.

The white shit would fill your ears making hearing impossible, it would filter into your nose and mouth, strangling and choking the life from you, and then into your lungs clogging any chance you might ever have of breathing without pain. Wait, there's more.

Not only does hell have a perpetual supply of white shit, it's atmosphere is maintained by several industrial strength air conditioners that, because Satan built them, can supercool the air to about 15 degrees. Not zero, because then you could just stand still and freeze and not have to endure the torture anymore. Nope, just warm enough that you can still feel all the glorious pain that the white shit has to offer.

But, just hanging out and living in the white shit isn't enough for good old Lucifer. He likes to punish his favorite sinners by making them touch and live and move the miles and miles of never-ending white shit falling from the all-grey sky. Hell has no colors, btw, just a variety of white and greys. He unceremoniously drops a wooden handled shovel into your numb hands and does his best evil laugh as he spins on a foot, his tail languishing behind him.

You know what you're supposed to do, because you can't stop yourself - he's Satan and all into mind control and junk. So you take the shovel and start trying to move the white shit from one area to another; and for a minute a brief flicker of hope because you can see the black looking surface under the white shit. You think, my gawd, there is hope for me; and then like a puff of smoke, the black is gone and replaced with a whole new slate of white shit.

Yes, I've found hell. and it's white, and cold, and purposeless, and truly I have stepped over the edge this time.

Why my phone doesn't ring.

have a phone. Not a big deal. Everyone has a phone. My phone is maroon, and a little grimy around the edges. I’ve had it for about three years, and it’s been invaluable in many cases. It can text, it can take pictures, it can play video, it can even log onto the internet.

And yet, my phone rests silently. I keep it in my pocket where it’s dormant. I keep it on vibrate, lest it ring or beep when I get a text and disturb someone near me. It is my connection to the outside world. I have no land line, I just have the grimy, make-up covered phone that rests in my pocket.

There is just one problem with my phone. It doesn’t ring. No one calls me. Well, my mother does, but she doesn’t count. I’m actually a little pathetic with the checking of the phone to see if anyone really does care about me. And, nope. Nothing awaits me when I open up my flip phone to check for messages.

At one point in time, someone did kinda like me enough to send me messages. But, since then I am not worthy of anyone thinking enough of me to call to make sure I’m ok or just to say hi. Some people have my number, but I guess I didn’t leave a big enough impression on them to warrant a “howyadoin?”

It makes me sad to think no one cares about me or even thinks enough about me to send me a text or call to say hi. My wonderful phone has turned into a daily reminder of how little I really matter in this world. It’s really a wretched moment when even technology tells you that you should give it up. You’re gonna be alone for the rest of your days because the rest of the world has figured out that you’re not worth their time.

Waiting, waiting, waiting

I’m tired of waiting on men.

That’s all it seems I’ve done for the past 18 years – and have had no luck with it. Men, traditionally, have complained about waiting on women – to do their hair, to get dressed, to cook dinner, to get the kids ready. But all these instances are trivial matters of time. What’s a few minutes here and there compared to a lifetime of waiting on the big stuff? Fixing my hair versus deciding whether or not I’m worth the effort to talk to – there is no comparison.

Women have to wait on men to be asked out, to be asked to be married, to give a reason as to why they disappeared for a day, to just talk to, to commit to and to be loved. It’s ridiculous. Life was created on earth faster than men move when it comes to important emotional issues.

Why is it so hard to just come out and say something? It’s so much easier to just say it then it is for me to sit and let my insanely creative mind decide your reasons before you can even think of something to say. I don’t dare ask why you were late, because I don’t want to hear the answer. I’ve heard the answer before and the first time it involved me learning I wasn’t good enough for someone who I should have never even looked at in the first place.

Please stop asking me to wait; to stop being patient. You break my heart each time you do. Just let me know, because it’s not known. I can’t read minds, and if I try my overactive mind will always go to the negative because that’s the only experience I’ve ever had and can relate to. I can guarantee I’m just waiting for you to tell me that you’re leaving; or worse, just expect you to not come back each time you disappear. It’s not a matter of trusting you. I do. More than I should because I’m the one who’s going to really lose my heart this time.

And this time, since it’s real, I don’t think I’ll survive – or that I would want to.

One Year Ago Today (Dec 27, 2009)

A year ago today my ex moved out. I've spent the past year on my own. Well, I say that, and it's not all true. It's a lot colder this year, because, well, it is winter. So, I am grateful for a mild winter last year. That would have killed me. And, now I know what can kill me and what I can live through.

Im not totally alone. My father lives with me to save money (a whole other story). So there is someone here on occasion; and I'm learning how to be alone and not be insane about it. That's the physical alone stuff. The emotional alone stuff is a little different. I'm not alone. There are so many friends I didn't realize I had before the whole divorce mess. They just didn't want to be around my ex spouse or my ex best friend. They like me on my own merits - which I find very comforting. I also have a bevy of online friends who have been my backbone for the last year, making sure I hit certain milestones, and goading me when I lapse. Some have been with me for almost two years; I'd be lost without them. If they weren't around, I'd know what real loss would feel like.

I still haven't gone to the dentist yet. I have a killer tooth, but I'm such a wuss about the dentist. And, my car is questionable so that's an unpleasant thought; and the house payment is threatening to suck me under and batter me to death on the clapboards of the poor house. I've painted my bedroom to get rid of all trace of the ex. I've rearranged my bedroom furniture and put up brand new pictures; the same thing happened for the office and spare bedroom. He's just about gone from the house.

His chair has become the property of my father and my cat. It's prime real estate in the living room because there is a daily fight for it. Often the cat wins with a resounding and hearty growl and spat, other times my father wins with a swat from a newspaper to the cat's retreating hind section. Most importantly - I now sit in the chair. It's mine.

I don't feel like Im being beaten and torn apart by a huge thunderous swell of ocean. I no longer even feel like Im fighting the waves or currents. It's really just a gentle, warm swell that sweeps through me every so often; a normal, or whatever normal is, movement of life and time directing my footsteps down the path I'm supposed to be on for the moment. I'm not alone on my journey. All I had to do was look up and glance around to see all the people who are accompanying me.

So, despite the foot of snow on the ground and the freezing cold temps outside - Im warmer on the inside this year. Last year, it was definitely the other way around - warm outside and cold interior. This is a better way to be.

Oh, and the dolphin pic to the left of the mirror is still crooked.
Dec 27, 2009

To my Ex:

I don't have much going on upstairs at the moment. I'm too tired to care that my ex and his whore bought their new house today (well, maybe since I wrote it). I hope his new life is a total and complete utter disaster. I hope he fails miserably at everything he does. I wish she were to stumble and cheat on him like he did me. I hope he is unable to have children. I wish his job would crumble out from beneath him and he'd face financial failure.

Well, I do. Bitter, still? More than likely.

Mostly though, I wish him a completely and absurdly boring life. Get those 2.5 kids tucked in safely behind that white picket fence. Never now what it's like to be alone and face the darkness with no one at your back. Escape the inevitable that you'll end up dying alone and being eaten by your cats. Be stuck in that giant rut with no ladder and no escape hatch. Trapped beyond having the ability to comprehend that life is fun, and you can sleep with whomever you want, whenever you want.

Hide your head from the possibility of being and achieving something was beyond your means and ability because you are comfortable and safe in your little world. Not know what it's like to let the rage escape and then drown it in a fireman's hose of alcohol. Wonderful sweet oblivion.

Avoid those dreams of being the person you should be because you're too scared to try it on your own. Continue to live your asshole existence without realizing that the world around you is more massive than you'll ever be able to comprehend. Think you're the center of the universe and that no one else but you exists; never mind the people around you that make your life worth living, but whom you fail to notice on a day-to-day basis.

I'll take my sword and face the darkness with a smile, because there is only one person I trust to have my back when it come times for the big fight - that'll be me.

Dear Diary,

Dear Diary:
Hi there. It's been about 20 years since I last wrote in ya. I remember the good ol' days of trying to decipher the looks that erstwhile young fellas would toss my way; or of the excitement of my first kiss. Shame on me for staying away for so long.

Now, I have no clue what to write in you. I could start with the deep and disastrous betrayal my husband committed as he stripped his love from me only to shower it upon my best friend. This all done in front of my eyes with no care for my feelings or life shown by either my spouse or friend.

Or, I could write about how I'm adjust to being alone for the first time in my life. How I bawled like a frightened child in a thunderstorm the first time I had to pay bills by myself. Or the first night I was alone in bed and I heard a strange scraping noise outside my bedroom window, and instead of being brave and checking out the noise, I cowered like a wounded animal on the floor by my bed.

Another thought could be describing to you how I turned to alcohol to erase all my pain. It seemed easier to literally drown all my thoughts and emotions in a bottle of clear, flammable liquid that would send me to a world of dizzying insanity in which I could survive and not realize I still had to breathe. It took a severe night of boozing, and waking up still inebriated on a work day to make me realize that the demons were winning.

Oh, and how about that time my car didn't want to work anymore and I had to dish out $2K to keep it operating.

Another good one - coming to terms with the idea that I'll never have a family. That I won't have the opportunity to have a kid to torment and love or to just meet a really neat human that would be part me and part the guy I want to spend my life with.

And men. Yeah, I can't even gather up enough trust to even think about having a relationship with someone. No matter what the guy would say or do I would always think he was out to get me, to cause me pain, to betray me the first chance he had. So, therefore, there is no point to even seek out a relationship.

Despite all this, dearest diary, I miss hugs. Just the simple touch of a another human who cares for me and who wants me to be happy. I'd love for a guy to just hug me and hold me and not expect or want anything in return.

Yeah, I have no idea where to start. Wish me luck.

trust

You won’t ever get to know me. I don’t trust you enough to ever allow you into my life.

I will never let you see what makes me tick. I have no trust. At this moment, I’m assuming you are completely enthralled by some other girl or just have forgotten totally about me. It’s not you. It’s all me. Because I know this is a truth. It’s a truth for me, so therefore, it’s how I live.

Yup, I’ll be alone forever, but in the end, that’s ok. I’d rather have my paranoia to keep me company than to be burned again and again. You’ll never know when Im upset or sad because I’ll never tell you. To you it will seem as if I’m in total agreement; while in my head I’m thinking it doesn’t matter how I feel to you – or that’s at least how I think. Mainly because Im not good enough for anyone; and, I never will be. You will be happier with someone else.

It’s impossible to live in a vacuum, but that’s the only way I’ll be able to survive; and I’d never ask anyone to join me in my own personal hell I’m too nice for that. Go about your life; be happy. Don’t try to draw me into it because I’ll never believe you. All men cheat.

I don’t want to be hurt again; and for that I’ll forsake love (which won’t be a lot of forsakin’ cuz I don’t even know what love is).