Wherein I Whine About Being Sick

It's been a long time. I've been in hiding, both here on the blog and in my own life. I've been in pain, been anxious and depressed. I'm currently waiting to feel well enough to go and help one of my cousins with a dehoarding project. Ironic, that I'm the one trying pull myself together to help someone else clean their house when my house looks like someone dropped a small bomb in the living room.

There was a SCENE last night. In capital words with screaming and tears and accusations. We've had this weekend in the works for awhile, my cousin collects stuff in a major way...clothes, movies, crap...just tons of stuff. Shoes she doesn't and will never wear, clothes in sizes way too small that she hopes to fit one day. It's depressing. And this, from me, the queen of the messy house. My mess, though is of a life lived now...not for the someday, "if" future.

Anyway, earlier this week there was an accident...Lily, the rat terrier I've been fostering for months pushed Charlie under the car as I was coming down the hill from my aunt's house. He has a broken pelvis, but with rest he should make a complete recovery. However, it was touch and go, and because the emergency vet didn't get a great x-ray, I spent the weekend thinking I was going to have put Charlie to sleep. It was so scary and awful. Charlie is my baby, my boy...my best friend (well, after the Archeaogoddess, of course). He got me through the break up with the EG. He's the one who is there at night when I'm hurting, when I'm up all night testing the midget's blood sugar, when I have a panic attack and can't find my pills. I love him, and the thought of losing him was killing me.

So, as I've mentioned before stress makes everything worse. Stress causes major flares. I've been flaring all week, and then on Thursday night, the midget had soaring blood sugars that wouldn't correct (fucking adolescent hormones collide with fucking diabetes) and I was up all night...so by Friday morning, I was done in. I slept nearly all day. I was supposed to do my grocery shopping for the meals for this dehoarding weekend, but since I couldn't hardly walk to my bathroom, grocery shopping was out.

So, that led to yesterday, which was nearly as bad as Friday. I was in agony (oh and did I mention the part where my doctor took two days too long to refill my pain meds, so I spent a day in narcotic withdrawal this week, too) and exhausted, but I finally dragged my ass out of the house at around 2 in the afternoon and headed to the grocery store and did not only my shopping, but shopping for the cousin we are dehoarding as well. I had sent a note to my other cousin and my sister-in-law who were coming to help dehoard telling them that they'd better not back out, and I can't say that it was a nice note. I'm not in a good place, and I panicked because I thought that they weren't going to show up, and I've felt so responsible for the one cousin for so long, and I just can't take it anymore. I'm not making it on my own, and feeling responsible for someone besides the midget is wearing on me.

So, of course, the fact that I made a big fuss and then wasn't able to come through didn't go over well. I walked in to a very hostile situation. My cousin was furious that I hadn't made it there earlier, that I didn't call all day and let her know that I wasn't going to be there until then. (Not the cousin we're trying to dehoard, but the other one.) She called me a liar, said I wasn't sick, that I just chose to flake, that I could never be counted on, that I take advantage of everyone.

I flipped. I told her she was a selfish bitch who takes advantage of her sister, and only cares about herself and that I was done. I wanted to leave. I was hysterical at that point. It was an echo of everything that the EG had said to me. It's my constant fear...that people think I'm making this up, that I'm choosing to stay in bed, choosing to not do all the things I want to do.

And then I wonder, how the hell can anyone think that. I was always a flaky bitch, it's true...but I was a flaky bitch who did stuff. I hiked and camped and went on road trips and cleaned my house and went out for dinner with friends. And I'd sell my soul to be that girl again. It kills me when I have to cancel on something because my body defies me. I'm so tired...and it's not the good tired of knowing you've accomplished something. It's an exhaustion that is painful. Breathing takes effort. Typing hurts...not just my joints, but the tips of my fingers, my skin actually hurts.

My sister-in-law made me stay, insisted we all talk it out. And we did, for an hour...but I don't think I made any headway making it clear that I'm sick. That Lupus is real...that I don't choose to stay in bed, that I don't choose to give up everything that matters in my life. There were lots of tears and accusations.

Following, as it did, on this hell of a week, needless to say it didn't help the flare. I'm beyond useless today. The pain pills aren't touching the pain today. I want to scream and cry and I'm holding it together for the midget's sake. I'm contemplating a trip to the ER for a pain shot, but I am terrified to ask anyone for a ride. I can't bear to hear again how I let them down, how I let everyone down all the time, and that even this is just to make people believe me.

And it's stupid. My doctors verify that I'm sick. I know I'm sick, but it took so long to get anyone to believe me that I'm still scared that I'm just crazy, that it's all in my head. This is what chronic illness is, this is what invisible diseases do. I want to wear a sign that says I have Lupus, and Fibromyalgia and RA and no thyroid, and bipolar disorder and panic disorder and it causes me extreme pain and fatigue and a million other symptoms. And the worst part of it...the very worst thing is that I'm never going to get better. I mean, hopefully someday I'll have some sort of remission, or I'll find the right cocktail of drugs to get my symptoms under control, but I'm not ever going to be healed, it will always be a part of me, and looking into the future 30, 40, 50 years down the road and knowing that it'll always be this way...that alone is enough to make me want to burrow down into the bed and never come out...but I do.

Anytime I have any strength I do get out of bed, and I do what I can. I try to live my life the best I can in the gaps between the bad days, the bad weeks, the bad months. I hate that I can't be a good friend, a good cousin, a good mom. I want to apologize for myself all the time, to apologize for the disease, and then I feel like, I'm the sick one, shouldn't someone apologize to me, shouldn't someone come and help me?

I hate being sick, I really fucking hate being sick.

My Owl, Hoot-Hoot

When I was a wee girl...not yet the fabulous Queen of the Universe you know and love, I had a stuffed owl that went by the inventive name Hoot-Hoot. The thing was basically an oval cylinder made from brown shag carpeting, stuffed with newspaper, and it's bottom was made from cardboard. This thing was ugly. I've searched the internet to see if I could find anything that even vaguely resembled it. This is the closest I've come....only mine was much, much uglier, and uniformly brown.



I don't know where it came from or when I got it. I only know that I loved it intensely and it was my steadfast and constant companion for quite awhile. I don't know what made it so appealing. It was made from carpeting, stuffed with newspaper, so it wasn't especially soft or cuddly. In fact, it was quite rough and pokey. But, I loved it nonetheless. I spent hours smoothing the shag away from the glass eyes, touching the felt that made up it's beak...hugging it and loving it and carrying it places.

Unfortunately, my penchant for carrying it with me everywhere is what led us to part ways. I left it behind on a beach one night. I know we returned briefly to look for it, to no avail. I was devastated. Hoot-Hoot was one of a kind, obviously (because who else would want such a hideously uncomfortable stuffed toy?) and my family was poor, so when my sister or I broke or lost even the most treasured possessions, there were never replacements. This meant we took care of our toys and kept track of them far better than the midget and her cousins do. My nieces, nephews and daughter have so many more things...my daughter less so than her cousins, but even the midget is spoiled silly. I can honestly say that I never had even a fraction of the sheer amount of "stuff" the midget has.

Hoot-Hoot has not been a part of my life for 30 years, but a loss like that one is not one that's easily forgotten. I've told many people about my awful beloved owl over the years. And even though I still miss the thing as an adult, it never occurred to me to try and replace Hoot-Hoot. After all, it was entirely unique, and the adult Queen of the Universe has no real need for such a thing, even if I could find one. And frankly, if I'm going to spend any money on myself for an item that's not a necessary or practical item, it's likely to be a book. It's exceedingly rare for me to buy myself "things." All of the knick knacks or ornamental items I own are gifts from other people, with the exception of a single cobalt blue vase I bought myself back when the EG used to give me flowers often.

While perusing the Build a Bear website with my cousins, talking about gifts for the kids, I came across an owl. An adorable orange owl with multicolored polka dots. I immediately went into a coveting mode. However, since I'm still waiting for financial aid and my disablility claim to come through, there is no money for such things, even if I were inclined to spend the money on myself.

Tonight, though, my cousin came home from a trip to the Bay Area, and brought me the stuffed owl. I squeed and hugged it to my chest like a small child. Yes, it's an item now owned by little girls everywhere, so it's not unique like Hoot-Hoot was, but that doesn't make it less wonderful. She even had the sound thingy put in it, so that when you press it's tummy it hoots. I'm absolutely in love with this owl. And even more in love with my family. I am reminded, once again, how lucky I am to be surrounded by people who love me...not just my family, but my biofamily, and my best friend as well. It's a lot more than that sad little three year old girl who loved an ugly owl ever imagined she'd have in her life.

My Music

A million years ago, when the midget was a mere babe in arms, and the EG (from now on, the exgirlfriend will simply be referred to as EG)and I had just started dating (for lack of a better term), we were young, and energetic, and my body hadn't yet betrayed me. We were able to stay up all night talking, listening to music and still handle the rigors of baby duty the next day. We also went on road trips...sometimes for the day, and sometimes longer. Music was always always a big part of that. The latest cd from whatever indie artist we were obsessed with at the time in the cd player, and often we were on our way to show, or back from a show.

Whatever. It was always about the music back then. In many ways, I'm still that way. I'm a notorious dictator when it comes to the music in my car, or any car I'm driving. I try to drive as much as possible just to be able to be the one who controls the stereo. Even if I have similar music tastes as the other people in the car, I want my music, not their version of the same songs.

I was big into mix tapes, and then cds, back in the day before my iPod came into my life. There's not a radio station out there that plays what I love. I've even tried building a station on Pandora to hear new stuff that might interest me. But, either I'm just really, really picky, or I somehow short circuit Pandora's algorithms when I type in Waylon Jennings, Eminem, Melissa Ferrick, Ani Difranco, Britney Spears, Nine Inch Nails, The Eagles, The Mamas and The Papas, New Kids on the Block (yes, I hear you laughing) etc... Once, in my late teens/early twenties my entire cd book was stolen out of the car and I was sooo pissed. Because you know whoever stole it, flipped through it, went Huh? and dumped in the trash somewhere.

While I still listen to nearly everything I listened to in the early days of life with the midget and the EG, I obviously don't get to live shows very often. And this sucks, since some of the artists I love (Melissa Ferrick and Abandon Theory to name a few) are very independent artists whose music you won't hear on the radio or see on TV, so you would usually hear new music at their shows, and that's where you'll buy the cd for 10 or 15 bucks. These days, (since I'm a broke-ass bitch) I don't get to shows, and even if I did, I can't afford the cds. Most of what I listen to now I "borrow" from the internet. I dislike doing this for indie artists because the only way they can make money to keep playing the music I love is for me and their other fans to buy the music, and go to the shows. I don't feel guilty for downloading an old Nine Inch Nails album I used to have, but either lost or destroyed somewhere along the way, but I feel mucho guilt when it's someone whose very artistic career depends on the cds they sell. Trent Reznor will still be able to play and make music if me and a hundred others download his albums...Abandon Theory may not.

Anyway...I had a point back before my tangent, at least I think I did... I miss going to shows, or being able to buy new music. And an eensy little part of me misses having someone in the house who can play music. Not enough to ever date a musician again, but still...just a little. I guess I miss the spontaneity and the freedom of being young and healthy. It's been said before, by people a lot older than I, but youth really is wasted on the young. I would love to have a word or two with my younger self about squandering all those possibility filled days on the couch back in my younger years. Had I known I was going to run out of fuel so early...well...best not to focus too much on what I might have done, I suppose.

So, I don't know that I have a point, except to introduce the reason why I'm posting yet another video. I spent part of today cruising YouTube for music, and found this. It's live, which is pretty much the only way to listen to Melissa Ferrick, because even though she's an accomplished studio musician, there is something about her energy that doesn't translate. It may be why she never achieved widespread fame, despite an early recording contract with a "real" record label. It's called I'm Gonna Break Your Heart and it's emotionality is rough, but that's one of the things I love most about her music. I'd love to see her play again, but the closest she usually comes is San Francisco, a three hour drive away, and I doubt that anytime she's there I'll magically have the energy to drive all that way, then stand in line at whatever club she's playing, and then stand through the show, even supposing I could come up with the money to make it happen. However, should you find out she's in your city, you should go and see her play. She's sheer genius...brilliantly talented, fantastically educated, and not too hard on the eyes...

I Still Miss Her....

Not the exgirlfriend, if that's what you though when you saw the title. I miss this girl:



It's been over two years since she went missing. Unfortunately her loss got overshadowed by the break up with the exgirlfriend. While I wouldn't so much as throw a cup of water on the exgirlfriend if she were on fire, I'd give nearly anything to have Cera back.

There are some losses you never get over.

Happy Sunday!

One of my new favorite songs The midget's father's new girl played it for me yesterday, and I laughed and laughed and laughed. I don't ever genuinely wish bad things for people, really I don't...

Effing Disneyland, Ya'll!!

I'm getting ready to depart for The Happiest Place on Earth. We're leaving early Sunday morning (4 am) and making the 8-10 hour drive to Anaheim. We'll be in Disneyland and California Adventure Park for five whole days. This trip has been six months in the planning and we cannot wait to get there and have fun.

All this Disneyland stuff has me remembering a Disneyland trip when I was just a wee little girl...probably 30 years ago, now. (When the fuck did I get so old?) It's a somewhat clouded memory, but one that made me deeply afraid of Winnie the Pooh for years. It wasn't until my kid was born that I started to be able to handle exposure to Pooh Bear. I was there, at the happiest place on earth, and out of nowhere this giant yellow bear comes at me with his arms stretched out, intending to devour me, no doubt. I took one look at that menacing beast, noticed that no one was making any kind of move to save me and hauled off and kicked Winnie the Pooh in the leg, and ran and hid behind my mom.

Laugh if you want, but those fucking characters are huge and scary, especially when you're all of three feet tall. I couldn't even read a Winnie the Pooh book for years. It wasn't so much that I was scared of him (okay, I'm totally lying here...I was afraid of a fat yellow bear), especially as I got older and realized that there was nothing to be afraid of, that Pooh Bear wasn't an actual bear looking to devour little girls, that he'd much rather snack on honey than me, it was just that I couldn't get over that feeling of being intimidated by something so much bigger than I was.

I'm ready now...I want to get my picture taken with Mickey and Minnie, and Aurora from Sleeping Beauty. I'm going to be one pissed off camper if she isn't at the princess meet and greet. She's always been my favorite.

I haven't been to Disneyland in 15 years, and I've never taken the midget, so this trip is a really big deal for us. I'm not about to let anyone (not even some scary ass yellow bear) ruin it. The midget's been pretty sad lately...bullshit drama with the exgirlfriend who should be damn thankful that I'm a civilized woman and that it would hurt me more to punch her in the taco than it would hurt her. But that shit isn't going to interfere with us being happy at the Happiest motherfucking Place on the motherfucking Earth. I've kicked a six foot yellow bear with a gaping mouth and paws as big as my head. I'm hardly afraid to deliver the same treatment to some selfish bitch who isn't worthy of being spit on by the midget.

I'll be updating my Twitter stream but otherwise I'll be MIA here on the blog (Nothing unusual, right?). I'll be sure to put up a lengthy post complete with pictures.

As Aunt Becky of Mommy Wants Vodka has said...being sad is bullshit, and I'm totally hopping on her Bringing The Happy Back bandwagon. Because the midget and I have had a couple of shit years and Goddammit...ENOUGH IS FUCKING ENOUGH!! The midget and I are going immerse ourselves in the happy, happy, joy, joy that is the motherfucking Happiest Place on Earth, and we're going to bring that happy back and pound it firmly into our lives with a big fucking mallet. It's time to make 2011 my bitch, ya'll, and Disneyland is just the place to do it!

I Loved You First

Poor, neglected blog...

I'm such a bad, bad blogger. I haven't been able to find a few moments to write more than a thought or two at a time, certainly nothing that would even vaguely resemble a blog post.

My life is so full these days. The midget, school, family, doctor's appointments...it's a whirlwind. I'm supposed to be doing homework right now and instead I'm hopping around the interwebs like a squirrel on crack and listening to music with my younger sis.

I'm posting this song because it popped up on my iPod and I was struck again with the message. It's so totally how I feel about love and relationships. It's unfortunate that being honest and saying I don't use words like "forever" and "only" in reference to love means that I have spent years defending my decisions to never get married, or promise monogamy.

One of the exgirlfriend's many complaints about me was that I refused to get married. I never promised her forever, and that was wrong to her. The irony? She promised forever, and then left. I always took her promises with a grain of salt, because I think everyone wants to believe in forever, and think it's going to happen. I don't think she made the promises knowing that someday we would not be together. The things I've been through have taught me that your entire universe can change with no notice whatsoever. Everything you know and believe is ever evolving and adaptable. It is easy to say that you will love forever, but the reality of loving forever means that you love when the shit hits the fan, and that's so much easier said than done. It takes guts to stick it out when life hands you a crap hand, as it often does. It takes more strength than I have to love someone when you find out your vision of that person is very different from who she really is inside.

So, if you can't promise forever, does that mean that there's no point to loving at all? If you're more cynical than I am, then I suppose the answer is yes, but for me love is always valuable, even love that has an expiration date. I am a better person for loving the people I have loved in my life. And, frankly, just because someone you love stops being who you thought she was, that doesn't mean the love goes away, it just becomes something else. If you throw away everything you've learned and been because the love turns out to be something different than you envisioned, you're robbing yourself of all the glorious beauty life offers.

Anyway, this song always makes me think of people I've loved in my life, makes me wish that my "love you today" philosophy was better understood, and shared by more people.

Better...

This song got me through some very rough moments after the exgirlfriend left.




I am better. Happier. Just plain happy. I am strong again, for myself and for the midget. I am planning for a future that includes my family and my friends and the people I love so much who got me through those dark days.

Last night the midget had another of her breakdowns about missing the exgirlfriend. This after coming back from her dad's house and having had a similar breakdown in front of her dad. And I wish there was some way I could promise the midget that it won't hurt some day.

But, I can't. I lost a girlfriend, a lover, a friend...but she lost a parent, and I know how that feels, when you have a parent walk out on you. I know that for the rest of your life you wonder what you have done to make them stop loving you and what you could have done differently to make them love you.

I've spent years in therapy going over how it was never my fault, that my biodad bailing had nothing to do with me. I've discussed it with my friends, my new family...and I've even discussed it with my biodad. I know intellectually that it wasn't my fault...but, emotionally? Well, that's a whole other ball of wax. I know that so much of my self hatred comes from that feeling...that "how can anyone ever want me, when my own parents didn't?"

And I know it's different for the midget. She is surrounded by love daily. There has never been a moment in her life that she has been alone, or that she has doubted that she had people who loved her. But there is a part of me that asks...is this going to screw her up? Is this going to be the thing that breaks her so that she's constantly seeking approval from outside sources, like I am?

The hardest part for the midget is that the exgirlfriend is there peripherally. So, she sees the exgirlfriend for five minutes here and ten minutes there, but never alone and never in the parenting role. This is a woman she knew as her mother all of her fucking life, and now she gets to watch her be a parent to someone else's kid while she is pining for her mom. I could forgive the exgirlfriend for everything she did, the lies she's told the drama she caused...all of it. But, this? Watching my daughter go through her diagnosis and all of the hell she's gone through without her other mom? I can never forgive this.

I can only hope that my love, my family's love, her father's love will be enough for the midget. That she will be able to see and understand that the exgirlfriend's choices have absolutely nothing to do with her, but that instead the exgirlfriend is irretrievably broken in some deep way she cannot understand and I cannot explain. I can only hope that as the midget faces down the next few years of her life, arguably the most difficult years for any girl, that she doesn't internalize the exgirlfriend's choice to walk away as some sort of proof that she is not good enough, or that she is in some way undeserving of love.

I just wish there was a way that I could heal this for her and make it better, but I can't. I've tried. I've begged the exgirlfriend a million times to make time for the midget. I've offered to set up diabetes education so that she can have one on one time with the midget, and I've gotten no response. This is the one thing that never gets better.

No Words...

I'm sad today...learned something last night that made realize the exgirlfriend as I knew her truly does not exist any longer. After all that's happened in the last year and a half, this final straw seems insignificant on the surface, but speaks volumes about how far she's come from the woman I once loved. It's not even worth explaining, as it doesn't really affect me or the midget, other than to make me realize that the exgirlfriend's choice to be less active in the midget's life than the midget's father is a blessing in disguise.

I've tried to write this post three times in the last 17 hours, and I'm still having a hard time finding the words to convey how I'm feeling. I can't even find a song that says what I can't...

So, instead, I'm going to post this youtube video of the current audiobook that is amusing me and the midget, because it's made of awesome. It's also in keeping with the vampire theme I've got going on today, since the younger sister is taking the midget and me to see the new Twilight movie...Yay for sparkly vampires...

What a Difference a Year Makes...

Ah, the first weekend in June. Warm weather, the end of school and for us here in my tiny corner of the universe...the Italian Picnic. It's as small town as you can get. A small carnival with a handful of rides, playing bingo for salami, listening to a bad cover band, visiting with a good friend at the Bocce Ball court. It is such an integral part of life in this area that it's never really a question of if you're going to go, but rather, when, and with whom.

I spent the evening at the picnic with the family. Barely organized chaos it was, what with the youngest girl wanting to do everything the midget (who is 7 years older) did, while our middle girls tried to be brave enough to ride the carousel by themselves. The midget was amazingly patient with her youngest girl cousin, as she always is. She went on the "baby rides" with her and took her down the big slide about a dozen times and only whined a little about not being able to go on the big, scary rides because she didn't want to go by herself.

It really made me think about last year, and how far I've come since then. I was tying myself in knots over someone who wasn't worth the time and the effort and trying to be strong enough to parent by myself, giving the exgirlfriend far more credit than she deserved in terms of what she brought to the table. A year ago, I thought the worst had happened, but I've since learned better. What had happened was the best thing that could happen, it was just tied up with so much ugliness that I couldn't see how much better off the midget and I were without a woman who not only wasn't happy, but didn't want to be happy, and didn't want the life we lived. I keep thinking how hard it would have been to make it through the last two months with all that's happened with the midget and having the added burden of trying to tiptoe around the exgirlfriend.

I hate to use a cliche, but things happen for a reason. Every horrible, shitty thing that has happened in my life has made room for something better, made me strong enough to be the midget's mom and to parent on my own. I'm not perfect, far from it, but I'm holding our lives together and the midget's world is full of lots of love and laughter and family, and that's the only indicator of success I need...

It All Comes Back 'Round Again...

My younger sister mentioned this song the other day on Facebook, flashing back to a whole other time in our lives, and it's been on pretty much constant rotation on my iPod since.

Back in the day, this was just a fun song to sing at the top of our lungs over and over again while a friend played it on the guitar. Good times, great memories...now, it's got another layer of meaning for me since the exgirlfriend was one of those singing along and things ended so spectacularly badly between us, but I kinda like that. I love when something familiar takes on new meaning...

This is the only version I could find to post, and it's edited, which kinda sucks, but that doesn't mean you can't scream "you fuck" at the appropriate moment. I highly recommend it, it's very therapeutic.

The Gosselins

I admit it. I'm one of those people who watched Jon & Kate Plus Eight. I enjoyed the show, enjoyed the kids...thought it was cute. I even sort of enjoyed the not so friendly byplay between the two of them. Yes, I winced from time to time when she was particularly harsh or he was particularly checked out of their relationship, but I thought it was nice to see that other couples were effected by stress. Too often, we expect that people will be perfect even during extremely stressful times. And no, I don't understand the stress of that many children...but I do know the stress of a chronic illness and too little money.

Their divorce has been tough for me to watch, probably because I'm going through a similar thing. No, there is no divorce, but I don't think the demise of a ten year relationship is that much different.

I always kind of felt sorry for Kate. Which I know puts me in the extreme minority. Everyone felt sorry for Jon because Kate was a complete shrew, which she admittedly is...but Jon was such a non connected lump that I kinda understood her shrewiness. I mean, having one child and being alone in that endeavor, as I have been for the last six months, sometimes drives me to the brink of insanity, I can't even begin to imagine what having eight kids and an emotionally bankrupt partner would be like. I'd be locked up in a loony bin somewhere mumbling lines from Monty Python to myself.

So, yeah...can't say I was terribly surprised when they announced the divorce. But, what they're saying about each other in the press...? It's unbelievable. I mean...I know that when your heart is broken and you have all this hurt and anger you say horrible things, things you mean and things you don't mean. And realistically, while you're trying your damnedest to keep your kids out of the crossfire, sometimes they hear what you've said. And this is both a good and bad thing because while you hate for your kids to hear that sort of thing, it gives you a chance to talk to your kid and explain that you're human and that you make mistakes and that sometimes anger and sadness make you say things you regret. It can be a good moment for you to teach your kid a lesson about life.

But when you go on Larry King and declare that you despise someone...that's not done in the heat of the moment. That's cold calculation. When you give an interview to People magazine saying that the child's other parent doesn't care about them that's calculated as well. And these kids aren't going to have a good teaching moment, because what you say in the heat of the moment you can explain...but what you say in a cold and calculating attempt to hurt someone...you can't explain and you can't expect to be forgiven for. For the rest of their lives, those kids are going to be able to read and hear what their parents did to hurt each other, and that's the kind of pain you can't outgrow...

Identity

Gay, straight...or something in between?

Back in the day, before the exgirlfriend, I identified mainly as straight, though admitted that should I find a girl I was attracted to, I would definitely not hesitate to act on it. However, once I dated a girl, lived with a girl, loved a girl, it became abundantly obvious that I was most definitely not straight. But since I still have all those pesky hormonal reactions to attractive guys, also clearly not gay.

Most people would use the word bisexual, but I hate it. Aside from it's clinical sound, it just has such a negative connotation within the queer community. Somehow, being in between is construed as either a cop out or an inability to commit to the gay community. And it's true that a lot of people struggling with their identity do use bisexual as a stepping stone. But for me, it's not a stepping stone. It is what I am. Not gay, but not straight, either.

And gay girls generally avoid bisexual girls like the plague. And not without reason. There are plenty of girls who call themselves bisexual, but really mean bicurious and end up using the gay girl as an "experience." Leading them on, forgetting that their great party story is going to be simply a heartbreak for the other girl. Many bisexual girls have a boyfriend and want a girl on the side or to bring into the bedroom to spice up the relationship. In short, a lot of bisexual girls use gay girls as sex toys, with little regard for the consequences. The end result is that once a girl says she's bisexual, most lesbians head for the hills.

Much worse, in my opinion, are the girls who claim to be straight, despite an ongoing relationship with another girl. As in..."I'm straight...I just happened to fall in love with her." Um...here's the thing...if you get off on fucking a girl...you aren't straight. And I don't understand not copping to it. The homophobes are still going to hate you, perhaps even more than "normal" queers. To paraphrase the utterly fantastic Mistress Matisse, there is no such thing as a First Pussy Free policy.

Another pitfall for the bisexual girl, most guys take it to mean that you want to put on a show for them...um...no. No, no, no, no. If I'm with a girl, I want to be with a girl. When I'm with a girl, I'm not doing it because it's turning some guy on. I'm doing it because it turns me on. That's why that whole Katy Perry "I Kissed A Girl" phenomenon disgust me to no end. Kiss girls if you want to, if it feels good and you like it...but don't do it to get the attention of some guy. Other women deserve more respect than to be used as spectacles for some drunk guy.

It would be easier to be straight or gay. There aren't nearly as many landmines. You don't have to worry about "betraying" the queer community if you fuck a guy and you don't have to wonder if the guy at the bar buying you drinks is doing it because he genuinely likes you, or if it's because he's imagining watching you go down on the girlfriend he left at home...

How Many Second Chances?

Getting over the collapse of a ten year relationship should hurt. It should be difficult. There should be tears and sleepless nights and anger and fear. But, there should also be an end to the pain, a lessening of the pain. Ever so slowly, the good days should come to equal and then outnumber the bad.

That is how it works if you are smarter than I am in the relationship department. If you are smarter than I am, you don't answer the phone when your ex calls after you've said that you are done talking to her. If you are wiser than I am, you remember all the lies you've caught her her in and you don't believe her apologies and her pleas for forgiveness and second chances. You make yourself indifferent to her attempts to get at you through second sources. And you refuse to believe that she has any desire to make amends, no matter what she's told others.

However, I am not smart when it comes to my heart. I am not good at giving up on people I love, even when they hurt me. And this is what I must learn. This is what I have to remind myself to do, every second of every moment. I must learn that no matter how much I love someone, they don't have the right to hurt me again and again. I must remind myself that if I expect others to value me, I must value myself. And that means that my affection and compassion must come at a cost. Not an exorbitant one, or an unrealistic one...it is simply that my time and affection must be earned through kindness, compassion and affection for me. It is not unreasonable to expect the people I love to love me in return.

I must also remind myself that it is not a second chance when you've done it before. Everyone deserves a second chance to do the right thing. But no one deserves infinite chance to continue doing the wrong thing.

On Anger

I despise being angry. I hate the way my stomach churns and my eyes prick with unshed tears. I hate the callous way my brain puts together deadly insults and hurls them without hesitation, without considering the consequences. I hate the screaming, the hasty decisions, the thirst for vengeance. I hate the way anger uses love as a weapon of blunt force, causing pain and destroying that love in the process.

I have for years swallowed my anger because I hated the person it made me. And yet, tonight, I find myself longing for the anger that has sustained me over the past months. Anger gives you strength and purpose. It doesn't hurt. At least, it doesn't have the same hollow knife's edge pain that accompanies the sorrow and grief that is all that is left of a love once vibrant and strong.

In my anger, the years that I've spent loving that lost heart that used to beat with mine seemed inconsequential. When anger was my companion, I didn't mourn all the soft, gray mornings I awoke to find my arms full of my lover and my brain full of the warm, sweet scent of the curve of her neck. My anger reminded me of all the tiny annoyances, all the larger slights, and ignored the beautiful, breathless moments that made up our life together.

Tonight, my heart is wrapped in silver grief. This grief is softer and deeper than my previous grief. This is the grief of acceptance. The grief that looks back at the past from an impassable distance. This is grief accompanied by gratitude for the moments that still burn so brightly in my mind. This is grief tempered by the knowledge that I am closer to the woman I want to be because I once loved and was loved so completely. This is grief wrapped in sorrow for the pain I have caused my once beloved, for the pain she has caused herself. This is grief wrapped in forgiveness for the pain she has caused me.

Life moves on, as it ever has.

Single Is Working For Me

I've gotten a lot of advice since the break-up. Advice on how to move on, when to start dating, how to feel better...that sort of thing. And some of it has been useful. But most of it has been utter nonsense.

I've had people tell me that I should just face facts that because of my advanced age (32) and the fact that I have a kid, there's no way that anyone will ever want me. And you know...it's not my happily coupled friends who say these things. It's my single friends/relatives who say these things. And most of them are older than I am. I assume it's projection on their parts. And if it turns out to be true for me, then the fact that they are single will somehow have nothing to do with them, and everything to do with age and family status.

I've also had people tell me not to wait. To "get back on the horse" again. But, you know what? I am loving being single. I love it. I haven't been single as an adult. I was with my daughter's father on and off from the time I graduated high school until my daughter was a few weeks old and then I was with the girlfriend. So for the last 13 years I've been in a relationship with someone who shared none of my interests, whose interests I didn't share. I've spent 13 years apologizing for being intelligent, for loving to learn things about religion and politics and history and for sticking my nose into every book I find. I've been told that I'm condescending and patronizing when I tried to talk about what interested me.

I don't have to try and please someone anymore. I have issues with conflict. As brash and loud and opinionated as I am...when it comes to actual conflict with a partner, I twist myself into knots trying not to make them angry. Because in my warped mind, nothing is worse than having that person be angry at me. I know why I do it...I've had enough therapy that I get that, I just don't know how not to do it. And so, I'm not constantly worrying about that anymore. I'm making decisions, big and small, based on what I want and need and what's best for my mini me, rather than what is likely to piss someone else off the least.

And you know...I have friends. I have my family. I'm not in the least bit lonely. I'm laughing more..spending more time with people than I have in years. It's good. Really good. I'm not ready to bring someone new into my life. I want to really get to know me...I want to indulge my need for new and useless information. I want to focus on me and my kid and not deal with the guilt trip because I'm not worried about taking care of an adult.

I am not only not looking for a new relationship...I am actively resisting the idea. I am not ready. I know what I don't want, but I don't have the first idea of what I want. And until I'm sure I'm not going to end up in screwed up long term relationship volume three, I'm going to run as fast as I can from even the slightest hint of romantic entanglement.

I Would Never Wish Bad Things...

I try really hard to "be the bigger person" and it takes something outrageously unacceptable for me to cut someone out of my life. I've forgiven things I thought I'd never forgive, and have learned that saying "never" to something is pretty much the quickest way to bring it about.

That being said...I'm extremely quick to anger. I have a short fuse and it doesn't take much to make me lose my shit and scream at someone. But that's usually where it ends. It's rare for me to hold a grudge. The only way I can even bring myself to do it is by ending contact with that person, and even that is not foolproof. I believe in second chances, I believe in letting people make amends, if they are so inclined. Life is so short and choosing hate over love, choosing hatred over forgiveness seems so wasteful. There is plenty of anger and hatred in this world, and far too little forgiveness and acceptance.

Of course, I'm human, and an extremely high-strung human at that. While my heart breaks over any tragedy that occurs to someone, I must admit I take a fiendish delight in the smaller mishaps that occur in someone's life when I am angry with them, or if I don't particularly care for them. Is it honorable? No, of course not, and regardless of how altruistic I want to be, when I'm hurting over something that someone has done to me or to someone I love, I want them to feel a bit of that. I want there to be some kind of punishment. I'm not saying I want bad things to happen, mind you...

A former friend of mine referred to this sort of thing as "tiny acts of terrorism." Of course, these were things she would do, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about things I can't control that makes the person in question a tiny bit unhappy. For instance, I'm watching the last season of The L Word right now, and one of my ex's favorite characters (Shane) has hooked up with her most hated character (Jenny). And I have to admit I thought about the reaction she'll have when she sees it (if she hasn't already) and I giggled...for about five minutes.

I don't want bad things to happen to her, or anyone else for that matter...but there is a tiny vindictive part of me that would love to exact revenge. Thankfully, the rest of me is a bit more mature and compassionate. So, while I genuinely hope that she finds the happiness that has eluded her, and that nothing catastrophic happens in her life, I refuse to feel guilty about my moment of vindictive glee. And I'm honest enough to admit where it comes from, and that it exists...can you really ask for more from me?