Boots of Spanish leather

 

My car was acting funny so I took it to the shop. It might just need an oil change, or maybe the engine is misfiring. But since my one job for the weekend was to cat sit, suddenly I am without a role and neglecting my duties. Big brother and the niece are gonna take over. The cat may not get as much love, but it will have provisions. I was over there last night till midnight, and then slept in today. 

Whenever I sleep in, I get a little foggy. Coffee wakes me and keeps the headache from attacking, but it doesn't clear the fog. So I sat at the lake, not necessarily wanting to read, not quite able to write. Kind of trapped in my own head without much to do. It's weird to experience, because I can send my thoughts out like a net, but they don't catch anything. 

You are those trees. 

Admire the golden hue of the august grass.

Isn't the weather lovely. 

This music is powerful. 

Those people are funny dragging that dog around the lake. 

I eventually gave up and returned home. Ate some food, and watched a meditation on breaking down the fear of love. Pictured my heart cleared of the muck, and filled with amber and pink sunset, let it overflow in my body, and suddenly the greens and blues of the day felt more beautiful. But I was still braindead, just with a smile on my face, so I settled back into bed. 

I don't remember all the dreams, but I do remember the one with M. (it had some of the feel of cat sitting in someone else's place). 

-I had used the key (I don't have) to enter her apartment. I was doing some chores for her, or grabbing something I felt was mine. I rested on her bed. I took a nap. I woke up to her getting home and felt embarrassed but made her aware so I wouldn't  scare her. She saw me and registered my presence, and everything was fine. She maybe even thought it was endearing. Not warm per se, but like a friend who shows up unexpected. 

I gathered my things, made my apologies. She blew them off. But wasn't present. She picked up the phone, and chatted with someone else. I walked out the door without saying goodbye. 

Woke up to Abe and his wife playing Boots of Spanish Leather on Facebook, a song I've listened to after several breakups. Felt fitting for the dream, how it goes from a duet to a solo at the end. 

-for the record, that is not at all how she would respond if I were in her apartment now, but it is how she responded when we were together.  I've been thinking a lot about what it feels like to be chosen as a partner and how necessary that is for a secure relationship. The male in the song continues to say what he wants, the woman continues to try to placate him with trivialities -though they may be important to her, they are not important to the relationship, and over time without her saying it, the man realizes she isn't telling the full truth, that she isn't invested in the relationship, she is choosing her own path. It wasn't always like that, but about 2/3s of the time with M, that was how she functioned. It was work, it was her divorce, it was the kids, or some drama in another relationship or a task that needed to get done, but her mind was a roaming, her thoughts not with me. 

My response was to try to make myself useful, indispensable even, if I am honest. To try to win her over by supporting her security, by trying to slow her down, "IM HERE!!!!" And also from that place, to just sit back and watch her move forward, to take it in and enjoy it. 

I have learned a particular way of being second in relationships that feels comforting to me. But it keeps me from what my heart actually desires. When I think of future relationships I am sooooo aware of what I actually desire, but I have no idea how to make that happen. I don't even have a crush. But the people I get crushes on are rarely invested in me, and I turn all my efforts to them and then become unbalanced. I don't know how to find a person who wants me. I don't know if I would know what to do with them, and would probably reject them -fearing they just want to use me. Relationships are such a silly thing. 

I guess what I need is someone mature enough, patient enough, smart enough to recognize and challenge me, and then stick through my anxious phase. Seems like a tall order. 

M said I was too good at arguing. I was taken aback by it when she said it, but I agree. I didn't want to argue with her. We had surprisingly few arguments, but overtime I have come to understand what she really meant wasn't that I was "right" when we had conflict (and she couldn't counter), but that I talked her into the relationship when she didn't really want it. That my arguments were reasonable and supportive and helpful, and made it hard to say no. That she didn't know herself well enough to say "no"  when I offered her what she thought she wanted. It wasn't a good fit and that part stuck with her, but there were no words to say why it wasn't. So she left without telling me why. Blamed it on me. Moved forward as if I was a stepping stone to something better. Probably because I was. 

So much writing, blogs and poems saying the same old stuff. ...I was thinking today about this stanza from a poem from years ago and how it is still fitting to my way of relating, and my prayers for something different:

I'm trespassing
on someone else's
story, make me a
character, please not the
villain, and if its to
be a good story let my
name and theirs, make
it to the last page.

The Impacts We Choose

 I am being a total grump today. 

I woke up late. Got coffee at noon. 

I didn't talk to anyone. I didn't want to... i think sometimes I can't tell the difference between not wanting people around because I need time for myself, and times when i am feeling completely worthless. 

I got groceries and played computer games. Checked out for the most part. 

When I wasn't distracting myself, I had angry moments in my head and I had hurt moments in my heart. 

I had moments when I recognized just how small I have made my world. I have chosen this life. 

This life where each new thing is too scary. Where investing in others isn't worth my time. 

Where I am lonely, but don't want to talk to anyone. Where I am alone and no one notices. 

I got in an argument in my head, about how she blamed everything in her life on someone else. How she never repaired. Never apologized for real. I saw this pattern played out over and over again, but the moments in-between were so exciting. I felt blessed to experience life with her. 

When it came time for me to have my heart broken. It was exactly as she had prepared me. All the words and actions I chose to ignore, all the benefit of the doubt gone. I can't trust or respect her anymore, because my trust and respect were build on an idea that she was fooling herself, when really it was me fooling myself. 

She looks happy in all the pictures I have, even in the last weeks. 

She looks mesmerizing in all the pictures I see of her on facebook, I am 99% sure she has been dating the guy who was becoming her new bestie at work last summer, and who I asked her about, and who she denied was into her. He would be going through a divorce if they are together. Same story over and over, except these two actually have a lot in common, and probably are a good math. Some part of me wants to pick each detail apart. The jewelry for instance. She never wore jewelry before. He has a more established life, and she is back to flaunting the good life after slumming it with me for a while. I provided all the emotional and functional support, but not the luxuries. 

 I do this to myself, I am choosing to sit by myself all grumpy.  It's ridiculous. 

A year later, she chose to go on vacation with her boyfriend, to take him to the places she wouldn't take me to.  I assume they will have all the same problems we had because she either has the skills to work through relationships or she doesn't. And yet, I am jealous of their fun, of their love, of their happiness, even if momentary. 

I'm watching videos on how to do therapy for trauma this week. I have experienced relationship trauma. I am still stuck in it. I am mad at her for not working through her shit, but here I sit being a super grump, reliving the same pain and fear. 

I chose this. I chose it over and over. I keep choosing it. Why?

Do I know what a better life looks like?

I was thinking today that M reminds me of the teens I work with. Maybe that was the comfort, that she actually is like 10 years younger than me in emotional maturity... and it made me feel confident that I knew what was happening for her. Could interpret. 

But why am I not attracted to anyone anymore?  Why can't I find someone that I connect with? Someone who actually is my equal? Who could be a partner, and would challenge me in healthy ways, not just my caretaker role?

I am probably just in a shitty place today. But I saw some article about an asteroid hitting the earth and my first thought was "good, less to worry about."

I have work to do. I should get ahead this week, because I am supposed to go out of town next weekend with Illy. I don't know if that will happen, or if we will have good time, or if I will still be grumpy. 

Considering the antidepressants again, or maybe i just need to be angry with myself and the world for awhile.

Saturday night pain in the booty

*** I think the pain is making it hard to think in clear sentences. I read through this and realized my sentence structure is really off today.  

So... back pain is fun. I was reading something about how back pain/sacral pain means either you are feeling weighed down and need more freedom, or you are having trouble letting go.

So back pain huh? Thats my one year of being single anniversary gift? (coming soon -Aug 24)

This afternoon I used a heating pad, tried to stretch, cried for a second in child's pose. It still hurts. Maybe I should go to urgent care and get an x ray. I already have a huge credit card bill... a little more won't hurt. 

I had therapy today. I tried to talk to my therapist about this dream I had that kept making me emotional, he basically cut me off and gave me some ideas and said he didn't want to interpret for me. I am starting to want a new therapist. It's been several weeks now, where I feel like I am not getting much out of it, and struggling to not criticize his input. I feel like maybe I have outgrown him... I guess. 

I need to make some moves in my life. Maybe I should start seeing a chiropractor instead of a therapist. Get a massage every two weeks instead of therapy. See an energy worker or a a somatic therapist...

I can do most of the thought stuff on my own, and if no one wants to ask me questions anyway... then might as well enjoy my own thoughts and feel physically better in the process. 

After the therapy I did some writing about my ideas of death, because Courtney asked the morning after my weird random dream, and during this week when I've been thinking a lot about death and I didn't know how to respond to her.  

I've had the existential fear/loss all week and it hits me in weird moments, and all my rationalizing, values, beliefs and what not doesn't really sooth that feeling. It's just a moment of being scared and sad, and maybe that is what it needs to be. 

I didn't finish the writing. I didn't send anything back to Courtney. 

In the dream I was driving to an appointment I wasn't necessarily looking forward to. I had two things on my list, a doctor's appointment and a family event. They both made me nervous but I just had to get through with them.  Suddenly I realized I'd been driving too long. I looked around and realized I was way outside the cities. The surroundings were a small town, and in the distance there was a pink orange surreal sky with mountains that looked volcanic not like a mountain range.

I made a mental note that I needed to get back to this cool looking place again soon, but I was already late for the appointment so I flipped a U, and drove back to the cities in a hurry. I found an empty parking ramp a few blocks from the doctors office. I made it to the appointment late but finished on time, and all was well, I just needed to get to my Dad's family event next. Two things on my list, one done. There was relief, but not entirely, just a new wave of anxious energy. 

I walked back to the parking ramp. Even from a distance I could tell it was totaled. I laughed as I approached. Somehow in the middle of an empty ramp, with a million empty spots, a huge chunk of ceiling had fallen onto my car and totaled it. The door's were busted, the car was bent in on itself. Chunks of the metal and cement had piled around the car. But nothing else in the entire place was damaged. I made some quick calls and walked towards the office of the ramp building. 

I talked to the attendant, then the manager, then the building owner, then the lawyer, then another lawyer, then the insurance person, then the other insurance person, meanwhile a few of my family members showed up assuming they would collect me and take me back to my Dad's family event. I think James was there. I remember being fully confident that I had done nothing wrong, and that someone needed to pay up, and that the whole process shouldn't be that complicated. But it was. No one would take responsibility, they just kept arguing and finding loop holes, and every person had their opinion on what I should do, but no one was willing to just listen and acknowledge that it wasn't my fault, and that they would own it. So I sat there. Hours passed. Different people arguing away. A small office with a dozen people arguing all about what had happened, without taking responsibility. I was angry. I was self righteous. I was pointing fingers just like them, only I was the only one with skin in the game, they were all avoiding it. 

My back ached in the dream. I could feel myself sweating and in pain, and agitated with the situation. But I wasn't sad about the car, or worried it wouldn't get resolved, just frustrated that no one was stepping up to take leadership. After a while I stopped arguing and just thought about what my anger was getting in the way of... what I was avoiding by staying so angry.  I thought about the probability of that stuff landing on my car, in an empty parking ramp, in a town i've never been to, during a first visit at the doctor, after being late, and all of the ridiculous improbabilities.  It felt overwhelming and scary. I was aware that I was alive and well, and that nothing totally bad had happened... but the idea that this did happen at all, was so infinitely improbable, that it scared the hell out of me and I began to cry. Cry at how overwhelmingly unlikely it was. My brother noticed and tried to reassure me, I tried to speak and couldn't explain in a way that he seemed to understand (similar to how my therapist responded).

Hours passed. It was dark out. I stepped into the coffee counter next door, walking like an old man up to the window. There were a bunch of youth around and I felt intimidated by them. They said I was first, but I would have deferred to them. The man at the counter window complimented my clothes. He said I looked fantastic, and got the others to agree. It felt like i was being set up to be robbed. I got my coffee and sat down and felt shaky. I ached for myself. For my situation without answers. 

When I woke up I had this strange feeling that this dream was something important. That the fear and sadness I'd experienced mattered. I thought about the probability and began to cry again. It's happened a few times since. 

It's like that existential fear you have when you become overwhelmed with how big the universe is. Do other people experience that? Do people have that weird shaky feeling recognizing how infinitely massive or tiny we are in relation to it all?

My therapist reminded me that the dream is from my mind, so it isn't improbable, it's very probable, but I think he was trying to convince me of a point I already felt immensely which is that this fear and this experience were deeply sensitive in my consciousness. 

What does the dream mean?  I dunno. Self pity? I've been asking for something to change, maybe I wasn't specific enough. Maybe I invited catastrophe into my life. Maybe I feel all alone in a world where other people's opinions are about me, but don't really acknowledge me. Maybe its time to stop listening to them.  If the theme of this year has been anything, its that I do everything in my power to please and change for other people, and it doesn't get me what I want. Maybe I need to stop listening to others and looking for them to be my mirrors, and instead just, I dunno... break the mirrors and please myself? 

I doubt it. 

Where is the place with the surreal pink and orange sky?

I told myself I would go back. 

That same night I had another very vivid sex dream about a girl who I don't even really know. Its not the first time. I've probably had three or four dreams about this girl, all sexual, and all as if we were in a full on relationship... but though I have chatted with her before on social media I've never met her, and probably wouldn't like her enough to be in a relationship.  I think that's funny. 

Gotta move forward... that's what I told myself aloud as I got out of the car with my taco bell drive through, returning to my lonely apartment. It doesn't matter if you love someone, if they don't love you back. It doesn't matter if you were happy, or thought you would be, dwelling on it only removes the possibility from now. Be grateful. Let go, open up space for the next opportunity. fingers crossed it presents itself. I am so annoyed with life right now. 

the subtle things

 

Mateo's voice on Jane the Virgin reminded me too much of M's son. The energy. The tantrums. The intelligence. 

The discussions they started having around parenting decisions. 

The introduction of Adam, felt a lot like our relationship, the hedging "for the kids' sake."

It's almost been a year. 

I am still grieving in subtle and not so subtle ways. 

I really want to move on. I am not sure how to do that. 

My confidence is much lower than I wish it were and the dating apps don't seem to help that much. 

I don't meet a lot of people I'm super interested in. Most of the ones I do meet and like, tend to have some complications attached. I am a sucker for complexity. 

I guess that's all I got... just needed to say that thing about the show, because... I thought I was doing the right thing. I was really really invested, and in hindsight it feels stupid. But it's hard not to be able to acknowledge openly that you cared about someone. And it's hard to have it suddenly disappear and not know how to transfer those thoughts, feelings, beliefs about people to something else. 

I'm so cynical and disappointed with the world, and my life feels so minuscule in comparison to what I thought it would be. I know this can all change in an instant. I'm just grieving still.

Work helps. But I don't have much else.

I am sick of moving forward alone. I think that's the thing I am so upset about. I thought I wasn't gonna be alone... now I am even more lonely. 

Pain and fear

 Such amazing things, how they warp the mind and redirect the spirit towards suffering so easily. 

I’ve had back pain for a few days. I should take more Advil so I can sleep tonight.  

Makes me so aware of my mortality. I feel like an old man. Achy. I feel ill. And the feelings lead to fears, and the fears quickly to a story in which this pain remains, and leads to feeling incapable, and leads to the inevitable, and leads to giving up hope. 

It should lead to asking for help. Calling in support. Allies. Instead I fantasize about secret checks being mailed out from my life insurance. It should lead to a renewing idea of surviving and thriving, instead I picture myself having to go through chemo alone (fears of cancer) because everyone would have to stay away so they don’t give me covid when my immune system is depressed. 

This is really a miserable time to be alive. 

The last few days I’ve tried to pray for hope and signs that I am on the right track in life. Ask and manifest and all that. Maybe I manifested a challenge, something that forces my ego to give in and recognize I can’t keep doing everything alone, and actually have to put effort into asking for and creating community. I manifested growth? Through pain and fear and suffering?

Difficult times are after all, also opportunities. That’s what I would want to tell others. But I feel kind of hypocritical dreaming of a quick death to spare myself of the challenge. I am not very courageous after all. 

Or maybe it will all go away in the next few days, and I’ll forget the opportunity. As I have many times in the past. 

Wake up

 I don't get angry very much. 

Sometimes at the big things in life, but very rarely do I get personally angry.

When I was younger I was at times prone to rages. They came on in moments of deep seated pain, feeling left out, feeling ashamed. 

I just woke up from a nap, in the dream I was scrolling through M's Instagram (which she doesn't have). I was looking at the moment in which I suddenly disappeared. Everything that came after caused me pain (I have had this experience from facebook). I was scrolling through and suddenly feeling very left out, very hurt, very angry, almost hateful as I felt replaced and rejected. 

The feelings built up into this vile raging heat in my chest. My words became mean. It scared me so much to feel this way that I woke up, and haven't been able to shake it for like half an hour. I don't like this feeling. I don't like how scary and uncontrollable it feels, and how it leaves me without hope or desire to reimagine the world as better. 

But, some part of me feels this way. Towards the end of our relationship I felt little bites of this. Since then, I have had times where a spark of anger is lit. 

Most often these things are easily stamped out, and I am able to find the good in situations again rather quickly. But it is unnerving to be so red faced, so putrid. 

Courtney asked me to write

I’m sitting by the lake right now on a bench made of three boards that are unevenly placed so it’s not quite comfortable, I keep having to adjust every few minutes. I wonder if the other side of the bench is more comfortable, I wonder if I will find out. Two people on this bench could have very different experiences and not know it. 

People are running by, huffing, and making that face of horrified discomfort runners make, that face that leaves you questioning why people enjoy running.  Other folks are walking by, talking with friends. I hear snippets of conversations, and they make me smirk in amusement. I enjoy people at this distance. I enjoy hearing the way they put emphasis on certain things, exaggerating the drama. I enjoy seeing their puppies, even though I would never want a dog. I enjoy the parents with the little ones, the family playing “I spy...” with the little girl that says I see something green, which is everything out here right now. And she means grass. Which is the first thing her older sister shouts. I enjoy people’s outfits, the colorful masks people wear, how they have found ways to enjoy and flaunt, even during a pandemic, people are inherently resilient. It’s wonderful. I enjoy the little signs, the strange earrings, the tattoo that seems out of place, the socks in sandals. 

I like hearing the different accents, like how you can tell a girl is from the suburbs before you see her, or you can tell which of the older couples lives on the lake (rich houses) because they sound so simultaneously comfortable and sure of themselves. 

The lake smells of lake scum.  Plant life being mulched by itself. The breeze is sometimes refreshing, and sometimes a little nauseating. People walk by with coconut scented sunscreen, and body odor, and the dogs smell like they need baths, and pant  like their mouths are as sticky as mine - which is stained with rich coffee, and dehydration, and worry about people that I cannot help, because they are no longer with us. 

I have my head phones in, but I’m not listening to music. Sometimes I do this when I want to overhear stuff.  Like the couple speaking Spanish behind me, their words sound like the melody, the rhythm is their plastic kayaks thumping along as they drag them to the  water. (Update, later the guy actually started singing to her, as their kayaks drifted next to each other 100 feet from the shore.) 

In my head I am listening to “way down Hadestown.” A song from a musical I am in love with, because it talks about the choice we make in life to live in fear OR to choose the way it could be, and how humanity is still choosing(tragically), and also still telling this story in the hopes that even after thousands of years, some day, we might choose differently. 

There is a bench 100 yards from me where I saw a local hip hop artist sitting on her lap top a few weeks ago. Sometimes I imagine that I will be listening to her as I walk by her, and just point to her and then my headphones and smile.  I never talk to her because she looks very lost in her own thoughts, so I smirk in amusement as I am lost in mine. 

There is a particular bench on this lake, where I took an ex once. And I suppose this is the definition of kissing and telling, so I won’t allude to any further details. Except that now, I picture her there each time I walk by and wonder where she is in the world, sometimes worrying I will see her out of the blue, and sometimes wishing I would. 

I am reading a book called “the universe has your back” and finding it to be that mix of hopeful and stupid, that a lot of the books I read tend to be. I have fallen asleep reading this book a lot lately. It’s a mix of trying to read right after work - and the fact that it isn’t anything new, just a different writer reminding me of truths and helpful lies. Like meditation will reconnect you to your highest self, and the universe is always working in your favor, and manifesting works and... not even one mention of the privilege of being a wealthy white educated person in the most powerful nation in history. 

A spider walks by, and I become uneasy. I know it means me no harm, and I am instinctually itching at the invisible regardless.  

I am made aware again that I slept in too late, that I have not been sleeping well, that my body aches for no particular reason. I stretch, I press at the muscles, I wish for a massage and take a break to look up a massage therapist, then don’t make the appointment. 

“I step back and let the universe lead the way.” The book reminds me. I stare at this lake, this microcosm: the surface nearby is covered in green and yellow lily pads, their waxy leaves reflecting the glare of the sun. A half dozen white flowers blooming palms-open to the sky. They  are scattered about and look like  steps along the path. And the path leads to open water, glistening blue in reflection of the sky, and further out the green of the trees on the island across the way. People lazily paddling through in bright little  canoes and kayaks. The occasional ab work out on a paddle board, a god stoically standing on the water.

Above the waxy green lilies, a thousand flying things, unnoticeable until you watch them dance, watch them chase, watch them glide through life unaware that they are being noticed at all.  Perched for a moment, resting they take in the scene, the open sky above, the billion things below the surface of the brownish stagnant water, where another ecosystem thrives, equally part of the larger whole and also a universe unto themselves. 

I take it in, and I am overwhelmed. A new ache in my chest, a pull, a desire to tighten up.  Like Arjuna I see, and I am terrified, wondering where my place is in this. This... 

I take a breath. 

I open myself up with a stretch. 

I wonder where I should put what time I have left. 

Teenagers laugh a dozen yards away as they take pictures of each other for their social media accounts, openly chatting about making it look more exciting than it is. They break me of my spell. A helicopter flies over seemingly for no particular reason. Two fat and ugly pug nosed dogs noodle by, lapping for air. 

A little Somali girl in a diaper and her mother stop in front of me while she grabs for her apple juice, she displaces her collection of acorns and pine cones from the stroller, her mom diligently picks them up, knowing it will make her joyful in this particular moment and that they will be tossed out later when they no longer serve. I think that might be the right lesson this morning, but I am acutely aware that I have a hard time letting some things  go. I have to remind myself that it is just an inhale and an exhale. Something we do all the time, something that happens naturally if you allow it. 

But I catch myself on a caught breath, stuck in old patterns, and decide I need more practice inviting new air into my life, and letting go of the old. 

I guess it’s time to get up and move a bit.  

Death

I didn't know her well. Not well enough to read between the lines of the remembrances, even though I do. 

But I am saddened, because I wanted to. There were several times, years ago, where I would have spent the night listening. So what am I to say? Condolences. 

I am worried about your friends, scattered around the globe. I am sure they knew. I am sure they distanced.  It's a really sad time for us, difficult to see through the fog. I hope they have support. 

I wish you    better     in your next life. 

Saturday thoughts

Blogger just changed formats, so everything looks a little different right now. 

Therapy

Grandiosity (3 self)

Humility (9 self)

Dream

Fears

Anger and Passion

Writing

Present

I have therapy in about a half an hour. Sometimes I feel pressure to gather up my thoughts and present. I wonder if others feel this way about therapy. I'm struggling with my therapist and the format of therapy. Not sure if I am asking for the right things, not sure if I am trying to caretake too much. People have different ideas of what therapy is supposed to look like, and what would be helpful. I am seeking out therapy for different reasons at different times, and my agenda might change from week to week. Exploring a topic is something I do on my own, often I think I am looking for insight into how to do something, or a challenge that I have not heard already. Rarely do I get that from anyone. I like my clinical supervisor a lot because she is brilliant and insightful, but she isn't very present. Often times I am aware that we could do our entire hour long meeting in about 20 minutes if we were both focused. Maybe the breaks where she is distracted are helpful because they give me time to process. I don't know. I usually have the same pressured feeling there too, how do I show up prepared to accomplish something.  In therapy, I am often annoyed when he talks (I certainly talk to much when I am doing therapy with the kids but it feels different because I am very reflective, very much a critical thinker, and so when a therapist or boss talks a lot it feels like they are talking down to me (even though sometimes I think they are just thinking aloud). I guess I would prefer someone who questions, provokes, agitates to create more thinking. I can sit with, I can be patient, I can do all of those things, but that doesn't feel like its about me, it feels like it is about the other person.

Some of this I know is because my therapist is running back to back sessions. Some of it is because the sessions we have are spaced out and it takes a moment to get caught up. But there is a familiar irritation of feeling like, "Hey this is supposed to be about me, and it doesn't feel like it right now." Part of that irritation is how he openly compares our experiences, his life and mine, and the reality is there are some parallels, and there are many differences. I get the impression he expects my life to play out like his (I worry that my students believe this when I talk), and thus it feels like a father/son experience playing out. I share bits and pieces of my experience with the kids all the time, but more to validate, I try to universalize it a bit. I expect their lives to play out like their lives, not to follow my pattern.  I think some of the best things that have happened with my therapist is his unconditional positive regard, he calls it relentless kindness. I've tried to do that with myself. Tried to give it to others. There is a lot of forgiveness of just the human experience and challenge of negative thinking patterns. I have also greatly appreciated his book recommendations in most cases. I don't get the feeling of being manipulated into growth and in some case I almost wish I would (see grandiosity 3 self) 

I seem to be very reluctant to bring any of this up. There are times we have really great sessions, and other times that feel like duds. I know that I can be too passive, and this might be part of the problem. I am very accommodating (See humility 9 self). I have also not brought up a number of things that might give him a fuller perspective of who I am, cherry picking a bit to save face. I don't think I have made the decision to be a pig (all in) in this therapeutic relationship. Not fully myself, more my public persona. That of course runs the risk of not getting what I actually need, and just like in my relationships, maybe I desire the other person to show me they want it first. To ask the questions. To challenge. To push for a deeper conversation. 

The other day I was honest. I had a series of work things, plus I was just in a mood to be more authentic, more bold, sick of holding back. I made some calls, revealed some of what I knew to be true, and everything seemed to point to how 'brilliant' I was. This is the side Illy challenges me to reveal, and I challenge her to hide. The side of me that knows the human heart and experience. That can call things out with confidence, because even if the defenses are raised, they are raised because it's true. This was the side that confronted M when she was creating a relationship behind my back, and she didn't even realize it. I knew her better than she did, I knew the people around her and their motivations and hurts better than she did. And I could name the pattern (always politely) and regardless of her denial, it proved to be true. It was the side of me that knew our relationship was doomed from the beginning, and everything I did to prove otherwise because I desired it not to be true, proved to only make it worse. I let my desire get in the way of what I knew was true, and desire, and the urge to control, did not respect that intuitive truth one iota. 

I named patterns I saw at work. I challenged. I called it out. And they were true. I walked away feeling gloriously egotistic, feeling grandiose in the manic sense, and as I walked around the lake I felt powerful, and willed that power on the universe. Come at me bro! I know you, I see you. 

On some level I know that this is a side of me I subdue (and will get to the reasons shortly), but it is a part of me that felt good to acknowledge. That part of me that knew all the things, saw them before they happened, understood. It didn't protect me. It never will. But there was some truth there, and it wasn't intellectual 6 self, that's the thing. I have learned psychology and sociology and all the little things to improve upon my knowledge, to make the argument real, but its just heart knowledge. It's knowing how the heart works, and how we deny it and cover it, and bruise and heal... and acknowledging and naming the truth for a few hours felt powerful (even as everyone's defenses raised up). 

It is so painful to take responsibility. We all crave to be known, to be seen, but we are absolutely terrified of it. What is the response to being seen? vulnerability and fear. How many times have I called something and the person's eyes lit up and then they ran, lied, defended. How often has someone done that to me and I have responded the same. Fear and shame run us towards our worst selves at every opportunity to be our best. It's the natural response to being called out before you are ready. People don't seek growth and learning. Not really, we seek comfort and security. I don't let my therapist challenge me, I don't give him the opportunity, I seek safety from vulnerability, little bits at a time, testing the waters. And so does everyone else. My clients response to being called out on the real stuff, isn't a smile and a change, it's an argument and running. It's explosive. It's scary. I can tell myself its for their own good, but if they aren't ready, then arguably it just does more damage. 

And why do I desire this grandiosity to be revealed? This truth telling... Is this my anger coming out? Some shoving to say "Hey this is the real me that I have been denying! Hey this is the part you said wasn't true, well who was right?" And why does it feel like I need to do this now?  and why in a shove, when a step forward might be warranted instead of a leap. When other people get grandiose, I calm them down, ask what the function is... so what is the function here?  I want to reveal myself more, want to be seen, want to be special and I am not feeling very special to anyone. So I make a scene to be seen?  Yell and confront? Use my passion and my anger, and in the process scare people away... make them feel unsafe, feel unwelcome. 

Over the years I have tamped down so many parts of myself to make others feel safe, welcome... and sometimes I don't know where the balance is, because this humility has served me in my relationships and in my work, but it doesn't seem to get me what I actually want in return... haven't found the balance. Of welcoming others, and giving myself the space to be me. 

Last night I had a dream of being around people. It was one of the first dreams in a while that I have remembered that wasn't about work, or pure fantasy. Melissa and I were attending a party. She drove. We got to the party and were beginning to socialize and of course I felt all the ways I do at parties; overwhelmed, excited, put off, anxious as fuck, trying to reassure myself, looking for a role. And then suddenly I had one, something needed to be returned to the car. An excuse to take a breather, and I went with it and Melissa's keys. But though I searched up and down the rows of the lots, and the adjacent streets I could not find her car. My fears began to play out and I wondered if it was my fault some how. I continued to search, time went by and I worried people would be thinking I skipped out on the party. I feared I was letting everyone down. I feared I was missing my small window of opportunity. Finally I returned to report my struggle and Melissa reminded me where she parked and grabbed whatever and said she'd figure it out. I stood at a table overlooking a pool. It was a really big mansion, not a fancy party, but clearly the hosts were wealthy. I began talking to people, and knew that I was just putting off the inevitable of speaking to the hosts. I wasn't sure what their response to me would be, I had inside information, they would be cautious, would it feel warm? would it feel bitterly cold? I didn't know. I was simply trying to prepare myself to act confident regardless. 

Then I was at their table of gifts, maybe it was a birthday party?  A house warming? The gifts turned out to be mementos of the hosts. They were rather personal, and it seemed strange to have them openly displayed given the couple. And of course the couple was Becky and Mat, and their daughter was nowhere to be found, and they seemed entirely not themselves, not anxious nerdy people, but very rich and confident and shmoozey. They were socializing with folks, and our moment together was gloriously undertoned with looks, and surface level talk being overlanalyzed, and it felt superficial and stupid  and inside I was cringing, but outside it was Mike trying to pretend to be confident at a rich person's party... and that was it. After awhile the pleasantries turned to, better get back to hosting the party. And I returned to the table noticing a journal which had notes places on little stickers on the front and back. It was Becky's and it was hilarious -tiny little statistics quantifying the intricacies of their relationship - like "Today - codependency = %20" "Agitation due to hormones =%40" "Jealousy = 22%" and so on. I found it shocking that they were being so open about it, and laughable because it seemed so uniquely theirs, who else but these total geeks would try to quantify the human heart? 

I did my thing at the party, went from person to person, totally in my own head. I looked at people swimming, and checked out the architecture, and wondered how they got so rich, and why? Because none of it mattered. At a certain point I realized I was wearing too many shirts. I felt stupid and embarrassed because everyone probably thought I had gained 50 lbs, because I had 5 extra layers on. I took them off and felt less heavy, but not less sturdy. I looked in the mirror and realized I was less self-conscious, more myself, bad posture and anxiety and all. No big deal. 

I've been ping ponging back and forth all week from moments of confidence and excitement to moments of shame and self pity. 

Who could love me with this posture. These lanky arms. These bad teeth. My coffee stained tongue and sore throat. Who could love me with my boring simple life. My lack of interests. My overthinking. My empathy turned to complacency. My loneliness. Who could love my lack of stamina and selfishness. Who could love me with my fetishes, and my pickiness. Who could love me with my broken heart, and my fears oozing out. 

I am afraid I will die, and that my life hasn't or won't matter in the least. I know that is a common fear, but this week I was thinking about how I want to write something so that it outlasts me. But will I? meh

Last night I wondered if I should be asking people who have said they loved me, why? 

Today I was wondering why -if I have so many friends -I am planning  on and looking forward to spending my weekend alone.

This week I challenged the kids on being angry. Challenged them to be, but also to acknowledge why they are so angry. To say it, rather than display it, as it were. Why am I so angry and why do I internalize it into something that keeps me from being with others?

I was walking around the lake this morning, thinking about my passionate stances, the way I used to argue with people for hours or days. Used to write and write. But nothing changed, or it did, but I played such a limited role. I found that it didn't feel authentic to feel so passionate, and not do anything about it. So I toned it down. 

Our anger is necessary. We should be angry. I am outraged. But I don't know what to do with it that will be meaningful, and shouting to the wind does not seem helpful.  I was thinking that I am the kind of person who would give the fiery speech and then rely on others to do the work. In this world, more and more of us have microphones and less and less of us are willing to work. Maybe my voice could rise to the top of the pile of voices, but if it doesn't lead to something of weight, then it seems pointless. Passion that isn't anchored, is just vitriol isn't it? More hurt in the world. 

And so I want to write something that encompasses it all. The human condition. The big and little picture. The stories are there, and they inspire me, move me, keep me enthralled. But I am struggling to get them done. I lose momentum so quickly. 

This morning I went from my own anger, to my own disfunction, to the world's disfunction, to the story in just minutes, and then the loop came around again. By the time I got home, I knew I needed to write. 

I went to therapy, and it took some of the wind out of me. I feel like I am ready for a nap now and the paragraphs get shorter. 

On my walk this morning, somewhere in the midst of the spinning, it should be noted there were some plants. A tree with ruddy orange leaves, a spirited pink flower, a green bush, all standing out against the lake behind them. They caught my awe, and I stopped. Stopped thinking. Stopped feeling. Stopped walking. Just stared. I took in a few breaths. I waited for the world to spin again, and it didn't. People passed and I stared at the contrasts caught in the moment, and stayed with them in the present. Whatever happens. That was still there. It's easy to forget the present. 

 

Doubt Comes In

I really love this song even though it is tragic. It is so human. "It's you. It's me." It feels like THE CHOICE that all humans make in our lives over and over - I am glad they wrote it like this, it makes so much more sense than the way a lot of the retellings of this myth say 'he forgot' or 'he was excited' no, he was afraid, he was doubtful. I am very proud of my clients when they make the choice to believe, to follow through, to trust themselves and others. I wish I had as much faith sometimes. 

I woke up really crabby. Im pulling out of it in little stretches, but maybe I need to cry. 
I was thinking about how hard it is for me to let go, let go of the few grudges I hold(especially towards myself), but more importantly to let go of shame. The shame of hurting people.

Why am I so hurt by people leaving me? Is it in part because I can't seem to stop blaming myself for the people who I have walked away from (until I get confirmation that they are doing ok).
I think about my reasons for walking away, fear, hurt, hopelessness, the feeling that I am not enough to make it work, doubt.  Moments when my fear and shame won over my love and faith. And what signal does that send the person when you walk away like that?
That they are irredeemable (?) -maybe its just my response and I assume they feel it too.

When M walked away without explaining, without trying to repair, and even blaming me, it was so hard not to just say, "you're right I must be the scum of the earth, I'm gonna go kill myself." and to be perfectly honest, sometimes I am still there. It's hard to reconcile the love I felt with the rejection. It is my childhood wound over and over. I must be objectionable, otherwise why would my love be so easily rejected? Why am I not good enough to be loved? Supported? Protected? Why am I left out?

I went to the dentist yesterday. Just a cleaning. But as the lady scraped away and cleaned the stain, and blah blah blah, I pictured my imperfect teeth and felt deep shame, deep fear that I was irredeemable. That I could buy a new set of teeth... and what? Die of covid a few weeks later, just another waste of money spent selfishly for no reason.  When I pictured my teeth, they were more damaged and more disheveled than they are... I lay impatiently having this done to me, and thought how weird it is that I can't seem to talk myself out of this embarrassment. I can't seem to find a way to reassure myself that I won't be rejected over and over again because of my teeth, or my throat (which keeps getting sore), or my posture, or my lankiness, or my stomach, or my on and on, and it went from they would have to put up with my body, to they would have to put up with the truly awful parts of me. I could think of a million reasons someone would reject and abandon me, and I struggled to convince myself it wasn't deserved -it is just a natural state to be repulsed by me. 

I started to wonder what the dental hygienist thinks when she sees people's teeth, and wondered if she judged. Like when I sit with clients, I do make judgements but not shaming ones, just concern... and so I asked. And she said she'd never been asked before. She gave me an answer and reassured me that I wasn't objectionable and sent me on my way. 

And I thought, wow, no one has ever asked, maybe that's a gift worth someone's time. 
 (this is unfortunately my pattern).

From a better state of mind - I know this is ridiculous. 
But I am also aware that the dental hygienist sticking her tools in my mouth, and resting her hand on my chin for leverage is the most I have been touched by anyone in probably 5 months. It was the most someone has been specifically attentive to me, and my reaction was fear that I wasn't good enough. And this is a pattern in my life. Long long stretches of being so alone that I don't realize how depleted I am. Don't realize I am grasping for scraps. Don't realize I am despairing. Don't realize I am fantasizing. Don't realize I am not quite logical, so when things click they feel magical, and when they don't work out, I am back to trying to get through the day on my own. 

Reminds me of another song from Hadestown
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L5A__1-QK4w


I gotta go to work...

Sarah Kay performs "Postcards"

I've been so in love with her lately.

Sarah Kay poem (blue lines for mike today)

Everyone needs a place. It shouldn’t be inside of someone else. -Richard Siken

The Type

If you grow up the type of woman men want to look at,
you can let them look at you. But do not mistake eyes for hands.
Or windows.
Or mirrors.
Let them see what a woman looks like.
They may not have ever seen one before.

If you grow up the type of woman men want to touch,
you can let them touch you.
Sometimes it is not you they are reaching for.
Sometimes it is a bottle. A door. A sandwich. A Pulitzer. Another woman.
But their hands found you first. Do not mistake yourself for a guardian.
Or a muse. Or a promise. Or a victim. Or a snack.
You are a woman. Skin and bones. Veins and nerves. Hair and sweat.
You are not made of metaphors. 

Not apologies. Not excuses.

If you grow up the type of woman men want to hold,
you can let them hold you.
All day they practice keeping their bodies upright—
even after all this evolving, it still feels unnatural, still strains the muscles,
holds firm the arms and spine. Only some men will want to learn
what it feels like to curl themselves into a question mark around you,
admit they do not have the answers
they thought they would have by now;
some men will want to hold you like   The Answer.
You are not     The Answer.
You are not the problem. You are not the poem
or the punchline or the riddle or the joke.

Woman. If you grow up the type men want to love,
You can let them love you.
Being loved is not the same thing as loving.
When you fall in love, it is discovering the ocean
after years of puddle jumping. It is realizing you have hands.
It is reaching for the tightrope when the crowds have all gone home.
Do not spend time wondering if you are the type of woman
men will hurt. If he leaves you with a car alarm heart, you learn to sing along.
It is hard to stop loving the ocean. Even after it has left you gasping, salty.
Forgive yourself for the decisions you have made, the ones you still call
mistakes when you tuck them in at night. 

And know this:
Know you are the type of woman who is searching for a place to call yours.
Let the statues crumble.
You have always been the place.
You are a woman who can build it yourself.
You were born to build.

thoughts -process of healing

I woke up early to deal with a work situation.
I woke up in a good mood. 

But the mind does what it does. 
As I was walking to the coffee shop, I had to stop myself in my thoughts.
"Be Here Now" as it were. Recognize the trees, the clouds in the sky, the flowers, the way life is what it is, and doesn't need to stretch to be something it isn't. 

But I was caught up in an argument in my head.
Arguing about simplicity and complexity. Arguing about the best way to help people grow.
Arguing about maturity and immaturity. Arguing about healing and trust.
All of these thoughts leading to this old wound:

This idea that I need to earn your love. This idea that I have to try to be good enough for you. This idea that I have to sacrifice parts of myself to be worthy of you.

I invited this cycle into my life again, wanted a dramatic example, lost myself to it, lashed out, regretted, felt like the villain, felt betrayed, felt like the victim. 

Yesterday I had all these small memories return to me and they were pleasant. They were my life in St. Paul. Getting a smoothie and bread in the morning. Going to Whole Foods and eating a salad. Drawing or reading at Gingko. Sitting around at her counter, or on her giant love sac, or riding on the electric scooters on summit avenue. When I go to St. Paul now, I am always kind of sad, my heart hurts and is afraid. Like a lifetime ended in tragedy. I fled the city for safety before healing. I need to go back and heal, but it's painful to even think about sometimes. But it wasn't yesterday. It was pleasant. Then today of course I am arguing. 

Arguing about what happens when someone isn't fully in, and the other wants to be. 
About how impossible it was to please, and knowing that I should take responsibility for my actions, but arguing that it was her fault for never assuring me that I was ok. 
About how I wasn't enough.

And in thinking about this, I should be more settled, recognize how imperfect a union it was. How prone to insecurity and codependency. How nothing could get solved because one person didn't want to solve it... but instead my heart just says "but if only..."  

And I can type out her life story, and my own right now. 
But that defeats the point doesn't it?
If only given who we are, we weren't... who we are.

Why do I dedicate myself to growth? Why is that important to me? 
Why do I want to be better? Why do I resist just being? 

Loneliness is one of the strongest indicators of mental health issues. And I remove myself from people in self-protection. But what is this self I am protecting? And what if I were just more assertive of my self. 

M simplifies things too much, it allows her to move forward easily but the baggage that isn't addressed ruins each new thing. 
I make everything too complex, it keeps me stuck in the past and the present, but when I heal, I feel more capable of loving fully.


_____

I am always wondering how to move forward (especially now in quarantine).
I came up with this idea of maybe buying an apartment, but at the same time, what would change?
I'd have a "home." But would I invite people to it?
I'd have more space. But do I need it?
I'd have more stuff. But do I even want that?
It's hard to move forward. I want an infinite amount of energy and time and mental clarity to write a book. I want a community.  I want to share my life with someone who wants to be in it. I want to not worry about my health. 
When I go for walks I am often in my head. I think that is why I choose not to go to new places. I can just do the same old, and be in my mind. Maybe I need a head injury to be less in my mind. 
_____



This week:
Might see Illy. 
Therapy on Saturday.
Get some books.
Work work work: Finish all the paperwork from last week.
Write?
Go for some walks.
Probably catch up with family.
Play some computer games or watch some Netflix.
Same old cycles.