It’s thundering.
The dog is scared.
I fed her shit I’m not supposed to.
She’ll probably throw it up later.
I just ate an entire bag of milano cookies.
I am not at all in love with myself right now.
I want a few people to fall off the face of the earth.
Just to make shit less complicated.
I want a time machine.
I want her she and him to go away.

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In my head, I hold a number of little ditties that friends have said to me that help guide me through my day some times.  Over the past few weeks I have really been trying to focus on being a better person by exuding kindness and keeping judgements at bay.  It’s amazing how difficult this can be sometimes, but it’s quite an eye opening activity to take myself through.  I’m recognizing how judgemental I can be by watching my thoughts and letting them pass through my head rather than ruminating on them.   I’m also attempting to challenge myself by stepping out of my comfort zone; I’ve said yes to 3 presentations in the next month!  Pretty scary for a woman who hasn’t really done one in the past 3 years.  I’m excited, scared, nervous, but I think they will go well.  Going back to my original statement, I’ll sign off with those few little ditties.

“Be kind, for every person is fighting their own battle.”

“In life I have found it is not as much about what happens to me, but the attitude I present to deal with it.”

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Sometimes the words just don’t want to come out.  People will say it’s an inability to focus, however, it seems a bit different than that.  It’s an incredibly intense focus on…nothing….static.  More focus causes more static and then the frustration joins the friends in my head and the chaos begins.  Friend of the past, longing friend, future friend, jealous friend, lazy friend, I don’t give a shit friend, and finally blank friend.  When the voices begin to fight eventually they back in their corner attempting to out pout the others.

I remember standing in a room full of socially acceptable people trying to figure out how to pretend like I fit in.  He’s up on the stage and I’m staring at him trying to force myself to look like I’m comfortable.  A quick glance over to the door melts me into a stone in a matter of seconds.  I realize that my trust has walked through the door and this is the end.  It’s hard to explain the feeling that took over me.  The realization that the last year of my life had been a huge mistake.  The realization that I couldn’t live in two worlds anymore.  There was a bit of relief and a huge amount of wanting to just hit the rewind button and go back to my life up on that pedastal.  I think that was the night that I truly understood what love felt like.  It’s not this happy feeling with romance, sensuality, all the cliche things.  No, I knew I loved him when I completely felt his pain and I just wanted to throw up.  So, I did what I always do, I froze.  God, seeing his smile when he saw me and realizing that he was about to have a boulder slap him across the face when he realized that I’ve been with someone else for the past year.  This is what happens when I’m not real with people.  Do I regret decisions that I made during that break up?  Yes!  It’s the most painful break up I’ve been through, and I mostly did it in silence.  So much left unsaid, and I’ll probably never have the chance to say those things.  Do I think it led us to the right paths?  I believe in fate, so yes.  I’m going to end this with saying…Closure.

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I read through my blog and noticed a post I made on January 5, 2009…the day I began my last field placement as a Social Work Intern at the Michael E. Debakey VA hospital in Houston, Texas.  I was nervous, scared, excited, unsure of myself and if I’m reading between the lines extremely doubtful of myself.  I’ve been working as a Licensed Master Social Worker for approximately two years now and those feelings have changed ever so slightly.  I worked for the duration of 14 months as a therapist in a behavioral science setting focusing on tobacco cessation for people with a cancer diagnosis.  I spent a great deal of time floundering in that narcissistic cloud that new therapists find themselves in during the beginning of their career.  For at least 12 of those 14 months, my mind was consumed with questions like “Does he realize how anxious I am right now?  Did that sound stupid?  Should I say this?  What if it sounds stupid?  What if he ends up yelling at me?”  With all of this going through my head it was a little difficult to really focus on what “he” needed/wanted.

One thing I learned from a few extremely patient and nurturing colleagues is that I tend to be extremely critical of myself.  When I let go of some of this is when I was able to focus on the therapeutic relationship between clients and myself.   Yes, some very stupid shit came out of my mouth, but surprisingly that strengthened the relationship more than holding back  to protect my image.  Fumbling, saying “the wrong thing” tends to show people that you’re human and invites them to fumble and make mistakes in front of you as well.  It humanizes you.  So yes, for a brief moment of time I transitioned from that narcissistic little therapist to being an agent of change for people.

Fast forward a few months and one job transition and you’ll find me working the noon-9:00 p.m. shift in an Emergency Center for cancer patients.  I am finding myself completely engulfed in regressive waters, floundering around again wondering if I’m looking stupid to people; constantly.  It’s a bit exhausting at times, but this time I have the knowledge that it will get better at some point.

I’m attempting to focus on balancing my work and personal life.  I tend to ruminate and obsess over work pretty much every second of the day.  I was getting into a habit of checking my email at home, but I’m working very hard at not doing that.  I’m focusing on doing what I can with the amount of time that I’m given.  “I, I, I.”  It drives me nuts when “I” pops up so much when I’m writing.  My Psych 101 Professor had us count how many times “I” showed up in our writings.  She had a theory that the more that little word showed up, the more narcissistic people are.  Sorry for the little distraction there.  To sum up this balance goal; I’m attempting to be a little gentler on myself.

I want to write about a very exciting change in my life, getting engaged, but I think that deserves a post of it’s own so I’m going to put a hold on that.

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“God can’t answer the door if you don’t knock on it.”  I’ll keep that one with me forever.

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“Glad everything is going well for you.” she says nervously over the telephone.  “Yup, I’m hanging in there.  Chewing a lot of gum, hanging in there.”  he says wondering what the point of the phone conversation is.  This is a man who doesn’t understand the Italian gem about the beauty of doing nothing because every minute of his life has a point to it.  Frustrated at the trite conversation, he asks her, “So, are you ready for next week’s lesson?”  She understands this is the way he communicates, and throws her professional boundaries out the window and answers, “Sure, throw it at me.”  Confidently, he says “Okay, here it goes.  Life has exactly 7 portals; no more or less.  In order for you to be efficient, you must be concentrating on at least two at the same time, at all times.  So, your lesson for the week is to think about what your seven portals are.”  She realizes that she’s just given him the power; he’s examining her.  However, she knows she’ll be able to sneak in a tear of another layer of his skin while doing so.   “Okay, I’ve got a lot of thinking to do. ” She says, giggling a little too nervously.

It’s been a week and she hasn’t come up with much, although she’s thought about it quite a bit.  “Future and past?  Present and Future?  Present and Past?  Hell, I don’t know.” she thinks to herself as she decides to dial the number.  “Hey there.” he answers.  “How is everything?” she asks, hoping he forgot about the whole lesson thing.  “You know, hanging in there, chewing a lot of gum.”  he says, and then quickly transitions.  “So, what are they?”  Shit.  she thinks to herself.  “Okay, I’m on the spot now..I haven’t come up with much, but I’ll take a stab.  Is future one of them?”  He begins to explain, because he realizes she hasn’t grown as much as he has so he doesn’t want to torture her, ” Not really, it’s a little more specific.  Who’s the most important person in your life?”  She wonders about this, and starts to ache because she recognizes the emptiness in her life, “Well, since I don’t have children, I guess it would be my parents” she answers knowing damn well the insignificance of her parents in her life.”  He frowns wondering how she is in her late 30s and her parents are still the most important people in her life.  “Interesting, but no the most important person in your life should be your spouse” he says, still a little puzzled.  She begins to question his ideas in her head, and quite frankly is becoming a little irritated.  She doesn’t like giving this much under the surface level.  Too much to find out.  “Shut up!”  her mind is telling her, although she knows this is the only way she is going to build rapport with him.  Reluctantly, she answers, “Okay, my partner.”  That sparks his interest, but he doesn’t say so, “Yes, your partner.  Now, what’s next?”  She is extremely irritated because he’s getting right to the core of her utter, debilitating angst; nothing is important to her because she just doesn’t feel.  She decided to give him very quick answers because this is becoming painful.  “My friends are very important to me so they would be another portal.  Immediate family another.  Extended family another.  Community would be another portal.  Kids, if I had them.  Myself, yes I am one of those portals.  And spirituality?  Is that one?  I suppose it should be.”  She really just wants the conversation over.  “Yup, you’ve got em” he says.  He’s thinking to himself that he’s pretty impressed.  She decides she’s had enough of him examining her and she decides to sneak the tear in, “So, I see how this fits in to our first conversation together.  You were talking about how you are readjusting your priorities in your life since it’s been flipped upside down.  Have your portals changed, or are they still the same?” she asks, knowing that she’s grabbed the power back, but yet, still feeling guilty at the ingenuousness of her responses.  He laughs and responds with, “Yeah, they have changed quit a bit.  Talk to you next week?”  Satisfied that she has gotten a little further she smiles and says, “Talk to you next week.”  She hangs up the phone and sighs a breath that has been suffocating since the beginning of the call.

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Wishing I could envelope the ease of Carrie Bradshaw, I sit down at my laptop in front of my window and begin to type.  A coffee mug, cell phone, nook, books, and crannies sit at my desk for inspiration and a perfect writing environment.  Tree limbs are swaying with the cool breeze.  The dishwasher is humming in the background.  Even the schnauzer’s piercing bark is muted.  The calming, chill music provided by Itunes radio is causing a sway in my hips almost making me want to get up and dance.  The window is open and the soft hum of the cars on the freeway is just enough noise to remind me that the world is still hustling outside of my little nook.  I’m in a perfectly content mood and the thought of writing is pulling me towards wanting to scream or cry with fury, whichever comes first.  How can my love for writing disappear for years, almost three to be exact.  It’s trapped inside my head, bursting at the door stems to open, but I can’t get to the door.  Like I’m just a strand away, but can’t reach the knob to free my thoughts.  Trapped in silence.  Mouth forced shut from the inside.  Door slammed shut at my throat.  Do. Not. Speak. They will know the secret if you speak.  There will be no more hiding.  You will have to be exactly who you are.  Hands on mouth to make sure nothing escapes.  Fingers frozen so they cannot type.  Just keep quiet and nobody will know.

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It’s 5:30 a.m. The alarm beeps.  She contemplates the dedication, rolls over and sees the dog.  She’ll always do it for the dog.  Out of the bed, down the stairs, shoes on, push the coffee button, grab the leash, out the door.  “Shit”, forgot the dog.  Open the door, “Come on girl, time to go run”.  Hop in the car, start, brake, reverse.  Turn right, wait for the green, turn again, park.  Hop out, grab the dog, head over to the trail.  The routine of life.

She passes people and thinks about how she would give anything to have the trail to herself.  The lake, the upcoming sunrise, the trail, the dark.  The things we wish for; how many times are they really what is best for us?  Her head is full of thoughts.  She’s yelling at herself for not being able to concentrate.  Just think about the running.  She’s worried about her dog, she’s worried about worrying.  She’s worrying about wanting  to be alone.  Everyone, just go away.  Let my mind clear.  It can’t clear if additions are being made.  “Shut up!  Shut up!  Shut up!”  She notices a unique quietness.  She starts to get nervous.  Born with an imagination beyond vivid, she scolds her neurosis.

Footsteps.  There are footsteps behind me.  Of course there are, you are on a running trail.  They are getting close.  Imagination.  Imagination.  Imagination.  Breath?  Just the wind.  Calm down.  You always do this.  Dog seems nervous.

One more step.  Lag.  Drop.  Time is stopped.  This is going to add a minute.  Come on, why are you stopping?   Shit, she’s after a squirrel.  The leash got away.  Yelp.  Bark.  Bark. Bark.  Anxiety, freeze, panic, tears.  She can’t be hurt.  Where are you?  I can’t see.  Do I yell?  Silence.  Where are you?  Please, make a sound.  Lightning bolt.  It’s not raining.

He rationalizes every move.  He just muzzled the dog and tied her to the tree.  He gave her a bone.  He’s been watching her for months.   She has made it so easy for him.  He’s convinced himself that she knows he has been watching and planning.  He dreams that she asks him to take her.  To hurt her.  He’s getting excited.  She’ll be getting close soon.  She’ll smell of sweat just like he likes it.  RAW.  There she is.  No light.  Her protection muzzled.  Why doesn’t she have a phone?  Why doesn’t she have mace, a taser, a gun?  Naievty, his strength.  It’s time to hit.  Don’t let her see.  Get the bat.  Strike.

Eyes open.  Where is Hazel?  I don’t hear her.  Don’t hurt her.  She’s on the ground.  She looks up.  Smile.  Eyes.  Lips.  Muddled.  She can’t put her thoughts together.  The sky is pink.  Sunrise.  Her favorite time.  Her legs are numb.  Lucidness strikes.  Pounding; her head is pounding.  Slice.  Red.  Where is she?  “Come on, girl.  Let’s go”.  Nothing.  Total focus on her safety.  Unconditional love does this; erases your mind of the horror that is forcing itself into you.

He tells himself how bad she wants this.  She’s not fighting anything.  She looks at him without fear.  Slice.  “Wait, look at me.  You have to look at me.”  Slice.  Slam.  Heaven.  Warm.  Slam.  Wet.  “Look at me.”  She’s not looking.  She’s not concentrating.  She’s laughing.  Slice.  “Look at me!”  Slam.  Slam.  Slam.  It’s not working.  Air.  Take her air.  She wants it.  She wants you.  Control her.  Take her.  Slice. Slam.  Slice. Slam.  Slice.  Slam.  Slice. Slam.  Slice.

Pain.  “Where is she?”  I can’t move. Why can’t I move?  Pain.  Red.  She’s hurt.  I have to find her.  Slice.  Slam.  Yelp.  Bark.  Air.  Air.  Air.  I can’t breathe.  Don’t hurt her.  Foot steps.  Calm down, It’s a running trail.  Voices. Voices.   People.  Leave me alone.  Where is she?  Tears.  Scream.  Anxiety.  People.  Watching.  Staring.  Red.  Pain.  Where is she?  Lights. Red.  Tears.  Thoughts.  Where are my thoughts? Cold.  Face.  Gone.

Run.  You can’t take too long.  Stay.  One more.  She wants it.  Slice.  Pink sky.  They’ll be coming.  Foot steps.  Scream.  Go.  Run.  Everyone is running.  Run.  Run.  Run.  Triumph.  Let the dog go.  She loves the dog.

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I love reading old little ditties I’ve written, especially when I remember exactly what I was writing it for.  I wrote this one when I just needed to escape for a moment into make believe.  What I love more than anything is reading something that I’ve written and then realizing that I got through what seemed to be be impossible at the time.  Enjoy.

Headstrong

I know you’re real, but I’m gonna stay in make believe with the tiny toes hopping on the ceiling and the bantam fingers balancing on the flying red carpet.
Because it hurts when you walk away, but here in my head where I pretend,
you’re coming back tomorrow.

Mr. Gingerbread alarm clock excites me with a kiss at 6 a.m.
Ms. Tiny toes leaps from the ceiling springing me from my cloud in just enough time to catch you.
With the stub on the end of my hand, I grab your curl and lasso you back to the clouds.
You flip and hop and bump, and finally land after cupid’s arrow strikes your heart.
Smelling the daisies, you look up and confess your love sending a million kisses floating through the air.

There is a battle I have to fight in my head to get to you.
She’s lurking in the corner, begging cupid to join her.
Goldilox creeps to the bottom of our cloud and you feel a breeze enter your heart.
A bionic ray crashes the remote and throws the screen into a rewind.

My jealousy is erupting and I think of ways to crush her.
I want you for only me, and my obsession is just big enough to make sure that happens.
The pictures on the wall prove that you are mine.
The stories I tell prove you are mine.
Cupid says so.

Descending from the clouds to my bed I sob.
I’m looking for Mr. Ginberbread, Ms. Tiny Toes, and Cupid.
They’re playing hide and seek, so I spring to my toes and run through the house peeking through every door.
A beautiful flash of yellow flashes across the window and I know it’s her.
Cupid launches his arrow and it hits you, but it’s not my arrow.

I know you’re real, but I’m gonna stay in make believe with the tiny toes hopping on the ceiling and the bantam fingers balancing on the flying red carpet.
Because it hurts when you walk away, but here in my head where I pretend,
You’re coming back tomorrow.

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Boldly shy and neurotically compassionate.

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