Grieving Is Not a 5 Step Process

Today, I want to talk about grief. Not for any particular reason, other than it has been on my mind.

There has been some popular idea, put on tv and in movies, that grief is a 5 step process and once you go through those steps, you will have successfully grieved. And it's based on a misunderstanding of what that 5 step process was about. It is the steps someone who is dying goes through. After all, it's hard for me to argue that Carrie Fisher didn't die when it's obvious that she did. I may say to myself, "No, this isn't real," when I first read about a celebrity's death, but that's more shock than denying what is true.

Grief, from the side of the person who survives, does not come all at once. It doesn't hit you just once that you lost someone. It comes back to haunt you, over and over. And then the loss is new again. And slowly, there are less things that bring the pain back as badly. You find ways to deal with the hard times and life continues, as always.

And sometimes, you grieve the loss of things instead of people. I've been dealing with a potential loss of my dream of being a parent. I've been dealing with this idea for a while, but recently it hit much harder and at a terrible time for me to even try to deal with it emotionally. I have to face the truth, at 36 it is unlikely that I will get to have my own kids and adoption isn't an option right now, and may never be a viable one. And it hurts so bad. As much as I know that it's a good thing, as any children would not be able to be with us right now, it hurts.

I recognize that I haven't faced much loss in my life. Not really. Both of my parents are alive and in seemingly good health (for an odd definition of good). One of my grandmothers has died, but the other is still alive. My siblings are both healthy. I haven't lost many extended family members, and most of those were through divorce, not death.

But that doesn't mean that I've never grieved. My junior year of high school, I knew 4 people who died. One of them was a classmate, one was a teacher. The other two were relatives, both old enough that death was less surprising. A year ago, my grandmother died. And I couldn't go to her funeral, because by the time I knew when it was, I was not going to be able to change where I would be in time to do anything. I lost the relationship with my mother, as unhealthy for me as it was. And I had to mourn the loss of the relationship I wanted and deserved. I still mourn that loss. Not as much as I did, but the pain is still there.

Grief is not a 5 step process. And we insult the grieving every time we pretend like it is.

Now, if you need me, I'll be over here, mourning my losses and trying to find my equilibrium again.

Let's Be Honest Here

Note: I haven't posted in forever, I know. I don't even know what I last wrote about, and I know at one point I promised funny stories about trucking. This is not that post. I don't know if that post will ever exist, because sometimes that is how my life goes. I have these good intentions, and then other things become urgent and important (not the same thing, by the way) and they take over everything. (End random semi-explanation, start actual post)

I'm getting more honest with myself. We were watching a documentary on Netflix about Tony Robbins (called Tony Robbins: I Am Not Your Guru). I realized that if I had been there, the biggest thing I want to change in my life does not have to do with our finances (even though I want them to change) or the fact that we are still not parents yet (I realized how much of a blessing that has been the last few years, even though I've been wanting to be a mom through them all). The biggest thing I want to change in my life is to stop hating myself.

I don't always hate myself. In fact, I'm often fond of me. I know I have my issues, but I am working on them. I am not just settling and declaring myself done with growing.

But then there are those days. The ones that I spend the whole day wanting to go lay back down because being upright is just so pointless. The ones where I feel like I can do nothing right and all the mistakes I've made in the past two or three years come back to haunt me. And the memories won't shut up. Depression tries to come back.

And on those days, I hate myself. For feeling week enough to believe the lies that depression makes. For believing the harmful things that my mother said so many years ago are things that are still true. For not loving myself enough.

I don't want to hurt myself, even on those bad days. But depression isn't about physical pain, although there is usually some of that with the emotional pain. I just want to lay down and not move, because it feels like there is no point.

I am thankful for my husband, who doesn't let me dwell in the pain and spiraling lies. He brings me food and does whatever he can to make me laugh. He hugs me and gives me the love I can't seem to give myself. He won't leave me alone in my pain, which is the best thing for me, despite depression telling me that I don't deserve these things.

I want to stop hating myself. I want to love me, even on bad days. If I do, maybe they won't be so bad. I want to know, without a doubt, that I am better than all those bad thoughts tell me I am. And most days, I do feel that way. And I am so thankful for that.

I am stronger than I think.

And so are you.

Suicide Is Hardly Painless

I know it's been forever since I last posted. Sorry about that. Things have changed some, and I'm now driving (at least sometimes) and that has lead to being more tired and less inclined to write. I'm also less inclined to read as much. It's making me sad. That, however, is not the point of this post.

I want to talk about my theory of suicide. (Robin Williams is still having a profound effect. Hopefully people will get help instead of following the leader.) If that bothers you, sorry. Hopefully I'll post something less emotionally traumatizing soon after this. You might want to skip this post if you are fighting that fight, although I'm not really planning on going into hows as much as whys.

I have a friend who posted a link on FaceBook about depression. And it got me thinking, once I got past my emotional first reaction of finding depression entirely too close for comfort.

I used to believe, back before I ever fought depression, that suicide was selfish. I was a stupid teenager who wondered how someone suicidal didn't see the impact on their loved ones who were left to mourn the loss. I didn't understand that sometimes people are just pushed to the edge of what they can handle and the lack of hope is the final straw. I did understand that as bad as things seemed, ending my own life would never seem likely a good solution, because I'm probably more scared of the potential physical pain than I am of finding a way to just keep going. I'm kind of wired oddly sometimes, but it works well for me in the long run.

Today, I saw much more clearly that suicide is much more about someone who couldn't hold on any more. The pain and rawness of depression are too much. The numbness seems unending. The lies of depression seem too believable. The self-loathing is too acute and the belief that no one else cares seems too real. You know that it's not true, but you just can't fight any more.

I'm still not the kind of person to attempt suicide. I'd rather just hide from society and just not move until something motivates me enough. I struggled two years ago with depression crippling enough that I wasn't eating right and couldn't find it in me to want to do anything about it. But I found the motivation to go shopping once a week and go to a prayer team once a week and to do the minimum that I needed to not become one with the bed. It was horrible, because I just felt so bad and I wasn't sure how I was going to be okay again. And then, it got better.

But it helps me understand better why someone might give up. When 3 steps is too far for food, you learn things about yourself. And they aren't pretty things.

I survived. I've not had anything even remotely as bad as that happen again.

We are, all of us, more than our weakest moments.

Even when we fail to make it through those moments.

If you are depressed, please find help. I should have. I wish I did. I wish I could have. I'm thankful that my will to survive was stronger than my lack of motivation. I am willing to listen/read. I don't have answers for you, but sometimes just sharing with someone helps. If I'm not your cup of tea, please find someone who is. There are plenty of people out there willing to help. And not all of them require making a phone call. (Sorry, my own weird phone phobia is slipping in.)

And remember, please, that you are more than your weakest moments. It does, eventually, get better. Depression lies. And someone does love you.

Thanks.

I'm Not So Superficial (Any More)

I kind of understand why we judge people, in general, on stupid surface things like looks, what music they listen to, what clothes they wear, what kind of car they drive, what their occupation is. It's a quick way to start sorting out whether or not we'd be friends.

But it drives me crazy. The people I've found with the biggest hearts and that I care about the most are the people I know little to nothing about most of those things. I, obviously, can know what they look like and what they wear, but I may not know much else. And none of that really matters to me.

Having money to buy expensive clothes or cars does not mean you have a heart that cares for others. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt and driving a car that looks like it needs a paint job does not mean that you don't care about anyone. Sometimes it just means that you've had some hard times and this is what you have right now.

When I was in 4th-6th grades, I had some fairly close friends that weren't popular. Sadly, I lost touch with them after 6th grade, so I have no idea where they are now, but they were better friends to me than I probably deserved. I loved them with all my heart, except when I got asked why I was friends with them by the popular kids. And then I was a bad friend and dropped them like a hot potato. And they kept forgiving me and taking me back when I pulled my head out of wherever I had stuck it and went back to actually being friends with my friends (usually within a few days). I feel terrible about it now. At the time, I just wanted to maybe be popular (because I was kind of stupid about what being popular meant).

But I had gravitated toward people with big hearts and lots of love and forgiveness for someone who was kind of stupid despite being so smart. People who believed in me and were fun to be around. And that shaped me, even when I was being stupid.

So now, I don't really focus much on what people wear, or what they drive, or what their favorite things are. At least not for judging if they would be good friends. Because I had friends that looked past any of that while I was learning that people who care about you are worth far more than people that sort of like you. Because I'd rather judge my friends by the content of their hearts than their interests. Because I can find people who are amazing and who bless my life by being in it without needing to share interests in tv or movies.

Part of that lesson came when in 7th or 8th grade I had a "friend" who one day just decided that she didn't like me any more. And then a few days later, she liked me again. But I was shut out of most of my group of friends because one girl didn't like me for no apparent reason. And I think it helped me realize what a bad friend I had been in the past. I gave that friend a second chance, but the friendship wasn't as close and when she decided that she didn't like me for no apparent reason again, I just gave up on the friendship. Not quite as forgiving as my friends a few years earlier had been (the time frame on my random self-conscious idiocy was closer to once a year, not twice in as many months, which probably helped them too). But I had already started figuring out who were the type of people that would care about me vs caring about themselves.

So, now a days, I try to not judge someone by superficial means. I am by no means perfect, but I'm getting better at it.

I hope to teach my children this without them having to go through what I did. I'd prefer their stupid decisions to be about something less likely to hurt people, especially the ones who truly care about them.

And to those friends, I apologize. I'm not sure I did that adequately when we were younger. You deserved someone being your friend who didn't randomly get ashamed about superficial things. I wish I had done better at that. Thank you so much for being willing to forgive me. I got better, but I never forgot that I was that person. I hope you found better friends as you grew up. Ones that didn't do what I did. Ones who loved you because of who you were and are. Ones who wanted good things for you. Thank you for believing in me enough to forgive me.

I'm Hiding Today

Today is one of those days I have mixed emotions about. Most of them have to do with hiding from anything proclaiming anything about Mother's Day and waiting it out until tomorrow, when I'm safe from all the commotion for until next year.

It's also my mother's birthday today. This only complicates my feelings for today.

On the plus side, Ace is wonderful. He is fine with me ignoring that it's Mother's Day. He's fine with buying me chocolate/sweets/whatever and letting me hide away from the world. He understands why I flinch, mentally, at the reminders.

I hope that if you are a mother, you have a wonderful day. Don't let my issues with the day ruin your day. Celebrate. Take a day off or spend it with your children or celebrate however you want.

As for me, I think I'll spend part of the day eating the Swedish Fish Ace bought for me. He really is the best husband ever.

And hiding. Because avoiding the reminders is better than flinching all day.

I Am Wordy Today

So, after ignoring the blog for most of the year so far, I am apparently wordy today. Go me?

I read a great post earlier called When Is It Time to Walk Away and it has me feeling inspired. Because it's nice to know that someone can understand, without details, that they may not have all the information about why I've made a decision, but it can still be the right one for me.

I am so over everyone telling me that I need a relationship with my mother. I love the people who don't try to tell me that they know better than I do about what I need in my life. No one but me (and possibly Ace) knows what all happened to cause the relationship to be so unhealthy that I needed out. No one but me should decide if I was being harsh or burning a bridge or just that I need to change that decision. And the people who truly care about my happiness either know enough to know that I am happier without her in my life (and why) or to know that they don't need to know the details unless and until I share them.

I read the post out loud to Ace. Then I talked about the fact that I expect to tell our future children something about why they (and I) don't have a relationship with my mother. They'll figure out that my step-mom is not my mom at some point, based on the fact that I call her by name, if nothing else. They'll have questions, and the younger they are, the simpler the answers will be.

I doubt that I'll ever tell them everything. They don't need to know all the details, and I don't remember all of them anyway. I remember enough to know why I stopped the relationship. I remember enough to not let nostalgia for the good times convince me that the relationship would be healthy if I tried to start it back up. I remember enough of the good times that the thought of her doesn't hurt so bad. I remember enough to not want to see her, because just being in the same place is awkward and frustrating.

There are things in this life that I will fight tooth and nail for. My relationship with Ace is one of them. That is a relationship that is worth the work, and usually it doesn't feel like we are working at the relationship. My relationship with my sister is another. I'd love to be closer to her, but we've almost always had a distance separating us (the age difference, if nothing else). But I'd work and try and push to keep a relationship with her. She is worth it. And she wouldn't make me do all the work.

I don't really have a point. I can't say things better than that post did. Sometimes, it's time to protect yourself.

I stopped a toxic relationship with my mother. I survived the emotional abuse that she heaped on me (and it was emotional abuse, which can damage a person nearly as badly as physical abuse can sometimes). I know that just because there were good times, that doesn't negate the bad times. I don't life my life based on the things she said. I don't blame that past on my current situation. I understand that emotional abuse is still abuse, and that I deserve better. I know that some people will never understand, and I don't let them make my decisions for me.

If you have never walked in my shoes, lived my life, you can't know what has caused me to make my decisions. Maybe I am not as strong as some people. But there are people who would be amazed at what I have survived. We all have something we are struggling with. Sometimes, it's time to stop struggling and let it go.

If you ever need to tell someone something without them judging you for making a decision, I hope that I can help. I care and I'd be happy to listen/read. I understand loving someone who hurts you. And I understand letting someone go because the hurt is too much. I know that I can never fully understand your life, just as you can never fully understand mine. But I'm here. And I care.

See, I Do Remember to Post More Often than Every 2 Weeks!

In addition to being a bad blogger, I've been a bad blog reader. Last year, in roughly August or September (or October, or rather, over parts of all three months), I had a really bad case of depression hit. I lost all my interest in, well, just about anything. I watched a lot of crappy tv and read a lot of fanfiction and didn't do much of anything else. Including eating.

It was really bad. I was eating about two slices of sandwich meat a day for a while. Because the fridge was just too far away.

So, because everything felt like too much effort, I stopped reading blogs. I also stopped reading comics. And playing most games. And on some days, sitting up. And Ace was worried from afar, because he was in training and couldn't be there to help put me back together again (and that was part of the problem).

It was really, really bad. I had a day of talking to Ace on instant messenger where he was offering to talk to my dad and see if he'd come pack my stuff if I could just get myself dressed, and that was too difficult that day (I also may have cried a bit during that conversation, because depression sucks and makes me an emotional wreck). It was epically bad.

And since then, I just haven't made the effort to catch back up on blogs or comics or anything. I'm still not fully checking everything on FaceBook like I used to.

I'm better. Worlds of better. Nowhere near where I was. But I've not started reading blogs again. Because even if I skip catching up on the backlog, which would be advisable, I've not found the desire to go back to reading all those blogs again. Not because I don't care about the people, I do. I just am struggling to find my own voice again, so I'm not ready to add other voices into my head. At least not yet.

So, to all those whose blogs I used to read, I apologize. It's not you. It's totally me. And that crippling depression. I still love you and I hope things are going well. I'm just not ready to immerse myself back in your lives yet. But someday, hopefully soon, I'll be back to reading. Right now, I've got to finish fixing my own head.

We Are All a Bit Broken

After yesterday's tragedy, I have a few thoughts. I don't know everything that happened. Even if I followed the news about it and read everything I could, I doubt I'd know what happened.

I have a theory that we, as humans, are all at least a tiny bit broken. Not intentionally. We all start out as perfect, innocent babies, but we are being raised by someone who is broken, and that is going to create some kind of a break in us.

For example, my mother was not ready to grow up and be an adult when she had me. She was broken in that she had been treated like the baby of the family her whole life (she was the youngest of all her siblings). And suddenly, she was supposed to be an adult and raise a child (or three... eventually). So, she did what she could until my father asked for a divorce. And then she just kind of decided that her 13/14 year-old daughter (me) was ready to grow up and be an adult and be responsible for her other two children.

And that decision, among others, caused me to break. In some really odd ways. I feel responsible, still, for making sure my sister and brother are happy. They are both adults (in their early 20s, both of them) and they should be responsible for themselves. And it's not just them. I feel like I should be taking care of everyone. Except when I feel like someone should take care of me for once. I walk a weird line between selfishness and selflessness. Because that's what I learned I had to do around my mother. Give until I had little left, and then jealously guard what little was mine alone so I could keep it. (It does not help that my mother is a liar at times when she thinks she can guilt someone into giving her something she wants/needs. It just creates more towing of that line.)

I don't know why someone would shoot a bunch of innocent kids. I don't know how the parents are starting to deal with this new fracture in their lives. I hope I never know.

But I do know that being so fundamentally broken seems to cause very different reactions in people. I get overly fussy and want to take care of people (except when I want to be taken care of). Some people get stuck in a place where they don't want to grow up and be an adult and find other people to deal with most things. And apparently others can't find a healthy way to relate to their families and cause destruction.

I have a theory that we are all at least a little bit broken. But we should be thankful that we aren't broken in ways that hurt others. And maybe we should look for people who are a bit broken that way and see if we can help some. I know that we can't fix the world, and we may not be able to fix them, but maybe we can stop such tragedies in their planning stages. Maybe.

I Am Slightly Obessed with Introversion Right Now

Okay, because my brain is obsessed with the introvert thing, and because I am currently waiting (somewhat impatiently) for Ace to drive here from NW Arkansas for us to start the whole moving our stuff around and getting me settled in with my dad for roughly the next month, I am going to talk about how cool my parents actually were when raising me. It's one of the few things I can say that was absolutely positive about my mom. Relish that, because I do.

My parents did not actually push me to be more outgoing (other than to push past that crippling shyness thing). They let me stay home and play with Barbies or read or play with Legos or whatever other thing I was interested in doing. I'm sure there was probably some part of them wondering if I should have more friends, but they let me be me.

I was never asked to be something besides myself when it came to daily interaction with the world. I was left to be my introverted self. And that was great. There was no one trying to get me to change. No one trying to tell me that my personal preference to be at home most of the time was wrong or unusual or not healthy. I was allowed to be myself and flourish in my own unique style.

I'd like to think it's because my parents are a bit more introverted. My mom seems to be. My dad seems more like an ambivert (in the middle between introverted and extroverted). It seems to have helped them be accepting of my own personal desire to have lots of time alone.

Oddly, time with Ace has never felt draining. Which is great, because I like spending time with him. This is actually great for both of us, as we are both introverts and both feel the same about our time together not being draining. Which will be really nice on a truck, as we won't really be able to get away from each other.

So, yeah. Nicely, I have not had some of the problems that other introverts have. Because my parents didn't try to force change on me. And for that, I am truly grateful. It's nice to be able to say something positive about my mom.

21

Today, my sister turned 21. She's fully a legal adult. If she wants, she can legally drink, smoke, vote, join the military, get married, drive, and own property (okay, most of that she could do by age 18, but still).

I remember when she was born (okay, not literally, because I was in school and I don't remember much of anything about that school day other than wanting to be at the hospital). I remember us bringing her home from the hospital. It was cold so there were several layers of blankets over her car seat. We went out to eat that night. She was 3 days old. 2 or 3 days later, on Christmas, our mother put her under the tree with a bow stuck to her head like she was a present.

I remember singing Disney songs with her and her insisting that I sing the boy parts (because she wasn't going to). I'm pretty sure I usually sang both parts, much to her frustration. I don't remember most of our games, but I know that we did play together.

We shared a room for 6 years. Her things were almost always thrown everywhere. My stuff was usually a little messy but easily cleaned up. We were almost like complete opposites personality wise. She was a morning person and I have always seemed to prefer night to morning. Our age difference didn't help us grow close, despite being in such close proximity. We started doing better when we stopped sharing a room.

I missed seeing her for most of her teen years. Moving to Tulsa and then stopping contact with my mom made my relationship with her strained. I felt like I was abandoning her for my own sanity and she apparently felt like I was just another person in a long string who left. I still hurt because of that. But we've talked this stuff over. I'm pretty sure we've worked most of it out. I hope she knows that I am open to hearing from her and talking to her at any time. I hope she knows how much I love her.

I feel like I left her while she was still forming her personality. I don't really fully know who my sister is any more. She's still the wonderful, sweet, caring person that I saw when she was 2, but she's also this strange and mysterious adult who I've not gotten much of a chance to get to know. She's had experiences that I wasn't there for or there to talk to about. I haven't gotten to be the protective big sister that I still am. I feel like she and I are worlds apart still.

My little sister, okay she's taller but she's still my little sister, is an adult. And I'm hoping that someday I'll get a chance to get to know her better.

NaBloPoMo Day 10

Normally, when I get on here I know what I'm going to write about. Normally, I haven't made a commitment to write every day for 30 days.

That said, I want to talk about my mother. I don't normally. The subject of my mother is too sensitive and private. Or more so, the subject of my mother normally seems to cause me to over-think things and dwell and end up depressed.

Seeing as I've already been skating close to depression, and I've still got two library books guaranteed to make me laugh just waiting for me to read them, I think I'll talk about my mother anyway.

My mother is, at least in my opinion, a mess. She has had a bad tendency to move around the suburb she lives in far more often than really seems healthy (4 times in as many years that I can think of off the top of my head). She also doesn't go through everything before she moves it, it just gets boxed up and moved (usually because she's moving in somewhat of a hurry over a weekend).

She has problems expressing any positive sentiments to her children, even her obvious favorite. Instead, we've all been mentally pushed down in an effort for her to prop up her own self-esteem. It's left us all with doubts as to our worth or our readiness to do anything. And the few times there have been positive things, end up feeling like a carrot dangled before a mule to make it continue to move.

It's not that I hate my mother, despite what she might think. On the contrary, I love her a lot. But I refuse to be around her when it will just wind up with me feeling hurt again. I deserve better than that, even if it took me a while to get to that place mentally.

I've learned many things from my mother, most of them what not to do to my own children. Not all the things I've learned are helpful with anyone besides her either. Not having her in my life has been good, especially while dealing with other hard times. I don't need one more person added to the chorus that is saying that Ace and I messed up. I've had more peace, even with my frustrations, knowing that my mother wasn't going to dump a ton of stuff on me on a regular basis.

I don't think my mother is evil, but I do know that I am still too broken to try to have any kind of relationship with her. My dreams bear this out. I recently had a dream where I asked her if she knew what no contact meant. I'm obviously still somewhat upset about my brother's graduation (for more than reason, but I'm not talking about the car dying, I'm talking about my mother).

As much as I'd like to think that I'm past my past and all the stuff with my mother, I often find that I'm still just as hung up about things as I ever was. Despite her voice no longer being in my head, hounding me with her opinions on my life, I still have the scars and the broken bits as evidence of her still affecting my life. I don't know how long it will take to feel like I'm not broken, if I ever will. Things that seem unrelated trigger old insecurities and make me feel just as broken as I ever was.

I know that when I have kids, there will be no way for me to avoid messing up. My only real hope is that when I mess up, it won't have nearly the lasting impact on them as my mom has had on me.

I'm a Mother Hen

One of my cousins, one that I haven't seen in a long time, is having some issues with her father. There's a big story there that I really don't want to think about or go into. He did some crazy, bad thing and is in jail now. He, apparently, wants to hear from her more often. She has kids she's raising, is pregnant, and is on bed rest. She is in no position to write him daily (which is what he wants).

She is just ready to stop all contact, from what I can tell. As much as I hate to see that, sometimes it's for the best. I sent her a message to let her know that I understand and I won't push her into any contact. I let her know she has at least one family member on her side. She doesn't need the extra stress, something bad at any time but worse when she's on bed rest. She doesn't need to sacrifice some part of herself to make someone who effectively took himself out of her life happier (or less whiny).

Sometimes, I feel like a mother hen. I want to protect the world from itself. At the very least, I want my cousin to know that she has someone who has been in a somewhat similar situation (not wanting to be hurt by a parent anymore) who will offer her a safe place to feel less alone. Someone to say it's okay to stop talking to someone who hurts you emotionally even if they aren't hurting you physically. Someone to say it's okay to protect yourself and your family.

I helped my cousin feel better. It made me feel better. I can't change the situation, but I can let her know that she isn't alone. Sometimes, just having one person say that they understand can make all the difference.

I wish I had had someone like me when I was where she's at right now. I'm thankful that I can be there for her.

Why Anonymous?

After nearly 4 and 1/2 years posting here anonymously, I figure it's time I write about why this blog is anonymous.

4 and 1/2 years ago, I had a different blog. One that was know by my family. One that was probably read by at least some of my family. It was similar in lots of ways to this blog. I talked about random stuff that was on my mind and things that were happening.

But, I found myself censoring much of what I wanted to say. I didn't want my father to read about my sex life, because we have a mutual understanding that we each pretend the other doesn't have sex and thus our mental states stay free from acknowledging that the other is human with human sexual needs. We are both happier that way. I also found myself wanting to write about stuff with my mother, but not willing to write it where either she could read it or at least our mutual family members could read it.

At some point, something happened that brought about me feeling like I couldn't write anything there. I felt stifled by my self-imposed restrictions. I felt like I needed to write posts to mentally deal with things, but I couldn't write there any more.

So, I started a new blog. I decided to be anonymous, although the veil of anonymity is fairly thin sometimes. If any one who knows what is going on in my life (at this point, mostly my in-laws) were to read this blog, they would likely know I was the one writing it (as far as I know, they have no clue about blogs and thus I am fairly safe from them). It's a place for me to figure out how I feel about things or to write about what is happening.

Even here, I limit some topics. I don't constantly whine about my in-laws, because I'd rather think about more positive things. I don't talk about politics ever, I rarely think about such things. I rarely talk about my faith because it's so personal to me and it seems like the kind of thing to protect. I only occasionally talk about sex, because it also seems like the kind of thing to protect.

I don't plan, at this point, to stop being anonymous here. Anonymity suits me for this place. It gives me more freedom to talk about various things. It's not like I'm hiding my personality, just my name.

10 Years

It's been 10 years since two planes crashed into the World Trade Center.

As much as I'd love to say that day really impacted my life, it didn't. At least not that much.

I didn't fully understand what I heard on my radio as I got up and got ready for class. It wasn't until I was in class that I even knew what had happened. I had a doctor's appointment for a sinus infection. Gas stations in OKC decided to gouge people on gas prices, so I was told to wait a few days to get gas. I didn't really know what to think about the attacks, so I didn't.

I admire the men and women who helped out in New York City that day. The ones who were willing to die to pull someone out of a building. They are heroes. They deserve all the respect and admiration they get. I also admire the soldiers who signed up to fight because they knew this horrible tragedy was wrong.

I was still asleep when both towers were crashed into. My life was and is so insulated in Oklahoma that the only real impact I've felt is slightly higher gas prices and a decided lack of desire to fly anywhere because of security precautions.

But I still remember that it's been 10 years.

Happy Father's Day!

The other night, I was trying to think of something to write about my dad. I was supposed to be going to sleep, but it seemed important to figure out some way to celebrate my dad on Father's Day, since I wasn't going to get to see him on the day this year.

Then, I remembered how he entertained me while we went grocery shopping when I was younger. He'd tease me in several ways. He'd pretend he was going to bump into all the posts holding up the roof, but that it was my fault because I was in the driver's seat (I kept pointing out that I was just riding, he was steering, but it just kept happening). He would pretend that I was going to be supper (not that I really believed him). He'd scratch my head and tell me that puppies liked to be scratched behind their ears (and that he was just stating a fact when I pointed out that I wasn't a puppy).

I'm fairly certain that half of the purpose of entertaining/teasing me was to entertain and tease himself, but it did keep grocery shopping from being completely dull. I don't remember half the stuff my mom put in the cart or most of the meals she made, but I remember him teasing/entertaining me throughout the grocery store. It takes a special kind of person not to care if someone was going to look at you like you're crazy just to keep your child entertained. And, as much as I feel silly admitting it, I miss that stuff. It was silly and probably annoyed me quite a bit as a child, but it was the kind of thing that started the wonderful relationship we have now.

Happy Father's Day, Daddy! The next time I go grocery shopping, I think of you.

Spinning 'Round

It all started with smoke.

Ace and I had come back into the room after dinner. When we turned on our light, we saw smoke. So, we quickly turned the light back off and notified the in-laws that we needed a new fan.

My father-in-law had recently won some gift cards to a home improvement store, so we figured that it would be a quickly resolved problem. In the meantime we could just use lamps for light and try leaving our door open to circulate air.

It didn't take long for my in-laws to buy a new fan, but the installation process was insanely long. They had a guy come out to give an estimate for a few projects around the house (2 fan replacements, a sink installation, and a mailbox installation). The guy looked it over, gave an estimate and said he's be back in 7 to 10 days. At least 3 weeks later, we had only heard from the guy that his job had gone over and he'd be another 3 weeks minimum.

Since that wouldn't work, a new guy came to give an estimate. 6 days later (yesterday), he came back to start work. Within 2 hours, Ace and I had a fan again. Unfortunately for us, we both lost track of our normal mental capacities and couldn't figure out how to work the fan portion of the fan. We started thinking the fan was broken, all because we pulled the wrong pull on the fan.

The day was saved shortly after 7 p.m. with the installation of light bulbs into the fan and the realization that we had pulled the lights on and off instead of changing the fan's speed. After minor embarrassment on my part (Ace wasn't here at the time), I shrugged off the mistake and moved on with my life.

Ace and I survived April, a rather humid month, with no fan and no overhead light. It wasn't something we would want to do again.

On the plus side, my in-laws will be spending a night (or two) at a hotel tonight, so Ace and I will get some alone time! Yay for us!

May

It's May, and long time readers know that I have some issues with May. Most of them revolve around Mother's Day at this point, but that's not the only thing that gets to me in May.

My parents, back when they were married, had their anniversary in May (one of my cousins was born on their 2nd anniversary, in fact). My mom's birthday is in May. And the storms that Oklahoma gets in April seem to linger until mid-May, making it easier to feel depressed because I need to get see the sun for a while and can't.

But I'm trying to focus on good things in May this year. I graduated from high school in May. I went on a Disney vacation (a year later) in May. The weather in OK at the end of the month generally gets more stable (and less rainy) and is in the 80s. I have two cousins with birthdays in May, cousins that I dearly love and would love to spend time with. I moved to Tulsa in May (8 years ago). I planned most of my wedding in May (8 years ago).

I know that May is not my favorite month, but there is no reason to continually condemn the month based on some bad things happening in May. Because there have been good things, great things in fact, that have happened in May. And those are the things I should be focusing on.

Watching for the Undertow

I've spent a large portion of April in my own world. Things outside of my immediate surroundings have been largely left to drift. I've looked up a few times, but things that have been close have seemed more urgent.

I can hear the whispers of thoughts I've pulled away from. Thoughts of how in the past I should have been stronger and stood up for others instead of finally protecting myself from even more emotional scarring. The part of me that is already a mother, and has been since my own mother seemed to give up on actually raising my siblings, protests that I left them alone with her.

I know that in reality there was no other choice I could have reasonably made. The relationship was broken and I couldn't fix things that were out of my control. Staying in the situation wouldn't have helped my siblings any. They needed to see for themselves how bad it was. I had been bearing the burden of trying to make someone happy when they would never be happy just based on what I was doing, but I wasn't going to be able to bear it any longer. 10 years, and fairly formative years at that, was long enough.

There are times that those whispers say that I'm broken and if I could just fix myself then I would get my mother's love. Life would be sunshine and roses. But I know better than to listen to those whispers. I know the truth. I may be somewhat broken sometimes, but it's because someone who was more fundamentally broken tried to make me into something that would fix her. The expression of her love was always conditional (I'm sure there was and is love there, but it's hard to see love shining through criticism) and I finally woke up to realize that there would always be another hoop to jump through. The glimpses of love and approval were there to keep me jumping. I deserve better.

I'm not fighting off depression quite as much as I have been in the fairly recent past, but I can hear the whispers of thoughts that could lead me back down that path. I'm just starting to move away from my shore again, out to where the waters are deep enough for currents. I'm staying cautious, after all I know that May will be here soon and I've faced struggles in the past in May. I'm watching out for the undertow. I don't want to be swept away again. Because it would be so easy to just let the whispers take me away.

On Reading (Or a Lack Thereof)

I love reading. There have been very few books that I've ever put down without finishing once I started them. And with a few of those, it wasn't a desire to not read the book as much as the knowledge that now was not the right time for me to read the book.

Despite this, the English classes I ended up taking in high school had teachers that were generally more focused on writing than reading. In fact, I only remember reading 1. Romeo and Juliet (9th grade, I loved it) 2. Julius Caesar (10th grade, no strong feelings one way or the other) and 3. To Kill a Mockingbird (11th grade, loved the story, have the book now). My senior year, I think we read a few short stories, but most of the class was focused on writing.

I never had a long list of required reading books (I only had short lists of required reading in college). I've not really had long discussions on themes or what the author meant when he or she said this or that (other than while reading Shakespeare's plays). Every time I pick up a book, the judgements I make as I read are purely my own.

I'm not sure if I should feel that I've missed something. I am content to judge a book solely on my own experience with it, even if I'm not quite sure how to explain my experience or thoughts to others. I know what I like, even if I can't always explain why I like it (that's a lot like licorice, come to think of it).

I assume that there were English teachers in my high school that did focus a bit more on reading than writing. I know that I left high school with the ability to write a well-structured paragraph that could fill a page. I also knew how to write a research paper (my 11th and 12th grade classes both wrote a class research paper), something that came in handy while I was a college.

I, obviously, no longer regularly write page long paragraphs. I haven't needed to write a research paper since I finished my English classes in college. And I've continued to read just about any type of book I could get my hands on (I have yet to try a western). It seems that my English teachers didn't teach much that I still use (and completely ignored something I loved even then). But maybe it's for the best. Maybe if I had to read a long list of books for school I wouldn't find reading as fun as I still do.

Do English teachers still give reading lists? Or has that gone away?

M.A. Smith, bookworm

P.S.: I do still use the touch typing I learned in high school. I'm so glad I took that typing/computer class.

Day 24

Today, I am thankful for my step-mother.

I don't talk about my step-mother much, except when talking about my dad. And that's a shame, because she's a special woman.

I met my step-mother the weekend before I graduated from high school. I don't really remember meeting her the first day we met, because I don't really remember much about that day (I was busy thinking about graduation stuff, I imagine). I remember that my first impression wasn't favorable, but it wasn't her fault. I'm pretty sure that at the time, I wouldn't have liked anyone my dad was bringing with him.

But, shortly after I graduated from high school, I got to spend some time with her (2 weeks). I started to get to know her. I think she was nervous about me coming there, as my brother and sister had started to slightly warm up to her right before I got there, but then they almost stepped backwards in any affection until they saw how I reacted to her.

She has treated me kindly ever since I've known her. She's given her love to my siblings and I, and to Ace too. She's never said anything mean, even when I have lashed out in pain (for which I've apologized). She's one of the best cooks I've ever met and she tries to make everyone feel at home in her house.

She's shown incredible patience with my brother and his rambling narrative on his video games, listening (or faking it well) for hours without telling him to shut up (something my sister and I have done). She's tried to give him extra attention, to a degree, since it's obvious that it's been something he's lacked.

My step-mother has made my father happy. If that was all she had done, besides being fairly easy to get along with, I'd love her and be thankful for her being in his life. But, she's also tried to fill some holes in the lives of her step-children where she can.

My step-mother, who doesn't have any natural children of her own, sees her step-children as her children. And I'm happy to call her one of my parents. She doesn't feel a need to add the word step to her relationship with us, and I only add it out of habit.