My folks invited me to the lake with them for the weekend.
That Guy drove us down on Friday night. The trip was nice; we laughed, talked, listened to music. We learned that fireflies keep glowing after they splatter into your windshield and we made a game of it. 14 total. He introduced me to Mindless Self-Indulgence and I didn't mean to like it but I think I did. Then we found a Gen-X radio. It played the best of the 80's and 90's and we sang along and it was exquisite. He hit it off with my folks as soon as we got there. I knew he would, they're good people and so is he. They went to bed not long after we got there and we did the same.
I was the last one up Saturday morning. They were drinking coffee and talking on the deck out back. Mom and I walked the dogs, marveling at the fancy lake houses and the beautiful scenery of Monkey Island. We came back and went to the store while the men made eggs, bacon, toast. We had breakfast on the deck, then ventured into nearby towns for sightseeing. There's an old motorcycle museum with a bunch of stuff from Evel Knievel and Steve McQueen. There was also a 1957 Ariel - I sent pictures to my sister. We stopped at a little Route 66 car museum, where the men went to look at cars and mom and I poured through old postcards looking for interesting messages - my own little PostSecret adventure, I guess. I found a couple decent ones, and the woman who runs the shop pointed me to her website, www.postcardsfromtheroad.net. Very cool. We took a tour of the Pensacola Dam - a lot of stairs, but very neat nonetheless. We went home, Dad grilled burders and dogs, and we played some cutthroat Dogopoly. I was the cat (of course) and I got the best properties and built two doghouses each. I also got a "Bad Dog" card that said "Big Bone Tax" and laughed til it hurt. We went to bed with the game unfinished, and I put my monies in my purse because you can't trust those men.
Sunday was the Best Day Ever. Mom and I walked the dogs while the boys made pancakes and the finest sausage I've ever eaten. Then we went out and rented a tri-toon boat on the lake for four hours. Mom and I laid on the loungers up front, drinking and soaking up sun, laughing with the wind in our hair while the guys did their thing. Gen-X radio was on and we hit a couple of fierce waves that damn near drowned us - one hit so high the water was rolling off the bimini top! After about two and a half hours we dropped anchor. To my surprise, the water was AMAZING, so mom and I strapped on life jackets and went for a dip until the sun made us thirsty. The four of us lounged, drank, Mom and I ate. At one point Dad warned me that I was looking a little pink in back, so The Guy rubbed sunscreen on my back. We all went for a quick dip before it was time to bring the boat back. On the return voyage, Mom said "Whoa!" and I had the foresight to throw a towel over my face before we got hammered with a wall of water so massive, Mom said she actually had to hold her breath. After we took the boat back, we stopped at a lakeside bar called Ozzie's that refused to serve me or Mom because neither of us brought our IDs. Oops. We went back home for some amazing pork tenderloin and corn on the cob, and by time dinner was over, Dad was pretty drunk in a hilarious way, and kept insisting that we go to the Road Hog, which is probably the nicest biker bar I've ever seen and has bras hanging from the ceiling. I promised I'd bring one next time. So we went. The Guy spilled his drink all over the table (a drink was spilled and it wasn't my fault!) and I kept feeding the jukebox, with occasional help from Dad or The Guy. Dad convinced them to tune one of the TVs to AMC so he could watch Breaking Bad with no audio. On the way home, I pretty much demanded we stop for ice cream. I scored a box of fudge bars and ate one on the way home. By then we were all pretty much ready for bed.
Sunday I woke up really feeling the full extent of my wicked sunburn. Pancakes and a fudge bar fro breakfast and we headed home. The car ride was quieter - I slept a while.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
"I can't be pure again. But I can control who takes what from me." - Julia Scheeres
I'm six years old, home from California to visit Nana. Daniel is her nephew; he is sixteen and wonderful. I love his dark hair, his braces, the way he treats me like a real person and not a kid.
Nana has a rope swing hanging from the big tree out front. She had it made for me, and there are interchangeable oak seats - the small seat and the wide one where Nana and I sit and read books.
Daniel takes me out to swing. It's the small seat. I sit on his lap but I'm afraid I'll fall off when we swing backwards. He tells me it would be easier if I turn around, so we turn me around, but when I try to sit his lap is suddenly angular and uncomfortable. I try to squirm away, try to tell him that we need the wide seat, but I'm six and he's sixteen and he holds me still and I start to cry and he coos and comforts me like he did when I had a bad dream, but there is no escaping this.
I never tell. And I never use the swing again.
When a honey bee stings you, it releases pheromones that draw the swarm. Is it like that? Can a person be tainted, marked as prey? Or is it an internal process - when that part of you is stolen, does it leave you crippled in some discernible way, attracting predators the way blood in the water attracts a shark?
I'm eight the first time my stepfather comes to me, stumbling and reeking of marijuana. He's a bad man; I think he's come to kill me. I'm soon wishing he had. I'm too scared to move, to cry, to scream. Paralyzed, I think of the swing.
This time, I tell. It doesn't help. He keeps coming back. I stop telling.
I've been used so many times. I suppose I let them. I don't know how not to and I don't care, really; what's it to me if they use me or not? Even if I don't let them, the truth is that they still want to. I'm an intricate network of easily-exploited weaknesses. I'm holding out for someone who chooses not to exploit them. For all my bullshit tough-talk I really am romantic. It's not rescue I want but protection, the white knight who sees the beauty and goodness at the heart of me and wants to defend that from all who would sully it again.
Maybe I'm just bullshitting myself. Maybe I'm just imagining that there's still beauty and goodness at the heart of me. You know what they say - fool me twice, shame on me.
Nana has a rope swing hanging from the big tree out front. She had it made for me, and there are interchangeable oak seats - the small seat and the wide one where Nana and I sit and read books.
Daniel takes me out to swing. It's the small seat. I sit on his lap but I'm afraid I'll fall off when we swing backwards. He tells me it would be easier if I turn around, so we turn me around, but when I try to sit his lap is suddenly angular and uncomfortable. I try to squirm away, try to tell him that we need the wide seat, but I'm six and he's sixteen and he holds me still and I start to cry and he coos and comforts me like he did when I had a bad dream, but there is no escaping this.
I never tell. And I never use the swing again.
When a honey bee stings you, it releases pheromones that draw the swarm. Is it like that? Can a person be tainted, marked as prey? Or is it an internal process - when that part of you is stolen, does it leave you crippled in some discernible way, attracting predators the way blood in the water attracts a shark?
I'm eight the first time my stepfather comes to me, stumbling and reeking of marijuana. He's a bad man; I think he's come to kill me. I'm soon wishing he had. I'm too scared to move, to cry, to scream. Paralyzed, I think of the swing.
This time, I tell. It doesn't help. He keeps coming back. I stop telling.
I've been used so many times. I suppose I let them. I don't know how not to and I don't care, really; what's it to me if they use me or not? Even if I don't let them, the truth is that they still want to. I'm an intricate network of easily-exploited weaknesses. I'm holding out for someone who chooses not to exploit them. For all my bullshit tough-talk I really am romantic. It's not rescue I want but protection, the white knight who sees the beauty and goodness at the heart of me and wants to defend that from all who would sully it again.
Maybe I'm just bullshitting myself. Maybe I'm just imagining that there's still beauty and goodness at the heart of me. You know what they say - fool me twice, shame on me.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Clarity.
I keep having these sudden moments of clarity when I'm alone and usually not home. Something will catch me - the sunset silhouetting the trees, an errant leaf on the wind, the first star - and I'm struck by how bizarre and wonderful life is.
There's a typhoon of pain and joy inside me at any given moment. That's how I became Cataclysm - as my blog title says, I am a natural disaster unto myself. I put a lot of effort into keeping that destruction within. It's a part of me and I can't - and possibly wouldn't - change it, but it's not my way to willfully wreak havoc on the lives around me.
I'm getting a grip on one of the sources of pain in my life. It still hurts me, but I'm working towards it hurting for only the right reasons.
There's beauty in pain, if it's for the right reasons. Childbirth hurts like nobody's business, and it's one of the most beautiful events on earth.
Learning to love someone not just for who they are, but for their own sake and not for yours, is amazing.
Love hurts. But sometimes, it's a good hurt. (That was Incubus, for the record.)
There's a typhoon of pain and joy inside me at any given moment. That's how I became Cataclysm - as my blog title says, I am a natural disaster unto myself. I put a lot of effort into keeping that destruction within. It's a part of me and I can't - and possibly wouldn't - change it, but it's not my way to willfully wreak havoc on the lives around me.
I'm getting a grip on one of the sources of pain in my life. It still hurts me, but I'm working towards it hurting for only the right reasons.
There's beauty in pain, if it's for the right reasons. Childbirth hurts like nobody's business, and it's one of the most beautiful events on earth.
Learning to love someone not just for who they are, but for their own sake and not for yours, is amazing.
Love hurts. But sometimes, it's a good hurt. (That was Incubus, for the record.)
Friday, May 14, 2010
The cake was a lie.
It's almost that time again.
I moved out of the house on April 4th of last year. Our would-be anniversary was June 8th.
This time last year I had three states of being: drunk, hungover, or waiting to get drunk.
I was both lonely and scared to be alone. I felt like a failure. And I was angry at him for blaming everything on me.
So I drank.
The anniversary was the worst. I saw it as a monument to all my sins. I remember killing a bottle of rum, deciding I wasn't drunk enough, and calling someone to take me to the liquor store. By time I was done, I couldn't even raise the glass to my lips, couldn't walk, couldn't function.
That was a MONDAY. Can you imagine how Tuesday felt?
I woke up and decided I was done fucking around.
I knew what I had to do.
I had to come clean to my big brother. About everything.
Of all the people in my life, Russ is the one I worry about disappointing. And the divorce was hard on him, both because it contradicted his beliefs and because he was close to both of us.
So I talked to him about everything. The divorce, the mistakes leading up to it. And somehow, that fixed everything.
So here I am, a year later.
Wedding: $1500
Moving to Kansas: $300
Getting an apartment: $700
Divorce: $174
Finally figuring out who I am: Priceless.
I moved out of the house on April 4th of last year. Our would-be anniversary was June 8th.
This time last year I had three states of being: drunk, hungover, or waiting to get drunk.
I was both lonely and scared to be alone. I felt like a failure. And I was angry at him for blaming everything on me.
So I drank.
The anniversary was the worst. I saw it as a monument to all my sins. I remember killing a bottle of rum, deciding I wasn't drunk enough, and calling someone to take me to the liquor store. By time I was done, I couldn't even raise the glass to my lips, couldn't walk, couldn't function.
That was a MONDAY. Can you imagine how Tuesday felt?
I woke up and decided I was done fucking around.
I knew what I had to do.
I had to come clean to my big brother. About everything.
Of all the people in my life, Russ is the one I worry about disappointing. And the divorce was hard on him, both because it contradicted his beliefs and because he was close to both of us.
So I talked to him about everything. The divorce, the mistakes leading up to it. And somehow, that fixed everything.
So here I am, a year later.
Wedding: $1500
Moving to Kansas: $300
Getting an apartment: $700
Divorce: $174
Finally figuring out who I am: Priceless.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
I go to eleven.
I posted this on twitter Friday night:
"Every gift can be a curse. My greatest asset is also my gravest weakness. As with all things, serenity lies in finding the balance."
Nevermind what I was talking about. I'm not applying that to something else.
In 2008 I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. Before I had a diagnosis, I had two ways of explaining "what's wrong with me" and they're both from movies because that's how I roll.
1. My emotions go to eleven.
2. I feel everything. I can't not.
It all pretty much the same thing. Before I learned to control my emotions, I had two states - emotional overdrive and emotional exhaustion. Whatever I felt, I felt it intensely; eventually I would burn out and not feel much of anything until I recharged.
Thanks to Dialectical Behavior Therapy, I'm better. But I'm not cured. This is me. Which brings me to my next point:
It's not entirely bad.
I'm having a rough patch right now, going through more emotionally than I have since the beginning of the end of my marriage. The difference is, it almost killed me then.
There's almost a kind of beauty to it. To feeling so much at once. To being able to laugh genuinely even with the deep ache inside me.
Hurting so intensely might be a worthy price to pay. I get to hope so fervently, to laugh so warmly, to love so passionately. It's a gift.
"Every gift can be a curse. My greatest asset is also my gravest weakness. As with all things, serenity lies in finding the balance."
Nevermind what I was talking about. I'm not applying that to something else.
In 2008 I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. Before I had a diagnosis, I had two ways of explaining "what's wrong with me" and they're both from movies because that's how I roll.
1. My emotions go to eleven.
2. I feel everything. I can't not.
It all pretty much the same thing. Before I learned to control my emotions, I had two states - emotional overdrive and emotional exhaustion. Whatever I felt, I felt it intensely; eventually I would burn out and not feel much of anything until I recharged.
Thanks to Dialectical Behavior Therapy, I'm better. But I'm not cured. This is me. Which brings me to my next point:
It's not entirely bad.
I'm having a rough patch right now, going through more emotionally than I have since the beginning of the end of my marriage. The difference is, it almost killed me then.
There's almost a kind of beauty to it. To feeling so much at once. To being able to laugh genuinely even with the deep ache inside me.
Hurting so intensely might be a worthy price to pay. I get to hope so fervently, to laugh so warmly, to love so passionately. It's a gift.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Friendship, future, and Frost.
A friend reached out to me last night. He said he wished time could stop; he's afraid of the loss that comes with growth and change. He sent me this:
"I always knew looking back on my tears would bring me laughter, buit I never knew looking back on my laughter would make me cry." (Cat Stevens)
Part of being emotionally overcharged like I am is my tendency to feel so many things at once. It's not uncommon for me to be laughing and having a great time, while hurting on the inside because I know that the good time will inevitably end.
Everything ends. Even the best of friends can eventually drift apart. Sometimes they reconnect but sometimes they don't.
Robert Frost said "So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay." And it's true. But there's another sunrise waiting. Our paths may carry us away from what we know and love, but each step carries us toward new and amazing opportunities to laugh, live, and love.
"I always knew looking back on my tears would bring me laughter, buit I never knew looking back on my laughter would make me cry." (Cat Stevens)
Part of being emotionally overcharged like I am is my tendency to feel so many things at once. It's not uncommon for me to be laughing and having a great time, while hurting on the inside because I know that the good time will inevitably end.
Everything ends. Even the best of friends can eventually drift apart. Sometimes they reconnect but sometimes they don't.
Robert Frost said "So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay." And it's true. But there's another sunrise waiting. Our paths may carry us away from what we know and love, but each step carries us toward new and amazing opportunities to laugh, live, and love.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Back from the edge.
I'm me again.
The lie was a lie, and I somehow found the truth behind it. I don't need a mask after all.
I DO love myself. I love myself, because I am loved, and because I love my friends and family and God. They all love me, so I must be worth it. I had lost sight of that.
The lie was a lie, and I somehow found the truth behind it. I don't need a mask after all.
I DO love myself. I love myself, because I am loved, and because I love my friends and family and God. They all love me, so I must be worth it. I had lost sight of that.
the big fake
I always stress the importance of honesty. I want everything in my life to be built on love and truth.
Fun fact: I'm a liar too. My entire persona is built upon a foundation I don't actually believe. I've simply sold that lie so successfully that I, too, have come to believe it.
Or had, as the case may be.
In a sudden burst of vulnerability, I slipped that mask off. It was not the best idea ever.
I don't know if it mattered to the person I told. Unfortunately, it mattered immensely to me. Having admitted that I've been lying to myself, I no longer believe that lie, and can no longer fake it as successfully. The mask just doesn't fit right.
This is an odd week for me. Next week will be so busy that I'll be dragged kicking and screaming from the confines of my own head, and by the time I get back in there, the dust should have settled.
Fun fact: I'm a liar too. My entire persona is built upon a foundation I don't actually believe. I've simply sold that lie so successfully that I, too, have come to believe it.
Or had, as the case may be.
In a sudden burst of vulnerability, I slipped that mask off. It was not the best idea ever.
I don't know if it mattered to the person I told. Unfortunately, it mattered immensely to me. Having admitted that I've been lying to myself, I no longer believe that lie, and can no longer fake it as successfully. The mask just doesn't fit right.
This is an odd week for me. Next week will be so busy that I'll be dragged kicking and screaming from the confines of my own head, and by the time I get back in there, the dust should have settled.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Warning: uncaffeinated thoughts ahead.
I just woke up. Be afraid.
Occasionally, I find it difficult to be at home. I'm in that mode now. Yesterday, I had an adventurous trip to Wichita followed by an evening with my "family" here in Hesston. It was amazing and I felt fantastic - very much my usual self.
I woke up this morning feeling lonely. This is strange. I never wake up lonely. I'm not remotely a morning person. One of the problems with the last guy I dated was not that he wanted to spend the night, but that he wanted to still be here when I got up.
I blame the transitionary state of my life. (Thank you firefox, I see "transitionary" is not a word. I'm using it anyway.) I'm in the process of losing loved ones. I suck at it. For a brief period I was able to cherish the extra time, but now it feels like I'm living with bated breath and I keep thinking "When I die, I hope it's sudden so my loved ones don't suffer like this."
Starting my own business has me thinking about the future, and it's making me dizzy. I can't stay here forever. This town, this job - I feel like they're just waiting for me to outgrow them. I'm terrified that I'm getting too comfortable here, that I'm forgetting that I can't live like this forever. It's difficult to imagine leaving when I've spent the best part of my life here.
At the risk of being cliché, I was born here. Rather, reborn. Everything I have become is the product of the experiences I've had in this little town. Which means I'll have to grow up all over again when I leave.
Behold my lack of coherency.
Occasionally, I find it difficult to be at home. I'm in that mode now. Yesterday, I had an adventurous trip to Wichita followed by an evening with my "family" here in Hesston. It was amazing and I felt fantastic - very much my usual self.
I woke up this morning feeling lonely. This is strange. I never wake up lonely. I'm not remotely a morning person. One of the problems with the last guy I dated was not that he wanted to spend the night, but that he wanted to still be here when I got up.
I blame the transitionary state of my life. (Thank you firefox, I see "transitionary" is not a word. I'm using it anyway.) I'm in the process of losing loved ones. I suck at it. For a brief period I was able to cherish the extra time, but now it feels like I'm living with bated breath and I keep thinking "When I die, I hope it's sudden so my loved ones don't suffer like this."
Starting my own business has me thinking about the future, and it's making me dizzy. I can't stay here forever. This town, this job - I feel like they're just waiting for me to outgrow them. I'm terrified that I'm getting too comfortable here, that I'm forgetting that I can't live like this forever. It's difficult to imagine leaving when I've spent the best part of my life here.
At the risk of being cliché, I was born here. Rather, reborn. Everything I have become is the product of the experiences I've had in this little town. Which means I'll have to grow up all over again when I leave.
Behold my lack of coherency.
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