I spent a lot of time (reblog)

I spent a lot of time in his bathroom trying to feel beautiful. 

Like that one night when he still lived in the tiny studio and he asked me to wait in the bathroom while he jerked off. While I waited, I took a photo of my tits in worn out t-shirt and thought about sending them to someone who wasn’t him–someone who I knew would tell me I was beautiful–and then tried not to cry as I heard him orgasm through the cheap hollow door. 

Him needing to jerk off alone wasn’t something to be upset about–the tears were more about the fact that a few hours before that he had explained to me that his mom wanted a photo of us—but he didn’t want to send her one because I was too fat.

He didn’t want to ‘explain’ to his mother why my body was bigger than socially acceptable.  

I remember sitting on the closed top of his toilet, angry that I still let him have sex with me that night; angry that I pretended to enjoy being touched by him; angry that when he couldn’t get off I thought that it was because I was too fat to be arousing; angry that for I let him make me believe I wasn’t beautiful enough to be touched–wasn’t beautiful enough to be loved.

I wasted a lot of time sitting in his bathroom feeling unloved.

This was the last photo I took of myself feeling unworthy and unloveable

I’m moving past that now.

I am.

--Girlvswhale

Have you?

Have you ever wanted to run away? I know that is something you've asked yourself, or maybe phrased it a bit differently but the sentiment is the same. Have you looked at your life and just wanted to walk away from it?

That's a horrible thing to contemplate, isn't it? We build our lives up and then when things are going good or bad or just the same, we get tired of it, and just are tired of carrying all the baggage that we have given ourselves.

I have a lot of baggage. I've spent decades trying to figure it all out. I'm not that unusual, I think. At some point, I gave up. Federal deficit? Don't care. Communists at the gates? Don't care. War on Drugs? You know, do what you want. Those were things I cared about at one point. I can't say I care at all anymore. Yeah, I can look dispassionately upon it now and see why people care either way. I just don't anymore.

I'm at a turning point in my career. I have a lot of new possibilities ahead of me. A lot of new things to do and become involved in. After a decade of saying "We need to do this." it seems that someone listened. So we're doing it. I'm learning new programs and getting more responsibility.

I would probably leave it all without much prompting. Over half of my life is over. I'm not living where I want to live. I'm not doing what I want to do. I'm living. I'm staying alive, living for my responsibilities and commitments. Have you ever felt that way? I'm living to pay the bills. I'm here because for now, it provides me and the people that depend on me money and opportunities that they need. Myself? I feel burdened by stuff. The weight of it all is holding me down.

I have a friend that is tooling around, or was, Southern Utah and Arizona. I love it down there. So much so that I have some land there. Will I ever live there? I don't know. God, how I want to climb around on the sandstone and feel the desolation, the emptyness and...the age. I want to feel the age of the earth and how insignificant I am. I have a hard time doing that amongst the cornfields.

I'm taking a trip soon. I'm going to see a mountain for the first time in about a year, if you consider the volcanos of Hawaii mountains. Most of what I will be seeing will be long dormant volcanoes. I love the mere idea of volcanos. I fully expect to stop often and stare, knowing soon I'll be back in the land of flat, unending corn. I want to meet new people. I want to see new things. I want to feel new dirt.

During my schooling, I desperately wanted security, comfort. I obsessed over it. I ground my teeth down with the stress of making a life for myself, for my family. Now? Now I want to sit on a rock, maybe with an old friend sitting opposite me, Maybe some new friends. I want to watch the sun come up over the mountains and set in the sea.

I don't know how many years I have to do this. No one knows how many years they will be on this mudball. I feel this new and different kind of pressure. I hope I can bear it well.

Reverse Feminist Moment

I had a reverse feminist moment. It was a blog post that said,

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We still need feminism because
A man in a room full of women is ecstatic and
A woman in a room full of men is terrified.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OK, men can control themselves and can respect a woman as a person and a friend. Yeah, feminism might have helped that become more universal and I recognize and honor that, but the key is that we can be civilized and respectful. I just got out of a culture that infantilized male and female relationships. I don't need feminism to push me back in that box.

Thank you for your time and don't forget to tip your server.

RaNt. (Part 8 of The Trilogy of Fear)

Rants. I have them. This is one.

This week has been busy. Well, not really. Busy in my head. I’ve thoughts in my head and they want out. So here’s the deal. A few weeks ago I came across an article on Facebook that struck a chord with me. It was about the things that we fear about ourselves being our greatest strengths. I’ve discovered that about myself. I have wanted to go through that article and bring it into my life a little more by writing about it. As I’ve been contemplating it, my LDS background has naturally filtered information to think of a Book of Mormon verse about making our weaknesses strong. That ticked me off a bit. Here I was going to write this insightful article and I’m upset because I realized there was a religious connection, and religion and my family aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now. Ok, I’ll push through that. Let me get past that. Oh this is a good paragraph….but it isn’t quite my experience. I really had more of a shame thing going on, not that I scared people away. I felt more ashamed that I was so passionate, and I never let it out. Well, almost never. I did cry in front of my girlfriend while visiting Temple Square that one time. (Crap, more of that religion angst). Dang, this whole article is messing me up. It isn’t what I thought it was. Yeah, I could write my own article but I was planning on using this as a framework.  Now I can’t get past this mental fuzz.

I remember several years ago, I was going to write an article or series of articles about love. I had a good idea where it was going to go….And then Tracy got mad at me. Well, not really about me, but I was there; I was the trigger. I mean, she was ticked. Funny how something like that can throw me off so much. After a couple of days trying to figure out what I did or what I could do to help, there was discussion that helped us both get through it. It kind of shredded my plans on my essays regardless. Yeah, maybe I could write an article about love and practicality, but that doesn’t interest me. Passion interests me. Honesty interests me. I still have some unresolved things in that department and I wanted to get that out. Love as being lost in someone, spending an hour or so holding hands and tracing their fingers with your own, that is what interests me. Conflict resolution just doesn’t do it at all for me, and it seems that we’ve spent entirely too much time on that in the past couple of years as we unpacked our expectations and our lives, the lives of which we never spoke, to each other. Love as an adventure is what I wanted to write, not love as pushing through the decades of unresolved feelings and expectations.

Perhaps I need to write more in the moment, when the urge first hits me. God no! That article I read about obsession and love hit way too close to home. I’ve known I have a few oddities going on, most related to a particular time in my life. I have admitted that here on my blog. Still, that article went on to talk about love as obsession and loneliness and an eventual end of life being unfulfilled and loss, incredible heart-crushing loss. Was that my eventual end as a romantic, never being satisfied? Why the hell would I want to write about that in the moment?

And I admit, I have wants. Most of my life, I’ve played it safe. I wanted acceptance and security. Now I don’t. I want adventure. I want dancing in the moonlight and walks in the woods. I want to sit on the shoreline as the ocean roars below me. See that mountain? I want to climb it. Hell, see that hill? I want to be on top of it. I want to feel small and insignificant and not important at all. I want to tell those people in my life how much I love them and what they’ve meant to me. I want to start conversations with complete strangers. And I want to lose 40 pounds. My life would be easier if I just lost that 40 pounds.

Oh, there will be more. There will be much more.

"I make the money"

A friend at work recently bought a new motorcycle. He was showing it around from pictures on his phone with as much excitement as a new father. While we were chatting away about price and features, another co-worker who owns a bike came over and joined the conversation. During the discussion, this other person mentioned “Hey, I make the money. I can buy a motorcycle if I want. I have a room full of guitars because I make the money.”

I smiled but I became very uncomfortable with the way that discussion turned.

“I make the money.”

I thought a bit about why that caused me such discomfort. Perhaps because I don’t have a relationship with my wife where that is a factor. I wouldn’t know how to have that kind of relationship.

I met my wife in college. We graduated at the same time. During our time in Arizona, Tracy and I had a discussion about her going to ASU to get her master’s degree. Although she had a degree, her profession was one that a Master’s was expected. We were earning money, not big money by any means, but money and so it was a logical step to us. I had an entry on my resume as I was employed, so my career was already strong.  In the middle of her getting her Master's, my job dried up, but I had an offer from Motorola that we accepted. Tracy eventually finished up her Master’s here in Illinois. Shortly after that, I took up Motorola on their offer to pay for my Master’s and I completed it in 1999. When we decided to adopt, we both came to the conclusion that as my career and job was bringing in more money, she would stay at home most of the time and I would do the caregiving in the evening while she worked. We did this for several years until we hit three kids. Her pregnancy also complicated things so she quit working outside the home until the present.

While I understand that money is insanely important, I don’t recall ever using the “I make the money” line to get what I wanted. It wasn’t in my thinking. I work for money at my job. Tracy runs the home and handles pretty much everything else. While she doesn’t work for money, it doesn’t mean that what she does has no value. She makes it possible for me to pursue any of my hobbies, take a nap after I come home, is the primary caregiver to the kids…etc. While I’m important to her in being able to financially support the family, she is no less important to me in what she does.  I admit that when I have a want to do something, the thought of “I make the money” comes across my head, but it isn’t in opposition to her wants and goals. I even mention it to her in the terms of my selfish thoughts. I mostly say it because I do want to enjoy the fruits of my labor, if you will. We have no debt. We might not be living too comfortably, but we aren’t doing that bad. Why not take that trip I want to take?  Why not buy that bike if we can afford it?

I might add that this isn’t to the exclusion of my wife. If she wants to take a trip or go somewhere for her hobbies or go out for the evening with her friends, I don’t feel like I have any position to deny her. She makes my life easier. Her wants and desires aren’t any less important than mine. At any time, she can pursue her professional career as well. We are in this working together with our relative strengths and weaknesses.

Now, I do use possessiveness against the kids sometimes to demand a bit of respect and care. If they are not treating something correctly, I remind them about the situation. “No, that is my PS3 and games that I let you use.” And things along that line. I am reminded of the Cosby Show when Theo mentioned that “We’re rich.” And Cosby answered with “No, your mother and I are rich. You are along for the ride.” or something like that.

Anyway, I found that little line in our discussion of a motorcycle and what it says about relationships interesting. I don’t know how many people would find “I make the money” as uncomfortable a phrase as I do, but I hope it speaks well of me.

Persistent False Memories

I'm not sure if I'm the only one that has this issue, or if it is some form of mental illness. I have memories that are distorted enough so that I realize it, or a thought imposes itself on me so strongly, I think it actually is a memory. It is one of those annoyances that make life interesting.

When I dragged, and it was in the middle of winter so "dragged" is the proper term, Tracy and a three year old Hayden to Boston, where I served my mission, there were some things I wanted to see. Mind you, this was somewhat uncomfortable for me as I didn't really like my mission all that much. As we hit the places I served as a missionary, I had some things come back to me. Some things remained kind of cloudy. As we headed away from New England back home, I remembered one of my transfers that led from Vermont to New York. On the way into Albany, I distinctly remembered a very tall viaduct that eventually led to a bridge across the Hudson. It was there. I was so sure of it. Well, as we approached Albany, I didn't see much sign of it. There was the river, and the Capitol...where is that bridge?

Albany Bridge
"Is this it?" Tracy asked incredulously.
"Yeah, it must be. Goll, how come I remember it so differently?" Instead of this long, very high bridge that I remember went on for miles, we were on a short bridge that only went up maybe 20 feet.
"I don't know. I was in the sticks for so long by the time I transferred to Catskill, maybe I forgot what a high bridge was like. Well, sorry for raising any expectations."
"You must have. We have higher footpaths at home. Wow!" Tracy laughed.

I don't want to say that I was having some sort of crisis, but I really thought I experienced something completely different that what we just saw. I looked up and down the river in vain to see if I could find a higher bridge or something else that would vindicate my belief. Nothing. Okay. So, I'll keep my mouth shut about what I expect to see at the Capitol. That might be completely different too. (And it was. It was like I was 50 feet off on everything I remembered.)

Nameless hill in Utah
I once went on a trip to Utah and I remember driving to a high altitude. I want to say it was in the Fish Lake area. I once camped in my car there and I was so cold. Well, no wonder, it was over 10,000ft. Anyway, somewhere in my mind's eye, I saw a grass covered hill and I climbed the hill with Hayden in tow. He's younger, like 4 or 5 years old. That's all I see. We never get to the top. I don't think we ever actually climbed anything. It has proven to be the most powerful memory, or fabrication, in my head. I can't even think about it for more than a second without wanting to cry my eyes out. I don't know what created it. I don't really know how it got there. I swear it must be some future thing going on in the time continuum as if this is my deathbed thought. I have taken over half an hour just to write this paragraph because I can't stop crying or gasping for air. It is that powerful to me.

I know I love my son. I love climbing hills. I love mountains and Utah. Somewhere those all became joined in an emotional nuclear bomb in my head and I double over as I am overcome by the mere thought of it. And it never happened.

About the only thing I can compare it to, or what I've seen, is on Darren Brown where he manufactured a religious experience for an atheist by manipulation. See here. When she stood up and gasped and cried...that is what this does to me. It's repeatable. It can happen over and over again. I have such a sense of love and loss all at once that it overwhelms me.

I don't know if I'm unique in this, but it does make me wonder how much of my life that I remember never really happened.

Burn It Down

I dropped my son off at the gym and I'm sitting in a McDonalds drinking that foul brown liquid I have become addicted to. I would have gone to the gym too but in ramping up my attendance at the gym yesterday, I pushed my body enough for a couple days recuperation. I still can't keep my arms up for any length of time.

Instead of bettering myself, I'll indulge myself with a snippet of words. I found this and have been enamored of it since. You see, while I post other quotes about love and longing, I have just started coming to a realization of how selfish love can be. It can hurt and sting. This can go for all parties. I know it might be something of which you have long been aware but I'm kind of new to this.

I've created a lot of new "friendships" on the web, and I've had to work out a lot of my feelings and thoughts with almost complete strangers before I unleash my thoughts on those closer, more present to me. I can't say I haven't made mistakes, but workings of the heart and mind are hard to express at times. Anyway, here it is.

How many times have you tried to talk to someone about something that matters to you, tried to get them to see it the way you do? And how many of those times have ended with you feeling bitter, resenting them for making you feel like your pain doesn’t have any substance after all?

Like when you’ve split up with someone, and you try to communicate the way you feel, because you need to say the words, need to feel that somebody understands just how pissed off and frightened you feel. The problem is, they never do. “Plenty more fish in the sea,” they’ll say, or “You’re better off without them,” or “Do you want some of these potato chips?” They never really understand, because they haven’t been there, every day, every hour. They don’t know the way things have been, the way that it’s made you, the way it has structured your world. They’ll never realise that someone who makes you feel bad may be the person you need most in the world. They don’t understand the history, the background, don’t know the pillars of memory that hold you up. Ultimately, they don’t know you well enough, and they never can. Everyone’s alone in their world, because everybody’s life is different. You can send people letters, and show them photos, but they can never come to visit where you live. 

Unless you love them. And then they can burn it down. 

~Michael Marshall Smith

 That last line. That last line puts it in such a blunt way. Love can be so powerful, so constructive. With it though is a power to destroy lives.

I don't have many other thoughts about it right now. I've had this quote for some days now, and I wanted to frame it properly. I don't think I can.

Love isn't simple. Perhaps it is if you married your first and only love, but what if you didn't? There was hurt involved there, for someone. What if there are divorces, children? More hurt and pain. As we age, the ripples spread wider, with greater effect.

Perhaps this is why people run on autopilot as they get older. They don't change their situations, their loves, hopes and dreams. Too much momentum. Too many to be scattered in their wake. Minimize the damage; don't turn left or right.

Does love accumulate, like snow? Or maybe it piles up like tinder so when it does burn down, it burns with a greater light?

Yeah, my random thoughts about this can take me wide afield. This is why I don't sleep very well. So many thoughts demanding to be thought.