Relationships

I have always felt - and I think many who enjoy writing may agree with me - that writing is not so much something one can do when they decide they want to. It's more like something the words decide on once they're finished rolling around in my brain. I am merely the vehicle with which the words move from my mind to paper - or in this case, the internet.

Tonight is not one of those nights, however. But I'm forcing it. Because it's Friday night, 10:06 PM, my boyfriend's on a fishing trip, I just finished having dinner with my lovely roommate and there's nothing left on tonight's agenda but sleep. It seems like the perfect time to compose a post, so I'm going to begin typing and see if the words catch up.

I'm reading, "Eat Pray Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. Specifically, I'm reading it in the shower - an activity that fascinates my roommate. The shower is basically my safe haven in life and has been for a few years now. Due to my issues with anxiety-ridden living, over time I've found that the warmth of a shower along with the actual phyiscal feeling of water hitting my body and washing all types of dirt off and far away is extremely therapeutic and symbolic to me. When my last relationship - and I - began to crumble, I would lock myself in the shower and begin writing calming words on the glass wall that filled with fog. Calm, relax, safe, good, stable, and loved were repeatedly spelled out until I actually began to believe and feel them. What can I say, I become bizarrely resourceful in times of panic, probably due to the fact that I am so familiar with the feeling and must come up with my own ways to deal.

Anyway, with that relationship - and the chaos that came along with it - behind me, I continue to use the shower as my place of peace. The apartment I currently reside in does not have a glass shower stall like the one I described above, but it is much larger, which gives me lots of room to engage in activities while showering. For example, I like to talk on the phone while in there. Most of the time I don't tell the other person I'm showering while speaking to them and I'm hardly ever asked, "why does it sound like I'm speaking to you while you're in a hail storm?" even though I know they must hear some type of loud background noise while we go on and on about our lives. I also text in the shower. This becomes more difficult than talking because too many times I get my text hand wet by mistake, which has ruined many phones I've had in the past.

Lately, my most favorite shower activity is reading "Eat Pray Love." I stay in the shower for far too long doing this, which means I often have to turn around and face the shower head, reach my foot over to the temperature dial (or faucet, I don't know, I'm not well-versed in bathroom vocabulary) and gently move the dial to the right, ever so slowly, continuously making the temperature hotter.

Tonight I was in there longer than ever, thus completely running out of hot water. I like a really hot shower to begin with. I'm not happy with the temperature until it's turning my behind a nice dark pink color! By the end of this shower - and when I say the end I mean the time the water temperature became so cool that it completely ruined my meditative shower state - I hadn't even shampooed my hair yet! But I did read fantastic chapters in Gilbert's book, namely a story about her sister's visit to Rome, that really touched me. It made me think about my own relationship with my sister, Thumber, and how our differences have begun to compliment each other over the years. I have always had a fierce loyalty to my siblings - to the point of becoming a problem, but I'll write about that another time. Anyway, for a while I never felt that Thumber was proud to be my sister growing up. When I looked at friends of mine who had older siblings, it seemed they idolized them. This wasn't the case with her and I, at least I never thought so. I am two years older than her, but can't tell you how many times I swore she was my big sister and that I would do anything she asked just to make her happy with me. I think it started when she would refuse to play when I wanted to, especially Barbies. She enjoyed playing herself much more than with me most of the time. This insecurity began to take off though, when I started gravitating in a direction that I knew wouldn't make her or my family proud of me, but even before that I was always in awe of her ability to turn off her emotions when she wanted to. I have always been the type that spews emotion like a pot of spaghetti sauce that's been left unattended on the oven. She has the ability to leave a room and walk away when she's not happy with what's going on in there, whereas I will fight to the death. When she has an irrational thought, she seems to easily be able to turn it off whereas I need to pick it apart and ask, "why?" I also couldn't understand and still don't understand how she looks put together even when she's a mess and hasn't showered in a week. I believe it's partly due to a really nice head of hair that has the ability to compliment her every outfit. But it's also her aura, her vibe, something about her says, "I know who I am, don't mess with me," even when she doesn't.

Anyway, over time my insecurity and jealousy towards Thumber has decreased because I am not so mixed up and interested in comparing myself to others. I don't feel as inferior in general. I don't want what other people have as much as I want to embrace what I got and improve what I'm already working with. I suppose I've had some type of inner shift over time. And in time I feel that she's been more open to wanting to feel, sometimes calling me to help her find the words she needs to say to her boyfriend when they're having trouble, or ask my advice on work situations that baffle her. I'm able to call her when I'm worrying about something that I know isn't worth worrying about and for some reason, her words have the ability to snap me out of it. I need her, I do.

I find great joy in this relationship we've begun to foster and sometimes get off the phone in tears. If she knew that, she might be shocked, but she might also laugh and say, "that's just you." Because she knows me inside and out and has seen me through good times and bad. Only she and I know exactly what I'm talking about when it comes to childhood tribulations.

The development of relationships fascinates me as I grow older, especially this one with Thumber. But even just a few days ago, one of my most favorite friends from college reached out to me during a difficult break up and by the end of our short conversation, both realized we'd gone through some very similar realizations and situations in life - situations we hadn't really discussed during our friendship in college. Since then, I've thought about her everyday, wanting to give her hope that she's going to be okay and thanking her for being the one to reach out and rekindle our friendship. I have changed a lot since college and haven't done the greatest job of keeping my old friendships alive. But this girl was always very important to me and extremely inspirational. While I was losing myself in college and wasting it all away, she was doing it all right and I often wondered how she was able to keep herself so responsible. Either way, it's nice to know that we may have taken different paths - but paths that are crossing now.

I guess, all in all, I feel that I'm a loner type in some ways. That's to say that I don't "roll" with a a big group of friends and I might not be the best at keeping in touch. But I can say that the relationships I have now are real ones. Deep ones. And that I am having trouble finishing this post because I am dying to go on and on about the other friendships in my life that mean the world to me.

It's much too difficult to go through this thing called life alone. Even when I'm surrounded by people who love me, I have the tendency to feel alone in my own mind. I must remember nights like these where I'm able to get in touch with others and realize I need them.

Thumber, I have a confession. Maddie threw up on a French Connection skirt I borrowed from you and it's ruined. But before you call me and give me the third degree, remember that Christmas is right around the corner and that I'll make up for it.

Love ya! Goodnight.

Today, fine.

There was a time I wasn't this analytical

I didn't need to know

why and how and where it was all going

If you told me it was all going to be okay

I'd believe you -

without question

But that stopped working

Because so much wasn't okay

I felt lied to

Where was truth?

I tried constructing my own

which was even worse

Disastrous, my mind is

at finding reality

Instead it dreamed of life as a circus

and I, the ring leader

orchestrating it all

But I wasn't.

Again, I felt lied to

this time by my own mind

So here I am

I don't trust you

I don't trust me

What then do I trust?

I sometimes find this little voice

inside my heart

It tells me to let it be

Let life show you what's real, it says

And it's powerful when it says that

Let it unfold

in its own time

like the flowers you so often admire

Their petals are at first so tightly packed

protecting the stamen from damage

until the stamen tells them it's okay to open

up to the world

up to the sun

allow light in

sometimes damage

but they're ready for this

They unfurl, extending

until they fall

Off their flower

To the floor

Some give themselves to the wind

Or to a child's hand

A dog's mouth even

They don't seem to fight it -

the truth of their existence

Perhaps they know that while they were opened, they were admired
loved even

They had a purpose

"Stop questioning!

Allow your petals to open, extend,
Allow admiration and love

Give what you can, when you can

until the end of your time."

This is what that voice tells me

This power inside that I've just begun to touch and listen to

Time is not mine

The voice is it
Truth, reality

And today, fine

Tomorrow I may begin questioning again
Where and how and why

But today, fine

I'll give the truth a chance

think about it...

"To find the balance you want you must keep your feet grounded so firmly on the earth that it's like you have 4 legs instead of 2. That way you stay in the world. But you must stop looking at the world through your head; you must look through your heart instead. That way you will know God."

~ Elizabeth Gilbert, "Eat Pray Love"

miniature keyboards make for half ass blog postings.

{ City Hall at dusk. I live here. I feel lucky }

Can I tell you something?

There's a few reasons I've neglected my blog over the past 2 months.

I am working. It was much easier to write like my life depended on it when I had nothing on my agenda for 7 months. Also, I moved. But more than that, I don't have cable or internet at my new digs. Because I don't need it. Unless, of course, I want to keep up with my blog. Then I begin to miss a full-sized keyboard. Right now, I'm typing on my cell phone and it really hurts my fingers and my biceps. My fingers hurt all the time anyway, because lately I've picked up my old habit of biting and picking at my cuticles and fingertips. This is awful mainly due to the season. During fall and winter, everyone suffers from dry skin, especially those who have already wrecked their skin due to anxiety ridden compulsions. My fingers look like a small animal has been gnawing on them. That animal is me. I wonder why I have no shame in admitting this disgusting habit to the few people who may check in on this blog of mine that is suffering from a slow and painful death.

I have every intention of trying to rescussitate this thing when I can buy internet or steal it. Until then, I will continue to post sparingly and vaguely. Because it hurts my hands to do much more. Its easier to write poetry on a cell phone because the lines are usually short and sweet. Perhaps I will begin writing daily haikus. I do not remember how to construct a haiku so I will first have to google it but maybe that's the next assignment.

I don't like that it gets dark at 6 and will continue to get dark sooner. It leaves me feeling like I wouldn't mind being run over by a bus and that's not a good sign.

Goodnight.

there will always be passions.

I'm a passionate person. More often than not, I am feeding one of my passions, as they're often hungry. Painting. Writing. The outdoors. Running. Connecting with someone. Nurturing my dog. Eating an entire quart of ice cream. Most of these passions fulfill me somehow and prove to be inherently good. However, I have caught myself, on more than ten occasions, feeling great zest and direction towards something, when maybe I should have laid down and taken a nap. Examples of these instances include shopping trips that should have been avoided, bones that did not need to be picked and crusades in the name of the betterment of all when really they were just egotistical power trips to have my voice be heard. I am human and can laugh off most of my manic mishaps.

But lately, just lately, I'm wondering where my passion to change the dynamic of my family and my mother fits in to all this. The poetry I posted a few weeks back was written on the heels of therapy sessions that I've begun to partake in. This therapy has been unlike any other that I've experienced in the way that there's no pretense. I'm going to be gut honest here. And in thinking about the words I'm about to write my eyes are beginning to well up. It has dawned on me lately that I am alive. And I've never thought about it like this: there's gotta be a purpose to this mysterious thing we call life. And I don't want to waste one more day dragging around the heavy bags that I've settled for carrying. I want to be the best version of myself someday.

This therapy has begun to help me chip away at the junk that helps my serenity hide from me. And it hurts but its good.

It also provokes unresolved feelings of whackness from my childhood. So I wrote a poem. And then it dawned on me that in 26 years of existence, not much has changed since the days I described. And that pissed me off.

I want change for her. And us. And for everyone I love to chip away at their junk together so we can have joint serenity. That's a tall order. I'm well aware. But don't knock me for trying.

I think about the times my roommate from college would say to me, "You have a drinking problem. You also have so much potential. If you would stop drinking, you could reach it." My response was at first warm. She was right! What was I doing? But that warmth was quickly engulfed by cold and darkness. The fast life had much too strong of a hold on me then.

But not one week goes by where she doesn't cross my mind. She somehow reached the depths of my -soul- that were crying out for help to change. She spoke the truth to them. And one day her words reached me, along with the words of many others and words of my innermost self that brought me to the place I needed the most.

So, perhaps my passion and dramatic obsession with helping my family falls on ears that pretend to be deaf. But I know deep down they hear me. And I'll die trying to inspire change. Because I am so thankful for those who were unafraid to tell me that I had so much more to me than what I was settling for.