26

Oh, words.
Most of my life you have been all I need.
You began with me in Winnie the Pooh diaries.
We then graduated to thick woven journals with covers etched in Chinese symbols.
The symbols meant nothing to us, what we shared in our pages meant everything.

Oh, words.
Downstairs we could still hear the turbulence of our loved ones roaring.
Other words were being used as stabbing knives, striking the heart and the gut.
Upstairs you and I met in our secret space, my tears blurring the ink of the feelings we recorded.
We had each other, words; to soothe the pain of what we heard.

Oh, words.
Do you remember when I left you?
I was lost for a bit; hiding from myself.
I was feeding an insatiable thirst that tried to destroy the me that you needed to come alive.
I forgot that I had you to comfort me, to bring me back to the place of truth.

Oh, words.
When we reuinted, I must say it was out of desperation.
I had finally starved the deadly thirst and felt a terrible void.
It was then I reached out for you; you were waiting as you always are.
We had so much to share; we had so much to say. 
We wrote pages, we filled journals, we uncovered who we were again, but also for the first time.

Oh, words.
Tears are dropping on these keys, but they do not stop me.
I am needing you like I always have.
Below I hear again, the roaring of voices who are abusing you, and each other.
And here I am, soothing the pain with you, because you're always all I have.

Words.

it's been a while

When I neglect to write for an extended amount of time, the act of starting again can seem overwhelming and annoying.  I don't particularly feel like posting right now but I know it is so good for me!  I have neglected this part of me for far too long this time.

I'm not sure I've spoken in depth about my current job yet.  I am now a pharmaceutical sales representative.  It's funny to think back to when this blog was born; after I was laid off from a commercial real estate firm where I was a marketing assistant, also known as the team's punching bag.  I remember feeling secretly relieved to say good bye to such a negative place, but also so scared of the amount of time I had on my hands!  Thank God a friend introduced me to her blog which sparked such a deep interest in me to begin expressing my thoughts regularly on a blog of my own.  I posted pretty much daily during my "lay off" months and absolutely adored it.  I also got into painting again.  Oh, I also got into unearthing past flames that I had laid to rest years earlier.  So, it was a time of great decisions and then some not so bright ones.

Then!  I realized I needed another "real" job.  Somehow I found myself as the executive assistant to an egotistical asshole CEO at a global bank.  He was cool at first, but I can't decide what happened first:  he decided to leave the company and thus became a raging whacko, or I decided I wanted to leave the company and thus became a useless employee.  (I believe that attitude is everything in life and when one spends 9 hours a day doing something they don't feel any passion for, well, in my case, my attitude suffered.)

I began picking my feet up and looking for something different.  It became clear to me I wasn't meant for office work.  At least not now -- I was too full of energy!  I needed to be challenged! 

I am now in pharmaceutical sales.  I don't have an office.  Well, that's not entirely true, I have a car-office.  I drive around all day by myself, listening to kick-ass music, visiting dermatologists and forming relationships with them.  I get to learn about their lives, how many kids they have, what kind of day they're having, what kind of day their medical assistants are having, whose boyfriend was an ass over the weekend, whose husband totally dropped the ball on their anniversary, who did some amazing retail therapy and last but certaintly not least, we discuss my products and how they fit into their practice. 

No one bothers me or micromanages me, no one questions what I do (although I'm sure they would if I was doing a shitty job), but they don't have to because I've found something I really enjoy doing.  I always thought that I belonged in an agency of some kind, doing creative work, but I have found that I feel really happy getting to "creatively" know the people I'm selling to each day.  I enjoy the relationships I've built, I enjoy knowing that they like me enough to listen to what I have to say about my products and I like looking at my data and seeing that a doctor who wouldn't give me the time of day a few months ago is now prescribing my product because we struck up a conversation about how we both haven't been to Hawaii and would like to go. 

That being said, I do sometimes miss the slow days of office work.  Don't judge me, we all love those days at our desk where we can see what J.Crew's new spring line looks like, we can pay our cell phone bills before lunch and we can walk around the office talking to friends who work down the hall.

However, I wouldn't trade the fast-paced, appointment packed days for anything right now.  And when I feel I'm becoming too isolative and blah, I find new musisc to download and listen to that brings me alive and keeps me pumped throughout the day.  Most recently, I've discovered Spoon.  I don't know what kept me away from them for so long but their tunes are so fun and the sounds are somehow so new. 

I am so glad I've been able to check in and write tonight and I intend to continue.  If anyone reading this post knows me, you're probably wondering when I'm going to dish on my emotional, spiritual or romantic life.  I'm usually pouring out emo rant and raves like it's my job when I write on this thing.

But not tonight, I don't think my computer has enough juice to stay alive for as long as I would need to discuss my personal matters :) 

Until we meet again...

What Lies Ahead

I can see the cockroaches scampering across the linoleum kitchen floor just like it was yesterday.  Maddie hearing me scream in horror and running to my rescue.  Noticing the mammoth size bugs, she attempts to bite them before they escape behind the oven again, but she loses them.

It happened rather often so I became able to brush it off and walk into the kitchen anyway, looking for food I didn't have in the cabinets.  Open the refrigerator as well, hoping there was some takeout still fresh enough to eat.  Usually there was nothing.

So I either walked to Rita's water-ice down the street or to CVS to grab random snacks -- neither of these usual choices satisfied my hunger but they somehow satisfied my discontent with my living situation.

I had chosen this, though.  I lived with a boyfriend before this.  A boyfriend who was two years my junior but somehow made a killing at work and also had parents that were beyond gracious with sharing their wealth with him; with us. Sometimes after his mother visited, I would find $100 bills hidden in his bedside table or in the kitchen behind one of our knick-knacks; a reminder that she loved him.  Maybe that she loved us?  But I didn't.  I probably resented his ability to be financially awesome and I definitely grew jealous of his overly loving and present parents.  I also hated myself for being so ridiculously irresponsible with my money, usually unable to pay my half of the rent for our apartment.

As the smoke fumes of anger and frustration began circling my head on a daily basis, I decided to move out.  And live on my own.  Without him as my "crutch" I would have to force myself to be independent and financially stable.  That's what I told myself.

So I moved what I owned (which was very little at this point because he had convinced me to sell my couch and bed when we moved in together because he, and I, didn't forsee an ending at that point) into my new shitty apartment down the street and painted it green and blue.  I found couches on craigslist.  I convinced him to allow me to keep the bed from our guest room.  I bought the TV he didn't want off of him and attempted to set up shop, or home, or whatever I thought I wanted at the time. 

There was one big issue at first--the smell of cats.  No doubt the previous renter owned about 12.

I'm a dog person.  Cats instantly make me want to grab my purse and my coat and run for the nearest door.  I feel that they're always this close to gouging your eyes out or hissing until you cry.  I've never allowed one to get close enough to me to prove me wrong.

So, I went mad with home deodorizers.  I shampooed the rugs. It took a while but I finally felt subtly content with the smell of the place after about a month. 

It began to feel like home.

Until I realized that loneliness was annoying and heavy.  Physically being alone was terrifying.  I felt desperate and pathetic.  I began spending money to make me feel happy.  But happiness was fleeting. 

And then the cockroaches arrived.

At first I was convinced there was just one.  And I killed it!  I felt victorious and strong for a few days.

Then two or three arrived at a time and always escaped right before my sneaker smacked the kitchen floor with a murderous power.

----to be continued

The Civil Wars currently rock my world.

This song is so sweet, I want to pinch its cheeks. 

realistic drama.

I've thought about you so much lately.

Words.

Freedom.

Set me free.

All of that. 

I have so much to say and yet nothing at all at the same time. 

I'm again in a place of change.  Growth. 

Struggle.

I thought to myself today, "is this what I'm all about?  Is life for me this great big struggle, this holding on and letting go and trekking up the rocky mountain, sweat and tears, oh tears, yes, tears.  And all for those moments, those days, maybe weeks -- never longer -- where I feel okay with me?"

Does anyone on this earth feel completely at ease, themselves, thick-skinned and warm, for longer than a breath of time?

I have this pattern, you see.  A pattern that I've written about, joked about, talked about, analyzed, rolled around with therapist after therapist...

A pattern of self-destruction.  Of staying even when I want to leave.  Or convincing myself that it's just not good enough.  I'm not good enough.  Everything is just, so, incredibly, fucked up.


When in reality, there's beauty in the imperfect.  I just have a hard time seeing it. 

I'm still learning to stand on my own two feet and not reaching for the nearest shiny, sparkly, thing.  (That usually disguises itself in another emotional entanglement with a boy, or someone in my family that I can focus on "improving".  Let me roll my sleeves up and work nice and hard on you.)

I'm 27.  I live at home.  I still can't save money.  I still can't stay single for long.  I still can't wake up early for a consistent amount of time.  I still can't face all the fears my therapist puts in front of me.  I still can't finish my sobriety steps.   And here I am wondering why my therapist asked me if I think I'm depressed?

I'm not depressed.

This is the pattern -- this is it.

I feed myself negative thoughts.  I eat them down so quick, I don't even realize I have a choice.

Not to listen.  Not to take them in.

To tell them to stop.

I am more than what I allow myself to think.

I don't need a man.  I don't need more sleep.  I don't need to place expectations on myself that are impossible to reach.

I can just be.

Free.

I have all the tools I need.

It's all about the decision.

The jump off.

The voice that I keep forgetting to listen to.

That says "you're alright, kid.  Really, you are."