Have a Nice Day. Really.

I am typically not a fan of horror movies. They give me nightmares. There is usually no happy ending. I prefer movies that escape the reality and offer the misnomer of happily ever after.


But occasionally I can find enjoyment out of a blood bath. One of my favorite horror movies of all time (not that there are that many) was Hellraiser. I’m not even sure why it was that I loved it so much, but I did. In fact, I loved each of them in the series.


It has been a long time since I last watched any of them. The details are somewhat hazy. The plot has blurred enough that I couldn’t tell you the moral or point to the story, unless perhaps it was …be careful what you wish for. There were various characters in the movie, each of them suffering their own eternal damnation. The main character’s name was Pinhead. There were others, each more macabre than the last.


The special effects today are probably not nearly as impressive as they were back then. I can only imagine what a movie like that would look like now. I doubt I would even have the guts to watch it. But it was pretty amazing for its time. There is a certain scene in the first movie, when the puzzle is solved, in which the person who solved it suddenly has all these hooks and chains piercing their skin. They pull at him from every direction until he is ripped into a hundred pieces.


That’s what my life feels like sometimes. Maybe that’s why I have such an affinity for that particular movie. Happiness is a puzzle I can’t seem to figure out. Hell, life itself is a big mystery. Whenever I think I have things figured out and am on the road to happiness, I’m ripped apart yet again and all my foolish notions are left in a bloody pool where my body used to be. I know that’s a bit melodramatic. Maybe even more than a bit, but…it’s my writing so I can be melodramatic if the mood hits me.


I spent my childhood years trying to get my father to see me, my birth mother to love me, and my self loathing to go away. None of those things happened, unfortunately. I spent my young adulthood married to a monster. No one saw him as a monster but me. He played the part of normal very well to the rest of the world. When that marriage ended and he took up residence with the babysitter, my life became a trial both figuratively and literally at times, in which I had no representation. I was destined to lose. And I did.


I spent years trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. Though whether that is even possible when you’ve never known it in the first place is uncertain. I tried to get my son to understand my love for him. I tried to undo the damage his father and step mother did to his delicate psyche, and to the fragile bonds of mother and son. I used to think I was successful, but now sometimes I’m not so sure. Now that he is a young adult and has made something of himself, suddenly his step mother has went full steam ahead in her quest to annihilate whatever confidence I had in my relationship with him. Not only that, but she has chosen to forget a lifetime of telling him he was worthless, of hating him, of hitting him (though that ended when he became old enough to hit back). She seems to have conveniently forgotten that she threatened his father with divorce of he let my son move back in with them in the short months when I was penniless and about to be homeless, and before my son’s entrance into basic training was upon him. No, now she is so proud of “her” boy. She acts as though she has nurtured him into the young man he is today. In fact she has stated that very thing. That was of course after she wrote a scathing letter to me (nothing new there) about how she was his mother and I was not.


But that’s just one of many things. Sometimes I really think I am on the verge of getting things together. I have the misguided notion that I understand life, and my position in it. But then I stumble across things that let me know I have no fucking clue whatsoever about life, and what people think of me. People I thought truly cared about me turn out to resent me. Tender feelings turn into bitterness. Triumph into tragedy. And so it continues - each incidence a separate hook that sinks into my flesh ready to rip me apart again. Yet somehow I never get the blessed relief of eternal sleep. It never just stops. I am always somehow patched back together, only so that I can be ripped apart again.


I wish I knew why this was so. The thing is, I know that much of it is my own fault. I don’t know what it is I do, or the warped thinking that causes much of my duress, but I am aware that I have a big part in it. I pray to God every day to just make me normal. I don’t even know what that is, but whatever it is, I want it. I have drifted down into a pit of despair, and I believe I am dragging everyone in my life into it with me. I don’t want to be negative. I used to be the most positive person I knew. I used to wake up every day with a smile on my face and the belief that something wonderful was going to happen. The world was filled with endless possibilities. Now, I find it more and more difficult to even come up with a modicum of enthusiasm, let alone the starry-eyed kind. What happened to that unquenchable zest for life?


I want it back.


I once told someone that the difference between my agony and my eternal happiness was having him love me back. What would be the difference in my life, really? I mean, other than my perception of it. First of all - that’s a whole lot of pressure to put on one mere mortal. How can my entire world possibly hinge on the feelings of someone else? It’s absolutely ridiculous! Not to mention, just because HE doesn’t love me, it does not mean that I am unlovable! I need to write that one down, or have it tattooed to my forehead so every time I look in the mirror I see it. I certainly have a difficult time remembering it!


I am entirely responsible for my own state of happiness. I’m not saying that bad things can’t or won’t happen. Life is not always fair. In fact, it seldom is. Loving someone and not being loved in return is a wretched feeling. The helplessness of knowing that no matter what you do it’s not going to be returned is frustrating at best. Losing your job, your spouse, your home, or any of a myriad of other things is never pleasant. Living with illness, whether mental or physical (or sometimes both) is not easy. Dealing with life’s aches and pains sucks. Being the victim of injustice can make a person angry and sometimes bitter. But it doesn’t have to.


At any given moment in the course of a day, there are a myriad of reasons not to be happy. Maybe someone cut you off in traffic. It could be that your boss takes advantage of you and doesn’t appreciate your contribution to the company. Maybe you’ve had a fight with a spouse. Perhaps your body aches, or you’re tired, stressed…whatever. Maybe things are not turning out exactly as you had hoped. There are things you can do in each of those situations to turn a frown upside down, to coin a silly phrase.


Instead of feeling taken advantage of at your job, consider that you are doing the best possible job and whether it is noted or not, YOU know it. Take satisfaction in that. If your legs hurt or back aches when you stand for too long or walk any distance, consider the fact that you HAVE your legs, that you CAN walk, and that you could be a LOT worse off than you are right now. It might not make your feet feel any better, but it might just make a difference.


So you are in a relationship that involves unrequited love. You could rail against the powers that be for not making that person return the affection. Or, as was once suggested to me, you could just simply not love that person anymore. You could bang your head against the wall, make the other person miserable, turn into a bitter hermit or any number of other options that, when implemented, STILL will not make the other person love you back.


Or, you could choose another option. You could be glad that you have the capacity to feel love. You could be grateful for being given a person in your life that is so good to you, (hopefully) that they deserve your love. Just because you love someone does not give you the inalienable right to be loved back. It just doesn’t work that way. And, just because that person doesn’t love you, it does NOT mean that you are unlovable. It really doesn’t. Really. Let that one sink in. Realizing this is a huge step towards recovery. Believe me, I know. I’m still working on this one myself.


Why not just love them, and be happy in it? Let them have the gift that love is supposed to be, rather than the burden of pressure and guilt. Appreciate the friendship that might be a result of those tender feelings. Let it be enough. That doesn’t mean that it won’t still sometimes hurt. It won’t keep your heart from aching. But it might just ease it a little. And, in the end you can be happy from it. I personally would much rather love and not be loved in return, than to not know this wonderful, amazing, thrilling emotion. Not to mention, there really isn’t anything wrong with … requited like. I’d rather have that than nothing, any day.


Life has its ups and downs. Everyone has times of stress, sadness, anger, whatever. Not everyone has to make a life of wallowing in it. Really, what fun is that? I’ve done my fair share of wallowing. In fact I think at the beginning of this rambling, I was doing a little (or maybe a lot) of it. But you see how that works? I talked myself INTO a good day. I’m happy right now. I’m satisfied with my life. Not that I want it to stay like this forever. Good Lord, no! But I know that I am on the right path towards a happy future, whatever that may be. Why wait for that day before you feel some joy? Why allow yourself to give up the right here and right now while waiting for happiness to come to you. Go find it. Look inside yourself for the smallest thing to smile about, and then do it. Try it. The physical act of smiling actually feels good. And, if smiling is not really what you want to do at this moment, do it anyway. I’ll steal another well used phrase and say this…fake it ‘til you make it. Pretend on the outside until you feel it on the inside. It really does work.


Trust me.

My Beat Up Broken Heart

Sometimes you just have to take a chance and do things that are outside your normal standards of behavior; you have to go beyond your comfort level and just...go for it.

That doesn't mean, however, that you will get the results you think you are after. In fact, you might just get a cold dose of reality. But...every once in a while, you get something even more than you could possibly have imagined. And, rarer still, you get a gift you never dreamed of. That happened to me, not an hour ago in fact, although it was longer in the making than that by far.

For a long time now I have been trying to recover from the innumerable things that have transpired in my heretofore abysmal life. Well that's not completely true. Within my lifetime I cannot say nothing good ever happened. It just wasn't all that often. In any case, it seems that lately, at least for the past year or so, I've really come a long way towards being a woman whole again. Or perhaps I am becoming a woman whole for the very first time. In either case, I've grown; I've changed; I've evolved. There was a time when I would never have asked for something I wanted. In the first place I would never dream I deserved anything I wanted. In the second place, I would presume, however rightly or wrongly, that I wouldn't get it. That in and of itself was often a deterrent in even thinking of my own needs in the first place.

There are many reasons why I am no longer the person I once was. And there are many facets of who I used to be that I am glad to be rid of. There is the victim. I carried her around with me for a very long time. I tried to nurture her myself, usually to no avail. I sometimes wallowed with her in a pool of hot tears that seemed never ending. There were even times I kicked her and reassured her she was right where she was supposed to be...down, out, and defeated. Thankfully those times were few and far between, because mostly I have been a survivor most of all. I still wake up to this day with the renewed faith that things can and will get better. It has become my mantra even when I might ought to have given it up long, long ago. I am glad, however, that I did not lose that faith, because despite however long it took, I have found it to be true.

The death of my mother was the catalyst for change that had been a long time coming. The loss of the man I loved most in this world sparked the beginning, though I failed to see it at the time. In life we are rarely given second chances, let alone third, fourth, fifth, and so on. But somehow I got a second chance at becoming the person I always hid inside. I was given another shot at being somebody worth knowing. I was allowed a redo, if you will. Now I am stronger than I ever was before. I actually like myself. That's a new one on me. I am confident... not always perhaps, but most of the time at least. The girl I've hidden away for so long is finally getting her chance to shine. While the layers of protection that have always surrounded her are a bit cumbersome to remove, they are slowly being peeled away. In fact, for the first time in my entire life, I can see the end in sight. It will be this year that I emerge from my chrysalis and become the butterfly I never knew I was.

But.. I digress (which by the way is not anything unusual no matter the mindset of the writer herself). As I began to reveal in the beginning of this montage of sometimes ephemeral thoughts, there are times when you do things that are very much outside of your own comfort zone. I asked for something I really, truly wanted. I kept asking, in fact, for quite a while. I might even go so far as to say I was on the verge of begging for that elusive thing that I desired more than anything else at that moment. Perhaps, even, I went well beyond the verge and quite fully entrenched myself in full begging mode. But that is neither here nor there at the moment.

The point is, I went for it, fully and without remorse. In the process, I now realize I might have made someone else somewhat uncomfortable. In fact I'm pretty sure that I did. I tried to convince this person that the thing I wished for was not something to be denied. It was not because I felt I was the be all and end all, that whatever I wished for I should simply be given. It was more that I believed with all of my heart that what I said was true. That, by the way, still stands. I -do- believe what I said. I still stand by my convictions. I have no doubt whatsoever that, given that ever elusive thing, life would not have altered in any way that could be construed as negative. In fact, I'm still quite sure that it would only be a positive thing. But, that doesn't really matter either.

The fact is, I didn't get what I wanted. I was turned down...numerous times, much to my chagrin. But surprisingly enough, I do not feel the least bit petulant. I am not even all that disappointed. It's not because I really did not wish what I asked for. I did, and still do. It is more that I received something so much...more...that I cannot possibly be upset, disappointed, or angry in the least that I did not get what I wanted. I will say that I was given a boon of sorts. I was not left completely empty handed. And that small token (however it was not so small to me), will be revered, and enjoyed for a long time to come.

I find it difficult to ask for things I want for the reasons I have stated previously in this very post. But I also have a hard time because the very nature of the request leaves butterflies in my stomach and a nervousness throughout my entire being. I do not make it a habit of asking such things of anyone, let alone someone as important as the prospective giver, if you will. But, ask I did, and turned down I was. The thing is, I'm sort of glad, in an odd, twilight zone-ish kind of way. I learned something about myself, and about that person as well. I still very much want what I begged for. I still believe it would only be a positive thing. But I would not trade it for what I got instead for anything in the world.

I got respect. I got an affirmation of being cared for on a very deep and personal level. I got the knowledge that my very much beat up and broken heart is in the right hands...a pair of very strong hands that won't let it drop and break further. I got to see the exquisite beauty of self control(not my own, mind you). I had the extreme pleasure of experiencing what it felt like to be valued...treasured even. In truth the things I received in place of what I asked for are all things I've never known before. How can I be disappointed in that? Well, I'm not, so it's a pointless question. In retrospect I am very glad that I also got the knowledge that I am a very grown up girl. That might sound silly given my age, but given my circumstance, it's not so far fetched for that to be a questionable thing. The old me would have done any number of things that never even entered my mind as the new me. I might have been devastated not to receive what I was certain was the best possible thing I could ever get. (I still believe it's up there with what I did get, to be sure!) I might have been petulant, moody, disappointed, angry, and any number of other negative things. But.. I wasn't. In fact I'm deliriously happy at the moment.

Above everything else, I have a gift of friendship that is truly unequaled. It's one that I have never had any doubts would last for a lifetime. I swear I must be the luckiest girl on earth right now. I can't even stop smiling! And my battered heart is full of so much love that it's overflowing. I don't even mind the spillage, because there is more than enough to keep it quite full.

I still want what I asked for (as you can well read for yourselves by now), and maybe someday I'll get it. That will be a good day too, because it will mean that my promise is good enough to stand on its own without any tangible proof. But until that time comes, if it does, I'll remember this day always for the most amazing gifts I have been given.

Abysmal Failure (warning, graphic content)

Abysmal Failure

If there were ever any two words that could describe me, those would be it.

I used to think the two might be ‘Eternal Optimist’. But I’m not feeling all that optimistic at the moment.

There is also ‘Hopelessly Romantic’. That fits. Any possibility of romance for me at this stage of the game is surely hopeless.

What about ‘fucking crazy’? Yeah, that fits. Anyone that has lived the life I’ve led and believes the things I do has got to be crazy. There can’t be any other explanation for it, really.

I didn’t ask to be brought into this world. In fact, if given the choice, looking back, I think I’d choose option B, only I don’t believe in abortion.

Besides, had I not come into this world, neither would Tyler. But then his life has not been stellar either. I hope he finds structure, contentment and a purpose in the army. Chances are he’ll find alcoholism, heartache and either injury or death in another country where most likely the people will probably hate him for going there to help them in the first place.

Hooah.

I’ve lived my life with the pathetic notion that things CAN and WILL get better. Why? Why have I always believed that, given the track record that is my life? What in the hell is wrong with me that I won’t just fucking stay down when I’m knocked there? What possesses me to get up, and try again? Someone once said I was the poster child for turpitude. I’ve been kicked out in the cold barefoot, I’ve been kicked up a flight of stairs by a man wearing a pair of steel pointed toe boots that –I- gave him, locked in a room for days on end without a bathroom break, without furniture, without…anything. I’ve been beaten down, battered and bruised. I’ve been lied to, stolen from, deceived, molested, raped, put on display like a thing for a group of men who found it funny, and offered up as a consolation prize for sex, after being regarded as unworthy of such an offering in the first place. I’ve been bloodied, and had that very blood wiped on my good set of curtains, so I wouldn’t forget what I had done wrong in the first place to…deserve...it. I’ve been made to do grueling, menial labor while being threatened with a Doberman Pincher attack if I didn’t do it fast enough, or well. I saw that dog maul a woman once. She had to get numerous stitches in her arm. I was lucky enough that blisters didn’t deter me from getting the job done, and right.

I’ve been unwanted, thrown away, despised, mistreated, ignored, betrayed and abandoned. I’ve been called fat, ugly, worthless and disgusting. My own father, well the man who was the father figure in my life anyhow, called me a slut. I was 16 and a virgin at the time. The names cunt, whore, bitch, and other unsavory titles have been given to me over time.

The only good men in my life, and there have been two…maybe three…seem to view me as a little fixer upper. I’m a project, like a car that doesn’t run, that needs a new engine rebuilt, dings taken out, some body work (major at that), and other minor and major changes before I’m ready to be put on the block. Maybe not for sale, but definitely not a keeper either.

That probably sounds a bit harsh, but it is how I feel. It is not that they don’t care about me. That’s actually part of the problem. They do. They genuinely care about me. They care about my well being. They want me to succeed. They want to see me come out on the other side of all this…stuff…and become a successful, independent… normal…person.

When you say it like that it doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. But.. they don’t want me to be those things with them. Like a baby bird in a nest I think I’m supposed to find my wings and fly…preferably far far away…or maybe not so far. But not all that close, either.

I have never been loved in the true, romantic sense of the word. “I care about you”. That is the extent of what I’ve heard. Not that those words are bad. They aren’t. In fact, the person they come from right now means more to me than I could ever possibly describe. Coming from him, they mean a whole lot. To know someone out there somewhere cares about you is a nice thing. But it’s sometimes not enough. I want love! I want someone to look at me and not see all the damage that’s been done. I don’t want to be the sum of my battered, broken parts. I want to be looked at with love. I want someone to see in me the things that I dream, that I believe in. Why can’t just ONE person on this God forsaken planet want me, passionately? Or at least, be mildly interested?? I’m not ugly. I am fat, I’ll be the first to admit that. This wall I built around myself is a strong fortress. The bad part is, not only does it keep any possibility of anyone getting in…I can’t get out. I built it too strongly, and now I am trapped like Rapunzel in a high tower. Only I don’t have the long glorious hair as a safety rope to get me out. But I am NOT unworthy of being loved!

I hate it when people feel sorry for me. I don’t want to be the object of pity, or sympathy! I have clawed my way through life and damn it I deserve something for that! I have been told how strong I am, and yet I seem so weak at times. I AM strong! Stronger even than anyone who knows me might realize. I have fought against inner demons, and outer ones. I have overcome obstacles that would have stymied many lesser people. I have taken everything I’ve stated above, and I STILL wake up the next day with the (admittedly stupid and foolish) belief that things CAN and WILL get better. Today could be the day! It never is, but it just MIGHT be!

I am not unworthy. I don’t know why I have to keep telling myself that to believe it. Why is it that the good just seeps through the cracks, but the bad stuff takes root and lives forever within me?

You would think by now I would have learned my lesson well, that I was smart enough not to take out my heart, all stitched up, patched together with pieces missing, and offer it to anyone again. But I haven’t, I’m not, and I do. I still give it away, time and again. It has been stomped on, squished, broken, and wrung through the ringer. The one good thing is that, while the affection is not returned in the same manner, at least its current holder is not unkind. He is gentle with my heart. As damaged as it is, he treats it as something precious.

I have been going through a healing time. But I got into a situation that became volatile and not only hindered my progress, but brought me back to a really ugly place. I felt trapped. I tried SO hard to make it work. I wanted, just one time, to overcome and have just a normal existence. Maybe then I might have been able to be ready to receive love, somehow. I know that things don’t always revolve around love, but in my world, they kind of do. It seems that’s what I’ve spent my life living without for the most part, and what I’ve tried for a lifetime to find some of for my very own.

I just don’t know how to be any way other than how I am. For good or bad, this is me. Take it or leave it. The problem is, if I say that to someone, anyone…most likely they would leave. I don’t want to be fixed. At least, I don’t want that to be the primary concern of someone I am in a relationship with. And the way things are at the moment I’m not sure how they could be any other way. The way things are with me, that is. I wonder sometimes if I will ever be whole. Maybe that isn’t even an option. Perhaps it is not something I should even try to attain. Maybe…just maybe…it isn’t necessary. Maybe there is a point somewhere that is good for me that doesn’t involve being someone else entirely. I’d like to think so, but I’m just not sure.

I don’t know what so called normal people feel like. I don’t know what it feels like to have a family in the traditional sense, whatever that may be these days. I am not all that familiar with being nurtured. I will add a disclaimer here and say, not familiar with it outside of my Mother. She was my champion. She was the one person in this entire world who completely understood me, and always, without fail, knew what to say to me. If my mom said it, it had to be true. She was never wrong. I’m not even just saying that because I loved her so much. She really did know what to say and do. She knew what advice to give me. She knew what to say to make my demons go away, at least for a little while.

I don’t know how I can go on without her. It has been over a year now, and I still feel it as strongly as the day we said goodbye for the last time. The last words she said to me were “You are a good daughter.” But…I wasn’t. She spent her life trying to give all her children a better chance than she had. And towards the end, I was the only one left still floundering. She hung on despite what surely must have been excruciating pain, just to try and help me out a little longer. She managed to talk a car salesman into letting her purchase a car knowing she was sick with cancer. She made one payment on that car before she died. It was her pride and joy, because she got it for me. I couldn’t even hold on to that. A tow service was sent from 3 states away to come and take it from me. That was a particularly low point in my life. The one thing my mother wanted more than anything was for me to be self sufficient. She wanted me to have a home, and a car…a good job, and yes, even love. I had to tell her it was okay to go, because she was clinging on with the last vestige of strength she had, in her worry over my future. I lied to her and told her I was going to be all right. But I think we both knew I wasn’t. At this very moment, I believe I have taken one step forward and a whole bunch of leaps and bounds backwards. I should still consider myself in a better place than I was in, and in many ways I do. I’m not starving to death. I am not about to be on the street. But I’m certainly not where I thought I would be even 2 months ago. I thought I was on the road to recovery, but it seems that was a gross miscalculation of where things were going.

Though I don’t have anyone telling me what a failure I am, I still feel like one. And while I don’t hear how disappointed anyone is in me, I am disappointed in myself. Why could I not just be strong enough to put up with anything so that I could prove to myself and the few people who matter to me that I can succeed?

I think that might be part of the problem. You see, I am a survivor. But it seems like that is what I have spent my life doing…just surviving. I don’t want to be a survivor. I want to live, laugh, and love. I want to be as whole as possible. I don’t want to count simply living and going on another day as a success. Because in truth, it just isn’t.

I guess the one good thing is that I still wake up every day believing something else, something new and better, is possible. I don’t know why I still have that grain of hope within me, but I do. And I guess I’ll just keep trying, until I succeed, or the tiny flicker of light in the darkness goes out. It hasn’t yet. Though whether that is good or bad, remains to be seen.

I’ll keep hoping until then.

Autumn Equinox

“My sorrow, when she's here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.”

-Robert Frost

Today is the first of October. Autumn is in full swing, at least it seems that way here. For me, the fall has always been a time of reflection, of memory, and sometimes, of melancholy. The sounds of the season, even the cars on the streets outside, somehow always bring me back to my high school years. I remember lying in bed early in the morning, just before getting up, and listening to the sounds outside, anticipating the start of a new school year, and what adventures it would bring. Too, was the nervous feeling of wondering if this year I would fit in. Usually by day two of a new school year I gave that hope up in favor of being an outsider on purpose.

That might sound strange, but it's true. Part of it, I think, was that I was in control of my own destiny, at least in my mind. If I didn't fit in by design, then it was by my own choice, and not something I was forced to endure. Ridicule then, became fuel for the fire of my independence and creativity. I was (and still am) an artist, with all the quirky traits that people normally associate with we artsy types. I went to a little farm school that was typical of the Midwest. I, however, had lived my life on the open road, it seemed for as long as I could recall. Being part of a military family sometimes means that you move around a lot. I had lived from one end of the country to another. That we settled in the Midwest rather than the West Coast..well.. that was simply part of the bane of my teenage existence.

Because of my diverse experience, as well as a rather indulgent mother (who didn't even flinch when I shaved half my head, spray painted my hair neon pink, and wore safety pins in my lip and ears) I was the only punk/new wave person in our entire town. I was in the year book every bit as much as the most popular girl and boy in school. It was simply for very different reasons.

I guess when it came right down to it, I was heading things off before they actually occurred. My outward appearance took attention away from the awkward, lonely girl beneath all those trappings. My false bravado was worn like armor. It was only when I was back in the safety of my own bedroom that the facade could be lifted, and I was once more...myself. My room was my sanctuary. I nursed the wounds of unrequited first love beneath the pink canopy of a French Provincial bed. I eased the ache of unpopularity with plates of macaroni and cheese and pizza and anything else I could stuff in my face while watching Facts of Life, looking like Nathalie but wishing I was Blaire. I cried enough tears to cause a second coming of Noah.

I know that for every story of hurt and heartache I can share, there are hundreds upon thousands of others who could do the same. I guess that's the bond we as human beings get to share, or at least one of them. I survived my teenage years somehow, as most of us get to do. While I no longer have pink hair or safety pins sticking out of my head in odd places, I am sometimes still that awkward, lonely girl. I have progressed from stuffing my face with every available food I could possibly find, to writing down my thoughts and feelings and figuring out how to make myself better. I'd call that a success.

Autumn symbolizes a last glorious gasp before the bleakness of winter sets in. For most of my life I have related it with death. All those leaves lifeless on the ground gave good reason for my melancholy to set in. This year however I look at it differently. It's not about death; it's about getting rid of the unnecessary in preparation for a much needed rest, and renewal and growth. It is the ending of one time in preparation for the beginning of another. The trees are simply slimming down, becoming a blank canvas for the glorious beauty of spring. Change takes time. It's always happening, though, whether we see it or not. My life is like that right now, both physically and in all other areas. And for the first time in a long time, I do not mourn the fall. I am not bleak at the thought of winter. And, most of all, I am very much looking forward to my spring.

Surprise!...Or...Not

Did you ever have one of those moments, you know the ones where something you have known all along suddenly...hits you? Well, I had one of those moments today.

You see, I have been officially diagnosed as having Bipolar Disorder. Big scary sounding thing, isn't it? I spent the morning in a doctor's office undergoing a grueling evaluation. Not on the top of my fun things to do list, let me tell you! But.. a necessary evil, as they say. The thing is, I am having a hard time explaining the changes that occurred in me from the time I walked through the door to the doctor's office, to the time I left. But there were changes, indeed.

It's not like I have lived a normal life and suddenly *BAM!* I have this mental affliction. I have had the symptoms for better than twenty five years. I simply chose to ignore them. Or at the very least, I have refused to face head on what I should have known all along. It's a sobering realization.

This disorder runs in my family. My birth mother has a severe case of it along with other issues. My older brother was in the throes of a depressive state when he chose to hang himself in the alley between two buildings, thus ending the promising life of a spectacularly talented artist, not realizing that on that same day his wife would find out she was pregnant with his child. Funny how fate does things like that sometimes.

As for me, my life has been pretty harsh, if one chooses to look at it on the most basic level. I've lived through and experienced things beyond what many people might even be able to imagine, let alone endure. Yet through it all, I somehow have managed to wake up nearly every single day with a renewed hope that somehow, this time, things would get better. It doesn't seem to matter how many times I've been beaten down, trodden upon; left. I refuse to admit defeat, at least not for very long. I cannot lie and say I've never wallowed in a glorious bout of self pity, because I have. But somehow it never lasts for long.

On the surface it would seem that my life could be a text book case of what bipolar disorder is, and does. I have euphoric highs and magnificently low lows. I've felt certain that I was going to conquer the world with my wit, and I've believed without a single doubt that my presence on earth was not only not needed, but a travesty. I've imagined my death at least a hundred different times, and considered what those I cared about would think when that time came. Alternately, I've considered the possibility that no one would give a whit about my passing, should it occur at some untimely moment. Suicide is simply not an option for me. I have seen it too much in my own circle of family and friends for it to ever be something I could do, no matter how low I got. Wanting to die, well now that's another thing altogether. I couldn't count the number of times I've wished I could just ... not wake up. Thankfully, those times are not all that frequent, and my wish was never granted. God has bigger plans for me yet.

The thing I find strange right now is how disconnected I feel from myself. It's not like I suddenly came to a realization that I have issues. I mean, I've known pretty much all my life that I was different somehow. I've even looked up the symptoms on more than one occasion. Bipolar disorder always came up as one of the possibilities. In fact it was almost always the only result of my search. But still, I continued onward without facing the truth and reality head on. I could say it was a mistake, but I won't. Today is so much different; it's like a veil has been lifted from my eyes. It is both calming, and confusing. I think that right now I am stronger than I have ever been, and the timing was perfect. Yet there is still this feeling of shock, odd as that may sound.

I've lost relationships because of my actions, and reactions. I know that much of it had to do with the chemical imbalance in my brain. But I am not going to consider myself blameless. As much as I have seen the ravages of this disorder in my family, I knew what was what. I simply did not want to deal with it. I did not want to be like her...like them. There is a certain stigma that goes along with any mental illness. Often times people on the outside act like it is simply a matter of willpower or self control. Or God forbid...contagious. But let me tell you something - it is by sheer will alone that I have come as far as I have. I am not the person I was ten years ago, or even two.

In lieu of available medical treatment, I have had to rely on a lot of soul searching, prayer, and determination. I'm not saying every single thing can be overcome with those things. But I can tell you, to a certain extent, they have worked for me. I had this feeling of being stunned when I was told that I did indeed suffer from bipolar disorder. But.. why? Was it really that much of a surprise? I guess it's just a matter of perception. As long as I had not heard it 'officially', then I could always deny it. Denying all the crazy stuff I've done all my life, well that is another matter altogether. But now.. I am faced with the knowledge that I do indeed have some things that have challenged, and will continue to challenge me for the rest of my life.

I'm not sure what that means, exactly. But the truth is, I'm glad. I don't want to ever use excuses for bad behavior, because there are none. But at least now I can understand a little bit better how my thought process works, and why I have such difficulties sometimes. I am stronger than this. I've proven my strength time and again throughout my life. In some ways, I am probably more strong because of what I have overcome. So how can I be mad about that? I'd like to think I am a worthy person, that it might be worthwhile for someone, some day, to take a chance and love me. Until then, I am going to revert back to my previous post. I have plenty of love to give, and I will give it. It doesn't matter whether I get it in return or not. Real love, true love, doesn't work that way. When you start putting conditions on love, it becomes a contract. Unconditional love is selfless. So people are self centered, unreasonable, illogical. So the love I give is not, or maybe cannot be, returned. I am still going to love anyway.

This includes, but is not limited to, myself. I am more than the sum of my parts, flaws and all. The less I become, the more I am. I myself am paradoxical, so how could I live my life any other way?

Kimberley

Anyway

The Paradoxical Commandments
by Dr. Kent M. Keith

People are illogical, unreasonable, and self-centered.
Love them anyway.
If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.
Do good anyway.
If you are successful, you will win false friends and true enemies.
Succeed anyway.
The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow.
Do good anyway.
Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable.
Be honest and frank anyway.
The biggest men and women with the biggest ideas can be shot down by the smallest men and women with the smallest minds.
Think big anyway.
People favor underdogs but follow only top dogs.
Fight for a few underdogs anyway.
What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight.
Build anyway.
People really need help but may attack you if you do help them.
Help people anyway.
Give the world the best you have and you'll get kicked in the teeth.
Give the world the best you have anyway.
© Copyright Kent M. Keith 1968, renewed 2001

Once, not so very long ago, someone sent that to me, and said that I was the first person they had ever met who actually lived by those principles. I was floored. It was a great compliment, and I was honored to know someone felt that way about me. I'd like to think that it was true. Even further, I hope that it still is. Just in case, I went back to the web site, www.paradoxicalcommandments.com and accepted the challenge presented there. I even printed out and signed a certificate as written proof of my commitment to live the Paradoxical Life.

There is a reason this is all so important to me right now, and I'll get into that later. But for now, I'd just like to say hello, and welcome to my blog. And, since this is a confessional, I will let you in on a little secret.

I'm still fat.

Now, before you think you've been duped and reach for the little red x at the top of your screen to leave, let me explain. I am not as fat as I used to be. And in the not so distant future, I won't be fat at all. I have been on a quest for health for some time now, and I've come a long way. I still have a long way to go, but I'll get there. And I am already a former fat girl...on the inside. That poor chubby chick with greasy french fry stained fingertips and chocolate smeared lips is a thing of the past. I would embrace her, but instead I'll just let her story, which is mine, give comfort and healing from the pain of the past.

If you stay long enough...you might just learn a thing or two about me. Until next time, happy reading! And if for some reason you don't, I'll keep posting...anyway.

Kimberley