Welcome Home!

Returning from vacation is, of course, always difficult. Am I the only one who wants to move to wherever it is I am vacationing? Probably not. Fortunately, I've grown enough to realize that living and working wherever I am vacationing will NEVER be like vacationing there - that's why it's VACATION!

Regardless, descending back to my mortal life is a bitch. This time, I found myself dragging it out as much s possible. Because we flew out of an airport an hour and a half away from home, I had a little extra time after landing to extend that vacation...so I did.

After we picked up our van, I took the kids out to lunch...at a sit-down restaurant...that is notorious for being slow to serve...and I let them play checkers...and finish their game before we left.

What can I say? As long as I was on vacation, I felt like I was in a bubble...of happiness. As long as I didn't have to speak or interact with my STBX, life was normal, and I felt at ease. It is only during these periods that I realize the shit I carry around. And yes, it is a million times better than when I actually lived with him, but still there is that fucking residual fear of what the hell he is going to say next or what fucking mind game am I going to have to field or dodge next. Exhausting.

So I put myself on the road during exactly the five o'clock rush hour and drove home slowly...enjoying...and dreading.

Light My Fire!

All I know is that the writing helps me get off my ass, charging me up like the proverbial fire under it. I suppose there is something about facing that which paralyzes me, looking at it square in the eye and putting it "out in the open". I guess it loses some of its power that way...some of it.

I won't do it again today. I won't lie around wondering why I act this way. I'll write, then I'll get up and do, and live...like I did the other night.

Yes, I am aware of the obvious - something inside me feels like I don't deserve the good times, the happiness, a carefree vacation with my children. Digging deeper, I find that I believe that it is a different kind of person who plans and organizes ahead of time in order to minimize stress. Deep inside, I think that it is someone else who leaves for vacation with their house and finances in order and their bags thoughtfully packed. I know, to the average mom, that image seems to come straight out of a fairy tale book. But I'm not talking about the fairy tale...I'm just talking about reasonable sanity.

I have time and space to achieve that reasonable sanity...I just need that fire lit!

Come on baby, light my fire
Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire

The time to hesitate is through
No time to wallow in the mire

from Light My Fire, The Doors

Self-Sabotage

In about a week's time, I will be sitting at a beach on an island off the southern coast of the United States, delighting in the warm completeness of having all of my three children around me. It will be marvelous!

But you wouldn't know it by the looks of me tonight. I am doing what I do so often...sabotage...sabotage...sabotage my own good times. There is packing to be done, a house to be cleaned, arrangements to be made...yet I do nothing. I know myself. I know that I do better when things are in order. I am happier when I have ample time to prepare. I do not thrive in last minute rush hour. I know that the way to avoid frantic stress and last minute exhaustion is to take care of things this weekend...but I don't.

I look around the messy house, the wilted flowers in their two inches of milky water, the piles of unfolded laundry on each available bed, the stack of bills that beg attention and I turn away instead. I read Pat Conroy and let his dark and lyrical words push and pull my memories and emotions like his own Lowcountry tides. Reading this book is dangerous, I know, but I simply can't resist him. It would be better if I packed a suitcase, or cleaned my bathroom, or threw away those godforsaken sunflowers...they're bringing me down.

What's it going to take for me to do good for me? I can visualize the way that I want things to be, but I refuse to take the steps necessary to arrive there.

I need to talk.

I Stopped Reading After Newtown

When a friend texted me last night to share some information on the demographics of the victims of the recent Orlando night club shooting, I was amazed to find that I had known practically nothing about the details of this deadly tragedy. All I knew was that another motherfucker went crazy and shot a bunch of people in Orlando...again.

It's not that I don't care... I do. It's just that Newtown broke me. And it keeps breaking me. Every time another one of these shootings happens, I break again. I go back to Newtown, to twenty first graders and their valiant teachers, and wonder what in the world went wrong that these children weren't enough to change things in this nation.

So I had to stop reading and listening after Newtown. When I hear of another shooting, I find myself putting up my shield again...and thinking of the children...and breaking...and wondering what the fuck? I don't attack the web for details and information. Knowing everything doesn't change anything...at least not for me...not during these times. Sometimes I catch something on NPR, and I might let myself listen...a little...an interview with a mother...who is now broken...forever.

The gunman keeps winning.

Can I be Home Alone?

The kids will be at the beach with their father for the rest of the week. Towards the end of the school year, I expend much energy and focus on helping them wrap up their year as smoothly and stress-free as possible. I will be able to spend much needed time focusing on my needs and perhaps a little self-care.

...or so I thought. After seeing my therapist this afternoon, I treated myself to a fantastic dinner at a gem of a local restaurant which I had been wanting to try for quite some time (the chardonnay tasted exactly like an oak room!). It was after leaving the restaurant that it hit me that I did not want to go home...that I was afraid to go home. I was afraid of being home alone and being depressed and just spiraling down. I was paralyzed in my van...in a parking spot...on the street...in front of this restaurant.

I decided to email my therapist and then set my GPS for home. As I was waiting for his phone call, I drove following the directions from Ms. Google and not thinking that I was driving home. When I arrived, I went in the front door straight through the back door and sat in the back yard to write this post.

After talking with him, I knew that he was right. I am going to be OK. I have been in this place before, and I have risen from it. I am different now...stronger. I will not harm myself, and I will not sit paralyzed in a room thinking about it. I will do something good for me. In fact, I already did.

In the past, I have sat on the floor talking with my therapist on the telephone. He would urge me to go outside, to leave the house. At that time, I felt that nothing could be more terrifying. Today, I didn't even give myself the opportunity to go there. I went straight outside, picking up my laptop in stride, and wrote.

I'm going inside now, as confident in myself as my therapist said he was in me. I'll be OK. I can do this. I'll be OK.

Free Write

Today I'm writing just because I know it's good for me...like eating your vegetables (except writing tastes more like fruit). "I have nothing to write about", I thought...but I reminded myself that it just takes a few words to get me going...like the free-writes that my high school English teacher taught us to do.

I have two brutal shifts this weekend - two back-to-back 8AM to 8PM shifts at a store high in volume and low in staff help...and invariable someone always calls out. This is the kind of weekend that requires a lot of self care.

My discomfort started as I walked into the pharmacy yesterday and saw a box cutter that was careless tossed on the robot counter (yes, it counts drugs for us). It was  nobody's fault...busy store...no time to properly put things away...they don't have my problem...seeing a blade like that may not take them back to darker times of self-harm like it does me. I left it there and proceeded with my tasks of opening the pharmacy.

It bothered me the entire day, my mind flashing back and imagining the cutting. It was such an arduous day, I thought I could cut...but I didn't. I've come such a long way. I've been in this spot before, and the difference is that this time I knew that I wouldn't. At the end of the day, I went home, took a warm bath in chamomile-scented Epsom salts, took some ibuprofen for my swollen and aching body, read a book and got a good night's sleep.

...Self care.

You Don't Own Me

I sat with my therapist this morning just feeling sad...talking about my STBX and feeling sad, like I hadn't in months. Talking about the words he had texted me and feeling sad. Talking about his bold disrespect for my boundaries this morning, and just feeling sad...on the verge of tears.

But when I left his office, I wanted to write...but not at home. For the first time since I left my husband, I did not feel safe in my home...and it made me angry. It's not that I felt he would break in or anything, but I felt that he could come by and ring the bell and want to come in. I would not have to let him in, but I would have to deal with him emotionally. My writing would be interrupted and I may or may not be able to return my focus to where I had left off.

So I came to a coffee shop like I used to do when we were still together, and I wanted a private place to write. A place that he would not frequent and that is completely devoid of any reminders of him.

Sometimes it's like that. I simply need to erase him. It's like that now. His words were so vile that I just want to erase him and anything that reminds me of him from my memory. Why does he think he can still touch me? I want to spit flames from my body when he comes near me. I wish I had flames to burn him whenever he touches me.

There is nothing that I can say or do to make him understand that he doesn't own me, but I've been told this is not where I need to expend my energy. I need to continue to set up my wall...but it's fucking exhausting. I mean, how do you make a man understand that he cannot just touch you at will? At what point does a woman just file a restraining order?

You don't own me
I'm not just one of your many toys
From You Don't Own Me, Lesley Gore

The Power of Words

Sometimes the power of words can linger even if I don't want it to. Sometimes, I remind myself over and over that there is no truth in those words...and I am fine, I am strong, I believe my truth.

Other times, the words sneak up on me, and I wonder which part of them may be true...the sharpness of their knife cutting me the way they were intended.

Say Thanks, and Write On!

Sometimes I don't write because I don't have the time or the energy (that happens a lot). Sometimes it's because I don't want to deal with what it is I need to write about. Other times I just don't want to remember. Today, I know it's not the first reason. Today I know I need to thank reasons two or three for their good work in trying to protect me, and I need to just write.

Recently, I have been basking in the pleasure of busy yet light and upbeat days. Meanwhile, I have been looking back on the shadow of my depression throughout the last Christmas season and feel like I have risen through that. In other words, I know that I am OK because I am far from feeling the way I felt then.

And then I started reading a memoir again...another story of abuse and courage. And I feel my mood is slipping. Cognitively, I think I should just stop reading this stuff...but emotionally, I feel like I want to remember. I read other people's stories in order to remember my own. But is it necessary? Do I need to remember everything? I don't know. I know that I don't want to fall back into depression again.

Closing Unit 927

What do you want from me when I just wanna restart
You keep coming back for me when you're the one who tore us apart
And the truth is I'm better on my own
And I'm the one to leave it apart
So let me restart

(from Restart, Sam Smith)

Today, I was finally ready to close Unit 927 and bring all my belongings home. I had originally planned to use it until I moved into my own space. It's been just over two years. At first, I kept it because the first house I moved into after leaving my husband was somewhat small, and I felt I still was not organized enough to find places for the items that were in the unit. That was true, but so was the fact that I just wasn't ready.

When I moved into my new bigger house last fall, I knew that there would be plenty of space for all our belongings and that I would truly be able to close the unit...but I still didn't. That was when I realized that I was simply holding on to that precious space, that first step into the fresh air that I so courageously took.

I still liked going in there and feeling bold and independent. Often, I went in to retrieve items in an effort to empty the space as gradually as I had filled it. Every month I went in to pay the bill in person, and I never again saw the kind woman who so empathically assisted me through the process of opening a storage unit. I understood that she was there precisely when I needed her.

Today, when I went in to retrieve the few remaining items and sweep the floor, I was so different from the day I first opened the door. In the past, I had been quiet and inconspicuous...afraid of being seen...afraid of being noticed. Today, I drove around openly. I left the music on in my van as I worked and was able to say goodbye and thank you to this almost sacred space to the tune of "Restart" and "Defying Gravity". I was happy, open and relaxed. There was no more fear.

Perhaps I am one who holds on too long and too tightly to things and places that must be released. I take my time...when I am ready...and I am now ready to emerge from the frightened fugitive into a courageous woman standing on her own two feet.

Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes... and leap!

It's time to try
Defying gravity
I think I'll try
Defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye
I am defying gravity
And you won't bring me down!

(from Defying Gravity, as performed by Lea Michele and Chris Colfer, Glee)