Tag: wtf

Dads and Dismay

Song of the Moment:

I AM OBSESSED WITH THIS SONG. I absolutely love it because it is the musical definition of my relationship with the men in my life my mother introduced to it. Fuck you Dads. This is how I feel about you two mother-effers….

Everytime I was right about you after all.

I used to say about my cousin Austin, “Oh, the poor boy. His mother used to promise him she’d come to see him, and never show. She’d lead him on and cancel at the last minute.” The more I thought about it though, at least she called to say she wasn’t coming.

My first Dad, Eddie, did not spare us that courtesy. He just never showed. I learned some of my flakeyness from my first dad. We cancelled and no-showed and didn’t call each other for months. Nothing was wrong, we just didn’t care. When we saw each other again, there were no hurt feelings. I didn’t expect him to be around. It barely occurred to me to miss him. My life was full enough without him.

I feel that way about my biological dad, too. I don’t have room for him. I keep him at arm’s length. Don’t call me, that’s what I wanted. Wasn’t it?

Advertisements

FML

Image result for husband ignores me

00002. Two days with no sex and now my husband is currently ignoring my existence. Nevermind that I gave him a blowjob the night before last.

Is my life determined to be ironic at all times?

The things you care about matter. The things you enjoy and are passionate about are important because they are your passion.

Every time I turn around, I notice things about kids. I can’t stop thinking about it. I saw this trailer for a movie and I can’t wait to see it. It wrung my heart- it is exactly what I want to do.

Everyone wants to adopt a baby. No one wants to show a seven year old love. They all the want the little kids. I just want to foster a young boy, maybe brothers if we’re lucky. Will I ever have that?

My girlfriend asked me what that means for my relationship if my husband ultimately doesn’t want children. I both love and hate the idea. The present me loves it because he wishes to care for me and only me in the future. He doesn’t want to share my attention with children. He wants it to just be us.

I am both impatient with and understand the desire to wait to have children. We have time. It’s a life long commitment, and maybe we’re not there yet truthfully. Jake and I’s second anniversary rolled around recently and I get the feeling his feelings are cooled somewhat from times past. Our sex life isn’t the best, so therefore I am not as lovable.  One of my other girlfriends commented that my relationship relies entirely upon my pussy’s health. She wasn’t kidding. It sucks to know hard truths, but a true friend tells them. The bad thing is I’m not always healthy.

I am physically unavailable, and he is emotionally unavailable. We both struggle with some of the same problems but he seems determined to ignore those problems. I have a desire to work the 12 step program and have him participate, also. It’s therapeutic and perhaps we would gain closure in may ways, both together and separately. We both suffer from B.E.D. and we could understand our reasons why maybe if we worked together.

I had the audacity to make this suggestion and my husband resented it horribly. He hated to confront hard truths. He would rather not discuss that which he isn’t willing to examine more closely. The more detailed questions I asked, the more unsettled he became. That will teach me a lesson about trying to therapize my husband without his knowledge.  He does not place nice with others sometimes. He can be a mean, snapping bulldog from time to time. Quite vicious and unyielding. He would never raise a hand to me, but I can remember thinking the same thing about my mother.

Sometimes I ignore how my mother treated me in my past. Not living under the same roof makes me more forgiving. But in reading the book I am getting together, I can’t help but remember how alienated she made me feel. We used to fight and shout with each other. We shoved each other, I ran away from home. I lived out of my car to avoid her. I became an alcoholic without her love. Lost and yearning for a mother figure who didn’t try to make me look incompetent and stupid at every turn. Someone who valued me and wanted nothing from me.

My therapist made a poignant point to me one time. She said it made sense that I liked participating in my husband’s version of microscopic love. My fathers never paid me any attention, and now I had a man that was utterly interested in my every coming and going. I liked the attention to detail. I liked being controlled. I liked being paid strict attention, even when I chaffed against it. I tested his love. It reminds me of a favorite passage from my favorite book:

On the whole, this person with the sunburst on his boots remained cranky and disagreeable in his behavior toward the little blond runt. He realized it, too. Joe knew good and well he had become a pain in the neck, and what’s more he was none too concerned about it. But there was a reason for his unconcern; He was happy.

For the first time in his life, he felt himself released from the necessity of grinning and posturing and yearning for the attention of others. Nowadays he had, in the person of Ratso Rizzo, someone who needed his presence in an urgent, almost frantic way that was a balm to something in him that had long been exposed and enflamed and itching to be soothed. God alone knew how or why, but he had somehow actually stumbled upon a creature who seemed to worship him. Joe Buck had never before known such power and was therefore ill equipped to administer it. All he could do was taste it over and over again like a sugar starved child on a mountain of candy: cuss and frown and complain and bitch, and watch Ratso take it. For that is the way in which power is usually tasted; in the abuse of it. It was delicious and sickening and he couldn’t stop himself. The only thing the runt seemed to demand was the privilege of occupying whatever space he could find in the tall cowboy’s shadow. And casting such a shadow had become Joe Buck’s special pleasure. 

We made it through all the uncertainty. I became used to his law. We are both reflections of the other in many ways. We have dealt with similar things in our lives. He has cared for a physically disabled person in the past as I have. He has cared for and provided for younger siblings and girls especially. We both dealt with an addict parent in our lives. We have both dated addicts in our past and tried to help or change them. We have both suffered from codependency issues, and yet we jumped in feet first with each other anyway.

I read once, “You attract what you are, not what you want. So who are you being?”

Birds of a feather flock together.

Like begets liking.

I have realized that my past partners and I all had things in common. The over arching theme is depression and anxiety of some sort. I attract sad, anxious people because I am sad little monster living in a sick, sad world.

Image result for sick sad girl

Enjoy Yourself (It’s Later Than You Think)

Related image

I just turned 28 years old. 26 was my initial scary age. I thought there was so much I should have accomplished by the time I was 26- a real adult age.

My life plan is still sort of on track. I planned to be married by now and I am. I planned to have kids sometime between this year and the year I turn 35, so I’m still okay there. I have selected my career- but I have not hit my goal in my career yet. I want to be a front office manager. A middle manager. Have not made my way to that yet, but oh-so-close I can taste it almost.

Things I’d Like to Accomplish by 30:

  1. Become a homeowner
  2. Quit drugs
  3. Get a real estate license
  4. Get my business management associate’s degree
  5. Become a front office manager
  6. Become a foster parent
  7. Semi-public sex with my husband somewhere
  8. Finish a short novel
  9. Become a published writer
  10. Visit Niagara Falls
  11. Finish paying off my car
  12. Get out of debt in general

You Wouldn’t Like Me (Would You?)


There’s a war inside of me
Do I cause new heartbreak to write new broken song
Do I push it down or let it run me 
Right into the ground
I feel like I wouldn’t like me 
If I met me
Well I can’t stop talking
For fear of listening to unwelcome sound
And you haven’t called me in weeks
And honestly it’s bringing me down
I feel like I wouldn’t like me if I met me
I feel like you wouldn’t like me if you met me
And don’t you worry, there’s still time
There’s nothing to live for 
When I’m sleeping alone
And I wash the windows outside 
In hopes that the glare 
Will bring you around
Sunshine is days away
I won’t be saved, I know all the words
I can’t say that I’ll love you forever
I won’t say that I’ll love you forever

I have been browsing online for creative writing classes. I stumbled upon the OSU-OKC website, the school I wish to go back to when I can get around to paying off my damn bill. But my finances is not the point of this post, so I digress;

LIFE STORY

LOL is it bad that my first thought reading this was, “Oh no, well, mine is more like a cautionary tale.” I snickered. Truly!

I’m working on a volume right now. It’s about some core issues I struggle with, and the book is DARK. It’s poetry full of angst, regret, and sorrow. “My summer was saturated in death and mortality.” It reflects heavily in my dark volume.

Because my next thought made me chuckle, too. “Actually, my story of my life more so reminds me of the theme song to Lemony Snicket’s Unfortunate Series of Events XD

If you are interested in stories with happy endings, then you would be better off somewhere else. In this story, not only is there no happy ending, there is no happy beginning, and very few happy things in the middle.

My name is Lemony Snicket. It is my solemn duty to bring to light the sorry history of the Baudelaire children as it happened so many years ago.
But you in the audience have no such obligation, and I would advise all our viewers to turn away immediately and watch something more pleasant instead.

This story will be dreadful, melancholy and calamitous, a word which here means “dreadful and melancholy.” That is because not very many happy things happened in the lives of the Baudelaires.

Violet, Klaus and Sunny were intelligent children. Charming and resourceful, they had pleasant facial features, but they were extremely unlucky. Most everything that happened to them was rife with misfortune, misery and despair. I’m sorry to tell you this – but that’s how the story goes.

-Lemony Snicket’s Series of Unfortunate Events

There is something about writing dark material. So shameful to admit to being the author. Is it, though? So much of myself I feel I shouldn’t share… but then, the things that happen to me must surely happen to other people. I’m a wife who worries about her marriage. I’m a daughter affected by her mother’s drug abuse. I struggle with drugs. I’ve gone to therapy and should be going, still. I’m a member of the Al-Anon community on my better days.

I want to publish my dream blog about my experience with my sobriety. It’s also dark and personal. Like I said, everything I write is dark right now… it’s seeping out in my poetry and collage making. But do I have the balls to own my shit????????????

If my family ever read my dark volume, they wouldn’t be amused. I say some very hard things about my mother in particular. The book is about the despair of losing your identity.

I used to be a Native American woman. Now truthfully, I am a Mexican-Native-American. I never knew I was Mexican. Do I call myself hispanic, latino? IT’S SO FOREIGN TO ME. I reject my father’s label. My identity was different for twenty four years. My narrative was a different story without him. I never knew I was Mexican. I never learned the culture or the language. It’s going to be a weird book.

I imagined going to creative writing class and sharing my real self. I remember during the orientation for my dietitian class and one of my classmates was so remarkably honest. He said he struggled with substance abuse in the past and used his new lifestyle to commit to sobriety. I found myself wanting to share in that confession, but I could never.

Because you don’t want people to look at you sadly. They never know what to say. Their questions are annoying. I told someone during my sobriety I packed on the pounds and they unhelpfully remarked, “Oh, isn’t it the other way around? Get high on weed, get the munchies, get fat?” Well it wasn’t in my case genius way to make me feel like a failure.

I have a stupid eating problem. I have a moderate case of bulimia. I suffer from anxiety and depression. Cue this song:

And finally, one other quote reminds me of my life;

Image result for if you think this story has a happy ending

Like Father

This movie gutted me. I absolutely loved it for as much as it inspired bittersweet feelings. First of all, I love Kelsey Grammar. Period. He’s an icon from my childhood and I also liked and related to the characters on Frasier since I was a nerd. My Granny and I watched the show together. Secondly, sign me up for anything with Kristen Bell.

But third and most of all, the title about Fathers is what got me. The movie is about Rachel (Bell), a girl who is getting married and her estranged father shows up at her wedding. She’s a workaholic and her fiance decides to leave her at the altar. She flees the wedding and ends up getting drunk with her dad. They end up on her honeymoon cruise ship, trapped for two weeks together.

I was instantly enthralled by the thought. It would be torture, or would it??? I clicked to watch the show and am glad that I did. It made me think about the connection with my own biological father. It made me think of both of my fathers, actually.

In the movie, Rachel says, “I’m glad you came and found me.” After twenty five years absent from her life, he randomly shows back up. They have heart warming interactions. They talk about why he left and she’s supposed to understand. Her dad was like her, dedicated to his business his whole life. At least he was a successful failure as a dad.

Some people aren’t so fucking lucky. When she said she was glad, I started to weep bitter tears. How can some people be glad to be reconnected with their estranged fathers, and I hate the fact everyday that my mother told me he is my real dad? I have such a weird mixture of feelings regarding him.

I have my mother on my shoulders. There’s not enough room for all his fuck ups and shortcomings, also. I hold him at arm’s length because I’m afraid to get attached. I don’t want him to use me. I don’t want him to have any hold over me. I can’t worry about him and invest myself in him. I am fully invested in my mother.

I read my One Day At A Time book yesterday, and I didn’t understand it altogether.

One Day at a Time

Quote

How can I not be so invested? Their problems are my identity. My inability to deal with their problems and make them better makes me somehow more of a failure as a daughter. As I type it, I see that’s ridiculous but that’s what I feel. A jagged wound inside, unable to heal my parent’s lack of love. They needed something bigger and better and I want to be the one to help them fill those holes— but I’m not enough. It’s not my job. That is so fucking hard to realize.

In the series Kimmy Schmidt the Unbreakable she talks to a picture of her Geena Davis. She picked a picture as her substitute mother. I think this all boils down to my desire to have the comforting, sensitive Frasier as a dad. When I hear his deep voice, I instantly feel a little better. He reminds me of my childhood. Is that weird or what? haha

Image result for frasier

Frasier would have been a good dad. My mom made fun of me for being well read and using my vocabulary words. Frasier would have encouraged me and admonished mom. How beneficial to have a live in therapist 🙂

Strange but True Vol. VII

I have been quite emotional lately. Just this last week, I have had two nervous breakdowns. They were two days in a row consecutively. On Tuesday, my mother came over to my house to enlist my help with some social media questions. (i.e. she’s finally getting a facebook) and help with her cell phone.

She has precious videos and pictures of my late cousin Toby on her old phone. It’s falling apart and she needs to switch devices, but the old one won’t allow her to transfer her videos due to it’s damaged state. I have tried everything I can to help her move her photos but I can’t do anything about the videos. I became very anxious with this task because I was quickly realizing I wouldn’t be able to help her. She was frustrated, and I was frustrated.

Then she mentioned my father. She has been DESPERATELY trying to get in touch with him. He is not worthy of her time and energy but what the hell, she says, “You love who you love.”

She has tried multiple methods of communicating with him. She waited 2 years for him to get out of prison, and when he got out, he promptly dropped her. He refused to return her texts and calls. He frequently got new cell phones because he was always losing one or the other. He was able to completely drop off the face of the earth as far as we were concerned for many months after his release. He chose not to contact either of us.

My mother left letters for him at his mother’s house. She begged him to give her closure. When Toby died, she wanted him to know, and even after I was the one that told him- he still didn’t call my mother. I thought that was very cruel of him, for being someone who used to claim to love her. Anybody who knows her knows she lost a son, not just a nephew. It was heartless of him not to call her, especially when he claims to be a Christian man.

I was punishing him for not talking to her. I didn’t want to talk to him. But one day out of the blue, he was back in town and wanted to visit with me. We don’t have very many opportunities to see each other so I said yes. He came and brought me lunch at work one day and we spent 30 minutes together.

I chose not to tell my mother about this encounter. It makes me uncomfortable to discuss my father with her because she immediately needs to know everything we discussed. She won’t take no for an answer and becomes quite belligerent if you’re not willing to divulge details. If I try to be vague, she pesters me for more information. It’s quite stressful, which is why I declined to mention it initially.

I always somehow put my foot in my mouth, though. I accidentally let slip about seeing him and she FLIPPED OUT ON ME. She started crying and told me how could I not mention it. She loves him so much and she doesn’t even know where he is, but I didn’t think to tell her?!?! She was so upset with me, before long, she had me sobbing hysterically.

She can still throw a mean guilt trip after all this time.

***

One day passes without us speaking.

On Wednesday, Jake and I had an unusual shared day off together. They are far and few between. We wasted the entire day lounging, watching TV, and fighting like the dickens. As per usual, it was about marital relations. #snooze #boring #tellmesomethingidontknow #thedword #fml #relationshipissues

Jake infuriates me when he uses the ‘D’ word. He suggests breaking up is a good idea sometimes. I privately agree with him sometimes, but I can’t imagine starting over. Or rather, I have imagined it, and I would rather not. He and I are a good pair. I don’t see the occasional squabble to be worth losing such an important connection. We eventually kissed and made up.

Read this article: These 10 Questions Could Determine if Your Relationship Will Succeed or Fail

***

On Thursday, I decided to give my mother a ring after work on my way home.

Me: Hey Momma, what are you up to?
Mom: I’m just watching TV
Me: Oh, okay. Who are you hanging out with?
Mom: Your dad
Me: …. Which dad? My first dad or my other dad?
Mom: The one you resemble
Me: How long has he been over there?
Mom: Johnny… how long have you been over here? 2 days? 3?
Me: …. I’m surprised you didn’t mention that. It’s only been 1 day since I talked to you. He’s been staying there this whole time and you didn’t think to tell me? You know I’ve been feeling guilty about how I didn’t mention him to you.
Her: *laughs snidely at me* Okayyy…..
Me: Well, I’m glad he’s there.
Mom: Johnny, she’s glad you’re here.
Him, phone background: Hey sweetie!
Me: Hey. I’ve gotta be going. Have a good night.
Mom: Night.

THAT NONCHALANT BITCH