I’m having an existential crisis that makes me envy people who can say no to anyone anytime.
When we bought our house 12 years ago, we used a Realtor from my previous church. A guy I sang next to for years in the choir. I loved him and respected him and he proved to be a top-notch Realtor. He ended up contributing his wonderful singing voice to our wedding ceremony.
But that guy retired and delegated his clients to a new one. For years, our calendar has been coming from the new guy. So when we thought of the possibility of putting the house for sale, I called him, and never having met him, I made the regrettable mistake of pretty much giving him the job.
I said, “We are thinking of putting our house for sale sometime next year, and since it would be you selling it, I wonder if you could come and tell us how we can improve the house to make it ready for sale.”
He did come, in a hurry, because he had to get back home before rush hour. He found the bridge’s traffic scary—obviously he lives on the other side.
We took him around the house, pen and paper in hand, asking for suggestions. He would say, “I don’t know.” or “I’ll pay for a staging consultation, and she will tell you that.”
He never did even sit down, his phone was ringing constantly, and he provided very little information. He said that it would be hard to sell our house given how terrible the neighbours retaining wall looked, and he said we should call the city about it.
The next day, we went to an open house, and we found a home we loved: a 100-yeard-old, English-cottage style home sitting on an acre of land with lots of trees and a huge driveway for six or seven cars.
Naturally, we told that Realtor how we felt about the house, making it clear that our house wasn’t even in the market yet, and that we had issues with the neighbours retaining wall. “I’d be happy to come over and have a look,” she said.
After telling her that we didn’t want to waste her time, I finally agreed to let her come over and made an appointment for the following week. But when we came home, my husband said that he needed to build a sundeck before we could move. “If I don’t build one here, I may never have the chance again.”
“I brought up the issue of selling to stop you from throwing money into this house,” I said. But he continued to make plans to build the deck. “It’s only $2K. Big deal!”
I told the newer Realtor not to bother coming because the house wasn’t going to be up for sale until the fall, but she decided to come anyway.
She came last Friday. She had called the city herself. She had numbers of recent sales in our neighbourhood, she CONVINCED my husband not to build the sundeck, and gave us a list of small, cheap changes we could make to give the house more appeal. She presented us with a marketing plan and offered to take us around to see houses currently in the market, just for us to see what’s out there. She was here for three hours and did not answer the phone the whole time.
How do I tell this woman that I’ve decided to stay with the other Realtor, when she’s already given us much better service? How do I tell the other Realtor that after giving him my word, I now want to go with someone else?
I just don’t know what to do. I don’t want to let go of any of them. This is terrible.
The woman has been in Real State for only 2 years. The guy has been selling for 25. But he seems technologically challenged, and she has the latest technologies, and works for a company where the head guy has 35 years of experience. Also, her people’s skills are superior.
I feel that because she’s newer and has fewer clients, she will give us much more time and effort. Plus, she has seen exactly what we like, a 100-year-old house.
Ah, shoot me, please. Shoot me. Husband won’t help. He just says, “I don’t think you should go for a Realtor you’re not comfortable with.”
But how do I tell him? How?
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Friday, December 4, 2009
Home for Sale
I live in a beautiful home. Well, it does look beautiful when we put away all the stuff that hangs around on the hallways to have people over. My husband is a pack rat who rarely throws anything out. He also likes to shop in bulk. The other day, for instance, a liquidation store had umbrellas for $1. He bought six.
All the stuff needs to be stored somewhere, so we have all kinds of shelving and cabinets and places where to keep stuff. But we’ve exhausted the house’s capacity. We really have.
Of course, he isn’t the only one to blame. I, too, have my bad habits. I like to make 100% home made food. So, I must have a juicer, a deep fryer, a sausage stuffer, a grain mill, a bread maker, a heavy duty mixer, a hand mixer, a blender, all kinds of baking sheets and pans, a counter top oven to save electricity, a pressure cooker, a pressure canner, three slow cookers (yes, three), etc—all that is my fault entirely. So I have a large kitchen with an island in the middle, and I still need more room. And only two people live in this professionally decorated home.
But that isn’t the only issue. We live in a soft soil area. That means that in some distant past, a river went by here, and through the centuries, an island appeared made of sediment created by the river currents. What that means in practical terms is that it is “sinky” here. The soil was preloaded before building the neighbourhood, and the houses are sitting on a concrete pad, so they aren’t sinking. But we live on an earthquake zone, and I’ve read horrible stories of what happens on such areas during disasters of that nature.
When we bought the house, we needed to live close to the big city, because we both worked there. In fact, his job was right downtown—and this is a major North American city, so we needed to stay close.
Now however, he works two cities away from downtown, and I don’t work. Also, incredibly enough, the house has appreciated to almost double its purchase price. So I’m thinking that it is time to get the money from our investment and get the heck out before something terrible happens.
We would move further away from the city, hoping to get more square footage for the same money. I’m thinking of a house with a large basement where my husband can keep all his trash. And an extra room where I can keep my cooking toys. Our thousands of books should also fit in that basement.
So yesterday, We talked about it in the morning (vacation day for him), I called the realtor, and he was here within two hours. We discussed the situation and decided to work towards putting the house in the market by early spring. We are thinking that after the Winter Olympics bring people from all over the world, the housing market may boom even more than usual. They will experience first hand the incredible pleasure of living close to the ocean surrounded by snow capped mountains, parks, lakes, and rivers. Let me tell you...!
I’m nervous about leaving my treasured nest, of course. When I look around and see all the window treatments that I so carefully chose. All the storage space that my husband added with hard work, and just how beautiful the house is when clean and tidy, I feel like saying, “To heck with moving, let’s stay.” But my brain still says go.
We will see what happens in the next few weeks.
All the stuff needs to be stored somewhere, so we have all kinds of shelving and cabinets and places where to keep stuff. But we’ve exhausted the house’s capacity. We really have.
Of course, he isn’t the only one to blame. I, too, have my bad habits. I like to make 100% home made food. So, I must have a juicer, a deep fryer, a sausage stuffer, a grain mill, a bread maker, a heavy duty mixer, a hand mixer, a blender, all kinds of baking sheets and pans, a counter top oven to save electricity, a pressure cooker, a pressure canner, three slow cookers (yes, three), etc—all that is my fault entirely. So I have a large kitchen with an island in the middle, and I still need more room. And only two people live in this professionally decorated home.
But that isn’t the only issue. We live in a soft soil area. That means that in some distant past, a river went by here, and through the centuries, an island appeared made of sediment created by the river currents. What that means in practical terms is that it is “sinky” here. The soil was preloaded before building the neighbourhood, and the houses are sitting on a concrete pad, so they aren’t sinking. But we live on an earthquake zone, and I’ve read horrible stories of what happens on such areas during disasters of that nature.
When we bought the house, we needed to live close to the big city, because we both worked there. In fact, his job was right downtown—and this is a major North American city, so we needed to stay close.
Now however, he works two cities away from downtown, and I don’t work. Also, incredibly enough, the house has appreciated to almost double its purchase price. So I’m thinking that it is time to get the money from our investment and get the heck out before something terrible happens.
We would move further away from the city, hoping to get more square footage for the same money. I’m thinking of a house with a large basement where my husband can keep all his trash. And an extra room where I can keep my cooking toys. Our thousands of books should also fit in that basement.
So yesterday, We talked about it in the morning (vacation day for him), I called the realtor, and he was here within two hours. We discussed the situation and decided to work towards putting the house in the market by early spring. We are thinking that after the Winter Olympics bring people from all over the world, the housing market may boom even more than usual. They will experience first hand the incredible pleasure of living close to the ocean surrounded by snow capped mountains, parks, lakes, and rivers. Let me tell you...!
I’m nervous about leaving my treasured nest, of course. When I look around and see all the window treatments that I so carefully chose. All the storage space that my husband added with hard work, and just how beautiful the house is when clean and tidy, I feel like saying, “To heck with moving, let’s stay.” But my brain still says go.
We will see what happens in the next few weeks.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
To dramatize or not to dramatize, that's the question
I just figured out one of the problems I have with social interactions. I’m opinionated. I know that. But the problem is that my husband enjoys it. Our life is a sitcom. I express my opinions outrageously, and he laughs about it.
We were watching House Hunters on HGTV just now, and I saw a kitchen with ugly green walls. I grimaced and loudly said, “Ohhhh…that’s terrible.” You would’ve thought I saw someone puking. But it was just ugly paint colour on a kitchen wall. I’ve grown accustomed to overly dramatizing and to having my husband laugh his heart out.
When I do that in front of others, however, they seem bewildered, as in they can’t believe I can express myself so freely.
The problem is that there is only one of me. I can’t be one person at home and another one with strangers. It just isn’t possible. We are creatures of habit. Our responses are automatic. Had I married a prim and proper guy, I would be used to behaving, but that isn’t the case.
My sister, however, married a prim and proper guy. She has trained herself to speak quietly and to have fine manners (or so she thinks). I think she reserves all her nastiness for me, especially when she is trying to train me to be like her husband. One of these days she’ll get tired of my nasty retorts and will give up—I can only hope.
Anyway, there is my dilemma. It kind of sucks.
We were watching House Hunters on HGTV just now, and I saw a kitchen with ugly green walls. I grimaced and loudly said, “Ohhhh…that’s terrible.” You would’ve thought I saw someone puking. But it was just ugly paint colour on a kitchen wall. I’ve grown accustomed to overly dramatizing and to having my husband laugh his heart out.
When I do that in front of others, however, they seem bewildered, as in they can’t believe I can express myself so freely.
The problem is that there is only one of me. I can’t be one person at home and another one with strangers. It just isn’t possible. We are creatures of habit. Our responses are automatic. Had I married a prim and proper guy, I would be used to behaving, but that isn’t the case.
My sister, however, married a prim and proper guy. She has trained herself to speak quietly and to have fine manners (or so she thinks). I think she reserves all her nastiness for me, especially when she is trying to train me to be like her husband. One of these days she’ll get tired of my nasty retorts and will give up—I can only hope.
Anyway, there is my dilemma. It kind of sucks.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
On being judgmental
I always thought that judging people and situations was a necessary evil. I thought it protected us from the unexpected. If I could know the character of a person by the first signs on new acquaintance, I could know whether I could trust them or not, whether they would bring me disappointment or joy.
I always thought that my ability to judge a person or situation was my greatest asset. I thought I was a psychic of sorts, that I could get to know the heart of a person right away.
As it turns out, I now believe I was only partially correct. The mistake was in translating the first impression to all areas or a person or situation. For instance, If, say, I met you one day, and you seemed absent and disinterested. I would’ve jumped to the conclusion that you were snob, nasty, and likely to hurt me.
Maybe yes. It is quite possible that your coldness was likely to hurt such a sensitive person as me. But I was wrong in labeling all of you based on those character traits.
You may be cold and disinterested, but you may be extremely smart and even caring if I ever have a problem and need immediate assistance. In fact, I may, at the beginning, need to keep you at arm’s length, while I get to know you better, so that I avoid taking your personal pet peeves personally. Maybe I should watch you interact with others so as to know that you’re not particularly snob toward me but treat everybody the same.
There are many aspects to a person: some good some bad. But I have been making the mistake of writing people off completely based on one-or-two peculiarities that I find annoying. If I judge everyone like that, I will always find something that annoys me.
But attitudes like mine, unfortunately, go beyond one-on-one relationships. Organizations, places, cultures, cuisines, situations and many areas of life are also judged with the same mentality. No wonder I find the world so violent and threatening.
Given my recent troubles with the organization I’ve been working with, I came to conclude that a large part of my suffering is rushing to judge situations, as either good or bad.
After much thinking, I realized that my situation with the contact woman seemed awful. But the manager was nice. She is making a mistake trusting her non-technical employee with this project. But it is giving me the opportunity to learn new skills that pay well in the work place. The bad-but-good list went on and on.
Then I realized that situations JUST are. Not good, awful, perfect, or terrible, but just are.
Instead of, for example, starting a job and being extremely happy that it is a great job, I should just think that IT IS a job. Some aspects of it will be good, some aspects will be bad, but in the end, the job JUST IS.
Same with people, most of them just are: good cooks, terrible skaters, great swimmers, good confidants, so-so conversationalists, good at math, bad at drawing, poor listeners, excellent bakers, etc., etc.
In sum, I should never put a person or a situation on either a pedestal or a pit. I should instead expect them to be a combo of qualities and faults. I should never expect that anything in my life can be judged in extremes. Good and evil are part of everything. There is no shortcut to knowing which mix I’m getting when meeting something or someone. I must get to know them slowly and take risks, cautiously so.
Yes, cautiously in that I should delay telling a person intimate problems until I’ve tested the waters with meaningless information to see if they spread rumors or not. Or seeing what they like to read before I trust them with my Jane Austen obsession.
Once I know where I stand, I can move on to manage the situation. I’ve decided, for instance, that the non-profit I’m volunteering for is quite disorganized. I will, then, write proposals for every step of the way and will have them sign. That way, we will all know what to expect. Were they more organized, perhaps I wouldn’t need to be so extreme. But they just are who they are, and I can’t change them. I can just manage my relationship with them.
Spending energy being too happy or too sad about anyone or anything is a waste of energy, I think. Better to live knowing that dealing with both friends and foes is a fact of life. And when foes show up, they need to be managed, not run away from or fought.
Most people probably learn that stuff in kindergarten, or just from their parents growing up. Some of us, though, learn in our 40’s. Better than never.
This past week, I found much comfort on telling myself that life just is. Things just are. People just are. Situations just are. The second I remember that, all the pressure seems to go away, for some reason. Maybe it is that I no longer need to be speculating, trying to predict the future, reach conclusions. I just have to be.
I always thought that my ability to judge a person or situation was my greatest asset. I thought I was a psychic of sorts, that I could get to know the heart of a person right away.
As it turns out, I now believe I was only partially correct. The mistake was in translating the first impression to all areas or a person or situation. For instance, If, say, I met you one day, and you seemed absent and disinterested. I would’ve jumped to the conclusion that you were snob, nasty, and likely to hurt me.
Maybe yes. It is quite possible that your coldness was likely to hurt such a sensitive person as me. But I was wrong in labeling all of you based on those character traits.
You may be cold and disinterested, but you may be extremely smart and even caring if I ever have a problem and need immediate assistance. In fact, I may, at the beginning, need to keep you at arm’s length, while I get to know you better, so that I avoid taking your personal pet peeves personally. Maybe I should watch you interact with others so as to know that you’re not particularly snob toward me but treat everybody the same.
There are many aspects to a person: some good some bad. But I have been making the mistake of writing people off completely based on one-or-two peculiarities that I find annoying. If I judge everyone like that, I will always find something that annoys me.
But attitudes like mine, unfortunately, go beyond one-on-one relationships. Organizations, places, cultures, cuisines, situations and many areas of life are also judged with the same mentality. No wonder I find the world so violent and threatening.
Given my recent troubles with the organization I’ve been working with, I came to conclude that a large part of my suffering is rushing to judge situations, as either good or bad.
After much thinking, I realized that my situation with the contact woman seemed awful. But the manager was nice. She is making a mistake trusting her non-technical employee with this project. But it is giving me the opportunity to learn new skills that pay well in the work place. The bad-but-good list went on and on.
Then I realized that situations JUST are. Not good, awful, perfect, or terrible, but just are.
Instead of, for example, starting a job and being extremely happy that it is a great job, I should just think that IT IS a job. Some aspects of it will be good, some aspects will be bad, but in the end, the job JUST IS.
Same with people, most of them just are: good cooks, terrible skaters, great swimmers, good confidants, so-so conversationalists, good at math, bad at drawing, poor listeners, excellent bakers, etc., etc.
In sum, I should never put a person or a situation on either a pedestal or a pit. I should instead expect them to be a combo of qualities and faults. I should never expect that anything in my life can be judged in extremes. Good and evil are part of everything. There is no shortcut to knowing which mix I’m getting when meeting something or someone. I must get to know them slowly and take risks, cautiously so.
Yes, cautiously in that I should delay telling a person intimate problems until I’ve tested the waters with meaningless information to see if they spread rumors or not. Or seeing what they like to read before I trust them with my Jane Austen obsession.
Once I know where I stand, I can move on to manage the situation. I’ve decided, for instance, that the non-profit I’m volunteering for is quite disorganized. I will, then, write proposals for every step of the way and will have them sign. That way, we will all know what to expect. Were they more organized, perhaps I wouldn’t need to be so extreme. But they just are who they are, and I can’t change them. I can just manage my relationship with them.
Spending energy being too happy or too sad about anyone or anything is a waste of energy, I think. Better to live knowing that dealing with both friends and foes is a fact of life. And when foes show up, they need to be managed, not run away from or fought.
Most people probably learn that stuff in kindergarten, or just from their parents growing up. Some of us, though, learn in our 40’s. Better than never.
This past week, I found much comfort on telling myself that life just is. Things just are. People just are. Situations just are. The second I remember that, all the pressure seems to go away, for some reason. Maybe it is that I no longer need to be speculating, trying to predict the future, reach conclusions. I just have to be.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Anger & Control
Today I had a meeting with the manager of the non-profit I’ve been referring to in previous posts. Thankfully, we have clarified all the misconceptions. The woman that was my contact has, for now, been set aside, at least for technical issues.
The problem is that her technical abilities are so minimal, that most of our discussions over the past few weeks went over her head. Then she went to her manager to pass information she made up. No wonder I was so furious. Instead of helping, this person has been a stumbling block.
But I learned a few things about me during the process and will continue to learn, I’m sure.
Excessive anger and aggression
Went I become furious, even in the middle of it all, I can see that the amount of anger is excessive. I can feel the emotion in my bones, even. Then, I carefully consider the situation, and it doesn’t look like a big deal. But I seem unable to control the deep fury.
Husband and I went to Bellingham, Washington, yesterday, to pickup a pressure canner I ordered from Wal-Mart, and for which I chose store pickup. We made it into a day trip and, among other things, we went browsing to a couple of second-hand bookstores. I wasn’t even looking in the self-help section when my eyes found a book that I never even picked up. The title was, “Why are you so defensive?”
At that moment, I had an aha moment and answered the question. “Because I think everybody is attacking me.”
I knew that I had that problem, but I never connected it to anger. All of a sudden, however, I realized why I hate it when the phone rings, or why, when I am employed, I dislike being called to a meeting, or why I’m distraught when the doorbell rings. I never expect good news. What I always get is a heavy feeling that I’ll be told off, that I’ll be wrongly accused of slacking off, that I will be required to do something I don’t want to do, or at the very least, that I’ll have to talk to someone I’ve been avoiding.
Of course, it all originates in my childhood, when Mom worked very hard at finding something wrong with me, because she just had to find something. She thought that being a good mother was to help me be always perfect.
It follows that I’ve lived my entire life under the microscope, thinking that everybody is watching me closely and rating my performance. Good thing that I took God out of the equation already, but now I have to deal with my fear of everyone else.
I know that I have to take the gloves off. But I also need an attitude correction. I need to somehow convince myself that the entire humanity isn’t out to get me, ready to give me a low performance review. I must stop defending myself. And, quite honestly, I have no idea how to do it. I was trained, like a lab rat, to defend myself, and I don’t know how to stop it.
That’s one of my issues. The other one is control (that little bugger keeps showing up everywhere).
Control
When you think you have to be perfect to succeed in the world, you need to control all the small details in order to put out a perfect performance.
It’s almost like a mental illness, because you’re under the mistaken belief that it is imperative that you be flawless. And you’re so afraid of being found in error that you try to control everything around you, so that what you’re trying to do comes to pass with flying colours.
If for the plan to work I need my husband to speak to his mother, for instance, then I insist tirelessly that he speaks to her. And when he fails to follow my wishes, I will be angry, very angry, because now I will look deficient, and I want to appear perfect.
I find it frustrating that, when seen with a cool head, it is quite evident that the behaviour is dysfunctional. But when in the heat of a situation, it is so hard to stop the emotions from erupting.
The woman I’ve been referring to makes me angry, because she won’t use e-mail and calls me at all hours of the day, even at supper time. It is reasonable that her calling would make me uncomfortable. What’s unreasonable is the large amount of uncontrollable anger I feel. And the reason for that is that I can’t control what she does. I have told her to e-mail me, but she doesn’t get it. Now, if I could just turn her into a robot who does exactly as I say, wouldn’t that be heaven? (Smirk)
Even when at the intellectual level I know that others aren't robots whose life mission is to obey me, it still angers me when they don't do as told. What can I say? When my emotions catch up with my head, it will be a jolly day.
The other issue I've seen up close and personal in the last few days is the hidden ways in which I can be judgmental. I will tackle that one on my next post.
The problem is that her technical abilities are so minimal, that most of our discussions over the past few weeks went over her head. Then she went to her manager to pass information she made up. No wonder I was so furious. Instead of helping, this person has been a stumbling block.
But I learned a few things about me during the process and will continue to learn, I’m sure.
Excessive anger and aggression
Went I become furious, even in the middle of it all, I can see that the amount of anger is excessive. I can feel the emotion in my bones, even. Then, I carefully consider the situation, and it doesn’t look like a big deal. But I seem unable to control the deep fury.
Husband and I went to Bellingham, Washington, yesterday, to pickup a pressure canner I ordered from Wal-Mart, and for which I chose store pickup. We made it into a day trip and, among other things, we went browsing to a couple of second-hand bookstores. I wasn’t even looking in the self-help section when my eyes found a book that I never even picked up. The title was, “Why are you so defensive?”
At that moment, I had an aha moment and answered the question. “Because I think everybody is attacking me.”
I knew that I had that problem, but I never connected it to anger. All of a sudden, however, I realized why I hate it when the phone rings, or why, when I am employed, I dislike being called to a meeting, or why I’m distraught when the doorbell rings. I never expect good news. What I always get is a heavy feeling that I’ll be told off, that I’ll be wrongly accused of slacking off, that I will be required to do something I don’t want to do, or at the very least, that I’ll have to talk to someone I’ve been avoiding.
Of course, it all originates in my childhood, when Mom worked very hard at finding something wrong with me, because she just had to find something. She thought that being a good mother was to help me be always perfect.
It follows that I’ve lived my entire life under the microscope, thinking that everybody is watching me closely and rating my performance. Good thing that I took God out of the equation already, but now I have to deal with my fear of everyone else.
I know that I have to take the gloves off. But I also need an attitude correction. I need to somehow convince myself that the entire humanity isn’t out to get me, ready to give me a low performance review. I must stop defending myself. And, quite honestly, I have no idea how to do it. I was trained, like a lab rat, to defend myself, and I don’t know how to stop it.
That’s one of my issues. The other one is control (that little bugger keeps showing up everywhere).
Control
When you think you have to be perfect to succeed in the world, you need to control all the small details in order to put out a perfect performance.
It’s almost like a mental illness, because you’re under the mistaken belief that it is imperative that you be flawless. And you’re so afraid of being found in error that you try to control everything around you, so that what you’re trying to do comes to pass with flying colours.
If for the plan to work I need my husband to speak to his mother, for instance, then I insist tirelessly that he speaks to her. And when he fails to follow my wishes, I will be angry, very angry, because now I will look deficient, and I want to appear perfect.
I find it frustrating that, when seen with a cool head, it is quite evident that the behaviour is dysfunctional. But when in the heat of a situation, it is so hard to stop the emotions from erupting.
The woman I’ve been referring to makes me angry, because she won’t use e-mail and calls me at all hours of the day, even at supper time. It is reasonable that her calling would make me uncomfortable. What’s unreasonable is the large amount of uncontrollable anger I feel. And the reason for that is that I can’t control what she does. I have told her to e-mail me, but she doesn’t get it. Now, if I could just turn her into a robot who does exactly as I say, wouldn’t that be heaven? (Smirk)
Even when at the intellectual level I know that others aren't robots whose life mission is to obey me, it still angers me when they don't do as told. What can I say? When my emotions catch up with my head, it will be a jolly day.
The other issue I've seen up close and personal in the last few days is the hidden ways in which I can be judgmental. I will tackle that one on my next post.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
If you’re ever only extremely happy or depressed, clap your hands
Nowadays I am more eager than ever to experience my feelings and to pay careful attention to the progression of my emotions during troubled times.
As per my previous post, I went through an incident last night, which sent me back down to the pit of despair all over again. But I was watching myself through it all.
Earlier on the day, I had gone to meet the one woman at the non-for-profit I’ve been dealing with, another volunteer. I was surprised that we had a pleasant interchange, because I couldn’t stand her at the beginning, a few weeks ago. I didn’t like that she was calling me at all hours, including supper time, for insignificant issues that could have easily been dealt with via e-mail.
With a heavy heart, I met her at a McDonald's yesterday, fully prepared for the worst. She turned out to be a very nice person, easy to talk to, with much in common with me. I even entertained the idea that we could coffee sometimes and even become friends.
The meeting was highly productive, I came home really happy, and was on a “high” until I received that disturbing e-mail in the evening, when I went on a severe “low.” I was angry, sad, discouraged, and all of that. I continued to watch myself.
I first felt the anger. I closed my eyes and let myself feel all the force of the anger. I could feel it coming out of my ears. That sent me quickly to the sadness stage. Good thing. Sometimes I stay angry for days. Then I decided to shut down my e-mail until I felt better. For 24 hours I worked on making myself happy. It was hard, but I felt better finally. I did it by solving a problem that had been distressing me with another website I’m working on. After that, I felt brave enough to open my e-mail.
There was an e-mail there from the woman. In short, She said sorry for the misunderstanding and thank you for the help.
I felt so relieved that I went on another “high.” So, so happy I could’ve gone around the block hope skipping. Thankfully, I had enough sense to notice that I did need to settle down. I accomplished that by popping a Midsomer Murders DVD on the computer and watching it from beginning to end.
Note to self: watch a movie next time you need to calm down. It works because it takes your mind completely away from self and focuses it somewhere else.
I do not believe I’m manic depressive, ‘cause I have a friend who is, and I know how much more extreme and lengthy the bipolar stages are. But I do experience some aspects of it, I think. Why do I rarely feel just good, or at peace? Why do I have to experience those huge emotional swings? That’s got to be detrimental to my health. In fact, I had trouble sleeping last night. My shoulders hurt and I couldn’t sleep on my side like I usually do.
Anyway, I will raise the issue in therapy. I must find ways to manage those highs and lows. It just isn’t healthy.
As per my previous post, I went through an incident last night, which sent me back down to the pit of despair all over again. But I was watching myself through it all.
Earlier on the day, I had gone to meet the one woman at the non-for-profit I’ve been dealing with, another volunteer. I was surprised that we had a pleasant interchange, because I couldn’t stand her at the beginning, a few weeks ago. I didn’t like that she was calling me at all hours, including supper time, for insignificant issues that could have easily been dealt with via e-mail.
With a heavy heart, I met her at a McDonald's yesterday, fully prepared for the worst. She turned out to be a very nice person, easy to talk to, with much in common with me. I even entertained the idea that we could coffee sometimes and even become friends.
The meeting was highly productive, I came home really happy, and was on a “high” until I received that disturbing e-mail in the evening, when I went on a severe “low.” I was angry, sad, discouraged, and all of that. I continued to watch myself.
I first felt the anger. I closed my eyes and let myself feel all the force of the anger. I could feel it coming out of my ears. That sent me quickly to the sadness stage. Good thing. Sometimes I stay angry for days. Then I decided to shut down my e-mail until I felt better. For 24 hours I worked on making myself happy. It was hard, but I felt better finally. I did it by solving a problem that had been distressing me with another website I’m working on. After that, I felt brave enough to open my e-mail.
There was an e-mail there from the woman. In short, She said sorry for the misunderstanding and thank you for the help.
I felt so relieved that I went on another “high.” So, so happy I could’ve gone around the block hope skipping. Thankfully, I had enough sense to notice that I did need to settle down. I accomplished that by popping a Midsomer Murders DVD on the computer and watching it from beginning to end.
Note to self: watch a movie next time you need to calm down. It works because it takes your mind completely away from self and focuses it somewhere else.
I do not believe I’m manic depressive, ‘cause I have a friend who is, and I know how much more extreme and lengthy the bipolar stages are. But I do experience some aspects of it, I think. Why do I rarely feel just good, or at peace? Why do I have to experience those huge emotional swings? That’s got to be detrimental to my health. In fact, I had trouble sleeping last night. My shoulders hurt and I couldn’t sleep on my side like I usually do.
Anyway, I will raise the issue in therapy. I must find ways to manage those highs and lows. It just isn’t healthy.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Discouraged
I’m very discouraged right now. I was doing volunteer work for certain organization, and things have turned out a little sour.
I won’t elaborate, but the person who was my liaison gave me the impression that she was in charge. She wasn’t.
I was supposed to be moving their website to another ISP, and when I told this woman that I was moving ahead, she forwarded the e-mail to her superior, and the superior is talking down on me—telling me how to do the move.
I’m upset for two reasons (1) the woman I’ve been talking to misled me, and (2) if they already know how to do what I’m doing, why didn’t they do it themselves?
I know that doing volunteer work is supposed to be good, in that it helps you gain experience and meet contacts, but this isn’t the first time that a non-for-profit's lack of structure has backfired on me.
I keep thinking how I could have avoided this outcome, but I don’t know what else I should have done to help things go smoothly.
Right now, I am not checking my e-mail. I’m giving myself 24 hours of cool down time before I talk or write to anyone, or before I make any decisions. Typically, I would just say, “You know what? Goodbye.” But that isn’t right.
OK, maybe I will say that but nicely. How about, “My health is acting out these days and I have decided to take some time for healing.”
Or, “I have taken a seasonal job and won’t be able to continue on this project. So sorry for the inconvenience.”
It would be different from what I’ve done in the past in that I won’t tell them that I’m upset and that they have wronged me. Instead, I will leave in good terms. What I want is to leave in good terms—as much as I can.
I won’t elaborate, but the person who was my liaison gave me the impression that she was in charge. She wasn’t.
I was supposed to be moving their website to another ISP, and when I told this woman that I was moving ahead, she forwarded the e-mail to her superior, and the superior is talking down on me—telling me how to do the move.
I’m upset for two reasons (1) the woman I’ve been talking to misled me, and (2) if they already know how to do what I’m doing, why didn’t they do it themselves?
I know that doing volunteer work is supposed to be good, in that it helps you gain experience and meet contacts, but this isn’t the first time that a non-for-profit's lack of structure has backfired on me.
I keep thinking how I could have avoided this outcome, but I don’t know what else I should have done to help things go smoothly.
Right now, I am not checking my e-mail. I’m giving myself 24 hours of cool down time before I talk or write to anyone, or before I make any decisions. Typically, I would just say, “You know what? Goodbye.” But that isn’t right.
OK, maybe I will say that but nicely. How about, “My health is acting out these days and I have decided to take some time for healing.”
Or, “I have taken a seasonal job and won’t be able to continue on this project. So sorry for the inconvenience.”
It would be different from what I’ve done in the past in that I won’t tell them that I’m upset and that they have wronged me. Instead, I will leave in good terms. What I want is to leave in good terms—as much as I can.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Like Ridding a Bike?
I don’t know how to ride a bike. As a child, I never had any toys, let alone a bike. My job was to wonder around the house looking at the employees (a bakery), or out a window, and not talking to anyone. I went through a helping period when I was about five. The ladies would give me cookie dough, so I could make shapes and keep busy.
My brothers learned to ride because they used bikes to deliver pastries to nearby corner stores. But my sisters and I weren’t allowed alone out the door, for we lived close to the red light district. The “little girls,” as everyone called us all the way to our early 20’s, were closely guarded until we were about 15.
Once in Canada, I tried to learn, on my nephews’ bikes, but I couldn’t. Now that I’m married, my husband and I have entertained several solutions: (1) buying a child size bike so I won’t fall, (2) Getting a 3-wheeler low rider, (3) putting training wheels on a bike, so I can learn like children do.
I am too cheap to spend money on a child-size one. I know that, once I learn, I won’t need it anymore. I don’t like the low riders because I would be “down there” while my husband rides a normal height bike—it wouldn’t be fun. The training wheels always sounded embarrassing. I just couldn’t stomach the thought that everybody would see me riding around with training wheels, like a child. Since I rejected all my options, the project has been on hold for several years now.
Yesterday, though, I discovered a 4th solution, while watching a video of one of my favourite mysteries—Midsomer Murders—I saw a lady ridding a 3-wheeled bike especially made for adults. I fell in love with the bike. The back is so wide that easily holds a basket to even use it for grocery shopping.
Then I found out the price. It costs about $500. Ouch! Then I remembered my option #3, the training wheels, and thought, “If ridding around on an old lady’s bike isn’t embarrassing, why would it be embarrassing to ride with training wheels?”
It occurred to me that all the work I’ve been doing on disregarding other people’s opinions on whatever I do is paying off. For some reason, all of a sudden, I don’t care what others say about my ridding any kind of bike I may choose. I even think I could amuse myself with their looks.
But something more interesting yet will happen, I’m sure. Other ladies who never did learn to ride a bike as children will be encouraged to try my method. Every time I do something daring and strange, it seems, someone else is encouraged to copy me.
I still don’t know when I will implement my plan—next summer, perhaps. It isn’t too appealing out there for a bike ride right now. But it will happen. I promise.
My brothers learned to ride because they used bikes to deliver pastries to nearby corner stores. But my sisters and I weren’t allowed alone out the door, for we lived close to the red light district. The “little girls,” as everyone called us all the way to our early 20’s, were closely guarded until we were about 15.
Once in Canada, I tried to learn, on my nephews’ bikes, but I couldn’t. Now that I’m married, my husband and I have entertained several solutions: (1) buying a child size bike so I won’t fall, (2) Getting a 3-wheeler low rider, (3) putting training wheels on a bike, so I can learn like children do.
I am too cheap to spend money on a child-size one. I know that, once I learn, I won’t need it anymore. I don’t like the low riders because I would be “down there” while my husband rides a normal height bike—it wouldn’t be fun. The training wheels always sounded embarrassing. I just couldn’t stomach the thought that everybody would see me riding around with training wheels, like a child. Since I rejected all my options, the project has been on hold for several years now.
Yesterday, though, I discovered a 4th solution, while watching a video of one of my favourite mysteries—Midsomer Murders—I saw a lady ridding a 3-wheeled bike especially made for adults. I fell in love with the bike. The back is so wide that easily holds a basket to even use it for grocery shopping.
Then I found out the price. It costs about $500. Ouch! Then I remembered my option #3, the training wheels, and thought, “If ridding around on an old lady’s bike isn’t embarrassing, why would it be embarrassing to ride with training wheels?”
It occurred to me that all the work I’ve been doing on disregarding other people’s opinions on whatever I do is paying off. For some reason, all of a sudden, I don’t care what others say about my ridding any kind of bike I may choose. I even think I could amuse myself with their looks.
But something more interesting yet will happen, I’m sure. Other ladies who never did learn to ride a bike as children will be encouraged to try my method. Every time I do something daring and strange, it seems, someone else is encouraged to copy me.
I still don’t know when I will implement my plan—next summer, perhaps. It isn’t too appealing out there for a bike ride right now. But it will happen. I promise.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Attachment Disorder
What is attachment disorder, anyway. The Wikipedia article’s first sentence says is all: “Is a broad term intended to describe disorders of mood, behavior, and social relationships arising from a failure to form normal attachments to primary care giving figures in early childhood...”
I’ve been diagnosed with attachment disorder, and I believe I suffer of it. In fact, I think I’m the disorder’s poster girl.
I’ve explained the phenomenon to myself in many ways, but my in my favourite mental picture, I see an earth’s globe full of people and places. Outside of it, not in touch with the earth at all, I see my family. Close to, but outside of the family, I see myself floating around completely unanchored to anyone or anything.
My mother, like most parents in my country, have the deep seated belief that loving your children means having money to buy them things and to provide them with nice clothes and to send them to a nice, private school.
So Mom, a widow, worked hard, very hard to give us all-things material. Caresses, hugs, words of encouragement, and even togetherness were not part of her worldview. In fact, she went out of her way to teach us that people who are guided by feelings are wrong and destined to disgrace. For instance, a mother who saw her kid crying and gave into the kid’s wishes was a bad mother, she said. She was teaching her kid an attitude of entitlement, to have all wishes fulfilled.
People who drank were evil. Having children was a disgrace. Falling in love with a less-than-perfect person was stupid. Giving someone money was letting them rob us, and they would never thank us anyway. The world was evil. Everyone was out to get us. We should defend ourselves from everyone, lest we wanted to be taken advantage of, abused, or defrauded. Or worse yet, we could be disrespected. Heavens! That was the worst of the worst. Only one person could disrespect us: herself.
Some would say she was trying to protect us. True. Maybe. The problem was that she treated us like that as well. We were inferior, unworthy, disgraceful, taking advantage of her, out to get her, and were not thankful for her sacrifices. The brutal beatings and constant put downs were proof of her love, I suppose.
But, how does all this relate to attachment disorder?
She first separated us from the world, by creating an us-against-the-world, almost cultic image of our family. We were different. We were special. The world was out to get us.
She then separated each one of us from the family. She made us hate each other, by making us point our finger against one another, by having favourites, by making everybody turn against the black sheep of the day. We were all villains in her book, unworthy of her favour, or of anyone else’s for that matter.
I think my mother should be studied by scientists who are trying to figure out how attachment disordered children come to be.
The end result of her “sacrifices” is a bunch of people who think the world is out to get them, are unable to experience feelings toward anyone, despise each other, judge self and others, can’t get along with others, are deeply depressed, can be cruel with little effort, feel 100%, utterly alone in the world, can’t fit in anywhere.
I am quite sure that the greatest damage mother caused us happened in our first five years of life, though. She believes that babies should be spanked and left to cry until they get tired of it. Picking up a baby just because he/she is crying is overindulgence, she says. Babies need to learn that life is tough from the very beginning.
Frankly, I don’t picture her baby talking any of us, or spending any time holding us, or trying hard to put us to sleep. The iron woman doesn’t have it in her.
I think I’m a little better than my mother, but not a lot better. I thought I was breaking the cycle, but now I doubt it.
The world doesn’t want me, and I don’t want the world either. I’m so different, due to my strange beginnings, that trying to fit in is too much work. On TV, and sometimes in real life, I see people who actually can experience feelings hugging each other, crying on each others’ shoulders, forgiving each other, and enjoying the holidays together. I sometimes even tear up, and I want to have all that. But when push comes to shove, I am unable to experience it. When people hug me, I think they’re just feeling sorry for me. When I’m invited to someone’s house during the holidays, I feel left out, since they’re all mushily loving each other. I sit on my corner with my hands on my lap, wishing I could be like them but unable to be so.
Yes, I am attachment disordered. Yes, I’m different. Yes, to me happiness means being home, safe from the “dangers” of the world. I keep wishing I felt differently, but it doesn’t seem to be happening. I must try to find a way to live my life safely, on my own weird terms. Enjoying what I have on my own way. I need to stop looking out the window wishing for what others have. For I am not them, I am me—serious and distrustful—for better or for worse.
I’ve been diagnosed with attachment disorder, and I believe I suffer of it. In fact, I think I’m the disorder’s poster girl.
I’ve explained the phenomenon to myself in many ways, but my in my favourite mental picture, I see an earth’s globe full of people and places. Outside of it, not in touch with the earth at all, I see my family. Close to, but outside of the family, I see myself floating around completely unanchored to anyone or anything.
My mother, like most parents in my country, have the deep seated belief that loving your children means having money to buy them things and to provide them with nice clothes and to send them to a nice, private school.
So Mom, a widow, worked hard, very hard to give us all-things material. Caresses, hugs, words of encouragement, and even togetherness were not part of her worldview. In fact, she went out of her way to teach us that people who are guided by feelings are wrong and destined to disgrace. For instance, a mother who saw her kid crying and gave into the kid’s wishes was a bad mother, she said. She was teaching her kid an attitude of entitlement, to have all wishes fulfilled.
People who drank were evil. Having children was a disgrace. Falling in love with a less-than-perfect person was stupid. Giving someone money was letting them rob us, and they would never thank us anyway. The world was evil. Everyone was out to get us. We should defend ourselves from everyone, lest we wanted to be taken advantage of, abused, or defrauded. Or worse yet, we could be disrespected. Heavens! That was the worst of the worst. Only one person could disrespect us: herself.
Some would say she was trying to protect us. True. Maybe. The problem was that she treated us like that as well. We were inferior, unworthy, disgraceful, taking advantage of her, out to get her, and were not thankful for her sacrifices. The brutal beatings and constant put downs were proof of her love, I suppose.
But, how does all this relate to attachment disorder?
She first separated us from the world, by creating an us-against-the-world, almost cultic image of our family. We were different. We were special. The world was out to get us.
She then separated each one of us from the family. She made us hate each other, by making us point our finger against one another, by having favourites, by making everybody turn against the black sheep of the day. We were all villains in her book, unworthy of her favour, or of anyone else’s for that matter.
I think my mother should be studied by scientists who are trying to figure out how attachment disordered children come to be.
The end result of her “sacrifices” is a bunch of people who think the world is out to get them, are unable to experience feelings toward anyone, despise each other, judge self and others, can’t get along with others, are deeply depressed, can be cruel with little effort, feel 100%, utterly alone in the world, can’t fit in anywhere.
I am quite sure that the greatest damage mother caused us happened in our first five years of life, though. She believes that babies should be spanked and left to cry until they get tired of it. Picking up a baby just because he/she is crying is overindulgence, she says. Babies need to learn that life is tough from the very beginning.
Frankly, I don’t picture her baby talking any of us, or spending any time holding us, or trying hard to put us to sleep. The iron woman doesn’t have it in her.
I think I’m a little better than my mother, but not a lot better. I thought I was breaking the cycle, but now I doubt it.
The world doesn’t want me, and I don’t want the world either. I’m so different, due to my strange beginnings, that trying to fit in is too much work. On TV, and sometimes in real life, I see people who actually can experience feelings hugging each other, crying on each others’ shoulders, forgiving each other, and enjoying the holidays together. I sometimes even tear up, and I want to have all that. But when push comes to shove, I am unable to experience it. When people hug me, I think they’re just feeling sorry for me. When I’m invited to someone’s house during the holidays, I feel left out, since they’re all mushily loving each other. I sit on my corner with my hands on my lap, wishing I could be like them but unable to be so.
Yes, I am attachment disordered. Yes, I’m different. Yes, to me happiness means being home, safe from the “dangers” of the world. I keep wishing I felt differently, but it doesn’t seem to be happening. I must try to find a way to live my life safely, on my own weird terms. Enjoying what I have on my own way. I need to stop looking out the window wishing for what others have. For I am not them, I am me—serious and distrustful—for better or for worse.
Friday, October 30, 2009
The thought of the day
In the middle of my depressions, sometimes, an uplifting thought comes to mind. I've always said I'll write them down and never do. Maybe if I write them here I'll be able to keep the positive thoughts on record. So, here is my today's thought.
I keep worrying about all the bridges I've burned. It's as if I were ridding on a train, sitting on a seat that faces the traveled road, the past, with so many bad experiences.
I need to move, to sit facing the road ahead, so I can see all the other bridges, lots of them, that I haven't burned yet.
I keep worrying about all the bridges I've burned. It's as if I were ridding on a train, sitting on a seat that faces the traveled road, the past, with so many bad experiences.
I need to move, to sit facing the road ahead, so I can see all the other bridges, lots of them, that I haven't burned yet.
Social Life at School
Reading mountainmama’s description of her social interactions at school during her teenage years, reminded me of what it was like for me.
What’s interesting is how different we were, and how the net result was so similar. I, too, didn’t have close girlfriends. I too felt isolated. I too have few good memories of it.
But in my case, it wasn’t because I was shy or trying too hard to make friends. In my case it was because I was a real Bitch, yes, with a capital B.
I already had an alpha male personality. I was like a boy, an obnoxious one. For instance, when I got a good mark on a test or assignment, I rubbed it in. I told anyone who would hear me that I’d done well. I wish somebody would have told me that people had feelings that got hurt by my behaviour, but nobody in my life was that wise. An argument could easily be made that I treated other people callously because that’s how I was treated at home.
When my girlfriends had a crush on what I considered a worthless boy, I would tell them so. And I would go on to list all the boy’s shortcomings. I was imitating my mother. In her eyes, most men were worthless, and every time someone she knew fell in love, she would point out he guy’s disadvantages. I didn’t know then how horrible doing that was. It was judgmental and cruel. No wonder the girls didn’t like me.
I was also weird, too, in that I was interested in stuff other kids my age weren’t, like politics. I was in grade 5 and already had an opinion about the president and the opposition. Everybody found out my opinion, too, since I would go around talking about it, caring little whether they were interested or not. I was imitating my mother in this, too. She had very strong opinions that she expressed to anyone who would hear her.
But I did want to be liked, so sometimes I was compelled to help others with homework or to pass answers during exams, so they would like me. But they just used me. They still couldn’t stand me.
I wasn’t entirely alone, though. The boys were there for me (not during recess, unfortunately). I was the boys’ best friend. We talked about soccer and other sports. We talked about music. It didn’t offend them that I was a show off. Some of them even thought I was cool.
Being close to the boys earned me a few girlfriends, who wanted to hang out with me to get to the opposite sex. That part was good, too, even though I knew I was being used.
It does seem that I was disliked for good reasons. Brits would say that it was bad breeding, and they would be right. I simply was taught no manners or compassion or ways to get alone with others.
The sad part is that bad breeding is difficult to shake off. Even now, in my mid forties, when an acquaintance tells me she’s in love with someone I consider below her, I think my face shows the disagreement. Even if my words aren’t nosy and judgmental, it does seem that my body language shows my true feelings, and my interlocutors are able to pick up the negative vibes.
For almost any circumstance, it is difficult to come up with something to say when you weren’t taught as a child. Living among people from another culture multiplies the problem many times over. More often than not, when faced with awkward situations, I have no idea what to say, and end up putting my foot in my mouth. I usually fail to fulfill expectations, because I lack a repertoire of proper, socially acceptable, neutral answers that would not offend or put the other person down.
Worse yet, many women expect to be comforted with sweet words and a hug. I don’t have that stuff in my repertoire. I never received that kind of comfort as a child, or ever. I would have to be a trained actor to play that role. It’s completely foreign to me. When I try to behave that way, I feel silly, stupid, awkward, inadequate, and more.
So, I am in my mid-forties and married, and the guys are still my best friends. But I can’t go to the movies with them or have them as my confidents. That probably accounts for my loneliness and depression. I can’t have male friends, and when it comes to friends, they’re my only choice. Bingo!
It is perfectly possible that being able to interact with guys is my strongest, yet unconscious, motivation for wanting back in the workforce, where harmless inter-gender friendships can easily be had. Guys usually have skin thick enough to deal with a badly bred, opinionated chick like me.
What’s interesting is how different we were, and how the net result was so similar. I, too, didn’t have close girlfriends. I too felt isolated. I too have few good memories of it.
But in my case, it wasn’t because I was shy or trying too hard to make friends. In my case it was because I was a real Bitch, yes, with a capital B.
I already had an alpha male personality. I was like a boy, an obnoxious one. For instance, when I got a good mark on a test or assignment, I rubbed it in. I told anyone who would hear me that I’d done well. I wish somebody would have told me that people had feelings that got hurt by my behaviour, but nobody in my life was that wise. An argument could easily be made that I treated other people callously because that’s how I was treated at home.
When my girlfriends had a crush on what I considered a worthless boy, I would tell them so. And I would go on to list all the boy’s shortcomings. I was imitating my mother. In her eyes, most men were worthless, and every time someone she knew fell in love, she would point out he guy’s disadvantages. I didn’t know then how horrible doing that was. It was judgmental and cruel. No wonder the girls didn’t like me.
I was also weird, too, in that I was interested in stuff other kids my age weren’t, like politics. I was in grade 5 and already had an opinion about the president and the opposition. Everybody found out my opinion, too, since I would go around talking about it, caring little whether they were interested or not. I was imitating my mother in this, too. She had very strong opinions that she expressed to anyone who would hear her.
But I did want to be liked, so sometimes I was compelled to help others with homework or to pass answers during exams, so they would like me. But they just used me. They still couldn’t stand me.
I wasn’t entirely alone, though. The boys were there for me (not during recess, unfortunately). I was the boys’ best friend. We talked about soccer and other sports. We talked about music. It didn’t offend them that I was a show off. Some of them even thought I was cool.
Being close to the boys earned me a few girlfriends, who wanted to hang out with me to get to the opposite sex. That part was good, too, even though I knew I was being used.
It does seem that I was disliked for good reasons. Brits would say that it was bad breeding, and they would be right. I simply was taught no manners or compassion or ways to get alone with others.
The sad part is that bad breeding is difficult to shake off. Even now, in my mid forties, when an acquaintance tells me she’s in love with someone I consider below her, I think my face shows the disagreement. Even if my words aren’t nosy and judgmental, it does seem that my body language shows my true feelings, and my interlocutors are able to pick up the negative vibes.
For almost any circumstance, it is difficult to come up with something to say when you weren’t taught as a child. Living among people from another culture multiplies the problem many times over. More often than not, when faced with awkward situations, I have no idea what to say, and end up putting my foot in my mouth. I usually fail to fulfill expectations, because I lack a repertoire of proper, socially acceptable, neutral answers that would not offend or put the other person down.
Worse yet, many women expect to be comforted with sweet words and a hug. I don’t have that stuff in my repertoire. I never received that kind of comfort as a child, or ever. I would have to be a trained actor to play that role. It’s completely foreign to me. When I try to behave that way, I feel silly, stupid, awkward, inadequate, and more.
So, I am in my mid-forties and married, and the guys are still my best friends. But I can’t go to the movies with them or have them as my confidents. That probably accounts for my loneliness and depression. I can’t have male friends, and when it comes to friends, they’re my only choice. Bingo!
It is perfectly possible that being able to interact with guys is my strongest, yet unconscious, motivation for wanting back in the workforce, where harmless inter-gender friendships can easily be had. Guys usually have skin thick enough to deal with a badly bred, opinionated chick like me.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Love Happens
My husband is away this weekend. He went to visit relatives in Alberta for four days. So, yes, I’m alone again. Completely alone.
His absence coincided with another bout of profound depression, brought about by my recent streak of illness. I feel like I want to be out there and do stuff, but I can’t. And I go back to thinking that, perhaps, I am being childish and weak and should tough it out like everyone else.
Depressed and all, on Saturday, I went out on my weekly grocery-shopping trip. I started with the discount organic store, where I buy organic yogurt and soymilk for a dollar or two.
Then I bought my veggies and fruits at my favourite Chinese store, where I can buy exotic tropical fruits and vegetables. Then I went to a waterfront village, to buy fish from the fisher people (I eat fish). I bought a large supply, brought it home, cut it into one-serving pieces, and put it in the freezer. I should have enough fish for many meals, while my husband eats fish, pork, or beef.
That snapped me out of the depression a bit. Doing stuff is usually better than sitting around feeling sorry for myself, especially on a wonderful sunny Fall day.
This evening, Sunday night, I went for sushi and then to the movies. The movie was Love Happens. I expected to watch a romantic chick flick, but it was a tale about a motivational speaker helping people who have undergone great loses.
It was very good for my little heart. I heard phrases and ideas that are healing for a depressive chick like me. I’m truly glad I went. It wasn’t a typical look-good, shallow Hollywood film. It was deep, and I enjoyed it. That the actor was so easy on the eyes didn’t hurt one bit.
I’m still sad. There is a sadness to me that I haven’t been able to shake off for years. But perhaps that’s me, and I need to learn to live with that sad person, since there isn’t very much I can do about it.
I’m glad I took myself out. I should do it more often.
Oh, by the way, the Japanese food was terrible. I was going to go for Indian but I missed it by mistake and didn't want to drive back in the rain.
His absence coincided with another bout of profound depression, brought about by my recent streak of illness. I feel like I want to be out there and do stuff, but I can’t. And I go back to thinking that, perhaps, I am being childish and weak and should tough it out like everyone else.
Depressed and all, on Saturday, I went out on my weekly grocery-shopping trip. I started with the discount organic store, where I buy organic yogurt and soymilk for a dollar or two.
Then I bought my veggies and fruits at my favourite Chinese store, where I can buy exotic tropical fruits and vegetables. Then I went to a waterfront village, to buy fish from the fisher people (I eat fish). I bought a large supply, brought it home, cut it into one-serving pieces, and put it in the freezer. I should have enough fish for many meals, while my husband eats fish, pork, or beef.
That snapped me out of the depression a bit. Doing stuff is usually better than sitting around feeling sorry for myself, especially on a wonderful sunny Fall day.
This evening, Sunday night, I went for sushi and then to the movies. The movie was Love Happens. I expected to watch a romantic chick flick, but it was a tale about a motivational speaker helping people who have undergone great loses.
It was very good for my little heart. I heard phrases and ideas that are healing for a depressive chick like me. I’m truly glad I went. It wasn’t a typical look-good, shallow Hollywood film. It was deep, and I enjoyed it. That the actor was so easy on the eyes didn’t hurt one bit.
I’m still sad. There is a sadness to me that I haven’t been able to shake off for years. But perhaps that’s me, and I need to learn to live with that sad person, since there isn’t very much I can do about it.
I’m glad I took myself out. I should do it more often.
Oh, by the way, the Japanese food was terrible. I was going to go for Indian but I missed it by mistake and didn't want to drive back in the rain.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Control Study
I spent the weekend at a curling tournament, watching the best curlers in the world. All for $25. I couldn't believe my luck.
But doing that meant eating take out. And I ate lots of it, including plenty of flour-made products, like muffins, sandwiches, and what not.
Sure enough, the sinus infection is back, and I even think I have a fever. My entire body hurts, I have a sore throat, and my glands are swollen. Also, the intestinal problems are back, as in lots of trips to the bathroom.
That means that I have to live for the rest of my life eating no bread or pastries of any kind. Pork, beef, and lamb have the same effect, so fish, vegetables, and fruit should be my diet.
And there isn't even a God to get mad at.
But doing that meant eating take out. And I ate lots of it, including plenty of flour-made products, like muffins, sandwiches, and what not.
Sure enough, the sinus infection is back, and I even think I have a fever. My entire body hurts, I have a sore throat, and my glands are swollen. Also, the intestinal problems are back, as in lots of trips to the bathroom.
That means that I have to live for the rest of my life eating no bread or pastries of any kind. Pork, beef, and lamb have the same effect, so fish, vegetables, and fruit should be my diet.
And there isn't even a God to get mad at.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Misery
I've been feeling miserable for a couple of days. Ever since I started linking in with former co-workers on linkedin.com.
There are several reasons why that makes me miserable.
It reminds me of the horrible person I used to be, and that I can sometimes be, when I turn into my mother. I know all those co-workers know how good I was technically, but they also remember how intolerant and difficult to work with I was. I can only hope they feel sorry for me. It was that bad. We were friendly when we were co-workers, but my inferiority complex when it comes to interpersonal relationships, especially those in my past, is alive and well.
I know I have to forgive myself, and I have. But I can't expect that other people are going to forgive me, too.
It also makes me miserable to see that even those co-workers who were under-performers are out there with a career in technology, and I'm not. It is very hard to swallow.
But, even though I feel terrible, I think it's a good thing that social media gives me the change to sneak my nose out there and see where everyone is and what they're doing. Imagine that! In the past, when we lost touch with former acquaintances, our chances of finding them again were minimal, unless we kept in touch.
Nowadays, you can go to linkedin.com, search by name, and there they are. You can know where they've been working since you saw them last, and what they're doing right now. If I hadn't been so hard to work with, that would be a mine of contacts for me. I could probably get myself a job on the spot. But that isn't the case. My business manners were bad, and now I have to live with it.
I think it is healthy to face reality and process all those memories. It takes me to a place of acceptance. I can acknowledge that I was a real bitch, and look at reality straight on the face. All these years I've been locked in the house because I didn't want to see that face. It was easier to hide. But now I am out there.
I was also embarrassed that they would find out what kind of a loser I had turned out to be. But the truth is out there now. I can't hide anymore.
So yes, I am miserable these days. The pariah complex is back to haunt me, and I have to live with it, bravely so.
It reminds me of the time I sent a letter to a gentleman confessing my love for him. He said he didn't feel the same way. But the next time I saw him, I had to walk by him with my chin up. About six months later, I met my lovely husband.
Career wise, I am trying to talk nicely to myself. I am saying, "That was the first half of your life, now you can be different in the second half. You don't need those people who know your past to start a new life, other than using a couple of the nicest ones as references. Use this challenge as motivation to get out there and reclaim your career."
I really can use the motivation. Up to a couple of weeks ago, the motivation was that my husband was going to lose his job. I can't use that one anymore. Maybe I can tell myself that I need to get out there and make some new, positive contacts that I can look to, in the future, proudly.
Right now, my eyes are dry but my heart bleeds. It bleeds from a lifetime of ruined relationships and opportunities. I'm going to believe that there is another opportunity out there for me. I have to believe. I have no choice.
I just hope that my body will hold up. This is a lot to handle.
There are several reasons why that makes me miserable.
It reminds me of the horrible person I used to be, and that I can sometimes be, when I turn into my mother. I know all those co-workers know how good I was technically, but they also remember how intolerant and difficult to work with I was. I can only hope they feel sorry for me. It was that bad. We were friendly when we were co-workers, but my inferiority complex when it comes to interpersonal relationships, especially those in my past, is alive and well.
I know I have to forgive myself, and I have. But I can't expect that other people are going to forgive me, too.
It also makes me miserable to see that even those co-workers who were under-performers are out there with a career in technology, and I'm not. It is very hard to swallow.
But, even though I feel terrible, I think it's a good thing that social media gives me the change to sneak my nose out there and see where everyone is and what they're doing. Imagine that! In the past, when we lost touch with former acquaintances, our chances of finding them again were minimal, unless we kept in touch.
Nowadays, you can go to linkedin.com, search by name, and there they are. You can know where they've been working since you saw them last, and what they're doing right now. If I hadn't been so hard to work with, that would be a mine of contacts for me. I could probably get myself a job on the spot. But that isn't the case. My business manners were bad, and now I have to live with it.
I think it is healthy to face reality and process all those memories. It takes me to a place of acceptance. I can acknowledge that I was a real bitch, and look at reality straight on the face. All these years I've been locked in the house because I didn't want to see that face. It was easier to hide. But now I am out there.
I was also embarrassed that they would find out what kind of a loser I had turned out to be. But the truth is out there now. I can't hide anymore.
So yes, I am miserable these days. The pariah complex is back to haunt me, and I have to live with it, bravely so.
It reminds me of the time I sent a letter to a gentleman confessing my love for him. He said he didn't feel the same way. But the next time I saw him, I had to walk by him with my chin up. About six months later, I met my lovely husband.
Career wise, I am trying to talk nicely to myself. I am saying, "That was the first half of your life, now you can be different in the second half. You don't need those people who know your past to start a new life, other than using a couple of the nicest ones as references. Use this challenge as motivation to get out there and reclaim your career."
I really can use the motivation. Up to a couple of weeks ago, the motivation was that my husband was going to lose his job. I can't use that one anymore. Maybe I can tell myself that I need to get out there and make some new, positive contacts that I can look to, in the future, proudly.
Right now, my eyes are dry but my heart bleeds. It bleeds from a lifetime of ruined relationships and opportunities. I'm going to believe that there is another opportunity out there for me. I have to believe. I have no choice.
I just hope that my body will hold up. This is a lot to handle.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Health bits and stuff
I noticed recently that I always forget the “tricks” I came up with the last time I was really sick, so I’ve decided to write them down.
When I had the sinus infection, I completely forgot that washing my sinuses with saline using a syringe is tremendously effective. I would’ve saved lots of pain if I had remembered.
The humidifier is great, too, but I don’t like to “steam” the furniture, so I had to sleep in the guest room with all the stuff covered with blankets. It wasn’t fun at all. The bed there isn’t nearly as comfy as our bed, plus my man hates to sleep alone.
I had a good excuse for ending up at the ER when I had that horrible stomachache. After all, I wasn’t home. Had I been home, I would’ve made tea of fennel seeds, cumin seeds, ginger, and lemon. It would have cured me in a snap.
Unfortunately, I don’t have a trick for lower back pain, but I have noticed that walking slowly helps. Like I told my husband last night, the problem for me is bending down. If I do it too much, then I hurt my lower back, and once I’ve done it, I shouldn’t sit too long.
I need to keep moving, gingerly so. That’s what I do in the morning, upon getting up, when I’m sore the most. I just move slowly for a little while. It really helps.
I am feeling a bit better today, thank goodness. Only my lower back is hurting a bit.
But I am mentally preparing myself for a weekend alone. My husband is going to his parents for Thanksgiving. He’ll be gone from Friday to Monday. I’ll miss him a lot. But I prefer to miss him that to come back emotionally wounded from being around my M-I-L for that long. She’s one of those people with a nasty personality. Her words and mannerisms hurt even when she is trying to be nice.
I’ll find something to do. I need to refresh my Javascript and PHP so I can include them on my resume, anyway. My job options are becoming clear to me. Getting out there really helps, as much as I hate it.
Yesterday, I went to a local bloggers meeting. I was surprised to learn that it was a combined get together to celebrate the launching of a free newspaper in the area. So I got to the pub and found lots of people standing up and talking. Not knowing anyone, I stood there for a few minutes. I think I had an anxiety attack, feeling stupid to have gone all the way downtown for that.
I am not the kind of person who enjoys loud parties full of strangers. I like small quiet parties. So, I decided to go home after about three minutes. But at the elevator, I met the person who had invited me. I went back to the party and stayed for about 30 minutes, talked to a total of six people, collected a couple of business cards, and left.
I told myself that I will not put myself through that for too long. A few minutes is OK to start, as I get better, I may stay longer.
The purpose of being there was to find out if I can work in social media and other technologies, but if I have to endure social gatherings like that one constantly to make connections, I may want to think of something else. I like quiet. Few people. Space to think. Noise isn’t for me.
Anyway, thanks for listening.
When I had the sinus infection, I completely forgot that washing my sinuses with saline using a syringe is tremendously effective. I would’ve saved lots of pain if I had remembered.
The humidifier is great, too, but I don’t like to “steam” the furniture, so I had to sleep in the guest room with all the stuff covered with blankets. It wasn’t fun at all. The bed there isn’t nearly as comfy as our bed, plus my man hates to sleep alone.
I had a good excuse for ending up at the ER when I had that horrible stomachache. After all, I wasn’t home. Had I been home, I would’ve made tea of fennel seeds, cumin seeds, ginger, and lemon. It would have cured me in a snap.
Unfortunately, I don’t have a trick for lower back pain, but I have noticed that walking slowly helps. Like I told my husband last night, the problem for me is bending down. If I do it too much, then I hurt my lower back, and once I’ve done it, I shouldn’t sit too long.
I need to keep moving, gingerly so. That’s what I do in the morning, upon getting up, when I’m sore the most. I just move slowly for a little while. It really helps.
I am feeling a bit better today, thank goodness. Only my lower back is hurting a bit.
But I am mentally preparing myself for a weekend alone. My husband is going to his parents for Thanksgiving. He’ll be gone from Friday to Monday. I’ll miss him a lot. But I prefer to miss him that to come back emotionally wounded from being around my M-I-L for that long. She’s one of those people with a nasty personality. Her words and mannerisms hurt even when she is trying to be nice.
I’ll find something to do. I need to refresh my Javascript and PHP so I can include them on my resume, anyway. My job options are becoming clear to me. Getting out there really helps, as much as I hate it.
Yesterday, I went to a local bloggers meeting. I was surprised to learn that it was a combined get together to celebrate the launching of a free newspaper in the area. So I got to the pub and found lots of people standing up and talking. Not knowing anyone, I stood there for a few minutes. I think I had an anxiety attack, feeling stupid to have gone all the way downtown for that.
I am not the kind of person who enjoys loud parties full of strangers. I like small quiet parties. So, I decided to go home after about three minutes. But at the elevator, I met the person who had invited me. I went back to the party and stayed for about 30 minutes, talked to a total of six people, collected a couple of business cards, and left.
I told myself that I will not put myself through that for too long. A few minutes is OK to start, as I get better, I may stay longer.
The purpose of being there was to find out if I can work in social media and other technologies, but if I have to endure social gatherings like that one constantly to make connections, I may want to think of something else. I like quiet. Few people. Space to think. Noise isn’t for me.
Anyway, thanks for listening.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Sick. Again?
I am sick again, and I can’t believe it. I honestly can’t. What on earth is wrong with me?
About three weeks ago, I was disabled by a brutal sinus infection. Then, last Saturday, husband and I worked on the shed. He is making it bigger. So I helped, screwing boards, nailing shingles on the roof, carrying stuff, etc. After 12 hours of that, I was dead tired. I told him that I felt like an Israelite in Egypt, and that he was the slave driver.
Early on Sunday we headed to Victoria, BC, to a British Museum exhibit. It was awesome, because it had a little bit of several cultures through time, up to the present. There was a replica of the Rosetta stone. I will write something on the other blog about aha moments I had while going through the exhibit.
That night, at about midnight, I woke up with abdominal pain, suffered in silence for two hours, and then woke my husband up and asked him to take me to the ER. Shaking in pain, I even had trouble talking and putting my clothes on.
We finally left, and just before arriving at the hospital, I threw up. After that, the pain faded slowly, and since the ER was busy, we headed back to the hotel after a few hours, having never seen a Dr. So, I don’t know what happened.
Thursday night (yesterday), I was picking up stuff off the floor in the bathroom, and when I stood up, my lower back hurt like crazy. I could hardly walk. But I went to the gym anyway. I figured that the steam room, the hot tub, and the swimming pool would cure me. They didn’t.
It was hard to sleep last night, because turning over and getting up hurt. It felt (still does) as if I was carrying a back of rocks on my lower back.
Being sick continually for three-to-four weeks is extremely frustrating. I was happy yesterday, because I was able to catch up with housework. I baked two loaves of bread and one cake, made ice cream, cleaned the kitchen (it is reasonably large), and did the laundry.
I put in a few hours of moderate work, and I get injured. How frustrating that feels is hard to put into words. It sends me back to the reason I haven’t made an effort to find work all these years. I am always getting sick with something.
Is it possible at all that deep down inside I don’t want to be out there in the world struggling to earn a living like every one else? Am I unconsciously making myself sick?
I doubt it. I want to be healthy so bad that, for the last three months, I’ve become a vegetarian. I’ve been eating my fruit and my vegetables and doing everything in my power to feel better. But I am not feeling better. I’m feeling worse.
It’s so frustrating that I’ve been thinking that I will surrender my fibroid-filled uterus to the knife, hoping that it is some fibroid which is pressing a nerve and causing the pain. Women who have gone through the change already don’t know how good they have it.
In the last two-or-three days, I’ve gone back to feeling sorry for myself. Most careers don’t appeal to me, and I just want to stay home and away from people.
Professionals I’ve been having information interviews with tell me that the way to get into any field is via networking. I’m supposed to be out there talking to all kinds of people telling them what I can do, and I don’t feel like doing that at all.
Is there a career that suits depression-prone people? I think there is: computer programming. Maybe I was in the right career all along. Maybe I should go back to that. But Husband was surprised to hear me say that. He knows how much I love writing.
Maybe just maybe, I will rest my thoughts for a week and see how I feel then. I shouldn’t be trying to make decisions when my spine hurts from top to bottom, my lower back is sore from hip to hip, and my feet and my arms hurt for whatever reason.
It just occurred to me that maybe I should see a doctor. Trouble is that I don’t trust them, but I will go tomorrow anyway. At least whatever I’m feeling will be on record, and perhaps they can eventually put the puzzle together and tell me what is wrong with me.
But, I always decide to go to the doctor at night and change my mind in the morning. Let’s see what mood the morning finds me in.
About three weeks ago, I was disabled by a brutal sinus infection. Then, last Saturday, husband and I worked on the shed. He is making it bigger. So I helped, screwing boards, nailing shingles on the roof, carrying stuff, etc. After 12 hours of that, I was dead tired. I told him that I felt like an Israelite in Egypt, and that he was the slave driver.
Early on Sunday we headed to Victoria, BC, to a British Museum exhibit. It was awesome, because it had a little bit of several cultures through time, up to the present. There was a replica of the Rosetta stone. I will write something on the other blog about aha moments I had while going through the exhibit.
That night, at about midnight, I woke up with abdominal pain, suffered in silence for two hours, and then woke my husband up and asked him to take me to the ER. Shaking in pain, I even had trouble talking and putting my clothes on.
We finally left, and just before arriving at the hospital, I threw up. After that, the pain faded slowly, and since the ER was busy, we headed back to the hotel after a few hours, having never seen a Dr. So, I don’t know what happened.
Thursday night (yesterday), I was picking up stuff off the floor in the bathroom, and when I stood up, my lower back hurt like crazy. I could hardly walk. But I went to the gym anyway. I figured that the steam room, the hot tub, and the swimming pool would cure me. They didn’t.
It was hard to sleep last night, because turning over and getting up hurt. It felt (still does) as if I was carrying a back of rocks on my lower back.
Being sick continually for three-to-four weeks is extremely frustrating. I was happy yesterday, because I was able to catch up with housework. I baked two loaves of bread and one cake, made ice cream, cleaned the kitchen (it is reasonably large), and did the laundry.
I put in a few hours of moderate work, and I get injured. How frustrating that feels is hard to put into words. It sends me back to the reason I haven’t made an effort to find work all these years. I am always getting sick with something.
Is it possible at all that deep down inside I don’t want to be out there in the world struggling to earn a living like every one else? Am I unconsciously making myself sick?
I doubt it. I want to be healthy so bad that, for the last three months, I’ve become a vegetarian. I’ve been eating my fruit and my vegetables and doing everything in my power to feel better. But I am not feeling better. I’m feeling worse.
It’s so frustrating that I’ve been thinking that I will surrender my fibroid-filled uterus to the knife, hoping that it is some fibroid which is pressing a nerve and causing the pain. Women who have gone through the change already don’t know how good they have it.
In the last two-or-three days, I’ve gone back to feeling sorry for myself. Most careers don’t appeal to me, and I just want to stay home and away from people.
Professionals I’ve been having information interviews with tell me that the way to get into any field is via networking. I’m supposed to be out there talking to all kinds of people telling them what I can do, and I don’t feel like doing that at all.
Is there a career that suits depression-prone people? I think there is: computer programming. Maybe I was in the right career all along. Maybe I should go back to that. But Husband was surprised to hear me say that. He knows how much I love writing.
Maybe just maybe, I will rest my thoughts for a week and see how I feel then. I shouldn’t be trying to make decisions when my spine hurts from top to bottom, my lower back is sore from hip to hip, and my feet and my arms hurt for whatever reason.
It just occurred to me that maybe I should see a doctor. Trouble is that I don’t trust them, but I will go tomorrow anyway. At least whatever I’m feeling will be on record, and perhaps they can eventually put the puzzle together and tell me what is wrong with me.
But, I always decide to go to the doctor at night and change my mind in the morning. Let’s see what mood the morning finds me in.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
OK, They Like Him
My husband's contract that was supposed to end in April has been extended for the third time, for six more months.
The deal is that his position was taken over by another department at the university, and that department posted the position, at a much lower salary, and my husband applied for it.
After a three-month process, he's been told that he is on probation with the new department for six months--keeping his salary. At that time, the job will be posted again, and if they like his performance so far, he will be given a permanent job at the university.
As I told my husband, I think they want to pay him more, and when the job gets re-posted, the salary will be higher. They can't just pay him more right now on a permanent position, because there is a union involved, and they have to be careful to follow procedure.
At any rate, the whole enchilada has affected me at several levels. When he first told me in March that he only had one month of contract left, I thought I was going to die.
Then I considered the possibility of going back to the workforce and have been thinking/planning for it since. I've been doing all this, basically, with a gun over my head: I work or else.
I know now that my husband will probably work at the university for the rest of his career. It's a great place to work (five weeks of holidays a year, one of them being around Christmas). Benefits are great and the work environment is excellent. This is the first time in his career that he doesn't have to carry a pager and constantly get up in the middle of the night to fix problems.
But I just went through a Career Exploration course with a cloud over my head--will he be employed in October or not?
I don't believe I was thinking clearly. Now I probably am. It almost feels like I need to go through the course again, taking the new knowledge into account.
In other words, without the pressure of having to work, I don't know what to do. I need to redefine my needs and desires now that I am not under duress.
It occurs to me that I should get a volunteer position on each of my areas of interest, just to see how much I like doing the jobs. Perhaps I should contact organizations with the volunteer idea in mind.
Wow! Writing this has been helpful. If anybody reads it, thank you for your patience. This is one of those rare occasions when I just write without an outline. This is journaling at its best.
The deal is that his position was taken over by another department at the university, and that department posted the position, at a much lower salary, and my husband applied for it.
After a three-month process, he's been told that he is on probation with the new department for six months--keeping his salary. At that time, the job will be posted again, and if they like his performance so far, he will be given a permanent job at the university.
As I told my husband, I think they want to pay him more, and when the job gets re-posted, the salary will be higher. They can't just pay him more right now on a permanent position, because there is a union involved, and they have to be careful to follow procedure.
At any rate, the whole enchilada has affected me at several levels. When he first told me in March that he only had one month of contract left, I thought I was going to die.
Then I considered the possibility of going back to the workforce and have been thinking/planning for it since. I've been doing all this, basically, with a gun over my head: I work or else.
I know now that my husband will probably work at the university for the rest of his career. It's a great place to work (five weeks of holidays a year, one of them being around Christmas). Benefits are great and the work environment is excellent. This is the first time in his career that he doesn't have to carry a pager and constantly get up in the middle of the night to fix problems.
But I just went through a Career Exploration course with a cloud over my head--will he be employed in October or not?
I don't believe I was thinking clearly. Now I probably am. It almost feels like I need to go through the course again, taking the new knowledge into account.
In other words, without the pressure of having to work, I don't know what to do. I need to redefine my needs and desires now that I am not under duress.
It occurs to me that I should get a volunteer position on each of my areas of interest, just to see how much I like doing the jobs. Perhaps I should contact organizations with the volunteer idea in mind.
Wow! Writing this has been helpful. If anybody reads it, thank you for your patience. This is one of those rare occasions when I just write without an outline. This is journaling at its best.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
They like him -- They like him not
So husband may lose his job in two weeks or he may not.
If he loses it, he has to start looking for work. He hasn’t yet. Why?
Because he works at a major university and he wants to stay there. The benefits are awesome. Plus, he isn’t very good at looking for work while still employed--or ever.
The gig is actually ending at the end of September, his contractor gig, that is. But the position will become permanent, under a different department, and he’s applied for it.
They were supposed to tell him last week. They haven’t said anything yet. But a higher up told him the rumor is that he’s been chosen. Nobody can figure out why my husband hasn’t been told yet.
What does all this mean to me?
If he keeps his job, I’ll have great benefits and the guarantee of an income. We can perfectly live happily ever after with that money. So it does mean a lot to me. No wonder I am in such agony.
It will also mean that I'll have time for a little retraining before the economy bounces back and I start seriously looking for work. What I’m thinking I’ll do is volunteer in my areas of interest, just to see what it is that I like doing for work.
If he doesn’t get the job, I’ll have to look for work immediately, doing anything. I may still take a few courses, but I will be depleting our savings and that makes me nervous.
Also, the anxiety of not knowing when he’ll work again may set my fight-or-flight response in high gear, making me hard to live with and jeopardizing my already fragile health.
Our anxiety level is very high right now. We can’t make any plans. We can’t look at the future too enthusiastically, because we are facing the possibility of a long winded job search.
The good news is that his contract does expire on September 30, and we will know by then for sure. For now, I will have to continue pulling petals off the flower, “They like him. They like him not.”
If he loses it, he has to start looking for work. He hasn’t yet. Why?
Because he works at a major university and he wants to stay there. The benefits are awesome. Plus, he isn’t very good at looking for work while still employed--or ever.
The gig is actually ending at the end of September, his contractor gig, that is. But the position will become permanent, under a different department, and he’s applied for it.
They were supposed to tell him last week. They haven’t said anything yet. But a higher up told him the rumor is that he’s been chosen. Nobody can figure out why my husband hasn’t been told yet.
What does all this mean to me?
If he keeps his job, I’ll have great benefits and the guarantee of an income. We can perfectly live happily ever after with that money. So it does mean a lot to me. No wonder I am in such agony.
It will also mean that I'll have time for a little retraining before the economy bounces back and I start seriously looking for work. What I’m thinking I’ll do is volunteer in my areas of interest, just to see what it is that I like doing for work.
If he doesn’t get the job, I’ll have to look for work immediately, doing anything. I may still take a few courses, but I will be depleting our savings and that makes me nervous.
Also, the anxiety of not knowing when he’ll work again may set my fight-or-flight response in high gear, making me hard to live with and jeopardizing my already fragile health.
Our anxiety level is very high right now. We can’t make any plans. We can’t look at the future too enthusiastically, because we are facing the possibility of a long winded job search.
The good news is that his contract does expire on September 30, and we will know by then for sure. For now, I will have to continue pulling petals off the flower, “They like him. They like him not.”
Monday, September 7, 2009
Look Ma, no Hands
Every time I see a little kid seeking attention, wanting to be seen, pulling her mom’s skirt, I remember who I was…in my late 30’s.
I had learned in counseling and in books that children who do not get the needed attention as babies and toddlers grow up physically but not emotionally. The love hole remains and we behave like children for the rest of our lives.
But it takes time for intellectual knowledge to make it to the part of the brain that controls behaviour—at least in my case.
It would be nice if when we find out the error of our ways we were also able to turn a switch off and act completely different. But, out of habit, we continue making the same mistakes, less often with any luck.
The good news for me is that I am finally acting like an adult, sometimes. I try, with some success, to save those unguarded moments for my husband and for therapy. But I can turn childlike very easily when I get too excited, like when watching live tennis, for instance.
My biggest problem is when people seem open and accepting. Then I open up, my childish behaviour rears its ugly head, and then I wear the unsuspecting stranger out. Then they’re sorry they ever started a conversation with me.
The problem with that situation is that it seems I should never open up to anyone, because I lack brakes. But being always guarded makes me an aloof, unapproachable, boring-to-be with person.
The answer is, of course, balance. But how can a person who received so little love and so much hate aspire to such precious virtue as balance? I don’t know.
All I know is that in an ideal world, I would have people who accept me just the way I am: likely to get super excited like a child sometimes, but able to be a sound adult with an enormous capacity to make decisions and to perform efficiently at others.
People who deal with me should, ideally, have the capacity to bear with my multiple personalities, also known as moods: quite happy and childish, extremely disappointed, very angry, deeply concentrated and on task, confused like a deer in the headlights (when the facts don’t add up).
It just downed on me that when an employer asks me, “So, Unrepentant, what’s your greatest weakness?” I need to find a nice way to tell them that I am moody and have extreme emotions.
I think I have my work cut out for me.
I had learned in counseling and in books that children who do not get the needed attention as babies and toddlers grow up physically but not emotionally. The love hole remains and we behave like children for the rest of our lives.
But it takes time for intellectual knowledge to make it to the part of the brain that controls behaviour—at least in my case.
It would be nice if when we find out the error of our ways we were also able to turn a switch off and act completely different. But, out of habit, we continue making the same mistakes, less often with any luck.
The good news for me is that I am finally acting like an adult, sometimes. I try, with some success, to save those unguarded moments for my husband and for therapy. But I can turn childlike very easily when I get too excited, like when watching live tennis, for instance.
My biggest problem is when people seem open and accepting. Then I open up, my childish behaviour rears its ugly head, and then I wear the unsuspecting stranger out. Then they’re sorry they ever started a conversation with me.
The problem with that situation is that it seems I should never open up to anyone, because I lack brakes. But being always guarded makes me an aloof, unapproachable, boring-to-be with person.
The answer is, of course, balance. But how can a person who received so little love and so much hate aspire to such precious virtue as balance? I don’t know.
All I know is that in an ideal world, I would have people who accept me just the way I am: likely to get super excited like a child sometimes, but able to be a sound adult with an enormous capacity to make decisions and to perform efficiently at others.
People who deal with me should, ideally, have the capacity to bear with my multiple personalities, also known as moods: quite happy and childish, extremely disappointed, very angry, deeply concentrated and on task, confused like a deer in the headlights (when the facts don’t add up).
It just downed on me that when an employer asks me, “So, Unrepentant, what’s your greatest weakness?” I need to find a nice way to tell them that I am moody and have extreme emotions.
I think I have my work cut out for me.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Make a decision to ... Control
Make a decision to relinquish the need to control, the need to be approved, and the need to judge. Deepak Chopra
Actually, I am not really a follower of Deepak Chopra, but he has some great quotes. This one was hanging around Twitter this Sunday morning, and it outlines my greatest desires for personal growth.
My first reaction to it was, "Easier said than done."
But then I thought, "Good standards to have and excellent goals to aspire to."
Giving up the need to control is one goal I have managed to make some progress on. The need seems to arise when people are involved in self-defeating behaviours and, according to me, if they did what I wanted they would be so much better off.
I've been right a few times when I've acted on my controlling impulses, but more often than not I've been wrong, mostly because what I perceive as a difficulty doesn't seem so in the eyes of the person with the "problem," the eyes that matter, as it turns out.
Often people don't want what I think they do. For instance, if a friend is complaining about her boyfriend, I may think that she needs to be urged to leave the guy, because he isn't good for her.
In reality, though, she will only leave the man when she wants to, regardless of what I say. What she wants is to be heard and nothing else. If I speak against the guy, what she'll likely do is go tell him everything I said, so as to convince him that he's acting incorrectly, because what she really wants is to change him, not to leave him.
As for me, when I am able to catch myself trying to change a person or a situation and can talk myself out of acting out, I feel like the whole world has been taken off my shoulders. I managed to put together a number of phrases I tell myself when tempted to take back my old controlling behaviours.
"I am not in charge. This isn't my problem. Might as well relax and enjoy myself."
"I am NOT in charge of the whole world. I am not God. If I die today, the world will continue to go around just fine."
"I can't change this person. Changing is a personal decision that only the subject can make."
"I can either ruin my day by taking on responsibilities that aren't my own, or I can enjoy myself and let things be as they will."
" He (my husband) is too old to change. I have to accept him as he is and not let his idiosyncrasies bother me."
"People rarely change. And they only do so when faced with tragedy or major life changing events. At the very least, he/she will certainly not change because I say so."
"Accepting things as they are and making the best of this situation is a lot easier and less stressful than manipulating things to be my way."
"I know I can fix this problem, but in the end no-one will thank me. Instead, they will resent me for being manipulative, controlling, and hard to please."
"If the people in charge don't care that this is a mess, why should I?"
"It would be ridiculous to try to rescue a person who is unaware of his/her need to be saved."
"Don't I already have enough issues in my own life that need work? It is better for all involved if I let others figure out their own issues"
"Life changes people better than I can. I choose to let others evolve at their ow pace."
"Often what I think isn't enough is people's best shot at giving me what they think I want. I choose to be grateful for their imperfect efforts rather than noticing their short comings."
"Trying to fix people and situations is stressful and counter productive. I focus on my own issues for the sake of my health and my all around well-being."
"Going around setting rules and regulations for others to follow only made me enemies. If I let things be, I'll have more friends."
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Tagged
I was tagged by Starryeyed, and I decided to respond right away. The questions are great, and in a few months I can look back and see what I was feeling like today. So here we go.
- What's for dinner? Tofu a la king, steamed rice, creamy coleslaw
- What's the last thing you bought? Weekly vegetable and fruit supply
- What are you listening to right now? The Colbert Report
- What do you think about the person who tagged you? One of the most evolved women I know.
- If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be? Southern Spain, Seville, maybe.
- What's the principle you live life by? Come on Lorena! Let's not give up. Let's keep trying.
- If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go? San Salvador, El Salvador, Central America.
- Which language do you want to learn? German & French, so I can read signs at museums in the parts of Europe where those languages are spoken.
- What's your favourite quote? "Question with boldness even the existence of a God; because, if there be one, he must more approve of the homage of reason, than that of blind-folded fear" Thomas Jefferson.
- Who do you want to meet right now? No one in particular -- I'd love to see my nephew, though.
- What is your favourite colour? Pink
- What is your favourite piece of clothing in your own closet? Three loose, 100% cotton, elastic waste band pants that I bought on sale in Reno.
- What is your dream job? No idea. Perhaps a job in which I use my computer and writing skills to solve unimaginable problems.
- What's your favourite magazine? Sorry, don't read magazines!
- If you had $100 now, what would you spend it on? A few movies/mini-series of Jane Austen books that I don't have, like the latest version of Persuasion.
- What do you consider a fashion faux pas? Fat women wearing tight clothes
- Describe your personal style? Extremely casual. Usually wear pants or shorts, stretchy, fitted tops, and casual shoes or runners.
- What are you going to do after this? Will watch Criminal Minds
- What are your favourite movies? Nothing pops to mind. But I love a couple of Jayne Eyre versions and the Pride & Prejudice mini-series
- Which is your favourite poem? Sorry, not into poetry, but if I had to pick something, I would probably go for the lyrics of a Spanish song--more into music than poetry.
- What inspires you? Successful people who don't necessarily make lots of money but who make money doing what they love.
- What do you carry in your bag? phone, wallet, change purse, sun glasses, appointment book, lactose digestive enzyme, receipts.
- Coffee or tea? Herbal tea
- What do you do when you're feeling low or terribly depressed? It's been a while, but I would be likely to watch my Jane Austen-based movies.
- What is the meaning of your name? In real life, my name means Lois. If you care to, you can find my name by reading this Bible verse in Spanish. Mine is the second name in that verse, if you can make it out.
- Which other blogs do you love visiting? Too many to list
- Favourite dessert/sweet? Salvadorean pastries, fried plantains
- Favourite season? Winter, I sleep better when it's cold
- If I come to your house now what will you cook for me? Steak. It's easy. But I won't eat with you. Vegetarian these days.
- What's your current mood? Peaceful
- Which feature of yours do you like the most? My brain.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
The Problem with Trying to Please People is …
That the ones we are trying to please aren’t worth it. The worthy ones don’t need to be impressed. They like us anyway.
So I spent nine days attending a tennis tournament daily. Our local tourney is played at the top-notch country club in the whole province and is quite possibly one of the best in the country. It is located in the area where the millionaires live. For example, everyone knows that the guy that owns the biggest chain of supermarkets and car dealerships—among other things—lives right there. Hollywood stars like Oprah have been known to own properties in that neighbourhood, too.
Not surprisingly, then, many tourney’s attendees lived in the neighbourhood. They were not dressed scandalously. In fact, if you see them at the mall, you would never think they make more than $40K a year, since wearing designer’s clothes and looking like a million bucks isn’t a priority for them. They’re worth at least a million, so why would they want to look it?
With my dry sense of humour, I was able to meet many of these folks, totally ignoring who they were, until it was casually mentioned later on the conversation that, say, they would go home for dinner—just up the street—and come back for the evening session.
One of my best buddies I met when I arrived early to a match, and the only other fan was her. “Oh, we have a crowd of two,” I said. She smiled.
“Are you cheering for the German guy?” I asked and she nodded. “I am cheering for the Latino. So, obviously the crowd is divided. Do you want to try a wave?”
I went on to sit with her for a few days. I found out that she’s been a club member for many years and that she is a tennis champ in her age category. She never once flaunted her financial superiority, only telling me that she goes to Wimbledon and other tournaments regularly because I asked.
I also observed other people, and talked to many others. Being the friendly Latina that I am, I usually start conversations even when I promise I will leave my neighbours alone.
So, I figured out a pattern. The pompous ones that wore designer clothes, expensive purses, and high heels were anything but club members, knew little about tennis, were stuck up and unfriendly, and seemed to be out of their league. In short, they weren’t rich people, they were puffed up wannabes.
In real life—as in not in a tennis tournament—the wannabes are the ones who make me feel inadequate, inferior, out of place, ugly, and underdressed. They’re the ones I feel I have to impress or compete with or please.
Of course, even though the topic here is affluence, the situation translates to all areas of life. The ones that try really hard to look smart aren’t the real thing either.
But my point isn’t to criticize those poor souls that feel so inferior that need to pretend to be something they’re not. My point is that I shouldn’t allow them to fool me. If anything, I probably should have compassion on them.
My sister for instance, likes to urge me to wear designer clothes and buy only leather shoes. The last time I said, “Why on earth would I want to wear designer clothes?”
I know that she has a million inadequacies and that she’s always trying to make herself superior to me and others. But I also need to remember that the real people, in any arena, aren’t necessarily the ones that look the part.
I want others accept me as I am, not for my appearance, and should afford others the same privilege. Furthermore, I shouldn’t be out there trying to impress anyone, because good, down-to-earth people will or will not be impressed by the real me, not what I appear to be.
The best way to go, I think, is to be who I am and let others like me—or not—based on what they experience or feel about me, not based on self-promotion (or demotion) or my hairdo, my purse, or my shoes.
This past week I was judged over my friendliness, and I seem to have done very well. I’m pretty sure some thought I was obnoxious and loud, which doesn’t mean I am obnoxious, it means they’re judgmental, intolerant, and possibly racist.
So I spent nine days attending a tennis tournament daily. Our local tourney is played at the top-notch country club in the whole province and is quite possibly one of the best in the country. It is located in the area where the millionaires live. For example, everyone knows that the guy that owns the biggest chain of supermarkets and car dealerships—among other things—lives right there. Hollywood stars like Oprah have been known to own properties in that neighbourhood, too.
Not surprisingly, then, many tourney’s attendees lived in the neighbourhood. They were not dressed scandalously. In fact, if you see them at the mall, you would never think they make more than $40K a year, since wearing designer’s clothes and looking like a million bucks isn’t a priority for them. They’re worth at least a million, so why would they want to look it?
With my dry sense of humour, I was able to meet many of these folks, totally ignoring who they were, until it was casually mentioned later on the conversation that, say, they would go home for dinner—just up the street—and come back for the evening session.
One of my best buddies I met when I arrived early to a match, and the only other fan was her. “Oh, we have a crowd of two,” I said. She smiled.
“Are you cheering for the German guy?” I asked and she nodded. “I am cheering for the Latino. So, obviously the crowd is divided. Do you want to try a wave?”
I went on to sit with her for a few days. I found out that she’s been a club member for many years and that she is a tennis champ in her age category. She never once flaunted her financial superiority, only telling me that she goes to Wimbledon and other tournaments regularly because I asked.
I also observed other people, and talked to many others. Being the friendly Latina that I am, I usually start conversations even when I promise I will leave my neighbours alone.
So, I figured out a pattern. The pompous ones that wore designer clothes, expensive purses, and high heels were anything but club members, knew little about tennis, were stuck up and unfriendly, and seemed to be out of their league. In short, they weren’t rich people, they were puffed up wannabes.
In real life—as in not in a tennis tournament—the wannabes are the ones who make me feel inadequate, inferior, out of place, ugly, and underdressed. They’re the ones I feel I have to impress or compete with or please.
Of course, even though the topic here is affluence, the situation translates to all areas of life. The ones that try really hard to look smart aren’t the real thing either.
But my point isn’t to criticize those poor souls that feel so inferior that need to pretend to be something they’re not. My point is that I shouldn’t allow them to fool me. If anything, I probably should have compassion on them.
My sister for instance, likes to urge me to wear designer clothes and buy only leather shoes. The last time I said, “Why on earth would I want to wear designer clothes?”
I know that she has a million inadequacies and that she’s always trying to make herself superior to me and others. But I also need to remember that the real people, in any arena, aren’t necessarily the ones that look the part.
I want others accept me as I am, not for my appearance, and should afford others the same privilege. Furthermore, I shouldn’t be out there trying to impress anyone, because good, down-to-earth people will or will not be impressed by the real me, not what I appear to be.
The best way to go, I think, is to be who I am and let others like me—or not—based on what they experience or feel about me, not based on self-promotion (or demotion) or my hairdo, my purse, or my shoes.
This past week I was judged over my friendliness, and I seem to have done very well. I’m pretty sure some thought I was obnoxious and loud, which doesn’t mean I am obnoxious, it means they’re judgmental, intolerant, and possibly racist.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Being Myself
One thing I tried during this weekend with the in-laws was being myself.
I wasn't going to try to be a tame Canadian with perfect manners, speaking in cue, and being extremely polite. I was going to speak as loud as I wanted, be as emotional as I felt like it, as imprudent as I can be at this stage in life, and I wasn't going to feel guilty about it.
I did it.
I decided in advance that being myself was going to freak some people out, and that was going to show how narrow minded they were, not how improper I was.
I did it. And it worked at several levels.
When I feel free to be me, I am at ease, as in not torturing myself with unreasonable demands. I am, therefore, happier, in a better mood, and find it easier to take people I dislike.
For instance, my husband has a cousin who is self-centered with a strong character. She reminds me of the high school beauties/bullies. The sort of gal who expects everyone to adore her and take all the crap she delivers.
So, I was polite with her, but other than that I didn't give her the time of day. Didn't try to start a conversation or befriend her in any way beyond minimum civility. The result is that I am not resentful and dwelling in anger as I was the last time we met. The idea was to send her the message that she had no power to upset me or make me spin my wheels on her account. She probably didn't even notice, but regardless, I feel good about myself, and that's extremely important.
There were also some European relatives who were very hard to talk to. I tried to be cheerful and friendly, but all I got from them was bewildered looks, as in, "You are nuts and we don't care to hear anything you're saying."
I ignored them, too. They came to my house and I greeted them politely, offered them food and beverages, but beyond that, I didn't feel it necessary to hurt myself in the process of entertaining people who don't want to be entertained. They're gone, I don't hate them, and I couldn't care less if I ever see them again.
With the mother-in-law I was friendly but firm. "What are you doing with the bread?" She asked.
"I am spreading it with garlic butter," I answered.
"But when are you going to do it?"
"In a minute."
She walked away from the kitchen. Maybe I was rude, maybe I wasn't. But it was ME for sure, and if she doesn't like me, she can stay the fuck away.
I truly think that the best thing about being middle-aged and pre-menopausal is that, at this point, life has taught me that people are either going to like me or not, regardless of what I do, and that's their problem.
I wasn't going to try to be a tame Canadian with perfect manners, speaking in cue, and being extremely polite. I was going to speak as loud as I wanted, be as emotional as I felt like it, as imprudent as I can be at this stage in life, and I wasn't going to feel guilty about it.
I did it.
I decided in advance that being myself was going to freak some people out, and that was going to show how narrow minded they were, not how improper I was.
I did it. And it worked at several levels.
When I feel free to be me, I am at ease, as in not torturing myself with unreasonable demands. I am, therefore, happier, in a better mood, and find it easier to take people I dislike.
For instance, my husband has a cousin who is self-centered with a strong character. She reminds me of the high school beauties/bullies. The sort of gal who expects everyone to adore her and take all the crap she delivers.
So, I was polite with her, but other than that I didn't give her the time of day. Didn't try to start a conversation or befriend her in any way beyond minimum civility. The result is that I am not resentful and dwelling in anger as I was the last time we met. The idea was to send her the message that she had no power to upset me or make me spin my wheels on her account. She probably didn't even notice, but regardless, I feel good about myself, and that's extremely important.
There were also some European relatives who were very hard to talk to. I tried to be cheerful and friendly, but all I got from them was bewildered looks, as in, "You are nuts and we don't care to hear anything you're saying."
I ignored them, too. They came to my house and I greeted them politely, offered them food and beverages, but beyond that, I didn't feel it necessary to hurt myself in the process of entertaining people who don't want to be entertained. They're gone, I don't hate them, and I couldn't care less if I ever see them again.
With the mother-in-law I was friendly but firm. "What are you doing with the bread?" She asked.
"I am spreading it with garlic butter," I answered.
"But when are you going to do it?"
"In a minute."
She walked away from the kitchen. Maybe I was rude, maybe I wasn't. But it was ME for sure, and if she doesn't like me, she can stay the fuck away.
I truly think that the best thing about being middle-aged and pre-menopausal is that, at this point, life has taught me that people are either going to like me or not, regardless of what I do, and that's their problem.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Mother-in-law: Miracles do happen—no praying involved
My late-thirties brother-in-law married a 32-year-old this weekend. Both of them are the youngest in their respective families but were raised differently. He was raised to obey. She was raised to command, with an iron rod, passively aggressively so.
I never did like this girl—I may someday—but so far so bad.
Always smiling and softly speaking, she knows how to say “no,” firmly, good for her. But in our interactions, I’ve felt a heavy energy emanating off her, as if she were saying, “Get off my lawn or I’ll kill you.”
When I tried to talk to her about wedding stuff, I got a half-smile from her, as if to say, “Who are you to say anything to me about my wedding.”
Things got slightly worse when she didn’t invite me to her wedding shower. It was held at the church and it was her responsibility to invite outsiders. I was the only female relative in town from the groom’s side and I didn’t get an invite.
We all have known for a while that she was heavily involved in wedding planning, changing the colour several times, driving even the groom mad. She sent specific instructions to my husband on how to dress for ushering (she thought it necessary to tell him he should wear a suit) and declared early on that she had to approve of my mother-in-law’s outfit. We all knew she wanted to have a great wedding. Messing up with the groom’s family, apparently, would help her have a great wedding.
Things started out pretty bad on Thursday at the rehearsal dinner. Her majesty the queen sat down to be served. I picked up the food at an Italian restaurant, rushed to the church to have it in on time, and helped the volunteers serve it. She never raised a finger, and neither she nor her husband-to-be bothered to say even a little speech to thank anyone. Everyone ate and left. We weren’t even introduced to her family ever—not even at family pictures during the wedding.
Heading to the parking lot to go home, my father-in-law and I saw they’d started to decorate for the Saturday wedding, and I said, “Interesting, we didn’t do any of that for mine.” He smiled widely and said, “Ah, it was much simpler.”
I laughed, and he started to recall how much he enjoyed our wedding. Score: Lorena one, new sister-in-law zero.
On Friday, the family got together at a restaurant, 18 of us. Slowly the truth came out. The immediate family was pissed. Husband’s sister started to detail how the queen had been micromanaging and driving everyone crazy. “She wants to have the perfect wedding,” she said.
“She can’t have the perfect wedding” said I. “I already had it.”
“Yes,” replied the women, emphatically “It was perfect and so much simpler.”
Our rehearsal dinner was catered, and we gave little presents to everybody who helped, from the pastor to the sound guy to the groom’s and bride’s people. Everybody was clapped at and sincerely thanked for their awesome contribution.
For the wedding, I hired a company to decorated the church and the reception hall, and to to take the stuff away when it was all over. For everything else, I assigned activities to a number of friends and never told them how to do anything. Even the piano player chose her own pieces, and the singers had rehearsals without my knowing. The ceremony was so beautiful that I made myself cry and when I did, many others wept too.
For the reception, I asked a couple of friends to do skits and never even asked what they were doing. An obsessive-compulsive friend of mine was given a list of tasks and names, and she made sure everybody did their job. Everyone did. I never did pester them. Never. And in the end, we had the best wedding I’ve ever seen. Our friends made it happen, particularly the MC, who is so smart and funny that went on to become a lawyer.
As for the current wedding, during Friday-night’s dinner we found out there was a schedule and that the happy couple would have five, yes 5, different photo sessions all over the city: a hotel, a famous park, outside the church, a relative’s house, and another park. The schedule even told the family what time to start driving to the last park, where we were required to be for immediate-family pictures. I told them I was giving up my immediate-family rights.
We were all bewildered at her micromanaging skills, and incredibly enough, now having a “common enemy” my mother-in-law, her daughter, and I for the first time ever felt we were on the same side of things. I told my husband that the queen was making me look like a saint and a genius. He heartily laughed.
Far from perfect, the wedding was underwhelming. At the reception, the MC did nothing and the guests left before final speeches. There was no entertainment and we mostly just talked amongst ourselves. I enjoyed it. But it wasn’t the perfect wedding she so carefully planned for months.
On Sunday, the whole family got together at our place, and it became obvious that the relationship between MIL and I had been permanently altered by all the mayhem. It is almost as if now I understand how she felt when I took her precious boy years ago, and now she can see that I ain’t so bad after all.
I never did like this girl—I may someday—but so far so bad.
Always smiling and softly speaking, she knows how to say “no,” firmly, good for her. But in our interactions, I’ve felt a heavy energy emanating off her, as if she were saying, “Get off my lawn or I’ll kill you.”
When I tried to talk to her about wedding stuff, I got a half-smile from her, as if to say, “Who are you to say anything to me about my wedding.”
Things got slightly worse when she didn’t invite me to her wedding shower. It was held at the church and it was her responsibility to invite outsiders. I was the only female relative in town from the groom’s side and I didn’t get an invite.
We all have known for a while that she was heavily involved in wedding planning, changing the colour several times, driving even the groom mad. She sent specific instructions to my husband on how to dress for ushering (she thought it necessary to tell him he should wear a suit) and declared early on that she had to approve of my mother-in-law’s outfit. We all knew she wanted to have a great wedding. Messing up with the groom’s family, apparently, would help her have a great wedding.
Things started out pretty bad on Thursday at the rehearsal dinner. Her majesty the queen sat down to be served. I picked up the food at an Italian restaurant, rushed to the church to have it in on time, and helped the volunteers serve it. She never raised a finger, and neither she nor her husband-to-be bothered to say even a little speech to thank anyone. Everyone ate and left. We weren’t even introduced to her family ever—not even at family pictures during the wedding.
Heading to the parking lot to go home, my father-in-law and I saw they’d started to decorate for the Saturday wedding, and I said, “Interesting, we didn’t do any of that for mine.” He smiled widely and said, “Ah, it was much simpler.”
I laughed, and he started to recall how much he enjoyed our wedding. Score: Lorena one, new sister-in-law zero.
On Friday, the family got together at a restaurant, 18 of us. Slowly the truth came out. The immediate family was pissed. Husband’s sister started to detail how the queen had been micromanaging and driving everyone crazy. “She wants to have the perfect wedding,” she said.
“She can’t have the perfect wedding” said I. “I already had it.”
“Yes,” replied the women, emphatically “It was perfect and so much simpler.”
Our rehearsal dinner was catered, and we gave little presents to everybody who helped, from the pastor to the sound guy to the groom’s and bride’s people. Everybody was clapped at and sincerely thanked for their awesome contribution.
For the wedding, I hired a company to decorated the church and the reception hall, and to to take the stuff away when it was all over. For everything else, I assigned activities to a number of friends and never told them how to do anything. Even the piano player chose her own pieces, and the singers had rehearsals without my knowing. The ceremony was so beautiful that I made myself cry and when I did, many others wept too.
For the reception, I asked a couple of friends to do skits and never even asked what they were doing. An obsessive-compulsive friend of mine was given a list of tasks and names, and she made sure everybody did their job. Everyone did. I never did pester them. Never. And in the end, we had the best wedding I’ve ever seen. Our friends made it happen, particularly the MC, who is so smart and funny that went on to become a lawyer.
As for the current wedding, during Friday-night’s dinner we found out there was a schedule and that the happy couple would have five, yes 5, different photo sessions all over the city: a hotel, a famous park, outside the church, a relative’s house, and another park. The schedule even told the family what time to start driving to the last park, where we were required to be for immediate-family pictures. I told them I was giving up my immediate-family rights.
We were all bewildered at her micromanaging skills, and incredibly enough, now having a “common enemy” my mother-in-law, her daughter, and I for the first time ever felt we were on the same side of things. I told my husband that the queen was making me look like a saint and a genius. He heartily laughed.
Far from perfect, the wedding was underwhelming. At the reception, the MC did nothing and the guests left before final speeches. There was no entertainment and we mostly just talked amongst ourselves. I enjoyed it. But it wasn’t the perfect wedding she so carefully planned for months.
On Sunday, the whole family got together at our place, and it became obvious that the relationship between MIL and I had been permanently altered by all the mayhem. It is almost as if now I understand how she felt when I took her precious boy years ago, and now she can see that I ain’t so bad after all.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Coming Up: A Review of Easy Virtue, the movie
I started writing that post last week and never went past the first paragraph. We've been working so hard in the backyard: fixing a retaining wall, repairing two fences (one per neighbour), and making a patio (after ripping off the deck).
It took sooo long. We've been at it since May. Good thing we had a vacation in between, otherwise we would be dead.
This week I have to clean the house spotless. Brother-in-law getting married on Saturday. On Thursday we have rehearsal dinner. On Friday we are going out for dinner with all the out-of-towners. On Saturday, the wedding--all day affair. On Sunday, I am having everybody over for a BBQ lunch--25 people give or take a couple.
It sounds busy, I know, but it actually is more that that. It's excruciating, considering that I have to hang out with my mother-in-law and that I'm feeling sick these days.
This past Saturday, I had what I think was my first ever gallbladder pain attack. I almost went to the ER. The pain is beyond belief. I felt as if something was being ripped from below my rib cage. But I didn't go to the hospital. Honestly, I have no time to be sick right now.
Instead I drank fennel & cumin tea (those Indian spices come handy sometimes), and it helped so much. On Sunday I drank dandelion-root tea all day and had only liquids. The pain came back at times on Sunday.
Today, Monday, I drank fresh vegetable juice, had a few grapes, and had my award-winning vegetable soup (with lots of fennel). My diet is so skimpy that I'm not sure if I am hungry or just have heartburn.
Other than heartburn, I am bloated, as if something is swollen inside, feel week and a bit dizzy, want to throw up, keep burping, and have menstrual-period-like pain. It isn't good, I know.
At least I've managed to keep pain at bay by not eating anything fried. That's what Volly said to do on my other blog.
Interestingly enough, keeping busy helps me forget about the pain. I wouldn't want to lie in bed all day, then I would really feel sick.
Anyway, I'll see the doctor on Wednesday. Already made the appointment. Told Husband that if doctor wants me to go to the hospital, I will go and the wedding can do without me.
Please don't tell me you'll pray for me. Try something more creative, OK?
Oh my gosh, talk about bitching! I don't mean to scare you but mid-aging sucks.
It took sooo long. We've been at it since May. Good thing we had a vacation in between, otherwise we would be dead.
This week I have to clean the house spotless. Brother-in-law getting married on Saturday. On Thursday we have rehearsal dinner. On Friday we are going out for dinner with all the out-of-towners. On Saturday, the wedding--all day affair. On Sunday, I am having everybody over for a BBQ lunch--25 people give or take a couple.
It sounds busy, I know, but it actually is more that that. It's excruciating, considering that I have to hang out with my mother-in-law and that I'm feeling sick these days.
This past Saturday, I had what I think was my first ever gallbladder pain attack. I almost went to the ER. The pain is beyond belief. I felt as if something was being ripped from below my rib cage. But I didn't go to the hospital. Honestly, I have no time to be sick right now.
Instead I drank fennel & cumin tea (those Indian spices come handy sometimes), and it helped so much. On Sunday I drank dandelion-root tea all day and had only liquids. The pain came back at times on Sunday.
Today, Monday, I drank fresh vegetable juice, had a few grapes, and had my award-winning vegetable soup (with lots of fennel). My diet is so skimpy that I'm not sure if I am hungry or just have heartburn.
Other than heartburn, I am bloated, as if something is swollen inside, feel week and a bit dizzy, want to throw up, keep burping, and have menstrual-period-like pain. It isn't good, I know.
At least I've managed to keep pain at bay by not eating anything fried. That's what Volly said to do on my other blog.
Interestingly enough, keeping busy helps me forget about the pain. I wouldn't want to lie in bed all day, then I would really feel sick.
Anyway, I'll see the doctor on Wednesday. Already made the appointment. Told Husband that if doctor wants me to go to the hospital, I will go and the wedding can do without me.
Please don't tell me you'll pray for me. Try something more creative, OK?
Oh my gosh, talk about bitching! I don't mean to scare you but mid-aging sucks.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
My reaction to Michael Jackson's death
For the first few days, I thought the fans and the media were going overboard. That it was crazy what they were doing. Well, it was, but that isn't the point I want to make.
My point: why is it that I felt nothing?
Truth be told, the man clearly had no impact in my life: not positive nor negative. I like a couple of his songs: The dancing machine & Ben, but that's it. Spanish singers never heard-of in North America make me weep for a second when they die, but not Michael Jackson.
It took me three or four days to understand that the fans were hurting because they loved him, because his music did something for them, because good or evil, the man had an impact in their lives. And that the media was just giving the public what they wanted.
Two aspects of my ailing mental health came into play: (1) my attachment disorder, and (2) my inability to tolerate fault in myself or others. The two are quite possibly interrelated.
I am attachment disordered. Because I never did experience a loving relationship with my mother or my siblings, I rarely become attached to anyone to the point of crying when they leave or die. If you piss me off, I'll just forget about you and move on. And while that is good for handling abusive situations, it is really bad in the sense that I might as well be a robot, going through life doing staff factually and keeping my feelings at bay.
The worst part of being that way is that I suspect I do hurt when I leave people or they leave me. It is just that the pain is so buried inside that I can't feel it. I experience it, perhaps, as self-hatred or as a generalized feeling of "I don't like anyone -- no one likes me -- why the hell do I have to live in such a hostile world -- might as well just put myself out of my misery."
So, in a way, I wish I were like Michael Jackson's fans. At least they can experience and express their feelings. They aren't like me, this Terminator-like person who can end any relationship and keep going as if nothing happened.
The other problem is the inability to accept human shortcomings.
It goes like this: I meet a person and like them for a while, but the moment they do something I strongly disagree with, disapprove of, or just dislike, I drop them and move on.
Michael Jackson did many things that can make me drop a person from my fav list: heavy emphasis on physical appearance, a weird way of speaking, rejection of his own race by trying to become white, outrageous attire, child molestation rumors, buying kids so he could have children, living beyond his means, using drugs, etc, etc.
He just wasn't my kind of pal, was he?
But, does it follow that I would have to close my ears and stop appreciating his good music or my eyes and stop enjoying his dancing? Does it follow?
Why can't I appreciate a person with short comings and all? Wouldn't it be nice if I could look at what's positive in a person and see their faults as water under the bridge?
Of course I know where such bad habit comes from: you guessed it, my mother.
We could clean the house spotless and instead of saying, "Great job, girls. I'm so thankful you took time to clean the house." She would say, "You forgot to sweep under the sofa," and walk away dismissively.
As you can imagine, siblings and I followed suit. If a brother or sister came to me bragging of a romantic conquest or a good job at whatever, I would say something like, "Does she know that your grades aren't very good?"
If I came home happy I got an A at school, someone had to say, "Too bad you're so ugly."
If just seemed like, in my household, anything short of absolutely perfect was abominable. Of course nowadays, I not only reject other people, I mainly reject myself.
For instance, the only thing I dislike about traveling is that when Husband and I go shopping, I see us on store windows. He looks really good, if you ask me. But I see an out-of-shape, short woman with fat arms on the glass and wonder why the heck he stays with me. It just seems that, in my mind, men only love skinny, curvy, tall, pretty women. A little voice tells me that Husband settled for me. "He was too shy to ask anyone else out and you were easy for him."
As a Christian, many a time I prayed God would help me accept fault in others and in myself. But my prayer was never answered. Also, I've been in therapy for countless years, yet I still seem to keep my no-fault policy to relationships, and I hate it.
I wish there were a potion I could take at night that would make me wake up accepting of others' and of my own mistakes and shortcomings.
As it turns out, Michael Jackson finally did have an impact on me, with his death. Perhaps one way or another, his notoriety which led to the profound pain he had to appease with prescription drugs did help many people. He did, apparently, give those of his race new heights to aspire to and an ambassador in a mostly white performance world.
Maybe he will help me see that being less than perfect is a fact of life and that having faults is 100% better than seeking perfection. Cross your fingers.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Annoying in Good Faith
I was thinking of my sister's annoying behaviour just now. All of a sudden, I realized that most annoying people do so while we are trying to be liked. Individuals who go about life not requiring approval and admiration are often fine to hang out with.
I think of all the annoying behaviours I'm trying to recover from: talking too much, constantly trying to bring the conversation to ME, being overly helpful (making people feel sorry they asked), providing unsolicited advice, telling everybody my latest breakthroughs (in cooking, self-discoveries, etc.), working hard to make a situation perfect (like a party), speaking evil of others (thinking others agreed).
All those things I did in the past in an effort to be liked, to feel that I belonged, to hear others pat me on the back and tell me that I am alright.
However, the effect on others was the opposite: I annoyed them. Most made an effort not to roll their eyes, but they did walk away leaving me there talking.
I have to wonder how much of what my sister does is an effort to be admired and loved. Yet she annoys me so much that I have no choice but to withdraw from her. I know that I should probably just tell her how I feel, and I've been doing so in recent months. But she just had a baby and she is "on hormones." This isn't a good time to be letting her know how much she annoys me.
So, I will stay safe--away from her. She is a bundle of anger. It is as if anything I say or do could make her burst out in uncontrollable rage. Perhaps she needs to be alone with her baby and figure everything out.
I think of all the annoying behaviours I'm trying to recover from: talking too much, constantly trying to bring the conversation to ME, being overly helpful (making people feel sorry they asked), providing unsolicited advice, telling everybody my latest breakthroughs (in cooking, self-discoveries, etc.), working hard to make a situation perfect (like a party), speaking evil of others (thinking others agreed).
All those things I did in the past in an effort to be liked, to feel that I belonged, to hear others pat me on the back and tell me that I am alright.
However, the effect on others was the opposite: I annoyed them. Most made an effort not to roll their eyes, but they did walk away leaving me there talking.
I have to wonder how much of what my sister does is an effort to be admired and loved. Yet she annoys me so much that I have no choice but to withdraw from her. I know that I should probably just tell her how I feel, and I've been doing so in recent months. But she just had a baby and she is "on hormones." This isn't a good time to be letting her know how much she annoys me.
So, I will stay safe--away from her. She is a bundle of anger. It is as if anything I say or do could make her burst out in uncontrollable rage. Perhaps she needs to be alone with her baby and figure everything out.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
A murder of a sister by a sister
I just watched on TLC the murder of a sister by a sister. For some reason, I feel that I need to write about this.
My sister, the new mom, behaves like a total bitch toward me. She is just plain rude, defensive, offensive, and always trying to outsmart me and out-know me on all arenas of life. Her life mission statement should be, “I want to prove Unrepentant that I am better than her.”
I, on the other hand, have no problem admitting that she is a person with many virtues. If she knows something, good for her is what I say.
I know why she behaves that way. She is just sorely insecure. Her self-esteem is microscopical. However, her behaviour toward me is unforgivable and I am not going to take it. I officially give her the finger right here right now. We are going back to business as usual. If she needs me, she’ll call. I don’t want her around me. If, like she claims, she has lots of friends, knows everything, and everyone likes her, then she will never need me and that will be perfectly fine by me.
The murder I watched on Extreme Forensics portrays a situation similar to ours. One of the sisters was a good person, taking care of her ailing mom until the day she died—inheriting all of her mother’s assets, even though there were ten other children in the picture. Though it wasn’t mentioned on the show, it is perfectly possible that the “bad” sister had been mistreated by the mother and the “good” had been preferred. Or like in my case, for some reason the “bad” sister just envied the other for one reason or another.
In the end, the story goes, the “bad” sister ended up living off the good one, receiving money and a rent-free home to live. When the good one got tired of being swindled and refused to continue providing for her slacker sister, she was murdered, placed in a freezer, and a fire was started to try to destroy evidence.
My youngest sister claims to have had a terrible life but, who didn’t in my family? However, being the youngest she has a kind of psychopathic sense of entitlement, as if the world owed her something. She is narcissistic in that she doesn’t have to deserve something for her to desire it and demand it.
Therefore, she envies me for having gone to university, gotten good grades, and having succeeded in my career and, in general, for being who I am.
She makes me pay harshly for being who I am, and that I won’t take. The woman on the show got literally murdered. My sister kills me slowly with her words, the expressions of her face, her attitude, and actions, like being best friends with all my enemies, such as my mother-in-law.
Fuck her, is what I say.
My sister, the new mom, behaves like a total bitch toward me. She is just plain rude, defensive, offensive, and always trying to outsmart me and out-know me on all arenas of life. Her life mission statement should be, “I want to prove Unrepentant that I am better than her.”
I, on the other hand, have no problem admitting that she is a person with many virtues. If she knows something, good for her is what I say.
I know why she behaves that way. She is just sorely insecure. Her self-esteem is microscopical. However, her behaviour toward me is unforgivable and I am not going to take it. I officially give her the finger right here right now. We are going back to business as usual. If she needs me, she’ll call. I don’t want her around me. If, like she claims, she has lots of friends, knows everything, and everyone likes her, then she will never need me and that will be perfectly fine by me.
The murder I watched on Extreme Forensics portrays a situation similar to ours. One of the sisters was a good person, taking care of her ailing mom until the day she died—inheriting all of her mother’s assets, even though there were ten other children in the picture. Though it wasn’t mentioned on the show, it is perfectly possible that the “bad” sister had been mistreated by the mother and the “good” had been preferred. Or like in my case, for some reason the “bad” sister just envied the other for one reason or another.
In the end, the story goes, the “bad” sister ended up living off the good one, receiving money and a rent-free home to live. When the good one got tired of being swindled and refused to continue providing for her slacker sister, she was murdered, placed in a freezer, and a fire was started to try to destroy evidence.
My youngest sister claims to have had a terrible life but, who didn’t in my family? However, being the youngest she has a kind of psychopathic sense of entitlement, as if the world owed her something. She is narcissistic in that she doesn’t have to deserve something for her to desire it and demand it.
Therefore, she envies me for having gone to university, gotten good grades, and having succeeded in my career and, in general, for being who I am.
She makes me pay harshly for being who I am, and that I won’t take. The woman on the show got literally murdered. My sister kills me slowly with her words, the expressions of her face, her attitude, and actions, like being best friends with all my enemies, such as my mother-in-law.
Fuck her, is what I say.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Health Issues
I often wonder if I am just a sick bitch or if I am a hypochondriac. But, honest, every time I ask myself the question, I do a body inventory and more than one spot hurts.
Recently, watching the musical Menopause, a comedy, I started to laugh wildly when one of the actors said, "I never wake up at night. Never. How can I? if I'm not asleep" (or something like that).
After a few seconds, my laughter turned to tears, when I realized that it had been years since I slept through the night. Night sweats, frequent urination, backaches, headaches, or even anxiety keep me awake at night. To get about six hours of sleep, I need to be in bed for about 10 hours. Good thing my husband can sleep through earthquakes, otherwise he would've divorced me already.
But my most serious problem is the constant back/neck ache. My neck hurts all the time, and about once a week, it turns into a nasty headache. Why my muscles go tense, I don't know. The doctor said it was my computer posture, and the physiotherapist said I needed to exercise. She figures that because I'm overweight, I never exercise. When I explained that exercise gives me a backache, she patronizingly smiled.
My lower back hurts all the time, too. I have a congenital injury there, which I believe is aggravated by two orange-size fibroids I have in my uterus. Basically, my tail bone always hurts to the touch. When really bad, I limp.
I also have a chronic sinus infection. So, basically, my nose is always swollen, and it occasionally hurts. Nasty discharge is part of the deal, so I have to clean the area as part of my routine, as I do my teeth.
My teeth, by the way, are also an issue. They're quite separated and follow a crooked line, so food gets stuck all the time and causes me pain. I have to floss constantly or else ... In addition I have a molar that's breaking but the dentist has decided to leave it for now. The net result is that I cannot bite with my right side. Must chew all my food with the left side.
I also have yeast problems which can cause me rashes and itches everywhere, if I eat too much flour and sugar. There is a problem with my bowels, too. Constant diarreah which I've narrowed down to liver problems, because it becomes worse when I eat fatty foods. I also suffer of constant bladder and kidney issues. Last year, I passed a stone. But more often than not, I ain't screaming of pain, so doctors don't take me seriously. I'm given Bactrin and sent home.
However, when they did my physical last year, my health was perfect according to the physician. The fibroids were my only problem. Yeah, right.
I don't go to the doctor because none of my symptoms individually add up to a serious illness. I always say that if you're not bleeding, feverish, or screaming in pain, doctors send you home to drink apple juice. They never take me seriously, thinking I am a hypochondriac making everything up, but I'm not. I swear.
Some symptoms I can control with diet. But it is so hard to stay on the diet. If I abstain from meat, milk, and flours of any kind, I do mostly OK. At least my sinuses get better and the diarreah recedes. But try living that way.
Well, dairy products I can't have. I'm lactose intolerant. But if I dare, even if I take Lactaid, the sinus situation gets so bad that I become dizzy for days. Right now, I am feeling literally unbalanced. After having lain down for a while, I feel as if I am falling over--all because I indulged in all kinds of foods during our vacation.
So, in theory, I should never eat beef, lamb, pork, dairy products, flour, fried foods, or sugar. Sometimes I think that if have to live that way, then I'd rather die.
I try, however. I make my own desserts from high fibber ingredients and natural sugar replacements, cook without cheese or milk, and eliminate fats from my diet as much as possible.
I thought writing it all down would be therapeutic. Let's see if it works.
Recently, watching the musical Menopause, a comedy, I started to laugh wildly when one of the actors said, "I never wake up at night. Never. How can I? if I'm not asleep" (or something like that).
After a few seconds, my laughter turned to tears, when I realized that it had been years since I slept through the night. Night sweats, frequent urination, backaches, headaches, or even anxiety keep me awake at night. To get about six hours of sleep, I need to be in bed for about 10 hours. Good thing my husband can sleep through earthquakes, otherwise he would've divorced me already.
But my most serious problem is the constant back/neck ache. My neck hurts all the time, and about once a week, it turns into a nasty headache. Why my muscles go tense, I don't know. The doctor said it was my computer posture, and the physiotherapist said I needed to exercise. She figures that because I'm overweight, I never exercise. When I explained that exercise gives me a backache, she patronizingly smiled.
My lower back hurts all the time, too. I have a congenital injury there, which I believe is aggravated by two orange-size fibroids I have in my uterus. Basically, my tail bone always hurts to the touch. When really bad, I limp.
I also have a chronic sinus infection. So, basically, my nose is always swollen, and it occasionally hurts. Nasty discharge is part of the deal, so I have to clean the area as part of my routine, as I do my teeth.
My teeth, by the way, are also an issue. They're quite separated and follow a crooked line, so food gets stuck all the time and causes me pain. I have to floss constantly or else ... In addition I have a molar that's breaking but the dentist has decided to leave it for now. The net result is that I cannot bite with my right side. Must chew all my food with the left side.
I also have yeast problems which can cause me rashes and itches everywhere, if I eat too much flour and sugar. There is a problem with my bowels, too. Constant diarreah which I've narrowed down to liver problems, because it becomes worse when I eat fatty foods. I also suffer of constant bladder and kidney issues. Last year, I passed a stone. But more often than not, I ain't screaming of pain, so doctors don't take me seriously. I'm given Bactrin and sent home.
However, when they did my physical last year, my health was perfect according to the physician. The fibroids were my only problem. Yeah, right.
I don't go to the doctor because none of my symptoms individually add up to a serious illness. I always say that if you're not bleeding, feverish, or screaming in pain, doctors send you home to drink apple juice. They never take me seriously, thinking I am a hypochondriac making everything up, but I'm not. I swear.
Some symptoms I can control with diet. But it is so hard to stay on the diet. If I abstain from meat, milk, and flours of any kind, I do mostly OK. At least my sinuses get better and the diarreah recedes. But try living that way.
Well, dairy products I can't have. I'm lactose intolerant. But if I dare, even if I take Lactaid, the sinus situation gets so bad that I become dizzy for days. Right now, I am feeling literally unbalanced. After having lain down for a while, I feel as if I am falling over--all because I indulged in all kinds of foods during our vacation.
So, in theory, I should never eat beef, lamb, pork, dairy products, flour, fried foods, or sugar. Sometimes I think that if have to live that way, then I'd rather die.
I try, however. I make my own desserts from high fibber ingredients and natural sugar replacements, cook without cheese or milk, and eliminate fats from my diet as much as possible.
I thought writing it all down would be therapeutic. Let's see if it works.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Growing up with people in denial
The problem with growing up with people in denial is that they're all basically liars.
I think that, in my family, I am the only person who tells the truth. Perhaps the reason I am TOO truthful is that I had to compensate for all the lying happening around me. (I've been too truthful in that I have rarely considered a person's feelings when telling the truth. I have only been working on that for the last couple of years, so much learning is needed in that department.)
Interestingly, though, I just noticed, in the last few days, what huge liars they all are. I guess I knew of individual incidences, but I never put it all together and admitted it to myself.
On my previous post I wrote a comment about the blue room. They all said it was red, but I saw blue. For saying it was blue they made me pay, harshly.
I am currently thinking of the consequences of seeing the truth, expressing the truth, and being told it isn't so. Wouldn't that make a person insane? Isn't that a form of brainwashing? You get rewarded for admitting a lie and punished for seeing the truth.
What does that say of a person like me who went through the torture of brainwashing and didn't completely fall for it, or "convert?"
Personally, I think the consequence is emotional deformity--as in a metaphor for deformed body parts as a result of torture.
Another result is partial insanity or emotional dyslexia, if you will. In other words, the doubt is always there. Is the room red or blue? I am just not sure, because sometimes they told me the truth, so how do I know they were completely wrong? Maybe the room is purple.
Put another way, I think I go trough life judging everyone and everything. There is no such thing as taking anything at face value for me. The doubt will always be there. Are they right or am I right?
My perception of reality is skewed, yes. But also my brain works overtime. It's a wonder it hasn't actually burned as in a short-circuited wire. Always trying to figure out if things are as real as they look adds up a humongous layer of stress to my life. Right this moment, I feel so sorry for me.
I have to think about this some more.
I think that, in my family, I am the only person who tells the truth. Perhaps the reason I am TOO truthful is that I had to compensate for all the lying happening around me. (I've been too truthful in that I have rarely considered a person's feelings when telling the truth. I have only been working on that for the last couple of years, so much learning is needed in that department.)
Interestingly, though, I just noticed, in the last few days, what huge liars they all are. I guess I knew of individual incidences, but I never put it all together and admitted it to myself.
On my previous post I wrote a comment about the blue room. They all said it was red, but I saw blue. For saying it was blue they made me pay, harshly.
I am currently thinking of the consequences of seeing the truth, expressing the truth, and being told it isn't so. Wouldn't that make a person insane? Isn't that a form of brainwashing? You get rewarded for admitting a lie and punished for seeing the truth.
What does that say of a person like me who went through the torture of brainwashing and didn't completely fall for it, or "convert?"
Personally, I think the consequence is emotional deformity--as in a metaphor for deformed body parts as a result of torture.
Another result is partial insanity or emotional dyslexia, if you will. In other words, the doubt is always there. Is the room red or blue? I am just not sure, because sometimes they told me the truth, so how do I know they were completely wrong? Maybe the room is purple.
Put another way, I think I go trough life judging everyone and everything. There is no such thing as taking anything at face value for me. The doubt will always be there. Are they right or am I right?
My perception of reality is skewed, yes. But also my brain works overtime. It's a wonder it hasn't actually burned as in a short-circuited wire. Always trying to figure out if things are as real as they look adds up a humongous layer of stress to my life. Right this moment, I feel so sorry for me.
I have to think about this some more.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
