Monday, August 31, 2015

No coffee in the house! What a way to start the morning... Grrrrr....
So I threw on some clothes, put my hair in a ponytail, and drove to Dunkin. I'm not sure I was even fully awake for it. The dog might have actually driven, I'm not really sure.

Since then, I've spent the last THREE HOURS filling out multiple applications for rent-reduced apartments. Dear lord, these applications are ridiculous! If they could, I think they'd take your first-born as well as their twelve pages of necessary info.
Not that I want to live in subsidized/low-income housing, but it seems the most practical choice. I did bypass a few of the properties, based on location and reputation. There are actually some other really nice apartments in the area that are rent restricted (tiered rent based on income). However, there is a wait list for every one of them. Sigh. Well, doesn't hurt to apply, I suppose. Maybe someone will die, or get arrested for drug trafficking, and I'll get in line for a vacancy. Who knows.

In the meantime I'm also looking everywhere online and while driving around. There are plenty of places available, but none in my price range. I'm not sure how one-income parents do it. I don't make a ton of money, but I do alright. And still, when I look at my budget, I figure I'll have to live like a monk in order to afford my own place. Or quit smoking and drinking dunkin coffee. Those seem to be my biggest monthly expenses. The lack of dunkin I might be able to live with. The quitting smoking- Not gonna happen. I'd kill someone. No lie, I truly would.

Not that living with my mother is a terrible thing. It's tolerable. And cheap. But seriously, folks... Who can really say they'd be ok living with their mom at 42 years old?
And besides, it's not just her. It's living with someone in general. I've always had a hard time cohabitating, even when it was with a partner (just ask any of my three ex-husbands) . I just need my own space. And I like things a certain way (My way).

Yesterday I actually went and looked at a cheap apartment just outside of town. It was cheap for a reason. You get what you pay for.
And so, the hunt continues.

Dawson starts his first day back to school tomorrow. I am glad for that. It's very difficult to entertain a 13 year old every day all summer. And expensive.

I dreamt of my ex-husband last night. I can't remember the details of the dreams, but they were basically a reflection of recent times...  telling me how much he love(d) me, wanted and needed me, while his new girlfriend waited back home, or while his latest soiree of women waited to meet him at the bar..  In short, that his words never really match(ed) up to his actions, no matter how much I want(ed) them to. Not now, and not in the last few years. Every time he left, it killed us a little bit. And lately his "actions vs. words" showed no promise of him having changed at all. The lack of trust, reliability, and follow through was eventually the death of us. And you know what's ironic? I don't remember having so much love and devotion for another human being (other than my children) in all of my life. How ridiculously sad.

Perhaps that's why I have such a hard time believing things will be any different with anyone else. I know it's baggage, and I needn't carry it with me in new relationships, but it's so much easier said than done. It's very hard for me to believe in anything...
Historically, people leave. That's what happens, It's eventual, and inevitable.
After the "honeymoon phase"... I'm too grouchy, too difficult, not "fun" enough, too stoic, too this or that, and/or not enough this or that...
It has been my story for all of my relationships. And I haven't changed, so why would my story?

I suppose I need to get motivated. I have to go get time cards and do the banking for work, mail out these life-story rental applications, go grab Dawson, and get some last minute school supplies. And prep my meatloaf.
Yes, I'm cooking. Crazy, isn't it?

Friday, August 21, 2015

Addendum to my last blog:

When I use the word "addict", please don't assume I mean someone who's shooting up or smoking crack. 
And addict is an addict, no matter what the substance. Alcohol, marijuana, cocaine, or any other mood altering (and often illegal) substance or activity (gambling, for instance). It's all addiction. 

An addict will apoologize, make excuses, justify, and rationalize. It's horribly devastating for the people who love them. 


A person who is addicted to an activity, habit, or substance: a drug addict.

To cause to become physiologically or psychologically dependent on an addictive substance, as alcohol or a narcotic.

To habituate or abandon (oneself) to something compulsively or obsessively. 

I wanted to start this blog with something angry. Something that exemplified my determination and independence. Something that would illustrate just how strong and badass I am.
I wanted to say things like-

-I will not allow myself to feel second to anything.. to your kids, your job, your friends, your hobbies, your habits, your lifestyle. To anything.
-I will not allow toxic things/people/circumstances in my life.
-I will walk away without hesitation if my principles are compromised.
-I will swiftly cut it out of my life if it does not provide a good example to my son.
-I will. not. settle.

But none of that is really true.

I've settled for relationships that were less than extraordinary.
I've tolerated circumstances that were FAR from ideal.
I've overlooked actions that I would otherwise consider unacceptable.
I've been hurt by people, and allowed them re-access to my heart, over, and over, and over.
I've handed out more undeserved pardons in my lifetime than any person should.

Truth is, I have condoned and accepted shitty circumstances, my entire.. fucking.. life.

Where do we learn this kind of behavior?
Do we disregard things that we normally never would, tolerate less than ideal relationships, and forgive repetitive hurts, all for the sake of love? What is this thing, this "love", that is powerful enough to make us condone, accept, tolerate, and forgive all things deplorable?

(And please don't misunderstand me... I don't speak of trivial things... By "things", I don't mean- Oh, he has stinky feet, and I accept that. Or- she's a lousy housekeeper, and I accept that).

Maybe I learned it from my parents.
I watched my father choose alcohol over his wife and family, from as far back as I remember, right into adulthood. And I watched my mother accept and condone, and forgive him, every time he made the choice.
And we all know how that turned out...
My mother became positively miserable. But she could never bring herself to leave him; she loved him too much. Towards the end, she just kind of checked out. Spent less and less time at home. Weekend getaways, hobbies that kept her away every night. Trying to escape the life that it had become. And my father just kept choosing the bottle.
It killed my mother. It killed us.
And then it killed him.

I can't remember exactly when, but sometime during my youth, I swore to myself that I would never allow that to happen to me. That I would NEVER partner with anyone who had any kind of addiction. ANY. KIND. (Not alcohol, not pot, and certainly not anything worse). That I would never settle for someone who refused to put me first. And that I would never give someone the power to hurt me over and over.

And yet, that is all I have done...

My daughter's father was crazy. My first husband was/is an addict. My second husband was also crazy. My next fiance was emotionally unavailable. My third husband suffered from fight or flight syndrome (and always flew). My most recent boyfriend is... well, on the list too.

I have a very long history of settling for shitty circumstances, all for the sake of love.

But you know what?
I'm not with any of them now. I am alone. And as terrible and lonely as it is, perhaps that's the testament of determination and independence I was looking for at the start of this blog.
But it doesn't feel strong and liberating. And I sure don't feel like a badass.
It just feels sad.

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

I've only ever written a blog while driving on a couple of occasions. That talk to text feature is pretty handy. Although, it doesn't always hear me correctly, so please forgive the inevitable typos, as I will most likely post without proofreading. Oh who am I kidding, of course I'll proofread.

I read an interesting article this afternoon on The care one should take when choosing a life partner, and it gave me food for thought and fodder for writing.

I've always considered myself over analytical when it comes to relationships. In fact, people often tell me that it's one of my faults. But consider this (an excerpt from the article); 
When you choose a life partner, you’re choosing a lot of things, including your parenting partner and someone who will deeply influence your children, your eating companion for about 20,000 meals, your travel companion for about 100 vacations, your primary leisure time and retirement friend, your career therapist, and someone whose day you’ll hear about 18,000 times.
...How can you NOT be over analytical when you look at it like that? 

So anyway, I've always considered myself to be over analytical. In love, and in life. However, I've only recently begun to do something out of the ordinary; Live by day.
Wing it, go with the flow, what will be – will be... 
And I have found that it's not very comfortable. I mean, it feels good in the moment, for the most part. And I could almost understand how people operate by this mantra. But I'm not convinced it's for me. I need a plan, an end goal. And it has to be well put together Not unattainable, not even skeptical. It has to make sense. The pieces have to fit together without gaps.
So what happens when an obsessive over-analyzer can't formulate a plan? I'll tell you what… They go crazy.

And by they, I of course mean me.

I've used my manic moments as a basis for every decision lately. I've experienced a whirlwind of changing circumstances. I've been riding a veritable emotional roller coaster; up and down, up and down. Stop the ride, I want to get off.
But I can't. There's no operator. She checked out. She doesn't have a plan.  She doesn't know the difference between stop and go, or even what lies in between.
Throw your hands up in the air, here comes another plunging corner!
Do people really live this way? Do people really enjoy this ride? 
I just want a straight stretch.

My destination is approaching. 
I'm sure this blog made no sense. But it passed the time during my drive and perhaps provided me with a moment of therapy. I think. 


Wednesday, August 12, 2015

This is the first opportunity I've had to write in several days.
And I have so much to write about. I want to write, I do. I desperately need to. But for once, I'm hesitant to.
Maybe I'll just try to be vague. Although, I'm sure it's obvious. I haven't been terribly private.
On with it, then.

The last few months have been one long decision making process. Not a list of multiple decisions; just one, really.
It seems I have been making this decision every so often... maybe every month or so. We'll call it every month, for conversation sake. Every month (or so), for the last several months, I would make a choice. A painful, awful, horrible choice. Break my own heart (and, ultimately, someone else's). Make a decision.
And then, shortly after, I would reconsider. Most times, quietly, internally.
Back peddle. I can't live with my decision.
And then I'd have to make the decision again. Each time the same decision as before. Make the choice. A painful, awful, horrible choice.
And then, after a time, I'd reconsider again.
Rinse, wash, repeat.
This has been my ongoing cycle, for the last several months.
An excruciating, heart breaking, and completely maddening cycle.
And by "completely maddening", I actually mean something much more severe, yet can't find the words for. I feel like I have been going utterly insane.

The cycle changed this past week when I made a different decision. Changed direction. And although it may have been a different direction from these last few months, it was(is) still just as awful, horrible, and painful.
Broke my own heart. And someone else's.
And I reconsider. Back peddle. I can't live with my decision.
I'm losing my mind again.

The overwhelming advice from the masses is to just choose neither path. To embrace a completely separate direction from the reoccurring choice. Go my own way, as Fleetwood Mac would say.
And I've tried. Well, maybe not quite, but I've considered it, come close to it. And I simply cannot. That's no exaggeration. I can't. Making a choice of one way over the other is torturous. But to live without either? Now that is an agony I couldn't possibly bear. At least not bear to choose on my own.
...Ironically, perhaps it will come to that. Maybe my indecision will force a hand, or two. And I will have no decision to make, I will have nothing at all. Lord knows, it's probably what I deserve.

I've done the pro's and con's lists. I've rationalized it six ways to Sunday. I've analyzed every inch and every corner. I've taken apart all the pieces and examined them. I've evaluated and re-evaluated, over and over and over.
And so I try to stop over-thinking. I've tried to go with the flow, just go with it, wait and see, what will be will be, blah blah friggin blah. None of those things work.
I've listened to advice and opinions and wise words, and considered the wealth of knowledge and experience that my friends and family have to offer.
I tried to "listen to my heart". Even it doesn't have a clue.
I've done nothing but this, for months.

And now I feel like I can't make a decision at all.
At least these last few months I've made a decision each time. It took me a long, painful while to come to it every time, but I did. I chose. Perhaps not 100%, but I enacted it.
Now it seems, I simply can't. Not "it seems". I truly cannot.
And.. fuck.. It hurts.

Indecision is debilitating. Not just for me.
I carry the guilt of hurting not just myself.
I am coming unglued.