Church

If you’ve been reading this blog for a minute then you know I was raised baptist, Sunday church-going, conservative Christian. Yes… that’s the full description of the version of religion that my parents presented to me. Or should I say subjected me to? Both I suppose.

Over time, as any free thinking person would, I developed my own beliefs and thoughts about the deity that created us *if you believe that*. I’ve never curbed or censored my thoughts on God here and I’m not back-tracking now. What I will say is this… my thoughts on the almighty have shifted and so have my ideas about speaking with him/her, having a spiritual moment, or finding comfort in the thought process that “…all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28

Yep. I did just break out scripture. AND… I’m not ashamed to say that the last few days the thing that’s comforted me… has been my faith.

To say I’m a little heartbroken is accurate. I ruined a good thing… Mr. W is gone… I mean GONE. He won’t read the messages I sent, my apology will go un-accepted. I don’t blame him. In some ways… it feels as if I made him up. If it weren’t for traces left in my life…. his sunglasses, the giraffe toy my puppy loves, German cough drops…. I would think I had made him up.

But, I digress… sort of.

These last few days I’ve done what I know to do to help myself feel better. Sleep. Cry. Exercise. Get fresh air. Read.

This is when I realized… my church, where I worship and speak with God, is outside.

I haven’t been inside a place of worship and organized religion in a couple of years. Not for any specific reasons have I not been to what most people think of as “church”. I found one I liked here in the springs, and thankfully… they broadcast their services online. No people-ing necessary. *smile*

Since I don’t believe in all traditional things, boxing things in, my place of quiet and fellowship with Jehovah is now the outdoors. My walks in the morning have really helped me feel better. It’s helped me sort my thoughts. Also… tears and sweat are similar, and don’t draw attention while walking so fast that your feet almost don’t touch the ground. (I don’t run for a few reasons)

Here’s what I’ve realized/remembered on my walks:

-my God has plans for me

-my God is the same as other people’s God… so he/she has plans for others (like Mr. W) that don’t involve me. Or do. But either way it’s not my business what the plan is for someone else’s life.

-life is short. I did what I could to make sure I was true to my feelings, and that I didn’t betray my heart.

-bravery comes in many unexpected forms.

-life keeps moving. Broken heart or not, it keeps beating… I keep breathing and living.

-there’s so much to be thankful for.

-the lesson is in the pain somewhere. Somewhere.

-I’m so thankful for… everything. Even the stuff that hurts so bad I don’t want to admit to how deeply it cuts me.

-my insecurities will always try to beat me, but I just have to keep growing and working on me, and improving my life.

-those meant to be in your life, will be.

Walking clears my head, and gives me a moment to not focus on what is sitting on me, smothering my happiness. I pray while I walk. I really do sing to music on my phone, or laugh. I’m sure I look like a complete raving lunatic. Zero, letter between E and G, given.

It’s my place/time of renewal and release.

How, when I end up feeling bereft and lost, could I ever forget where my soul finds the most rest?!

God: 1,326,789,438,956,386,932

Me: 0

Hope you all are finding some joy in the every day.

Hugs,

C

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Focus

It’s been a couple of days since I ran off Mr. W and…. I can’t bring myself to download tinder or bumble again. I don’t want to even think about dating. I’m not over MW to begin with and… dating blows.

I’m sure he’s downloaded it again… because he’s wonderful. He should find someone ASAP. Hopefully. *no, I’m not crying. I have allergy eyes…*

Dating is so far from my mind… makes sense that AZ and Tom would pop back up. Men have amazing timing, and Stacey and I always joke that “they always come back”.

Yes…. I said I heard from AZ. This is surprisingly non-monumental. I find I’m so over him that I kinda wish he’d just drop back off. He didn’t contact me for anything inappropriate, but he is coming back to Usaa and I am so grateful I’ll be working from home by then. I’ll always be his friend but… I don’t trust him. Not at all. And I have no feelings for him. Guess all it takes is to meet someone that really fits you and makes your heart happy (before you chase them away) to realize what you’ve been missing all along.

*big deep breaths. Sometime soon I will stop crying*

My birthday is Friday and I’m not looking forward to it. In fact… I hate birthdays. Mine especially. I never have anyone special to celebrate with (yes I’m including my son. He doesn’t get it. And his dad never really celebrated with me when we were together) and they just make me feel like one more year has passed and… I’m no closer to feeling happier.

In fact, I have an ultrasound scheduled on my birthday to make sure I don’t need uterine surgery again. Fun stuff.

I’m tryin to stay in my lane this week… focus on the important things. I’m almost done with the process of getting my work from home status approved, and my kid’s therapist needs to know when we can start in home ABA. I really just need to keep my head down and try not to think about those blue eyes, and that smile. It will get better…

(If you could see what’s in my head, you’d cry too. All I can picture is him in the car with me, singing T. Swift’s New Years Day and… I can’t help it. “Please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I’d recognize anywhere…”)

**I also realized I post more selfies here than anywhere else. Weird. I’ll give you something besides my face to look at. Puffy sad eyes aren’t pretty.

C.

Mr. Wonderful

I’m a flawed person. I know that we all are so this isn’t remarkable. However…. I think the difference in the flaws is important.

*I have an ache, a hollowed out feeling, in my chest and a lump in my throat*

There are times like now that it is without a doubt a blessing that this blog is anonymous. I know there may be people I know that read it (Hi Mel!) but WordPress is smart to hide that from me. Keeps me honest and pure in my writing.

Over the last two years since I came to CO there are so many things that have changed, that I’ve worked on, that I’m grateful for…. but I have so far to go.

My therapist used to tell me not to look back. The past was never going to be a comfort to me. All of the things I’d been through (trauma, depression, sexual assault) they weren’t going to find my smile in the now. She was right of course, but what if leaving the past behind is harder than it sounds?

I have a long list of things that have become part of my thoughts and who I am that stem from the past and… I don’t know how to fix them.

I fear rejection.

Again, I’m sure there are others that this is their biggest thing. I wouldn’t say that I’m unique here. My struggle is to recognize actual rejection. Things sometimes feel that way, but aren’t. Your mind will fool you, play tricks on you, make you think you’re being rejected, when really… it has nothing to do with you. Not everything is personal.

As I lay here in the dark I realize it’s time to tell you all about an amazing man I was close to for a hot minute. The dark parts of my head and heart are laughing in glee because… they will use this against me for a while. Make me feel as fucked up as possible.

I met this guy online. He turned out to be… one of the greatest things for me since I was in my 20’s. He reminded me of what it felt like to find someone with a similar soul. I know that sounds deep, and in some ways it felt like it was, but really all I mean by that is… we were in some ways the same person. He used to say we were “separated at birth”. Like minded people, that appeared to want the same things, and who connected on a different level.

This man’s heart… I wish I could explain it better than I will end up doing. Such a kindness, and sweetness, almost purity to his actions and words. *this is making my chest ache again* He made me laugh, and feel good in every interaction we had. He stuck it out with me communication wise even from a distance. I feel like I lost one of the most important things to come into my life in the last few years, and the pain is more than I can explain in words.

*deep breath*

He works in a foreign country for chunks of time and comes back for paid time or at the end of a contract like this time was. We did most of our chatting online. I always felt like that was important because we didn’t have to look each other in the eye while we confessed our fears and flaws. While we learned about each other, we had the advantage of space and difference in time. Never underestimate the circumstances that bring you close to someone, they can make all the difference.

The trouble for me in my mind started before he came back from overseas. It was planted there… like a seed that I didn’t want to water but ended up growing anyway. Since my split with my husband, and the things done and said during my marriage, my self esteem has been irreparably broken and then pieced back together. Needless to say… they are still big cracks, huge gaping holes.

To be in an intimacy free marriage, no sex, no kissing, no touching, holding, caressing, cuddling…. I can’t ever explain how touch deprivation manifests other issues over time. My body image and overall self esteem has never taken such a hit.

Back to Mr. Wonderful, as we’ll call him (he’d laugh at this nickname I think).

I met him once, one date, during his time off in the middle of his contract. We had a very nice, but we’ll say unremarkable, night together at the movies. Nothing special happened, and I felt as if he wasn’t interested. Thinking about it now… if I’d known the back story he has, I’d have known that this was just the wall he has up. He’s very sweet, and so funny, but he does sit behind a very tall wall of his own making. He guards his heart with an immense, brick and mortar, sturdy, fortified, wall. I can’t blame him… I get it.

He contacted me again but it wasn’t in the cards for me to see him before he left to go back to his remote job. After meeting him now, more things make sense. He has a lot of family and friends and a fierce loyalty and duty to visit with them. See? Wonderful… but I digress.

We spent 4 months chatting online, getting to know each other in a very safe, yet honest and open way. I like to think we were both vulnerable with each other.

The one thing that always nibbled at my mind was… he didn’t really remember me in a physical way. Not in an “I remember your physical type” way. He didn’t even remember the girls, and they’re hard to miss. He had no idea how heavy I really am.

Let me pause here a second and say this: I have come to terms with my curves. I love my hips, my thighs, and my butt (let’s skip over the T’s because… of course I love those too but it sounds weird to list here). Despite my self-love and image that I work on every day, I still hate my stomach. My biggest insecurity is in my middle section. It’ll never be the same after being pregnant and… I hate how it looks.

I admitted ALLLLLLLL of this to Mr. W. He knew about why I hated my stomach, how I felt about it, all of that. He liked to… pat it. Poke it. Touch it. I have yet to decide if he was repulsed or fascinated, or just didn’t even think about what he was doing. It never really bothered me, but I noticed. It fed my own insecurity.

Before he came back, we talked A LOT about weight. He describes his dad as “a big boy”, his brother as “overweight” and his friend’s new wife as “bigger”. He even described a close friend overseas as a “bigger but beautiful girl” and… he told me “she has to be at least a size 10”. *cringe*

I never told him what size I am, or my weight. Within the first day of us meeting again in person I knew his brother’s weight and his weight…. and that I…. outweigh him. NOT his brother, thank the lord, but I do outweigh Mr. W by a small margin. *sigh* you see my struggle I know you do dear reader.

So, as we spent time we got closer. We spent a good amount of time together considering how long he’d been back and that I’d gotten a horrible cold from my outbreak monkey son, and then passed on to Mr. W.

The first night he stayed with me things were like you’d expect… lots of makeout and holding each other. No sex. I tell you this friends as informational, not out of bitterness. I was thankful he wanted to wait so I didn’t feel like it was all about that.

Second night was the same but he left early, or that could have been the first night. It blurs together because all I could think about was this handsome fit man laying next to me. In total he must have slept in my bed at least 5 or more times. The last three times more important than the first two. We spooned andddd… he didn’t even get turned on. Not even once.

This is so much more detail than I expected to subject you to my lovelies, but… it’s the truth and the reason for my major mistake. One I can’t ever take back and… I wish I could.

I couldn’t let my confusion and hurt over the seemingly chaste nights in bed get the best of me. I tried to talk to him about them. I think he was amused and just said that it was him not me. He realized sex would make him vulnerable and he wasn’t ready.

I should have been relieved. Instead… my insecurities festered… and grew. I started to think he just didn’t want to tell me that my stomach and weight were unattractive. He couldn’t say “your Pillsbury dough girl stomach turns me off”.

Ones own mind is a horribly mean thing sometimes.

The last night he spent with me… we barely touched. The cuddling was minimal and, when he left the next morning I felt… melancholy. Gloomy. Blue. Down. I felt like if I was the right person for him things shouldn’t seem so… hard.

So I did what I do best. I pushed him away. I told him I didn’t think I was the right girl for him. I backed away instead of dealing with my insecurity in a healthy way. Or… at least talking to him about all of this. I hurt him before he could hurt me. I was… am… an idiot.

During our time these last two weeks he made me laugh, held me, kissed me (chastely, like the kind of kiss you do in front of your mother) and told me things. He admitted to his own insecurities of not being able to connect to his people, his friends and family, anymore. He said he wanted to “go slow” and that he was afraid of commitment. He just needed time. It’s not me… it’s him.

I saw hurt allllll over this. I should be relieved we never slept together yet… I’m sad. I think it would have brought both of us closer together. But, he wasn’t ready and I may be wrong about it fostering intimacy. It may have made this whole thing worse.

When I “pulled the plug” I was bawling on the floor in my bathroom. I was praying I was wrong about being the wrong girl for him. Part of me was hoping he’d fight back. I was secretly hoping he’d fight for what we were developing and what we had. I don’t blame him that he didn’t, He’d already given me so much and been so open with me. My pushing him away meant his own insecurities of not being good enough were correct. He couldn’t be more wrong.

So… here I am… in bed in the dark… tears streaming from both of my eyes because I can’t go back. I can’t fix it. I tried to message him an apology. I tried to tell him I was wrong. I tried to backpedal and fix things… but he won’t read my messages. He won’t respond. He’s with his father, his best friend, at the moment so… hopefully he’s having fun and not feeling shitty about my letting him go. He’s obviously not thinking about me, and that’s for the best.

Actually… I’m hoping he’s over all of this. I want to picture him smiling, laughing, enjoying time with his dad. I want to picture him with a girl that lights up his heart and makes him feel so great about himself. I want to picture him in love. *yes, I’m still crying*

His eyes… those eyes… that last look he gave me on my doorstep… I’ll never forget any of that. I want to picture him at his best. I want to picture him so happy it shines through those eyes.

Lord help me… this one really hurts, and it’s my own fault.

Alone

Authentic living is one thing. For me… the truth isn’t hard. It’s telling people I need them, or… I just am in need. There’s where the struggle is.

Most of the time I love my time to myself. I crave space and quiet and slow moments to just sit and read, or just breathe for a bit. Then there are times that I hate that I live by myself.

I need a roommate, or a dog… even a goldfish. Someone or something to TALK to.

Living alone for someone who deals with depression is… like an alcoholic who owns a liquor store. Such a bad idea, and you will ALWAYS relapse.

Depression in my opinion is every bit as addicting as chemicals and substances. You get used to feeling low, it’s more comfortable than trying, it becomes your whole being, your whole person and it swallows you all the way down to your pinkie toes. You don’t have to think about your life from any different angles because depression has rounded out all the corners and made it easy to put no effort into every day. It’s a very selfish way to live.

I’m not in any way saying depressed people can help it, or that it’s something we should berate or belittle them for. The reasons someone ends up depressed are vast and wide. However… it can be habitual.

So, back to me living alone. I am aware of the dangers of quiet and space and solitude to my mental health. I don’t have any other option at the moment for several reasons, the first few involving my son and having a place for him to call his own.

With my progress and successful daily battle against the dark thoughts in my head in mind… I do what I can to make living alone work for me.

Till one of my triggers happens. Then I’m a smidge lost at sea without a paddle.

When I first experienced anxiety it was very soon after the birth of my son. I was acutely aware of my responsibility to this small, helpless, sweet little baby and my anxiety took hold almost immediately after he was diagnosed, 4 days brand new.

To say I had postpartum is a gross understatement and I was ill prepared for the heart racing crazy thoughts that come with anxiety. Anxiousness had never been part of my mental health journey prior to Avery.

My biggest fear came in the form of control over my health. I became sooooo worried that I’d die suddenly and leave this vulnerable baby mama-less. I’d stay up at night fretting and thinking of horrible stuff that could happen to him if I were gone. Any itchy throat or stomach ache became life threatening, and google and I used to fight over which variety of cancer I had.

Instead of savoring every second with my sweet smelling babe… I was frantically trying to check every possible thing for him and I to insure our survival. Keeping us both alive every day was exhausting.

To this day… illness is a trigger for me.

Actually… it was a trigger before if I’m being honest. It just blew up after Av.

You can ask my ex before my husband… I used to ask him if he thought my Boston terrier and my cat would eat my face if I died in my apartment alone.

And my mother will tell you I used to fret as a child about choking on PB and dying.

My fear of illness is part of my medication taking phobia. It’s the root really. The beginning and end of everything.

All of this to say… I’m sick. I woke up really ill. Goopy eye on one side. Congested. Glands the size of marbles.

Ok. I managed to keep Av alive and got him to school. In one piece. Next came filling my day.

I knew sitting at home alone would make me fret, cry, lonely, sad, all the bad feels…

So I drove to Denver to meet a friend for lunch.

Then I wasted time at ikea, and getting gas and… then it was time to go home.

I was good till 15 miles out and then… the crying. I wished for a dog. Or a friend to suddenly need me. A reason to drive allllll the way out to see my kid. SOMETHING.

Nope. Just my empty apartment.

Mind you… I am not well. I spread germs from Springs to Denver. No f’s were given. None.

So, here I am… confessing to you all that I’m a little downtrodden today over my solitary living situation. It’s all in an effort to beat back my crappy mental state at the moment. I wish I could say it was helping.

When I get like this… now is when I really see the holes that all my people in WA used to fill. Including my “boss lady” mother.

I miss my grandma the most when I’m sick. With an ache in my chest I miss her.

So while alone is something we all must face, be comfortable with, soak in till we’re pruney, so that our confidence and self love is complete… sometimes for a percentage of us with different struggles… alone can be a deep dark hole to crawl into.

I do feel like… I just aimed a flashlight at my hole though.

So thank you… to anyone who takes the time to read my ranting about my mental state occasionally. I really do love you all.

C.

Love letter…

To my body,

*This is a hard one. So much has changed about this vessel that has carried my heart and my soul around from birth forward to present day.*

We’ve been through a lot you and I. I tried to be careful with you when I was younger. I wasn’t rough and tumble like my brother. Never jumped out of trees or played in the streets or pushed you past your limits. You were kind to me even though we didn’t do lots of fun things, unless you count sledding and jumping rope and playing outside till we were lightly coated in dirt and smelling slightly of sunshine and little kid sweat. Reading in the fresh cut grass was our favorite, despite the slight itchy feeling afterwards. And then there was running through the sprinkler during the summer… or the way it felt to jump in leaves, make snow angels, ride a bike….

We have good memories you and I.

As I grew you made known what shape you planned on taking. I remember when my sister was a baby, the ability to hold her on my hip came naturally. I blossomed as I should based on genetics and hormones. My predisposed shape attracted attention even then. I knew early on… there were things that would always be noticed and perhaps draw the wrong sort of watchful eye.

When my brain struggled through liking all of myself… you pushed through the deprivation. Never once did you give up on me despite lack of self care, sleep, and proper nutrition. Even then, heart, you kept pumping, lungs, you kept breathing. When my mind attacked you… you didn’t falter.

We’re under a different type of mental attack now, but it’s not a hopeless battle. We will prevail.

When my inner workings slowed down, and stress took its toll, you still managed to keep us upright. You’ve made it through sickness, stress, minor injuries and eventually childbirth.

Let me tell you how amazing you are for growing that sweet little soul that walks around outside of you now. It’s amazing the power you have and the way that you knit those little bones together, and formed those little toes and fingers, nose and lips. I am in awe over your creation. He came out perfectly.

Pregnancy was hard for you I know. I did the best I could to be mentally strong. To not fret too much, take those nasty vitamins, and drink lots of water. We did struggle you and I, not always feeling strong enough to complete the task… Despite soreness, weight loss, anemia, and other less glamorous more embarrassing things, we did it! Look at him! He’s beautiful!

Childbirth was something I could never fully comprehend and you were a champ! I protected us both from the worry by not researching too much and skipping Lamaze, yet you out performed even athletes with your 5 hour labor to delivery. -High five- You did it almost in your sleep, and… you’re welcome for the “good drugs”.

Then regardless of your exhaustion you helped me nourish our little babe. He flourished and you did more than enough… more than expected considering the decay that my mind was flooding you with. Stress nearly shut us down but you kept trucking.

Here is where I apologize… after you did such a miraculous thing.. I forgot about what you needed. What was good for you. What you deserved. I said bad, mean things to you out loud and in my head. I didn’t give you credit for the journey you’d gone on with me, the trials we’d endured together (sexual assault, starvation, inundation of imbalanced hormones, toxic foods and substances, vitamin deficiencies, constant dehydration, inflammation, viruses, bacterial invasions…and that’s not all). I looked at you… after everything… and I was disgusted. Ashamed. Embarrassed. I tried to hide you. I didn’t want anyone to see you, to really LOOK.

I can never say I’m sorry enough.

I needed to figure out what was important and to look at you with a new perspective, and gratitude. I needed to appreciate all that we’ve done and been through together. I needed to tell the voice in my head to “shut up.” and remember what real beauty is.

I needed to thank you, and embrace all that you are.

I’m still struggling. I take your appearance and wrap up my self esteem with it, and that’s not fair because… you are more than just skin and bones, cellulite and stretch marks… you are… excuse the simplification… just a package. An amazing container, for all of my pieces parts and…. my heart and soul. This heart… that gives and gives and loves and loves.

We have to remember the path that brought us here, and I will do better about taking care of you. We only have this brief time, blink of an eye really, to enjoy this world and the people and things in it.

I do love you, and all of your curves, and angles, perfection and flaws… your whole package is mine and I am yours. We’re in this together so I promise to remember the journey… and love you till the end. No matter what.

C.

Anonymous

This blog… has been my outlet. Sometimes my only one. It’s been 3ish months friends and lots has happened. Lots.

I got a new position at work. It will be so very good for me. I’m excited to do something new, to help people in a different way. I’m overly excited to get away from my previous manager. We’ll call her Nelly… negative Nelly.

I got a different car. I moved. I lost a good friend (more to come on that) and I’ve gone to a different place in my mind.

Different scenery invokes different thoughts and feelings sometimes.

“Travel and change of place impart new vigor to the mind.” Seneca

Someone, anonymously of course, has been reading this blog almost daily for the last month. I’m not upset or disturbed by this, more interested than anything. I haven’t written in at least 90 days yet… there’s the stats.

I put everything out there… I hold none of my feelings back here. I don’t write about the day-to-day because there’s no need to know that work was long, dinner was normal, sleep was ok. If I have something specific on my mind that won’t leave my head… I turn to this outlet. However life has changed for me in a positive way. Now I think about TODAY, not yesterday, last week, or last year. Those are done and gone.

I hope anyone regularly looking at the drivel I put here is at least getting something helpful out of it, because I can see no other reason to look back over my… past I suppose.

I had a close friend, well… to me he was a friend, and recently he’s decided to step away from me and our interactions. I’m not sure if I’ve ever written about him but I remember specifically not wanting to invade his privacy by writing about him publicly online. This doesn’t mean he wasn’t important to me, merely that I know there are boundaries for other people that I need to respect.

I’m sad and I miss him but I’m not surprised. Love is a funny thing. Most would tell you it’s not selfish, but the truth is it can be that way in your mind. You want something from someone for YOU, it’s about your desire or your need/want. That… is not true love. That’s something else. But it feels like love. That kind will make you forget what’s important: we only get this one life. If someone makes you happy, makes you smile, makes you feel loved… then don’t focus on how they won’t change to fit into your relationship ideals. That… is not why they were put into your life.

Which leads me to this….

I thought long and hard about the last man I loved, and asked myself if I was entirely fair. I pronounced my feelings in a very bold, hard to misread way. But did I do it for me, for him, or because… I felt lead to?

I will say this… I did it in a very brave and bold manner for me and got what I expected. The need to speak to him vanished. Need, not want. I’d still be friends with him now if he wanted that. He didn’t… and so I accepted his brief role in my life, sent him good thoughts and goodwill… and went about living the rest of my life with that part of my heart. The part I gave him without his request or permission mind you. See? Selfish to a point.

I was of course sad. How do you get over someone you loved but never had the chance to be with? But I knew… somehow… I knew he needed to be told. He needed to hear that despite what seemed like an impossible situation, that my heart loved him, and let him go, to be happy in whatever manner he chose. I pray now… regularly, that he is happy. I have to think God hears me.

But back to Anonymous. This blog, this little corner of the internet, has been my safe space, my sounding board, my relief. I think now that I’m trying to live more in the present, goal oriented, out loud and bravely, I don’t maybe need this space as much. Anonymous… maybe you need to find a way to do that too. Maybe, the past is just that. Maybe… it’s forward we all need to look. Maybe.

So, as always, I send you all love. I hope everyone is finding that calm place in their minds everyday, that smile that comes to their face without thinking, and the bravery to live truly, honestly, every day.

C.