Isolation

10 11 2009

I have been hesitant to post anymore dark dreary posts, just because I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do. I’m supposed to be salt and light. All I am is sad and lonely tonight. Which is stupid. I spent all day with a friend, and we had five dogs in the house. Yesterday I went to the movies with a great friend and talked on the phone with three people. Saturday I had wonderful quality time with my husband. I had several “friend” encounters last week too.

But I feel different from everybody else. Even my friends. I attended two (!) meetings today, Alanon and ACOA and both of them, went late, left early, said nothing. I’m supposed to be in my “safe place” there and I just shut down. I don’t really even feel like writing now, I’m just doing it because I feel I must.

Right now is a season of sacrifice for my husband and I. He is working like crazy and going to school. I leave the house when he’s gone, I get home and he’s gone. I came home at 1:30 after my workout and meeting and I saw the three dirty pans that he left on the stove, the butter and sriracha he left on the counter and I wanted to cry because I had missed him. The man refuses to use a damn microwave. I make full meals when he’s gone, and put them in pyrex dishes so he can just heat it up when he has the time. He to reheat every component in a different pan, using different utensils. Keeping up with the dishes is a full time job but I don’t care, because it’s him. I love his particularity. He once put a single serving of frozen microwave lasagna in the oven for an hour and insisted it was worth it.

I don’t really feel like being with anybody but him, he’s the only one who really knows me. I force myself anyway because I know I need to. It’s all very codependent. When he is there I feel so full and complete and loved and perfected. When he is gone, the darkness closes me in. I know that God is really trying to get me to count on him and these are just terrible little growing pains. That’s why I force myself. Because I have to give God my effort. My trying and eventually, it will be true.

You see, my husband won’t always be there for me. I know he will be there as much as he possibly can but God is showing me that though he may not be there, God will provide me with friends, and life and fulfillment all ripe for the picking if I am willing to accept it.

I realized Saturday that the single most important thing after breathing in and out is giving my minutes, my hours, my days to the Lord and committed to doing so. I got busy today and I forgot. I pulled into the driveway at 8:15pm, and tried not to get my hopes up that my husband would be home yet because I know not to expect him till 11:30. But I did anyway, then I sat in the car not wanting to go into the big empty house, and trying to figure out why I feel so desperately lonesome when I finally remembered. And I gave my God the pitiful leftovers of my day hoping he could piece something together that made sense in the short time left.

Hey Jude is playing right now on my Pandora, and it was the part where he’s screaming over and over again, better, Better, BETTER, BETTER!!!!!! It made me smile. It was like his promise to me, God’s promise to me. Things will get better, I will get better, Better, BETTER BETTER!





Giving Yourself Away

27 10 2009

When I was a kid, when things would get bad, I would lay in bed and read. In my bed nobody bothered me, I used to pretend that I was somewhere else and just envelope myself in the covers. I was a little bit of a loner.child-looking-out-window

We were the house on the block where the neighbor came over to cut the grass because he said it “brought property values down,” so I was too embarassed to play with the other kids and my mom said we would get stolen. Besides, I was different than them. Sometimes my bed was next to the window that looked out into the street and I would watch them play basketball or hopscotch or ride bikes and wonder how their life got there, and mine was behind the glass, watching them.  I was so jealous.  I would tell myself that maybe I would play when my dad taught me how to ride a bike. When I was thin and fit and could play hopscotch better, or when my dad was home and he could take me to the park to shoot hoops so I could practice and not embarass myself.  I just realized I wrote embarassed twice. I guess I’ve always been a bit embarassed to be me.

To make up for it, I became very personable. In school people liked me. I was generous and funny and charming. I never got made fun of for being chubby or too smart. I was respected. Nobody knew what my house and yard looked like at school. I needed that to make myself feel better. When somebody didn’t like me I was baffled. Didn’t I do everything right? What could I change? How can I appeal to THIS person, what facade can I conjure up? And then do it. I’ve always had lots of different groups of friends, even the bullies were my friends because I made them feel special.

It feels wonderful to be liked by everyone.

It feels terrible to know the you that everyone likes is a lie.

I got help at first because the facade was slipping off. My husband made me feel too comfortable being me and I began to be uncomfortable being that charming wonderful person that people loved. This made me depressed that I was no longer charming and wonderful and made me try harder to be that person, that lie. So I stopped going out as much and just tried EXTRA EXTRA hard when I was out. I really got help because I wanted to keep living a lie. I liked that person I was in front of other people and I wanted to get her back. I wanted to be stronger and better at conjuring up that persona. I didn’t know that it was just going to make me scrape it away and let it all hang out.

So right now. I don’t really think anybody likes me.

I’m a little depressing to talk to. I cry alot. I’m not really trying to keep my chin up or be strong. I would love to say that I don’t give a damn if nobody likes me, but it’s not true. It kills me. I am a popular person. I have always been a popular person in crowds and classes and clubs. But I’m not willing to go there anymore. I don’t want to be liked for being a good actress.

I want to ACTUALLY be a fun person. I want to ACTUALLY be a positive person. I want to ACTUALLY be a loving and caring person. Not just the person who loves and cares when someone is watching or to get you to like me. It is my goal to learn how to step outside of myself and love people. I can’t seem to do that yet. I am still caught up in my appearance and my mess.

One of the motivational speakers at the seminar yesterday kept saying that to find yourself, you’ve got to give yourself away. I have been woefully fantasizing about a sponsor, or a woman of God to take me under her wing and “mother me” . Gently guide me, give me help, give me help. Love me, spend time with me. Care about me.

Do you see a pattern? ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME.

Ick.

We learn in ACOA that we build a protective wall around the “real” us so that no one finds out our inadequacies. This makes us incredibly selfish and self-serving people, unable to step outside of our problems to care about anyone else. We are constantly worried about our own perfection. Realization: the only way I am going to get that relationship that I desire is to step out of “me” and give a damn about someone else.

Ok: Here is my favorite part. The ACTION: I am going to serve my husband. He doesn’t read my blog so he won’t know I’m doing it.

He might suspect when he comes home and the laundry is done. (I’ve been so DEPRESSED…woe is me that I let it pile up and we are in a standoff right now. He’s bought packages of socks and underwear twice!) I want you to hold me accountable. I am going to post before pictures of my bedroom and after pictures. Tonight: I am going to do the laundry and clean our bedroom. It may sound small, and probably everybody is better than me and doesn’t need to motivate themselves with something so completely inane, but I am going to try it. And I’m going to publish this before I change my mind.





Off the Wagon

24 10 2009

Life was going really really really well. I mean, I’ve been really happy in a great mood, grateful toward everything, even the tiniest blessings were getting acknowledged and praised. I have been having some incredibly productive days that begin with scripture and end tired and satisfied. The kind of days that I dream of having. The kind of days that make life worth living. I was a little sick last week, while it stopped me from going to a few meetings and I slept more than my schedule allowed, I was still doing well. I didn’t post on my recovery blog because it didn’t feel like I had anything to recover from. I felt wholeness.

Then Thursday morning, I slept late. Then I got a phone call from a client asking me to withdraw her offer on a house I know is perfect and one-of-a-kind for her. Then I didn’t put the trash out before the garbage truck came. Then I didn’t go to the gym, didn’t go to Alanon, and didn’t shower. Then I ate chips in bed and watched youtube videos. Then my husband came home at 1pm from school after not having slept at all the night before from working on homework and I had the nerve to complain to him about how “dissatisfied” I was. Then I pestered him about whether or not he “loved me” or was “mad at me”. Mostly because I felt like an unloveable lump of crap that I was really really mad at myself.

Then he got this really really sad, frustrated look on his face and said, “You fell off the wagon, huh?”

Nothing mean, or condescending. He walked in the bedroom and began picking clothes up off the bedroom floor to put in the washer. I turned away from him in bed, ashamed. He went downstairs to make himself lunch. I layed in bed. Ashamed and angry, desperately willing myself to change, but not having the strength to even move. I tried to sleep some more but only succeeded in wanting to die.

Then I thought about my husband. How he didn’t get any sleep the night before and had still gone to school.

How he was going to work right after lunch, because he had to pay the bills to keep my depressed and lazy ass in chips to eat in bed, electricity and internet so I can while away the precious days that God has given me in comfort. I was disgusted with myself. What nerve did I have to tell him what a shitty day I was having, when the only thing that was shitty that I had no control over was the client. The rest was all on me, baby.

I would love to tell you that I immediately got up and didn’t waste the rest of the day. That I showered and got dressed and ate well and went to the gym, the office, read my scriptures, cleaned my house. Anything that was productive. That I was so inspired by the thought of my husband working so hard for us, that I just had to get up and get going. That I vowed that minute to do everything in my power to change and never look back.

It’s not true though. I did take a shower, and got dressed in some comfy sweats and went downstairs and kissed my husband and told him that I would get right back on the wagon. That he didn’t have to worry anymore, that things were getting better. That things were GOING to get better. He looked at me with compassion, and said, “I hope so.” Then went back to his sandwich.

Then he went upstairs to take a nap, and I went with him. I slept the rest of the afternoon and into the night. He went to work. He asked me if I would wash some socks. I didn’t even get up to do that. He came home at one AM, exhausted and crawled into bed with me again. He cradled me in his big arms and I wailed, “you shouldn’t hug me. I didn’t wash the socks. ” He said he had been getting them off of the floor and he’d just do that again. I sniffled, “you can have mine tomorrow, they didn’t even touch the ground today.”

“Ok,” he said, holding me tightly.

Sometimes I want him to hit me and scream. It would feel more appropriate. Sometimes I want him to threaten me with leaving and falling out of love, anything to shake me up. But he doesn’t. He holds me and I’m secure and I have no reason for acting the way I do. I was doing so well. What happened?