Holy shit. I just read THIS and every single bit of it blew my mind. Ever stumble across the right thing at exactly the right time?!
For the last week, I have been piecing together my next move and as if my other posts haven't spelled it out...it has been incredibly scary and draining. Being torn as to whether I should stay or go... having to take a long hard look at where I am in my life thus far and judging myself so hard on all the shit I have not accomplished. Wondering if I will ever accomplish anything that is anything at all. It has made my head swim, made me feel totally and completely insecure and inadequate and enveloped me in a thick blanket of self doubt. And goddamn did that piece put into perspective why it is such a struggle.
That first bit about not having found my life niche- that shit has bothered me forever... it seems as though every single fucker I know has some undeniable talent, gift, or passion for something... and I enjoy many parts of that in others... I wrote about this all the way back in 2011 in a post called OPP. Here I am 3 1/2 years later, amidst practically the same struggle... that is where I have my head has been... and then I read this-
"It is in these seemingly unlivable opposites that we are most ourselves.
This is where we question the world around us and the world within us,
and it is only when we question everything that we start to know
anything. Our questions are what shape us. Where our wonder lingers is
where our heart lies."
Sometimes. I forget that I am where I am because of the principles I have for myself, and my present situation is no exception. What I have been struggling with is whether or not I have the energy to fight for what I believe to be right or if I am ready to fold and run. The fact that I am wondering if I have the energy to (essentially) stick up fop myself is laughable. Just because my ego got bruised, does not all mean that I am broken, and I will be goddamned if I go out without a fight. I have worked far too hard to just roll over and submit. That is not how I roll, never has been, never will be... even if I got the wind sucker punched out of my sails for a minute. Of course, that does not mean I know how this will end (and fuck man, I am a great lover of limbo, really). Maybe I will stay, maybe I will go, but either way, I will play this hand all the way through. As she so beautifully puts it-
"This process is slow going, and quite probably never ending. It is imperfect, far from foolproof, and there are no shortcuts."
Maybe we all need that reminder once in a while- I need to take a step back and give myself some mother-fucking-grace. Even if I am uncomnfortable because my core seems to be in juxtopostion at the moment, I need to remember that this is where the real work is done... in the end, it ain't about a paycheck, it's about self... and if I can't be true to me, what the hell is the point?
Fuck, I needed that.
Monday, October 20, 2014
Sunday, October 19, 2014
Castles Made of Sand
I spent the last three-four days working on a post in draft mode. Sometimes I have this overwhelming need to get something out and when I sit down to open the flood gates, only a trickle comes out. Ugh, the old mental constipation-such an uncomfortable and dis-satisfying feeling... So I sat down today to finish what I had started 7 million times over and instead, I deleted the whole damned post. Maybe whatever it was I had been trying to say wasn't what I needed to say at all. Instead here's the dump that came out-
Mental masturbation- the temporary unraveling of the intricate labyrinth woven into the patterns of my mind. Sometimes, I catch it before it frays completely out of control, and other times I entertain it like the itch that refuses to be scratched.... the more I scratch, the more it itches and the more it itches the more I feed the urge to scratch it. Bloody and scabbed, picked, and then bloody again... There is something about that secret self-torture that draws me back time and again. And I know, this ain't no new revelation... it's not as if this is an awakening I am experiencing for the first time, but every fucking time it's so raw that it feels like the first time.
Over the years, I have come to embrace my mental masturbation, I have accepted that I over think constantly, but the wear and tear it takes on my soul is exhaustive at times. This is probably where the extreme introvert in me was born... that need to remove myself from the outside world for periods of time so that I can collect both my thoughts and re-tune my energy. It's weird because while I know it to be necessary, it is not always the most pleasant experience.
Most of my posts are a direct result of said mental masturbation sessions. Sometimes I'll ruminate on something for months before I even realize what (or for that matter why) it is that I my consciousness is hung up on. More often than not, I'll write about it, presume I have worked through whatever it was and move on, only to have the subject resurface weeks, months or even years later... then I go digging in my archive, find the applicable post and expound upon it if necessary.
The most recent theme in my consciousness has been about intimacy. I may as well call it the big I word, because I treat it like the plague. I have been scared of it for a long time, while craving it at the same time. When I wrote Naked a little while back, I mentioned that I had finally come to the realization that I had been running from intimacy... and that I was ready to own that intimacy is in fact what I want. A real and true connection with another, based upon building an authentic relationship. Once I made that admission to myself, it was as if pieces of the old wonderwall began to crumble, like a castle made of sand... and all the skeletons that had been hiding in my fortress came out to play, and what a ride that has turned out to be. Vulnerability scares the ever-loving-shit out of me, but I am convinced that is what my soul has been craving.
I am diabolically opposed at all times on the inside... there is the part of me that allows vulnerability to slip in through the cracks, the part of me that cannot help but love with my whole heart every second, despite the other part of me that stands at the gate, arms crossed, shouting that I am a fool, this never ends well, and happily ever after is for fucking suckers. For years now, I've let that cynic rule my mind and close off my heart. Sure, every once in a great while, my heart wins out for a moment and I will entertain the idea of being vulnerable (but rarely does that translate to the act of me actually following through) most of the time, Tough Bitch swoops in and poisons my mind with self doubt... and usually, I get too tired to fight and let her win.
Not this time though. Falling is Like This is my ode to outing Tough Bitch once and for all, and since writing that, she has tried to make me pay, and I continue to refuse to take the bate. I may not always recognize the traps she sets right away, but I am getting better at not letting her occupy as much real estate in my mind. Not allowing others to treat me like shit seems easy compared to not allowing me to treat myself that way, but I have become aware and ever more vigilant. I have taken to sinking into the awkwardness my mind produces and really exploring it. Becoming comfortable with the uncomfortable... it's tough, but I feel as though that is the only logical next step... this is the epitome of viscerally ruminating, it has only taken me my lifetime to get there. At the end of the day though, I am good with it all. Tough Bitch served her purpose and I do not live in the kind of fantasy where I think she is going anywhere soon...and I am also aware that the girl in the freshly pressed dress is no where close to setting up permanent residence. What I do know is that everyday I am a little closer to embracing the redeeming qualities of them both.
Mental masturbation- the temporary unraveling of the intricate labyrinth woven into the patterns of my mind. Sometimes, I catch it before it frays completely out of control, and other times I entertain it like the itch that refuses to be scratched.... the more I scratch, the more it itches and the more it itches the more I feed the urge to scratch it. Bloody and scabbed, picked, and then bloody again... There is something about that secret self-torture that draws me back time and again. And I know, this ain't no new revelation... it's not as if this is an awakening I am experiencing for the first time, but every fucking time it's so raw that it feels like the first time.
Over the years, I have come to embrace my mental masturbation, I have accepted that I over think constantly, but the wear and tear it takes on my soul is exhaustive at times. This is probably where the extreme introvert in me was born... that need to remove myself from the outside world for periods of time so that I can collect both my thoughts and re-tune my energy. It's weird because while I know it to be necessary, it is not always the most pleasant experience.
Most of my posts are a direct result of said mental masturbation sessions. Sometimes I'll ruminate on something for months before I even realize what (or for that matter why) it is that I my consciousness is hung up on. More often than not, I'll write about it, presume I have worked through whatever it was and move on, only to have the subject resurface weeks, months or even years later... then I go digging in my archive, find the applicable post and expound upon it if necessary.
The most recent theme in my consciousness has been about intimacy. I may as well call it the big I word, because I treat it like the plague. I have been scared of it for a long time, while craving it at the same time. When I wrote Naked a little while back, I mentioned that I had finally come to the realization that I had been running from intimacy... and that I was ready to own that intimacy is in fact what I want. A real and true connection with another, based upon building an authentic relationship. Once I made that admission to myself, it was as if pieces of the old wonderwall began to crumble, like a castle made of sand... and all the skeletons that had been hiding in my fortress came out to play, and what a ride that has turned out to be. Vulnerability scares the ever-loving-shit out of me, but I am convinced that is what my soul has been craving.
I am diabolically opposed at all times on the inside... there is the part of me that allows vulnerability to slip in through the cracks, the part of me that cannot help but love with my whole heart every second, despite the other part of me that stands at the gate, arms crossed, shouting that I am a fool, this never ends well, and happily ever after is for fucking suckers. For years now, I've let that cynic rule my mind and close off my heart. Sure, every once in a great while, my heart wins out for a moment and I will entertain the idea of being vulnerable (but rarely does that translate to the act of me actually following through) most of the time, Tough Bitch swoops in and poisons my mind with self doubt... and usually, I get too tired to fight and let her win.
Not this time though. Falling is Like This is my ode to outing Tough Bitch once and for all, and since writing that, she has tried to make me pay, and I continue to refuse to take the bate. I may not always recognize the traps she sets right away, but I am getting better at not letting her occupy as much real estate in my mind. Not allowing others to treat me like shit seems easy compared to not allowing me to treat myself that way, but I have become aware and ever more vigilant. I have taken to sinking into the awkwardness my mind produces and really exploring it. Becoming comfortable with the uncomfortable... it's tough, but I feel as though that is the only logical next step... this is the epitome of viscerally ruminating, it has only taken me my lifetime to get there. At the end of the day though, I am good with it all. Tough Bitch served her purpose and I do not live in the kind of fantasy where I think she is going anywhere soon...and I am also aware that the girl in the freshly pressed dress is no where close to setting up permanent residence. What I do know is that everyday I am a little closer to embracing the redeeming qualities of them both.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Falling is Like This
Press play
The process of coaxing the Girl in the Freshly Pressed Dress out of the depths of me has been a slow and arduous process. For the last 3 or 4 weeks Tough Bitch and I have been sparing and MOTHER FUCK can that bitch fight. She'll reach right down my throat and rip my fucking heart out, and hold it in front of me, still beating and bloody. Just to prove a fuckin point. She knows I don't fucking want anything to do with her anymore. She knows I am over the games she makes me play with my own damned head. And she ain't goin out without a fight. She's been working over time filling my fucking brain with doubt, and insecurity. She's takes every opportunity to remind me that I am not worth it and never will be. She's wearing me down by making everything visceral as fuck. And I am tired. And I am angry. And that is what she wants.
And just as I begin to wonder if our dueling has scared off the girl in the freshly pressed dress forever, she comes padding out of the darkness... and I am so relieved to see her. I immidieately run up and embrace her. I want to hold her tightly, protect her from the frightening spectacle that tough bitch can put on if she feels remotely threatened. I want to melt into the crisp lines of that freshly pressed dress and dissappear. I want to drink up that raw and unharmed innocence. I want desperately to find a way to make space for her to stay.
But sometimes it seems like that freshly pressed dress, those innocent eyes, that firey hair... it's all just an illusion. Like she is the mirage in the desert hell that Tough Bitch rules, and I will forever be her prisoner. Some days, the venomous bites Tough Bitch inflicts are too much. I feel like I am doomed to that desert forever. Yep, more often than not, I succumb to my own fucking fortress of defenses, and yet again I let the little girl down. I hate that feeling. The fucking sinking feeling that comes after a brief time spent with that little girl and the excruciatingly painful punishment that I allow tough bitch to fucking inflict.
I look at my peers and I wonder how they manage to get through life without totally succumbing to their own tough bitch? How is it that some people just trust (and then seemingly don't get screwed) while others of us are bound so tight in the fortress that is our Wonderwall... I believe it is probably 97% self fulfilling prophecy... I had a conversation today about how girls who date douche bags are just as much to blame as the douche bag themselves... and I gotta say, it is totally true. At the end of the day we all choose how we are going to allow ourselves to be treated... I allow tough bitch to walk right into my soul and rape it... violently and repeatedly. And, by not standing up to her I also send the signal to the girl in the freshly pressed dress that I am not willing to stand up for her. God. Fucking. Damn. It.
If I stop and think about it, and I am truly honest with myself, this has not a god damned thing to do with getting beat down by my defenses... it has to do with not standing up to myself for myself (I feel like I am writing my own pledge). It's time to dissolve the fucking metaphors and stop riding some fucking fence I created in order to not take responsibility for my own shit. I can be happy or miserable... I can be vulnerable or guarded. I can be brave or a coward. I can love me or I can hate me. I can own my beautiful disaster or I can run from it. What I cannot do is play both fucking sides- because doing that- is driving me in-fucking-sane.
The process of coaxing the Girl in the Freshly Pressed Dress out of the depths of me has been a slow and arduous process. For the last 3 or 4 weeks Tough Bitch and I have been sparing and MOTHER FUCK can that bitch fight. She'll reach right down my throat and rip my fucking heart out, and hold it in front of me, still beating and bloody. Just to prove a fuckin point. She knows I don't fucking want anything to do with her anymore. She knows I am over the games she makes me play with my own damned head. And she ain't goin out without a fight. She's been working over time filling my fucking brain with doubt, and insecurity. She's takes every opportunity to remind me that I am not worth it and never will be. She's wearing me down by making everything visceral as fuck. And I am tired. And I am angry. And that is what she wants.
And just as I begin to wonder if our dueling has scared off the girl in the freshly pressed dress forever, she comes padding out of the darkness... and I am so relieved to see her. I immidieately run up and embrace her. I want to hold her tightly, protect her from the frightening spectacle that tough bitch can put on if she feels remotely threatened. I want to melt into the crisp lines of that freshly pressed dress and dissappear. I want to drink up that raw and unharmed innocence. I want desperately to find a way to make space for her to stay.
But sometimes it seems like that freshly pressed dress, those innocent eyes, that firey hair... it's all just an illusion. Like she is the mirage in the desert hell that Tough Bitch rules, and I will forever be her prisoner. Some days, the venomous bites Tough Bitch inflicts are too much. I feel like I am doomed to that desert forever. Yep, more often than not, I succumb to my own fucking fortress of defenses, and yet again I let the little girl down. I hate that feeling. The fucking sinking feeling that comes after a brief time spent with that little girl and the excruciatingly painful punishment that I allow tough bitch to fucking inflict.
I look at my peers and I wonder how they manage to get through life without totally succumbing to their own tough bitch? How is it that some people just trust (and then seemingly don't get screwed) while others of us are bound so tight in the fortress that is our Wonderwall... I believe it is probably 97% self fulfilling prophecy... I had a conversation today about how girls who date douche bags are just as much to blame as the douche bag themselves... and I gotta say, it is totally true. At the end of the day we all choose how we are going to allow ourselves to be treated... I allow tough bitch to walk right into my soul and rape it... violently and repeatedly. And, by not standing up to her I also send the signal to the girl in the freshly pressed dress that I am not willing to stand up for her. God. Fucking. Damn. It.
If I stop and think about it, and I am truly honest with myself, this has not a god damned thing to do with getting beat down by my defenses... it has to do with not standing up to myself for myself (I feel like I am writing my own pledge). It's time to dissolve the fucking metaphors and stop riding some fucking fence I created in order to not take responsibility for my own shit. I can be happy or miserable... I can be vulnerable or guarded. I can be brave or a coward. I can love me or I can hate me. I can own my beautiful disaster or I can run from it. What I cannot do is play both fucking sides- because doing that- is driving me in-fucking-sane.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
She's Alright
Ever come face to face with a personal pattern you were either unaware of or had forgotten about? It's definitely a weird sort of out of body experience to have someone point something out to you and it suddenly become totally illuminated.... So recently I had a couple of friends point out a pattern in me (that I knew was there, but had forgotten about) concerning work...I am a self proclaimed adrenaline junkie, control freak, and workaholic at times. After talking to my friends I dug back in my blog archives and found this post from a few years ago- Adrenaline. Re-reading that was a great reminder of how deeply embedded my patterns are. All of those adrenaline junkie, control freak, workaholic characteristic work pretty well for me in my chosen profession of promotions/event coordination... What those things don't work well with is the fact that I am a fucking crippling introvert. The two are like oil and fucking water!
Sure, I can put on the face, I can turn up the energy when I have too... but not generally for extreme stints of time without a break of some sort to re-charge. I have written about how I am often envious of those of you who can somehow harness your energy from being around other people... goddamn, if I could do that my job (and life, really) would be a piece of cake! But unfortunately, I am on the opposite end of that spectrum... while I can display those extrovert qualities if I need to, it totally drains me. People drain me. No, that doesn't mean I do not like people (although... some days I don't, haha) it just means that in the Olympic sprint that is any given day, I have to find a way to conserve my energy...Sometimes, I just wanna sit in silence. Sometimes I just need to retreat to my cave and recharge... sometimes I just need to be away from people so that I can shut my fucking brain off for 14 seconds and stop over thinking every fucking thought that runs around my mental hamster wheel.
The funniest part about this is that I FORGET ALL OF THIS about me when I am back on the adrenaline junk. In the weeks leading up to an event, I take on every single solitary responsibility possible. I wake every morning (if I am lucky enough to sleep), take that first hit, and I am off to the races so to speak. And I shove that proverbial needle back in my vein 100 times or more in the course of a day. Occasionally, I will find myself clenching my jaw, or notice my heart is pounding right out of my chest, and shit will catch up to me. There are definitely crashes... there are also solitary moments of peace, however few and far between they are...
Yeah, yeah, what's the fuckin point already? The point is that having had my neurotic tendencies pointed out to me, it reminded me that I REALLY need to appreciate those people in my life who have not only recognized this pattern in me, but do everything they can to just support the fucking cyclone that is me before an event. I have friends who check on me in 50 different ways everyday... it's like they have all silently taken on a role in helping keep me afloat in the weeks leading up to events...some help me remember shit, some know what I am thinking and speak it when I am too wound tight to speak, some people anticipate things that need done, some listen, others talk, one friend knows I am an insane insomniac when I am stressed, so she keeps on me about attempting to keep a regular sleep schedule. Another friend knows that I tend not to eat when I am stressed, and constantly (in the sweetest way possible) badgers me about that. Others will just cuddle with me in silence... some people are the huggers, and when it is alllll tooooo overwhelming, I have designated people who will just let me fucking cry and snot it out without judgement.
As always, it comes back to my fucking soul tribe. You all continually remind me that my life is really the best fucking show I will ever attend...this is only one leg of an extensive world tour... and I have the best fucking crew EVER!!!! They say it takes a village, well, I will take my tribe ANY FUCKING DAY. Because without you all, this crazy little introvert would cave in pre-production ;) You all are the most amazing fucking rock stars ever, and I fucking love all of you. Thanks for hanging in there with me, 10 more days, and I will be back to my usual neurotic self :)
Sure, I can put on the face, I can turn up the energy when I have too... but not generally for extreme stints of time without a break of some sort to re-charge. I have written about how I am often envious of those of you who can somehow harness your energy from being around other people... goddamn, if I could do that my job (and life, really) would be a piece of cake! But unfortunately, I am on the opposite end of that spectrum... while I can display those extrovert qualities if I need to, it totally drains me. People drain me. No, that doesn't mean I do not like people (although... some days I don't, haha) it just means that in the Olympic sprint that is any given day, I have to find a way to conserve my energy...Sometimes, I just wanna sit in silence. Sometimes I just need to retreat to my cave and recharge... sometimes I just need to be away from people so that I can shut my fucking brain off for 14 seconds and stop over thinking every fucking thought that runs around my mental hamster wheel.
The funniest part about this is that I FORGET ALL OF THIS about me when I am back on the adrenaline junk. In the weeks leading up to an event, I take on every single solitary responsibility possible. I wake every morning (if I am lucky enough to sleep), take that first hit, and I am off to the races so to speak. And I shove that proverbial needle back in my vein 100 times or more in the course of a day. Occasionally, I will find myself clenching my jaw, or notice my heart is pounding right out of my chest, and shit will catch up to me. There are definitely crashes... there are also solitary moments of peace, however few and far between they are...
Yeah, yeah, what's the fuckin point already? The point is that having had my neurotic tendencies pointed out to me, it reminded me that I REALLY need to appreciate those people in my life who have not only recognized this pattern in me, but do everything they can to just support the fucking cyclone that is me before an event. I have friends who check on me in 50 different ways everyday... it's like they have all silently taken on a role in helping keep me afloat in the weeks leading up to events...some help me remember shit, some know what I am thinking and speak it when I am too wound tight to speak, some people anticipate things that need done, some listen, others talk, one friend knows I am an insane insomniac when I am stressed, so she keeps on me about attempting to keep a regular sleep schedule. Another friend knows that I tend not to eat when I am stressed, and constantly (in the sweetest way possible) badgers me about that. Others will just cuddle with me in silence... some people are the huggers, and when it is alllll tooooo overwhelming, I have designated people who will just let me fucking cry and snot it out without judgement.
As always, it comes back to my fucking soul tribe. You all continually remind me that my life is really the best fucking show I will ever attend...this is only one leg of an extensive world tour... and I have the best fucking crew EVER!!!! They say it takes a village, well, I will take my tribe ANY FUCKING DAY. Because without you all, this crazy little introvert would cave in pre-production ;) You all are the most amazing fucking rock stars ever, and I fucking love all of you. Thanks for hanging in there with me, 10 more days, and I will be back to my usual neurotic self :)
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