I Just Can't Stop

So, you may be wondering what's gotten me so hot and bothered about writing, lately.  I mean sure, in the past I've written sporadically and given you a glimpse at what's inside me but for the past few days, it's like I have this ferocious passion to strip away my defenses and share what makes me who I am.  There is a very specific reason for this, a clearly definable catalyst and that is the brilliant book GUTS - The Endless Follies and Tiny Triumphs of a Giant Disaster and its remarkable author, Kristen Johnston.

First off, GUTS is one of the most powerful pieces of writing I have ever encountered.  It resonates with me on SO many levels and, in many ways, it captures the essence of who I was, who I am and who I wish to become.  I don't want to reveal too much about the book because, truly, I believe you should read it and discover its raw beauty for yourself but trust me, you will laugh, you will cry and, quite possibly, you will come away a changed person, as I have.

In short, GUTS captures one woman's journey of self-discovery, addiction, near-death and recovery but it is OH so much more than that.  Having never suffered from an addiction to drugs or alcohol (but having a family member who does), it was not that aspect that I could identify with though, as Kristen says, "Everyone is addicted to something."  It was not just her depression that I could relate to though, as I've said many times before, it is a battle I have fought my entire life.  It is not our shared love of lip balm, true crime, profanity and biting wit that enraptured me, though all of these things certainly helped.  No, what I think effected me most is Kristen's brutal honesty and fearlessness. This is a woman who did not have to tell her story, she wanted to, not with any agenda in mind beyond sharing her truth and maybe, just maybe, inspiring others along the way. She has done that and so much more. I feel like, for the first time in my life, I can come out from behind the curtain of shame that has kept me hidden for so long. I can know, deep in my heart, that sharing MY story can only do me good and if, in the process, I can touch someone else's life, all the better. It is my sincere wish that everyone will read this book and take away from it all that I have.

It is my great honor to have this book, and Kristen, in my life. The lessons I have learned, and am still learning, are ones I cherish. I feel like, for the first time in my life, just who I am is good enough. Sure, I want to continue to grow and evolve. My work is only just beginning. But having this book as a tool and this remarkable friend in my life, wow. It's one hell of a start.

Say, You're Pretty...Pretty Ugly

Okay, here's a little tale from long, long ago. It happened around the time I was eleven and, to this day, helps shape my self-image and beliefs about beauty. I had a crush, my very first, on someone other than John Stamos or various members of Duran Duran (not Roger and never Andy. Sorry dudes, you just weren't my type.) It was powerful and scary and something I ONLY confided in my very best friend at the time who happened to be three years older than me and clearly MUCH more sophisticated and worldly about such things. Anyway, I thought he was just the cutest thing ever and my friend found the whole thing entirely too adorable and was bound and determined to find out if he liked me, too. I insisted that she keep her trap shut, thank you very much, I had NO intention of sharing these thoughts with ANYONE but her and knew that I was in no way capable of handling the crushing blow that would, most certainly, be the result of her inquiry. Some time later, this boy decided, perhaps on his own, perhaps due to some of my "friend's" machinations, to bestow upon me a most lovely moniker, one that I clearly recall to this very day. Are you ready for it? Seriously, you'll just LOVE it, I know I sure did. He began to refer to me as...The Plop From Pluto. Couldn't you just die? Actually, I wanted to. If there was anything my fragile little psyche needed at such a formative time in my life it was a DELIGHTFUL little nickname like that, especially from the boy I had, until that point, thought was the absolute bees knees. *THUD* Yes, that's what it sounds like when your heart drops, just before it shatters. For an indeterminate amount of time after that, when he addressed me, if he addressed me at all, it was as The Plop From Pluto and I died a little more inside each time. For some godforsaken reason, somewhere down the line, my aforementioned friend decided to talk to him about this and ask him, I'm paraphrasing, if he really thought I was THAT ugly. His response, allegedly, was that I was "kind of pretty." This according to my friend who may or may not have been trying to spare my feelings (too late for that, sister) and soften the blow that had been dealt to me, time and time again, for months, at the very least. Now, maybe he did think I was "kind of pretty" and was just doing that crazy boy thing of being meanest to the girl he liked the most, maybe not. But the fact of the matter is, what I have always held on to is the feeling that I am, indeed, The Plop From Pluto, beyond repulsive and certainly, without question, not worthy of being liked or, dare I say, loved. Clearly, this happened a long time ago. I have since been told I am "pretty, cute, beautiful" even, at one point, "the most beautiful thing I have ever seen" but I'll tell you, even now, it is SO much easier to believe that I am disgusting, hideous and wretched than any of those good things. I have said that everyone is born beautiful and it is one's actions (or inaction) over time that enhance or diminish one's beauty but, I'm being perfectly honest here, that applies to everyone BUT me. Still, I feel passably decent-looking today. I took the time to put on a fucking DRESS (I know, right?) for no apparent reason, which I NEVER do and even shot a few self-portraits in my bathroom to commemorate the event. I think the reason I feel this way today is, as people have tried to tell me for YEARS, that beauty really does come from within and I kind of like myself today.  When I like myself, even if it's just for a passing moment (usually) or maybe even a whole day (stay tuned), I feel less than disgusting, slightly cute and maybe, just maybe, a little bit beautiful.

By the way, in case you're wondering, I would still like to kick that boy square in the balls, if he has any, just cause.

Finding My Voice

"Sometimes, I hear my voice and its been here, silent all these years." - Tori Amos

So, certain events have transpired over the past few days that have been my impetus to write again. Not about superficial things. Well, okay, maybe sometimes about superficial things but primarily about what's currently in my mind and heart and, I suspect, often about what USED to be in my mind and heart (and maybe still is today) that has helped shape me into the ball of angst and dysfunction I am now. I would like to share the good, the bad and the ugly, with all who want to listen even if no one thinks they want to hear it. Maybe they will someday, maybe not, and that's okay too because ultimately, this blog is for me, to give me a place to clear my head, reflect on the events of my so-called life and try to begin the arduous journey from who I am to who I want to be. It won't be pretty but life isn't pretty. Off we go.

You Never Know

Sometimes, usually when you least expect it, life throws you for a loop. Generally, at least in my experience, this is NOT a good thing. However, once in a great while, even when you feel most unworthy, you find yourself the recipient of a sweet surprise - something far greater than you probably deserve but nonetheless, there it is, this remarkable gift, so much greater than you could have imagined. Sometimes, this gift comes in the form of a person, a new friend, someone who seemingly knows you, can see inside you, without even knowing you at all. I cannot overstate how powerful an experience this can be. I am in the midst of one right now and, honestly, at this moment, on this day, it is enough, more than enough, to keep me going, even if only for one more day. I am humbled and so grateful.

Talking to the Wall

Sometimes, most times, I feel like what I post here on this blog and what I actually say aloud in the world falls on deaf ears. I think that I've been silently screaming for most of my life and now I want those screams to be heard. Alas, who enjoys listening to screaming? Thus, my dilemma. How do I find my voice, share appropriately or, should I say, in a user-friendly way, and still manage to be heard? Is what I have to say even of value, to anyone, even myself? I'd like to think so. I'd like to believe that I have something worthwhile to contribute to the world, although, in 39 years, I have yet to figure out what that might be. I want to leave something behind when I go, something of substance, something that truly matters to someone, to anyone. It is so hard, merely existing, never truly living, so paralyzed by fear and shame.

Dichotomy

I think too much.  It seems like, as a general rule, most people lead with either their head or their heart but, of course, I have to be different and lead with both, often at the same time, and usually when they are in direct conflict with each other.  I am, and have always been, a person with a great many thoughts and ideas but rarely in possession of the courage to share them.  I am in an almost constant state of turmoil and I find it very hard to trust my own judgment.  I'm a walking contradiction.  I trust, truly trust, almost no one, yet I open my heart and spill my guts on this blog, on facebook, through my poetry.  Why am I this way?  Part of me says, "shut the fuck up, Kari.  Opening your mouth, and your heart, only leads to misery and pain."  Then, the other part says, "for most of your thirty-nine years, you have lived in shadows, afraid to share what is in your mind and heart, constantly berating yourself for being so afraid.  Now is the time to share what is inside you, regardless of what anybody else thinks."  But, therein lies the problem.  I do care what people think.  I care what EVERYBODY thinks, even though I know I shouldn't.  I let people hurt me constantly.  Everyone's opinion matters.  I can feel fan-fucking-tastic (well, theoretically.  In reality, that doesn't happen often) one minute and then, a perceived "stink eye" from a complete stranger, what may just be an off-handed remark having nothing to do with me, can set me into a tailspin and break my heart.  Why am I like this?  Why do I let others dictate my self-worth?  Maybe that's the wrong question.   My husband tells me all the time, "People love you.  They care.  They show you this in words and actions.  Why don't you believe it?"  That is a question to which I have no answer.  I've been analyzing things more than usual for the past few days, for reasons I don't care to mention, but what I'm starting to believe and understand is that I can't believe it because I don't think I deserve it.  I try my best to be a good person, however one defines that.  I put others above myself, always.  But, in my heart, I feel like I am unworthy.  If I'm not, why am I always, ALWAYS, unhappy?  Sure, I have fleeting moments of joy but, at the core, I am always unhappy.  I have clinical depression.  I am currently not medicated.  That is certainly a big part of it.  But really, why do I have clinical depression?  Why can't I get a handle on things the way I wish I could?  What it seems to come back to, for me, is that I must deserve it.  I must deserve depression, deserve dissatisfaction, deserve pain.  I don't know why.  People tell me that they don't believe this to be true but I do.  How can one person feel so trapped in sadness on a near-constant basis unless they deserve to be sad?  Is there a "big lesson" that I have yet to learn?  I know that I am better off than some.  I am in reasonably good health, I have all my limbs, I am not homeless, I have family and friends who love me.  Why can't these things be enough?  Why can't I, for even a minute, just take a breath and say, "everything is okay.  It's not perfect, but it's okay" and truly believe it?

Betrayed

Long and thin
Pulsing green
With life
I take you in my hand
Gently at first
Then suddenly
Squeeze with
Great vigor
With power
With all I have left
Your only defenses
Pierce my skin
Blood rushing
A brief distraction
From the far greater pain
Residing in my heart
I take your petals
One by one
Tearing them from you
Watching them fall
Not questioning
If He loves me
For I already know
He loves me not
 -Kari Murphy 5-28-12