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

Nostalgia...

Whoever it was that said "Time heals all wounds" was, most definitely, full of shit.  Some wounds, many, most, never fully heal.  Even if they do, in theory, there is most likely some sort of remnant, a scar, that remains forever.  

For some reason, I decided to re-read my high school yearbook today.  I genuinely don't know what made me do it.  It has been here, on my bedroom carpet, amongst a pile of random detritus, for many months, if not years.  It has been quite a while since I last perused it, as I quickly noticed after removing the thick layer of dust that coated its cover.  Reading the comments, some from friends, some from passing acquaintances, some from folks that I hardly knew at all, I was forced to consider who I was back then, as perceived by others and within myself.  I have to state now, once and for all, that those two people were COMPLETELY different.  Well, maybe not completely.  We shared a few characteristics.  We were "smart" as defined by others and standardized testing.  We were "sensitive" and "creative".  However, that is about where the similarities ended.  The "outer" Kari, the one on the surface, was S-H-Y and Q-U-I-E-T.  She, seemingly, had very little to say and on the rare occasions on which she spoke, it was in hushed tones.  However, the "inner" Kari was SCREAMING.  She had SO very much to say but was too afraid to use her voice.  She felt hideous, repulsive, even.  She knew, just KNEW that nobody liked her, that if she disappeared from the planet, no one would give a shit or probably even notice.  Boys, most definitely, did not acknowledge her existence, at least not until nearly the end of school, and then it was, of course, only for platonic reasons.  As for the girls, there were a few, a very few, who saw MOST of her, who knew that she was secretly in possession of a biting wit and very, for lack of a better expression, "deep thoughts."  She had very strong opinions about most everything but very rarely shared them aloud.  To the rest of the girls she was, like to the boys, a nonentity.  Perhaps they gave her a passing glance every now and then when they passed in the halls but she vanished from their thoughts just as quickly.

Now, let me state that this was all how I perceived my situation back then.  I have been told, since, that my perceptions were slightly skewed.  I had an experience in college where one of my former high school classmates, one of the "cool" girls who I barely knew, and I, shared a class.  We got to talking, one day, I don't recall how it began, and somehow we found ourselves discussing said perceptions.  For example, I shared with her the fact that I never attended high school parties for the majority of my high school career, not due to lack of interest but due to the nearly immobilizing fear that I would be ostracized for doing so.  Hell, none of those people "knew me".  I mean, sure, we had all gone to school together for many years, some for 12 years, but aside from knowing my name, they didn't know me or give a shit about my existence.  What she said to me next caught my breath.  She said, and I'm paraphrasing, something to the effect of "Are you kidding?  We would have thought it was so cool if you had shown up."  *THUD*  Now, of course, I'm not sure who the "we" was, to whom she was referring.  It could have been that she was speaking merely for herself.  But, let's be honest, that would have been enough.  If I had felt even the slightest bit of encouragement, I would have loved to have had that experience.  I would have loved to have taken a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and walked into one of said parties, a clean slate, just waiting to see what adventures lied before me.  But, I didn't.  I was paralyzed by fear and their (who is "they" anyway?) imagined perceptions of me.  I remained the "surface" Kari to all who's gaze happened to fall my way.

Now, over twenty years later, I am still paralyzed by fear. Well, I can't exactly say that.  I am writing this, now, and sharing it with all who may be interested.  Perhaps no one is but the important thing is, I am sharing it.  I am not letting my fear keep me from expressing my innermost thoughts, even if they paint me in an unflattering light.  I am still filled with opinions and ideas, still quite amusing, if I do say so myself, and still screaming inside.

I often think about things that have happened in my life, consider what I would change, and I'm going to be honest, it is a LOT!  Some folks say, "I wouldn't change a thing.  If I did, I wouldn't be where I am now."  I don't believe that, though.  I mean, yes, of course, you wouldn't be EXACTLY where you are now, not at this precise moment in time, but I do feel like the important things, the things that define one's soul, the life-altering experiences that make one who one is, would still happen, perhaps on a different schedule, in a modified way, but ultimately, we would end up where we were supposed to be, eventually.  Do I wish I could re-do high school?  Absolutely.  If I knew then what I know now, I would have been far less afraid.  Can I apply those changes to my present self in my present life?  A far more difficult question and one I hope to answer in the days, weeks, months and years to come.  Like all of us, I am a work in progress.  My story will continue and if you care to join me on my journey, I'll gladly save you a seat.

Reading is FUNdamental!

Just for fun and posterity (not everything I post will be dark), here is a list of the books I read in 2011. 41 books, not too shabby, but hoping to do better this year!

Forever Liesl by Charmian Carr

How It Ended by Jay McInerney

A Skating Life by Dorothy Hamill

No Lifeguard on Duty by Janice Dickinson

Hoda by Hota Kotb

After the Fall by Suzanne Somers

Flowers in the Attic by V.C. Andrews (re-read)

Petals on the Wind by V.C. Andrews (re-read)

If There by Thorns by V.C. Andrews (re-read)

The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger

Same Kind of Different as Me by Ron Hall and Denver Moore

Seeds of Yesterday by V.C. Andrews

I Remember Nothing by Nora Ephron

Garden of Shadows by V.C. Andrews

I’ll Scream Later by Marlee Matlin

Here We Go Again by Betty White

Sweet Valley Confidential by Francine Pascal

Untied by Meredith Baxter

If You Ask Me (And of Course You Won’t) by Betty White

All That is Bitter and Sweet by Ashley Judd

Jeanie Out of the Bottle by Barbara Eden

Sisterhood Everlasting by Ann Brashares

The End of Everything by Megan E. Abbott

Transition by Chaz Bono

Bossypants by Tina Fey

Stories I Only Tell My Friends by Rob Lowe

A Stolen Life by Jaycee Dugard

Found by Tatum O’Neal

Happy Chaos by Soleil Moon Frye

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins

I Want by Jane Velez-Mitchell

Kiss Me Like a Stranger by Gene Wilder

Happy Accidents by Jane Lynch

Finding It by Valerie Bertinelli

Seriously…I’m Kidding by Ellen DeGeneres

Shockaholic by Carrie Fisher

Homecoming by Cynthia Voigt (re-read)

Dicey’s Song by Cynthia Voigt (re-read)

Roseannearchy by Roseanne Barr

Just when you think you know someone...

I like to think that I'm not easily surprised anymore. I try not to expect much from people, figuring that way, they can't really disappoint me. A great plan in theory but in practice, not so much. My husband has often said to me that just because someone is your friend doesn't mean they're your BEST friend. He's right, of course, but I still invest too much, emotionally, in each and every friendship I make. If someone gets past my initial guard into the "friendship" zone, I tend to trust too much and believe that I am as important to them as they, sometimes quickly, become to me. I lose sight of the fact that not every friend "gets" me. Not every friend can be relied upon to be there through thick and thin. Friendships grow, evolve and sometimes die and I have to learn not to blame myself for that. Some people can't see past their own lives and feelings to appreciate what others must deal with on a daily basis. Some people get so caught up in their own bliss that they either lose compassion for, or just no longer want to be bothered with, people who don't or can't live in their "happy" bubble. I must try to remember that those people must live with themselves and the choices they make, as must I. If people lose their compassion, that's on them, NOT on me, and I must wish them well on their life's journey as I'd hope they'd wish me on mine. Even if they don't, that's got to be okay, too. I have to learn to focus on the people who do love and care about me, warts and all, and NOT the ones who do not. A tough lesson and a painful one, too, but ultimately, if I learn it, I will become stronger and more powerful. As Dr. Seuss once said, "Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind."

The more things change...

So, it's 1:36 a.m. and I'm lying in bed, wide awake, as per usual, wondering if I am ever destined to escape from the ever-present black cloud above me. It seems impossible that one could be fated to be miserable and hopeless throughout one's entire life, yet here I lie, in the midst of just that situation, for 38 years and counting. Do I realize that other people have crosses to bear? Certainly, I do. Are there other folks in the world who would give their right arm for the basic necessities I currently possess, like a warm bed and a roof, under which, to lie? Of course, I am aware. But sometimes, oftentimes, most times, that is cold comfort. I do not love myself. Hell, I can't even tolerate, let alone like myself, most of the time. The great irony, however, is that I know I am a good person. I try, I really do, to be kind to others. I am loyal and a caring friend to the few true friends I have. I avoid being hurtful or damaging to others if I can possibly help it. Yet despite his, I dwell, more often than not, in a misery that knows no bounds and is seemingly without end and I have no idea why. Is this my fate, to seek happiness and find my search thwarted at every turn? Will I ever find myself not only worthy of joy but actually in it?

One of Those Days

Today is one of those days where I truly feel like I am perched precariously on a balance beam, sanity to my left and complete instability to my right and you can probably guess in which direction I am leaning. Every dog has its day and all that shit, right? Well, I'm still waiting for my day to come. I've been waiting for a year and a half for my day to come. Let's be honest, I've been waiting for thirty-eight years for my day to come. I'm just not sure how much I have left to give. I'm clinically depressed but trying to have a child, so I went off my meds. However, I haven't been able to get pregnant so I could, ostensibly, go back on my meds, yet I can no longer afford to buy them and have no health insurance. The saga continues, the vicious cycle of doom and gloom, and I just don't see an end in sight, now or ever. I keep trying to put one foot in front of the other and not give up that last tiny lingering shred of hope that things can change for us but damn if I can wait much longer.