Thank You

I could get all philosophical today.  I could delve deeply into the reasons why I am NOT thankful this particular Thanksgiving day.  I could gush endlessly about the things that I AM thankful for.  But for once, I'm going to keep it simple.

Despite all the obstacles life throws in your way, despite the seemingly insurmountable hardships you may face, despite all the advantages or disadvantages you were born with, have acquired or lost or have yet to discover, you cannot control where you began but you can absolutely shape where you're going and where you will end.  I thank you for taking the time to read this, for allowing me to share a small piece of my heart and soul with you and for continuing to return to this place.  People matter above all else and for you, I am truly thankful.

When the World is Running Down

This post was originally written as a tweet but because I wanted it to include fb peeps as well, I'm copying and pasting it here.

Vent time! I know, you couldn't be more thrilled, right? Shaddup! If you follow my angsty ass, you should be used to this by now. Anywho, I just have to say that I have made so many meaningful connections through social media. I'm a facebooker from WAY back but still relatively new to twitter (as in, I've had one for years but never tweeted all that much prior to the past few months). Like all of you, I've encountered my share of trolls, most of whom are now, once again, safely esconsed 'neath their respective bridges (as far as I know. I generally block their asses.).  But the vast majority of souls I've encountered in this crazy electronic metropolis are genuine folks, intelligent, respectful, funny and, my favorite, snark-laden. Though I should be used to this by now, it is still a surprise each and every time I make a new fb or twitter friend.  To some extent, the internet is the great equalizer. You can meet someone, many times having no idea what they look like or where they come from, their financial status, their worst subject in high school, etc., with a completely clean slate. You can share what you want, when you want and with whom you want (or, in my case, overshare) with little fear of judgment or condemnation. Sure, for some, this is an excuse to reinvent oneself with completely bullshit personas but I suspect, for the vast majority, it is a place to reveal one's true self, warts and all, in a relatively "safe" place.  Which brings me to my main point.

Over the past few days, twitter and social media as a whole has been bombarded with the news of the demise of Hostess.  Yes, it sucks, no more Twinkies, but on a larger scale, it also means the loss of 18,500 jobs, including my husband's.  We have done the living on unemployment thing, for two miserable years, and I still cannot believe we are faced with it again. But seeing all the snide, nasty comments, the often uninformed opinions about what Hostess employees, unions, etc. "woulda, coulda, shoulda" done, with no regard for the REAL, non-union Hostess employees who's jobs were eliminated by decisions they had NO part in making, burns my ass to the extreme.  But, again, I'm getting off track.

To those of you who have been SO supportive of me, both during these past few trying days, and before, I thank you with my whole heart. Members of my own family, who I know have read my fb posts about this situation, have chosen to ignore me and many continue to make mean-spirited and heartless jokes.  This is not unusual for my family, who for generations have turned a blind eye to family situations occurring outside of their own four walls, but fuck if it doesn't still hurt like hell.  This is why I am so grateful to my "online" friends (I hate that term, a friend is a friend is a friend, but many of you I do have yet to meet "offline") for providing listening ears, wise counsel, FUNNY jokes, uplifting photos and just plain love and support at a time when I need it so badly. I love each and every one of you and am so very grateful for your kindness.  You are cherished, you are special and you...are...irreplaceable.

Um...yeah...whatever...

At the suggestion of my brilliant friend, Sandy, I have chosen to blog for you, today.  Woo to the hoo, right?

I'm going to cut to the chase.  My husband was laid off today and I am NOT fucking happy about it.  If you're a frequent (or even occasional) reader of this blog, you may be acquainted with our tumultuous past three years. If not, here's a brief recap - in September 2009, right after his 41st birthday, my hubby was laid off.  We spent the next insanely difficult and trying years living on his unemployment, my meager savings, and food stamps.  Quelle fun, I can assure you. Then, in October 2011, just when we were at our wit's end and certain that we would have to return to NY and my mother's house, tails between our legs, he got a job...at Hostess.  For one full year (plus an extra week or two), two college-educated, bright (albeit bi-polar: him, and clinically depressed: me) individuals were "gainfully employed".  Well, that's not entirely true, HE was gainfully employed, I remained, as I do at this very moment, a useless lump on the couch, biding her time, somehow making it through each day without downing a bottle of sleeping pills.  That is, until today.  Today, we woke up to discover that his company of employment, which has been struggling financially for months, was kaput, no more, a done fucking deal.  Which leads me to this conclusion: good things do NOT happen to good people, they happen to lucky people, fortuitous folks, the ones that the hand of fate has chosen to bestow happiness upon.  But...not...us.

I know, things could be far worse.  We are, as far as I know, physically healthy.  We, as of this moment, have a roof over our heads.  We have each other.  But you know what?  Right now, at this very second, that is not enough.  I want my husband to be gainfully employed.  Hell, I want myself to be gainfully employed.  I want to continue to have the health insurance that we so desperately need in order for me to be able to get the therapy that I've been SCREAMING for for more than a decade.  I want a break...not for a year...but for enough time that we, two good souls, can truly pay it forward.  But, alas, how can one pay it forward when they cannot even afford to pay for themselves?

Please note, I am slightly inebriated as I write this.  At this moment, I am safe in my apartment, my husband nearby, unable to harm myself but nevertheless, I am slightly drunk.  If there is ever an appropriate time for such a state, I suspect now is it.

Not sure what the point of this is except to say that to everyone posting things on facebook and twitter about "woe is me, no more twinkies", I suggest you get your heads out of your proverbial asses and realize that the end of Hostess means that 18,500 people, including my husband, are now out of work, less than a week before Thanksgiving.  I suppose unless one has been faced with the trauma of unemployment, one may not know just how devastating, in every sense of the word, this is.  Sadly, it is a situation we are all too familiar with and one I would not wish upon anyone.  Take a moment to reflect on all you have.  Even if it doesn't seem like much, it may be more than your neighbor has, or the lady you pass at the grocery store, ashamed to pay with her EBT card, or the person who unintentionally cuts you off on the highway.  Be thankful for everything you have, however little it may be.  I am.

In the Moment

White is black
and black is white.
Sleep all day
and cry all night.
Gasp for air
though forced to breathe.
Hide that heart
upon your sleeve.
Still not safe
try as you might.
Please do not
give up the fight.

Home

So, I've come to a startling conclusion during the course of the past several weeks.  Actually, what's startling is that it IS startling when it seems like it should have been so obvious for years.  My conclusion is that New York is, was and always will be my home.  I suppose I never really lost sight of that, feeling like a stranger in a strange land for my entire existence in Florida. When we initially moved, in the back of my mind I envisioned it like an experiment, the "away" college experience that was partially stolen from me and partially relinquished of my own free will so many years ago.  It was ALWAYS supposed to be "temporary".  Who would've thunk that temporary would amount to almost eight years?

When my husband and I moved out of New York in December of 2004, we did so for several reasons, not the least of which was the fact that we had spent the past four years living in the house I grew up in with my mother and my verbally abusive alcoholic/addict brother.  Clearly not the best environment for a new relationship (what was I thinking?) and without question, a toxic place to live for all those years.  A trigger event took place that I will probably discuss in depth at some point in the future but suffice it to say, enough was enough.  We were broke but desperate.  We had little birds chirping in our ears for years extolling the many virtues of Florida, not the least of which was that it was FAR less expensive a place to live than New York, and, of course, it was many many miles away from my brother.  SOLD.  We made a trip down in October, quickly found a halfway decent place that we could afford, albeit just barely, and two months later, we moved.

Let me make something clear from the start.  Florida is, as they say, a nice place to visit but I wouldn't (and do NOT) want to live there.  In a perfect world, I could call my husband from New York, where I'm currently visiting, have him pack up all our "useful" shit, which consists primarily of our cat, my books, my photographs and our small cache of electronic devices and have him drive up today, straight to the adorably bohemian and funky apartment we would live in.  (Hell, in a PERFECT world, that apartment would be a HOUSE, but I digress.)  However, my world is FAR from perfect.  I find myself today, still broke, once again in the same house as my mother and still verbally abusive alcoholic/addict brother, revisiting things almost EXACTLY as they were when I left almost eight years ago with one shocking and strangely comforting difference.  The one thing, the ONLY thing that is different now than it was all those years ago is ME.

Three years ago, the last time I saw my brother prior to this visit, was what I hoped would be the last time I heard his familiar drunken refrain of "why don't you just go fucking kill yourself."  But, life being the joyful mess that it is, that turned out not to be the case.  Being the lucky soul that I am, I last heard those very words just three days ago, from the thing that was once my brother, in the midst of his "alleged" first relapse in about five weeks.  (This according to my mother.  I know I've seen him drunk and/or high at least two times prior during my three and a half weeks here.)  I'm not going to lie and say that I was undisturbed by hearing said words. But for what I think was the first time ever, my initial reaction to those words wasn't sorrow or hurt.  They didn't give me pause, I didn't think "yeah, why don't I?"  I found myself filled with rage, disgust and pity.  In the years since I left, nothing...NOTHING has changed for my brother.  Sure, he has "tried" rehab, more times than I can count.  Hell, in the course of his twenty-one year addiction (this counting from the evening when, at fifteen, he confessed to my parents that he "may have a problem with drinking"), I'd say he has "attempted" detox and/or rehab at least twenty times.  But here we are, in October 2012, me in the active process of changing myself and my life, he, apparently satisfied with being a thirty-six year old leech, dependent on my mother for every basic need.  Funny how life turns out.

My mother and I had an arrangement prior to this visit.  The arrangement was that my brother was on waiting lists for several rehab facilities and that when I arrived, he would be gone in no more than four days.  Well, let me back up, that was the MODIFIED arrangement.  When I initially decided to come up here for six weeks, she insisted that he would not be here at all.  Since the last time I saw him in the fall of 2009, I have been up to visit several times but only when he was not here, either in rehab or, most recently, in Miami where she had sent him to spend time with my dad's sister so that she and I could have a peaceful visit.  I refused to submit to his tortures and to allow myself to be subject to his verbal attacks. Therefore, when she informed me that he would be here for no more than four days, I was angry as hell but at that point, my only options were to accept this or call off the entire trip which I was NOT eager to do.  Of course, this being my life, the four day thing flew out the window when, the morning after I arrived, my brother decided to open up to me about his current situation.  He said that he had almost died due to a recent bout with pancreatitis and had now decided that he, in fact, wanted to live.  He gave what was in my mind a rather half-assed apology for all the things he had done to me over the years but hell, it was a start, certainly more than he had ever given me prior.  I cautiously opened the door, ever so slightly, for an eventual reconciliation but, in the short term, for at least a peaceful co-existence.  That, in turn, provided my mother, the classic enabler, with more than enough ammunition to immediately cease her search for a program for him and an open door to the far more pleasant option of the fairy tale family reunited, her two children both home and safe and speaking again.  Oh, happy day.  Of course, at this point, I was still under the misguided delusion that he would still, in fact, be out in no more than four days.  It turns out, as I learned ONLY when I asked, the facilities (including outpatient day treatment) had all supposedly refused my brother admission due to his new medical condition.  Let me make this perfectly clear...I do NOT buy this for a minute.  I cannot believe that not one legitimate rehab facility would admit a client due to the fact that they have a pre-existing medical condition.  I challenge you to show me one twenty-one year active alcoholic/addict who does NOT have a medical condition as a result of their addictions.  But, this is the story my mother has chosen to give me and I, again, have no choice but to accept it or leave.

Fast forward (okay, maybe not so fast) to today.  My mother was in contact with another facility over the weekend (where they, apparently, admit NO clients on Saturday or Sunday) and after a series of phone calls, they have agreed to admit my brother tomorrow morning.  NOT what she promised me.  Hell, I don't think I've EVER gotten anything that she's promised me, but I guess it will have to do.  Do I think that this facility will be able to help him?  Absolutely NOT.  This is not a comment on the treatment center but on my general attitude towards my brother. Addicts and alcoholics CAN achieve clean and sober lives.  It is a daily struggle but I've seen it done, countless times.  The problem is, they WANT to change.  For whatever reason, they hit their "bottom" and make a conscious decision to change their lives, to fight like hell, at any cost, to remain clean and sober.  My brother, in my humble opinion, has NO desire to change.  For him, rehab is a temporary escape from the blandness of his usual existence.  It is something he does to get someone ("someone" being my mother) off his back.  She goes back into her hopeful stance of "maybe this time it'll work" and I observe cynically from the sidelines.  Do I want him to be sober?  Of course.  Do I ever believe it will happen?  Not remotely.  In his life, alcoholism and addiction have no consequences.  He knows that he has nothing to lose. This is not simply because he HAS virtually nothing but also because the things he needs to survive: a roof over his head, clothing, food, water, money for "whatever", will always be eagerly provided by his mommy.  It makes me physically sick but I realize now, after countless years of screaming, yelling, crying, pleading, rationally explaining and beating my head against the wall that I can't change him and I can't change her but I can change myself.  I am doing it and will continue to for the rest of my life.  I no longer feel powerless, hopeless or useless.  Certainly there are circumstances beyond my control but I will ALWAYS have a choice as to how I deal with them.  That is a very powerful thing.

I had such a different intent when I started writing today.  This was supposed to be about how New York is "home" and Florida is not but it has become much more about what "home" really means.  My current home in in Florida, with my husband and my cat.  My present location is my original home, the place I lived for the first thirty-one years of my life. Eventually, my home will once again be the state of New York but someplace different than I've ever lived before. Home is the place where I live but home is also the place within myself where I feel all is most right. Home can be anyplace I want it to be.  Wow, what an amazing concept! The home where I began, feeling worthless, useless and hopeless, like so much shit, is a mere memory.  Even as I sit here, looking around at the familiar environment, I realize that I have grown above, beyond and past this place.  It is filled with countless memories, good, bad and everything in between, but it does not define me.  It is where I began but not where I will end.

Let Go

How do you know when it's time to let go?  A difficult question for anyone, I'm sure, but an especially difficult one for me.  Though I've quit on myself, all too many times, it takes a lot for me to give up on somebody else.  I constantly make excuses for the bad behavior of others, cutting them WAY more slack than I'd ever give myself, and allow people to treat me with disrespect and, at times, complete disregard.  Why is is that even though I know I deserve better, I continue to allow others to make me feel "less than?"

I watched the movie The Perks of Being a Wallflower on Friday and as was the case when I read the book several months ago, the quote that resonated with me more than any other was this, "We accept the love we think we deserve."  Now, mind you, I have several people in my life who treat me with kindness, respect and genuine care and show me love beyond what I have ever felt worthy of.  I am grateful beyond words for these people. However, there are others who I have placed my faith in and, as I discussed in my previous post, have chosen to retreat, for no apparent reason. Perhaps their initial intention was to be a person that mattered in my life and for me to be a person that mattered in theirs. Perhaps, despite their current behavior, that is STILL their intention. But, in the meantime, they are causing me tremendous pain and damaging me more than I can express.  Maybe this is just how some people are, here today, gone tomorrow, maybe back again in six months, maybe never to return.  Maybe I just never mattered to them at all.  Maybe, despite their vow to embrace honesty and candor, when faced with a genuine connection, something more than a superficial relationship, they find themselves paralyzed by fear and left with what they perceive as no choice but to run for the hills.

I find it interesting when people do not, or cannot, practice what they preach.  I find it even more interesting that even when I recognize this in others, I am still, more often than not, willing to give them chance after chance, wanting so badly to be appreciated, loved and respected, that I delude myself into seeing things that aren't there.  But, then again, perhaps they ARE there and the other person just doesn't have the courage to face them.  Herein lies my dilemma. When do I say when?

In my humble opinion, there is no more brave (or more crazy) thing a human being can do than expose themselves, emotionally, to another person.  Whether it is with a family member or a lover, a friend they have known for ten minutes or ten years, when it comes to being vulnerable, the risk is enormous, the payoff, equally so, and the potential for devastation, huge and constantly looming.  So why is it that we, that I, continue to take that chance?  And why is the end result, so often, heartbreak?

Hypocrisy is something that I find VERY difficult to tolerate.  If you commit to being honest with someone, that is not a temporary or conditional thing.  Sure, everyone tells the occasional "white lie" but when it comes to the things that really matter, the care and protection of someone's heart and soul, there is no room for ANYTHING but the truth.  People are precious, people who have placed their trust in you, even more so.  It is NEVER okay to retreat, with no explanation, from the life of someone who cares about you.  If you needs space, time to think, to breathe, just fucking say so.  If you are afraid because things have suddenly gotten more "real" than you are ready to face, be honest about that, too.  If you find, for whatever reason, that you need to take a step back, either temporarily or permanently, you HAVE to say so.  It is never, EVER okay to simply ignore someone who has opened their heart to you. Sometimes, just the tiniest acknowledgment, even if it's just to say, "This is too much for me to deal with right now but that doesn't mean I don't care," can make a world of difference to someone.  As devastating as it is to hear bad news, in the long run, it's always better to know the truth than to be disregarded.  Nothing, NOTHING is worse than being ignored by someone you care about.

This brings me back to my original question. How do you know when it's time to let go?  I guess if enough time passes and the person who once seemed to care about you refuses to acknowledge your existence or extend you the common courtesy they would show someone they have known for one hot minute, that is probably a good sign that it's time to let go.  Despite how wonderful, special and validated someone has made you feel in the past, if they now make you feel like less than a piece of shit stuck to the bottom of their shoe, it is time to let go.  No matter how many gifts they may have given you, however unintentional that may have been, if they now make you feel like less than nothing, it is time to let go.

I guess I answered my own question, didn't I? The truly tragic fact is that I do know WHEN to let go, I just don't know HOW.  For someone as pessimistic as I am, I want, so badly, for this black cloud to have a silver lining.  Despite all the evidence to the contrary, I want to believe, with all my heart, that this person does still care about me.  I've been down this road before and in my experience, it has never ended well.  You would think that eventually it would be easier to face but it really isn't.  It hurts beyond words each and every time.  Actually, I think that each subsequent time it happens, it hurts MORE because I am older, allegedly wiser, and yet still stupid enough to misplace trust time and time again. Why, oh why, can't someone ever prove me wrong?

The More Things Change...

It's amazing how one can make a mistake, learn one's lesson, then continue to make the same mistake, over and over again. And of course by "one," I'm referring to me.

For as long as I can remember, I have been extremely sensitive, overly sensitive in fact. Even as young as age six or seven, one perceived stink eye, one offhanded comment, could send me into a tailspin of tears and rage and self-loathing. All these years later, despite my best intentions, that has not changed. As much as I'd like to think that I've learned a bit over the years, I really haven't learned a fucking thing. I try to portray myself as someone behind a thick high wall, motivated by self-preservation, only trusting my heart and soul to a select few. I want to believe that I am an excellent judge of character, that I only open myself up to those who are truly worthy of my time and attention. Hell, only a fool would expose themselves to just anyone, right? After nearly forty years on the planet, I have to have developed some sense of who I should trust and who I shouldn't. I must have crafted a finely-tuned bullshit detector. With all the betrayals I've had to face, surely I would have the good sense to go by more than gut instinct when determining who really cares about me and have learned not to set myself up for heartbreak. What kind of fucking moron continues to trust and have her heart broken, time and time again? That would be me.

The longer I'm alive, the less interest I have in trusting anyone. Did you buy that? Fuck, me either. The really sad and sorry fact is that I want to trust, more than anything, even though I know I shouldn't. I want to believe the best in people, that no one would ever INTENTIONALLY cause me pain, especially when I try, with all my might, not to harm others. I know all too well the pain of being betrayed, tossed aside and disregarded. I consider myself, perhaps above all else, a "broken" person and it seems that the people I feel most drawn to are also "broken." Therefore, you'd think that they would be the LAST people to hurt me, they themselves knowing just how fucking devastating it is to be hurt. Yet, time and time again, I find myself being ignored and thrown away, just so much garbage, rendered utterly useless and worthless. I want to take the "enlightened" point of view, to believe that it's "their loss" and that I am better off without them but the fact is, I do not and probably never will believe that. It is far too easy to blame myself, to imagine and re-imagine scenarios in which I must have done something, anything, wrong. I can't possibly keep getting hurt if it isn't somehow my fault. No one can be that unlucky, not even me.

So, once again, I find myself at a crossroads. Do I try to rebuild the wall, this time for real, and shut myself off from new people and experiences or do I continue to follow my heart and trust in people who I truly believe are worth it? I suppose there must be some middle ground, the area in which I so infrequently tread. The answer seems so obvious - let people in gradually, over time, if they seem like they can be trusted. But therein lies the rub. I never know how much is too much. What seems to be a perfectly acceptable level of sharing to me may be deemed far too much to someone else. And what happens when the rules change, when what is initially perceived as "appropriate" suddenly becomes "over the line", seemingly out of nowhere? Ultimately, I have to be true to no one but myself. But right now, at this very moment, my heart is broken, yet again, and right or wrong, I find it hard to blame anyone but me.

UPDATE:  So, after about an hour and a nice long chat with my husband, I've come to a different conclusion.  The fact of the matter is, I CANNOT blame myself, for this or any other incidence of being "tossed aside," "forgotten," "disregarded" or "ignored."  Wearing my heart on my sleeve, trusting and loving others, is NOT a character defect.  Sure, I've probably trusted and loved the wrong people on occasion but the act of doing those things is not, in and of itself, wrong.

I am one hell of a person.  You will NEVER meet someone more loyal to her friends or more willing to give, in every way, to help someone she loves.  This, too, is not a character flaw but something to be commended and appreciated.  I know that I have many acquaintances and some true friends who recognize and value these qualities in me. Those who do not, well, quite frankly, it IS their loss.

I never say never.  Sure, I may pull doors partway shut but I never close them completely.  Everyone has the potential to grow and change. Everyone is on his or her own journey and has his or her own lessons to learn along the way.  Some of those lessons may be to appreciate the love and support of others when it is given, to recognize that letting others help you does not make you weak but makes you STRONG and that being completely independent isn't always brave and can sometimes be the most cowardly way of coping.  It is not my job, or my intention, to judge.  Believe me, I will never EVER examine another human being under a more precise and damning microscope than I do myself.  I guess what it boils down to is this:  I am valuable, I am important and despite the hiccups along the way, I will, ultimately, find people who understand me and can relate to me on the precise level I desire.  I, as does everyone, deserve nothing less.