ADHD Skeletons in the Closet | ADDitude Adult ADHD Blog

"What's life with adult ADHD like? Well for starters, my mind is like a 250-pound woman who is sluggish and needs to shed the weight. 


At the end of the day, I feel like no one would want a woman with attention deficit disorder, whose thoughts and interests drift...


The truth is that I am scared shitless about someone seeing through the shield."

Incubus - DIG

Watch This Video
We all have a weakness
Some of ours are easier to identify
Look me in the eye
And ask for forgiveness
We'll make a pact to never speak
That word again, yes, you are my friend
We all have something that digs at us
At least we dig each other
So when weakness turns my ego up
I know you'll count on the me from yesterday

We all have a sickness
That cleverly attaches and multiplies
No matter how we try
We all have someone that digs at us
At least we dig each other
So when sickness turns my ego up
I know you'll act as a clever medicine

If I turn into another
Dig me up from under what is covering
The better part of me
Sing this song
Remind me that we'll always have each other
When everything else is gone
Oh, each other when everything else is gone



//everything else is gone. it's been years and years since someone made me feel, since someone made me come alive. now i have to turn my back on that. you wonder why i can't give up. because i won't let my life pass me by.//

Oh Who Am I Kidding ?

I can pretend that I'm above it and past it but really, who am I kidding? 
This sucks.
Once you enter a realm with someone where feelings begin to surface, you can't go backwards.

I have to accept that the pain is there. If I ignore it, it'll only rear it's ugly head at some later and inconvenient date. Moving on sounds great, but I'm just not feeling it yet. I hate feeling like this, but I guess pain and I are buddies right now.

Moving Right Along...

I think it's time for me to embrace a reality about myself and that is that there will be no "relationship" for a long, long time. Not with anyone. Putting all your eggs into one basket like that is just setting yourself up for the inevitable fall, because another person will always disappoint you no matter what. I'm keeping all my eggs to myself.

There are so many things in my life that need attention. Trying to breathe life into something that's dead is really not something I need to be doing right now. Better that I focus on the rest of my life and not get bogged down by bullshit. With that in mind, I also realize there are things to look forward to, relationships that were put on hold while I experienced this mess.  Hooah will be home from Cuba in a few weeks;  B. will be home from Afghanistan soon. Knowing that was upcoming, what was I thinking? What was I doing? What exactly was I hoping to accomplish? I don't really know. I got knocked off my horse, that's for sure. I didn't expect to, wasn't expecting to feel the way I felt. There is still that fire for him, only now it's anger. The key to putting out that fire for him will be when I can experience indifference.

Love Proceeds

You sit there silently watching the fits and starts of my sadness and anger, watch it bleeding from me, while slowly unraveling my dignity. My outbursts are like the death throes of a dying monster, whatever I've become in trying to keep you near me. You watch as I succumb to the worst parts of myself, just as your presence once summoned the best of me. Now I struggle to control my demons with self-discipline, struggle for the strength to stop hurting. I try to resist the urge to let pain make me close my heart, although keeping it open has had so many consequences. But I refuse to allow the ignorant world to make me bitter, to make me hard and cold. I proceed, unabashed, into every adventure of the heart because I know that once my heart is moved, I listen to its truths. I stand firm in who I am and who I choose to love. I won't let your shifting sands undermine my feelings nor will I let the pain and anger drown me. What you see in my angry words and bizarre actions is the remnant of a dying wicked spirit, a damaged and evil heart. They say there's no rest for the wicked and this I can tell you is true. I've spent the past year enveloped in my own worst impulses and I sit crumpled on the floor exhausted, weary and without promise of rest, unless I drive myself into my grave. 

I know that I am better than that, I know that this is the final blow. No more can I proceed by taking someone else down with me. It's time that I moved on. 

I'll try to collect myself as best I can, with the embarrassment of the rotten things I've said hanging off me like a scarlet A. I'll pull myself together and take one step today, never regretting the intensity of my feelings, only regretting that they were not respected. I am a woman of deep passion and love without boundaries, who is learning self-control. Your silence has taught me acceptance; let my heart teach you to love. I have faith that you will recover and find that strong man buried in you, the one who is not afraid of love's power. Regardless of whether I ever meet that man again, I know he is you. Remember when I showed you the best of me, because I know that woman intimately, and she is who I'm to become. 

Criminal

Sometimes a song pops into your head or comes on the radio unbidden and it seems to fit your circumstances at that moment in time so well that its almost scary. Fiona Apple's "Criminal" came on the car radio today while I was driving. It's been years since I've heard it and I couldn't remember at first who sang it or what it was called. But as I listened to the words, I almost careened off the DC Beltway. I was a good Catholic girl, so I know somehow, someway, I'm guilty, this is my fault, this is something I did and I need to be redeemed in some way, though what that is I might never know. 

Let the flogging begin......


Criminal

I've been a bad, bad girl,
I've been careless with a delicate man.
Don't you tell me to deny it,
I've done wrong and I want to
Suffer for my sins.
What I need is a good defense
cause Im feelin like a criminal.
And I need to be redeemed
To the one I sinned against
Because he was all I ever knew of love.
I know tomorrow
brings the consequence at hand.
But I keep livin' this day like
The next will never come.
I've got to cleanse myself.
Until I'm good enough for him.
Ive got a lot to lose and I'm
Bettin' high
So I'm beggin' you before it ends
Just tell me where to begin.
Ive got to make a play
To make my lover stay
So, what would an angel say? 
Cause the devil wants to know.
OH, I need to be redeemed
To the one I sinned against
Because he was all I ever knew of love.

When I Was in the Right Place

He arouses my every desire just by stroking a finger down my arm. With him I knew I was in the right place.
He deepens my passion by whispering just the right words in my ear. With him I knew I was in the right place.

He stirs the butterflies in my chest with merely one word. With him I knew I was in the right place.
He causes the heat to rise to my face by using his eyes to look right through me. With him I knew I was in the right place.
He is that special someone who causes me, body, mind and soul to ignite at the mere thought of him. His words, ideas, his mind, feed me in ways no one ever has. No one has filled this need before and there is no one else I want.   My mind and soul want no other, my body cringes at the thought of another's touch. He brings me to the brink just thinking of his kiss. 

When I was with him, I know I was in the right place.

You are everything

You are everything
that takes my breath away
body, mind, soul.
What I see in you
makes me a better person
just for knowing you.

I want so much to be in your arms,

in your bed,

in your life.

What must I do,

who must I be,

to make that a certainty

Where Sex and Love Collide

I've always liked to write. I recently found the little poem below, written when I was 18 years old. Seems as though I had some issues confusing sex and love - feeling close to someone and mistaking it for a feeling of love. Guess it's fortunate I've had 22 years to ruminate on this. 


At this point in my life, I have a lot of experience to draw on, experiences that span a large range of emotions and physical feelings. I've learned that there are different shades of love, that love is not all or nothing, that love is not always perfect the way "they" tell you it is. You can love someone to the point that it bursts your heart wide open and that may still not be enough.

I've learned that love is not just an emotion, it's an attitude and an action. It's something that you do every day, not just when the mood hits you. It's a promise, a certitude, which is why when it's broken it is so hard to get back. LOVE in that sense, is exclusive. 

I have had feelings of affection for people, loving feelings which in turn have elicited a loving attitude, loving gestures and overtures which then become a commitment. That commitment is that I care about you and I am here for you unless something happens that we agree otherwise. We all have these loving feelings for our friends, our families, children, even our pets. They are different shades of love because they don't involve sex or sexual feelings and they don't indicate familial responsibility like a husband and wife. But they are all love.

The feeling of raw lust is a powerful drive that sets us on fire. When combined with feelings of love, there is nothing that can match it! But sex has nothing to do with love other than that they oftentimes coincide.  For me, that has not happened often, those feelings of genuine love AND forceful sexual attraction. I have felt powerfully pulled to have sex with someone, genuinely lost in lust, drowning in the physicality of it, with no love at all. The point is, giving in to the power of sex can be intoxicating, but it is not love. Sex is an action to be sure, but it's not the sustained action of love. Sex may overtake your mind, it may drown your body and make you ache for more, but that is called lust, not love. You can make a choice to not act on lust, but it is almost impossible to not act on love. The burning of lust fades quickly, like fireworks, where the burning of love sustains even the most horrendous, painful and horrifying events. You would not walk to the ends of the earth for someone because you want to fuck them; but when you love them, you would endure all manner of insults to your body, mind and soul. 

No Peace

She finds no peace in sleeping

She finds no peace awake

The only peace she finds

Is in every move he makes

The feeling of his body

Is committed to her mind

But the movement of his body

Is the only peace she finds.

If his body movement falters

She knows she still will need him

But at this moment

for the sake of peace

She's content to be beneath him

Joining with his rhythm

Pulsating as he moves

Finally she's satisfied

Her peace has turned to love.  

War Crimes Against the Family

From a journal I kept in 2004-2005 when my husband was deployed to Iraq. He did return safely, however, he is now my ex-husband. 


Early morning, we wake, dawn yet to break and the birds still silent. The baby is not yet ready to be fed but I wake her anyway and take her to my breast. She's sleepy but still finds her way. Around the house, I hear the sounds of someone preparing to leave, of drawers being checked, of zippers closing suitcases. I hear his combat boots pacing impatiently outside the closed door to the baby's room; he is waiting for us but I can't make the baby eat any faster.
"Daddy, are you leaving today?"
The sound of my 6 year old son's sleepy question turns my blood to ice. He knows today Daddy is leaving for war, he knows it is not safe, he understands Daddy will be gone for a long time.
Baby Nicole is finished quickly as if she knows something is amiss. However, she sits upright too fast and promptly throws up all over me. A quick change for both of us and we are ready to go. No one is in the mood to make jokes.
Before leaving the house, he wants me to find him a scarf or bandanna or something to tie on his military-issue duffel bags, to help distinguish them from everyone else's in the deployment line. I find a few bandannas and pray to God that the next time I see them they are in his hands and not with mortuary services.
Finally we pile into the car, silently, and drive to the flightline, the runway on base where his unit will fly to Iraq. Anxiety and panic is in my throat and I am only able to quell it by thinking about how much I smell like spit up. Without that to focus on, my mind reels wildly around all the fatal possibilities facing him and the depth of possible sorrow facing our family. Spit up never smelled so good.
We wait on the flightline, in an empty hangar for the plane to load. The troops are lined up behind a rope, dressed in their combat gear and all dragging the same drab green duffel. Everyone has some kind of floral scarf or bandanna or ribbon from their wife, girlfriend or daughter tied to it.
Andrew, our son, fiddles with dad's bandanna then with the laces on his dad's combat boots. He's not supposed to cross the deployment line. The commanders don't want wives and kids getting tangled up in hugging and kissing while the troops are supposed to be gearing up. But Andrew has found a spot between legs that he can crawl through to get to his Daddy and Daddy doesn't turn him away. Baby Nicole is just happy to smile at all the people.
The line starts to move and I have to fish Andrew out from underneath the pounding boots starting toward the door. As I pull him out, he starts to scream, "Daddy! No! I don't want you to die! Daddy please don't go! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"
I have to hold him back but he is strong and determined. He breaks out of my arms and is caught in the arms of the base commander, who picks him up and tells him, "Daddy has a job to do."
Andrew replies, "His job sucks!"
I don't argue or reprimand him. I do wonder where he picked up the word "sucks" but later forget about it. The commander frowns at us with a lack of compassion that stupefies me. Meanwhile, we are missing our last chance to wave at Daddy as he disappears out the door and up the steps to the plane.
Andrew runs to the window screaming and crying, "Daddy!" His tantrum goes on for hours, days, doesn't even let up when he goes back to school.  I end up sitting in the hallway outside his classroom for weeks until he starts to settle down.
The bottom drops out of me. Whatever safety net underlies our lives in general, that psychological function that blocks us from thinking about mortality every second of the day, that has disappeared. It turns out that beneath the net lies only an open abyss with no perceptible bottom, only darkness and falling, falling, falling....
Yet I hold it together for my children, wake each day like a robot, mother and love my children, care for them and try not to let the darkness enfold me. In spite of my attempts, each night after the children go to sleep, the abyss takes me into it's sinister embrace and holds me captive until morning, showing me images of death, of fear, terror, and violence. Knowing every day could be his last, I have nothing to cling to, no hope, no faith. Just nothing...

What You Don't Know About Me

If you haven't noticed from reading my blog thus far, I can be intense and I can be moody and I can also be intensely moody. I'm not a person who ever feels "blah" about anything. Every feeling I have I feel to the Nth degree, and unfortunately my kids are the same way. As a kid, you accept this as your normal reality, but as you become an adult, you come to realize that not everyone is like you and, in fact, most people are NOT like this. As an adult, being intense and moody and whimsical and creative are definite drawbacks. Unless you're Albert Einstein or Thomas Edison or someone with some tremendous talent, people do not tolerate that kind of temperament in adulthood.

And so it is that I suck it in and go on and try to pretend to be a normal adult. I can do it, but it hurts me to do it for prolonged periods. And the truth is, I'm not what I seem.

I still sit on the ground for what seems like hours and watch ants make a hill. I pick up leaves when I'm walking and collect them in my pocket to sketch later. Every bird that flies overhead draws my attention and I always wonder what the world looks like to them. I lay on my back and watch the sky, the clouds forming shapes of elegant beauty, the stars giving me pause to wonder about eternity.
When I encounter a spider or other bug in my house, I never, ever squish it. I pick it up and put it back outside where it belongs, aware that it has a life to live out that shouldn't be in my hands.
Feelings like love and admiration and awe completely flood me from time to time. Beauty overwhelms my senses.
I am hard to handle sometimes, difficult to figure out, impulsive, thrill-seeking, adrenaline-addicted, physically intense, loving, and the most loyal friend you will ever have. If you make me angry, I will slit your throat but then I will be the person to nurse you back to health.

I feel every emotion intensely but the truth is, I wouldn't want to be any other way.

Watching my son grow into a young man and seeing him face the same challenges I faced stirs up all of these emotions. He's a bright kid with a warped mind, an artistic and creative temperament, easily overwhelmed by emotion and beauty, sensitive and loving, stubborn but open-minded. And I see him hurting to fit in as he becomes a teenager, because he doesn't fit in; no matter how often I tell him it's okay, that fitting in is not everything and in fact is totally overrated, it's hard to understand when you are in the throes of adolescence. So in typical fashion, I am ruminating on all of this, on him, on his experience of the world, of my experiences in this world and of how it feels when you are outside the norm - and it is intensely emotional for me. I love my children so fiercely that I don't want them to face the challenges I faced, I want to spare them that pain. Even if I recognize intellectually that in order to develop, they must be challenged, I wish I could spare them certain challenges. My son and I are so similar, and I fear for him. I don't want him to go through the things I went through. But I am powerless to stop it. His life will be what it will be and my influence, though powerful in some ways, will stop at the boundary of where I end and he begins.


 I
am a question to the world
Not an answer to be heard
Or a moment that's held in your arms.
And what do you think you'd ever say?
I won't listen anyway…
You don't know me,
And I’ll never be what you want me to be.....

And what do you think you'd understand?
I'm a boy, no I'm a man
You can't take me and throw me away...
They don't know me 'cause I'm not here.

And I want a moment to be REAL,
Wanna touch things I don't FEEL,
Wanna HOLD ON and feel I belong.
And how can the world want me to change?
They’re the ones that stay the same.
The don’t know me,
'Cause I’m not here.

You
see the things they never see -
All you wanted, I could be
Now you know me, and I'm not afraid
And I wanna tell you who I am....
They can't break me
As long as I know who I am

They can’t tell me who to be,
‘Cause I’m not what they see.
And the world is still sleepin’,
While I keep on dreamin’ for me.
And their words are just whispers
And lies that I’ll never believe.

And I want a moment to be real...'cause I’m still here.

No Unwounded Soldiers

I am grumpy spending a beautiful afternoon, tied to the laundry room, trapped in the mundane task of washing and folding. The ringing phone put a halt to my work. I didn't recognize the number, oddly configured and not the usual 10-digit display.

"Haaaaay!" he drawls, "How are ya balloon knot?"

Oh my fucking god....

It's B., my Marine buddy, calling from Afghanistan.


We haven't spoken since he left in late April. His phone call, from somewhere in Afghanistan no less, almost knocks me over.

It's o'dark-thirty Sunday morning where he is, still hot, dusty and annoying. His voice is different than I'm used to, strained yet trying to sound happy. Why would someone calling from a war zone try to sound happy?  I wander my living room in circles listening to him talk for over 45 minutes. 

There is a toll exacted on every human being for participating in a war, regardless of how strong they may seem. I remember before he left the edge of excitement in his voice and his posture, how he was amped up for combat and ready to get to work. Now he sounds weary and ready to collapse although he's only part way through his deployment. He's already watched three of his friends die, one taken out almost right in front of him by a sniper bullet to the neck. "That could've been me." he relates as his initial reaction, then immediately feels ashamed as he watches his friend drop to the ground. The complexity of emotion is too much for him to speak of, much less untangle.


He tells me how a guy in his unit went out on routine patrol and accidentally stepped on an IED. Just to refresh the memory, insurgents usually plant IEDs to destroy vehicles, so a lone human stepping on one, minus thousands of pounds of steel, is instantly fatal and quite nasty. He tells me of the recovery team that comes in hours later to deal with the aftermath, how they only recovered his buddy's mangled torso. He tells me the recovery team spent days combing the area for human remains and how they collected every scrap they could find, compiled it all according to regulation, and sent every piece together back to the U.S. for proper burial. All I could think of was, "Who the hell would want that job?"
They have a phrase for someone who dies in such a way - the "pink mist." Sounds so much like a dream, like something from Fairy Land.

Sometimes I wonder what it is that I've done to collect so many military friends, and how it is that they seem so comfortable relating to me the most gruesome details of their war experience. For B., the Marine, telling me nasty details is almost a hobby but I'm usually more accustomed to listening to him relate his most recent female conquests in gruesome detail, not death and dismemberment. I'm comfortable listening, but sometimes at the end of the day, I feel as if someone has handed me a bucket of shit and I have no place to put it down. What am I supposed to do with this information? How do I cope with knowing what I know? I'm NOT a Marine or a Soldier or an Airman or a Sailor. I didn't sign up for this and I don't always have the skills to deal with what I've been told. However, I feel like it pales in comparison to actually having to BE there and witness these things first hand. The least I can do is be a friend and listen, because allowing someone to talk freely about their pain is helping them to release even just the smallest part of it. 
The least YOU can do is read about it and grieve along with me. 


I retain the memory of so many horror stories: the friend in the 2nd Battle of Fallujah who watched as 11 men in his unit were killed, then held two of them in his arms as they took their dying breath; the friend who was part of the invasion force in Iraq back in 2003, driving in a column of Humvees into Baghdad and seeing the desert and the city streets littered with bodies along the way; another friend, so haunted and still so traumatized....every night he dreams the same dream, of an accident, reliving night after night the sight of his friend pinned underneath a Humvee that rolled on top of him;  the friend who had to climb out of a tank in the middle of a firefight to retrieve ammo from the outside of the vehicle; or the friend who stood next to a buddy as he was gunned down by machine gun fire, watching the bullets tear through his brain, who then, in a fit of rage he barely remembers, loaded a grenade launcher and blew the perpetrators and their vehicle to kingdom come less than 50 feet away. 


These are the stories I can recall just off the top of my head. There are others, some too personal to relate because they are ones that involve MY friends and loved ones, people I have cared for who were tortured, injured, killed, etc. Those are stories I keep to myself, that are stored deep in my soul that may never reach the light of day again. 


So as B. spoke, I listened attentively and took in every detail, not just of his story but of his retelling; of his tone of voice, the words he chose, the way he retold the incidents. All of those facets, to me, tell the entire story from his point of view, a war from the perspective of the one who is fighting it. If you are quiet, you can hear the stories just like his all around you. Open your ears to them and alleviate someone's suffering.

Redemption

We all deserve a shot at redemption. I know I can be a better person than this. I know I'm stronger, harder, more refined than to cling so desperately to any last shred of hope. It is time for me to stand up, look him in the eye and say, "I want you. But I will wait for you and I will accept the outcome no matter what."

I do it not for gain or display of strength. I do it not for ego. My ego has long since passed away leaving me open to change. Now is my chance to redeem myself, to release the ego and the hurting, to become the person I know I am inside by standing strong in spite of the pain and accepting whatever comes. No, I only do it because my time has come.

Being with you, I can feel the stirrings of the best parts of myself. Never has that been before, that another has roused my finest self to the surface. Only you. So you can see why I stand ready to accept whatever fortune or the future holds. You and I together make something better and bigger than ourselves. What that is I do not know. I shall expect nothing from you, from God, from the Universe. I release expectation, release my ego and my anxiety and stand ready to be me, the best of myself, however that unfolds before us.

I GRIEVE

Freefalling into love
I took a leap of faith
I grabbed for your hand when you said "Jump"
And realized I was falling alone.

A failing love is like desperately
hanging on to something precious;
not wanting to give up,
Your hands feel the pain.
when you finally let go,
you're free from pain,
but you find your hands are empty.

I cannot beg you to stay
when you want to leave.
I don't have the power
to control the heart of another

Deep in my heart, I'm suffering,
knowing I've lost you.
On the outside  I'm living,
pretending that I've forgotten you,
But inside I'm dying.

I just want one day to go by
where I'm not just pretending
to be happy.

I could fill a thousand pages
telling you how I felt
and still you would not understand.
So now I leave without a sound,
except that of my heart shattering
as it hits the ground.

Every morning I wish for night
for it is only then
in the depth of my dreams
that I can still feel you.
Arms around me
Hands on my face
Your body my protection
From all the pain
It's heaven on earth
How the night tortures me!

You'll never understand why I hurt so much
because you're not the one who is crying,
you're not the one left behind,
you're not the one who loved too much,
you're not the one who is holding on to something that is gone...

You don't have to let it slip away but you want to,
I don't want to let it slip away but I have to.


Fate has played me for a fool
if we are not meant to be together
but letting me fall so hard anyway
Heart on my sleeve
For all to see.
How I let my heart lead me here
I'll never know
Heart and mind
Collide
Mind says "HIDE"
Heart says "MINE"
Heart wins
I bring you into me,
open up myself to you
everything laid out in front of you
you see everything I have inside
and you run.

I should have known.
What I have inside
Is too much
Is too hard
Is too wild
Too much for you to take
So you run.

Your heart said yes
But your mind said no
I deserve better than this.
My heart is pure
Complete
With no falsehood
No agenda
Only to love you
To hold you
To be with you
Not to change you
Or waste you
Or hurt you
Just to know you
I want to know what is there inside of you
Who you are
All you are
Rejoice in you every day in some new way
Fool.
I am a fool.
I'm a fool for what I wanted.
Thinking I deserved you.
That I deserved to feel that good.

I do not have the energy
To move on.
I've had to do it so many times before
I cannot do it again. I want to stay
Mired in you
I know I have to go
But I can't let go
Of thoughts of you
Of what will never be
Of the path not taken
Of dreams broken
Of joy not shared
Of tears not spared
Of what I dreamed could be
But won't
Years of admiration and adoration
Broken
In one simple word
No.

How hard it will be to move on.
I will need time to dwell in this place that you are
In my heart
To feel what I feel
To let it be real
To let it see the light of day
Before I pack it all away
Just know you can unfold me again
With just a word
Yes.
With just one breath
One touch
One look
And I am yours.

War is Hell

Almost like
I'm swimming in paste
My hand goes out
In front of my face
I see myself
I know I'm here
I walk these streets
I have no fear.
Everyone else
they don't seem real
I'm not in touch
with how I feel
The bullets whiz by
I duck my head
Look to the ground
to see who's dead.
Back at home
They crowd around me
They've no idea
Just what I've seen.
I can't relate
Just sit and stare

No place for me
Not here nor there.
A car door slams
I dive to the floor
My buddies laugh
They cry for more.
They wanna hear
About my crimes
How many I killed
During my time.
They've no idea
Just who I am
They think I'm cool
Such a big man.
But nothing at all
feels real to me
they've no idea
just what I've seen.
I'm swimming in paste
I'm living in fear
Can't afford
to shed one tear.
Don't look at me
don't try to speak
If I open up
You'll know I'm weak.
My hand goes out
To touch her skin
Can't feel a thing
outside or in.
She wants to know
just what is wrong
I show no smile
I sing no song.
"You don't know
just what I've seen."
I bury my head
and wish for peace.
She walks out
and slams the door
hollers back
"Can't take no more!"
Alone again.
I hear the attack.
I've traveled down
To hell and back.
You've no idea
just what I've seen
and I won't tell
I'll keep you clean.
These dirty secrets
are mine to keep
they steal my soul
they kill my sleep.
What happened there
I'll never tell
But I'll tell you this:
War is Hell.

My Favorite Quotes from Anais Nin

"Ordinary life does not interest me. I seek only the high moments. I am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous. I want to...remind others that these moments exist; I want to prove that there is infinite space, infinite meaning, infinite dimension."




Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to defeat.”

“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”




“Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.”

Settling Myself Down

Maybe I wanted a "relationship" too much.
Maybe I forgot to get to know him better.
Maybe I wanted his body too badly.
Maybe I am just lonely.

One thing is for sure: He rocks my world.

It's not just me wanting a warm body to fill a space in my life. 
Not just wanting someone to come home to at night. 


It's him. I want him. I want to know him. I want to be with him.

Once again, I have mangled a relationship by pushing too hard and too fast. I recognize he has his issues, but I certainly have mine. This is the BIGGEST single cause of every "relationship" demise that I've had over the last year, even the most casual ones.  


My Worry: all that will remain of this is a "lesson" that I should have learned long ago.
The Cost: the friendship and care of someone special to me. 


The stakes keep getting higher for me. It's time for me to calm down or risk alienating every person I meet. 
It's time for me to settle myself.

A Bird in the Snout

A few days ago was a blazing hot, 90 degrees F according to the plastic thermometer on the back deck. So when the children went tearing out the sliding door and neglected to close it behind them, naturally I yelled out, "SHUT THE DOOR!" Naturally, none of them returned to shut the door. The A/C was drifting out and ungodly hot air was wafting IN. As I was crossing the room to close the door, a BIRD flew in the house.

I can't say I blame the bird, after all in 90 degree heat everyone needs to find a place to cool off. My roommate is taking medication that makes her uncomfortable in the heat, so our house is like a meat locker, about 65 degrees. I'm sure the frosty air lured the hot bird inside...

Within about 10 seconds, our beagle jumped into action! A bird, infiltrating our home base! This must be dealt with immediately. The kids returned inside just in time to see our overweight beagle SPRING into action, grab the bird out of midair and *SNAP* it's little neck.

To say that the children reacted negatively really does not sum it up. A collective cry went up from the bunch. I didn't think they were even paying attention! All three, even my adolescent boy, burst into tears as the dog shook the bird back and forth, making damn sure the vicious beast was indeed dead. They were screaming at the dog, calling her a vicious killer. Really, nothing could be farther from the truth. The last thing she got violent with was a pink squeaky toy that had crossed her path as she walked outside. Otherwise, she lounges in the sun or on the couch or on my bed (her preferred location). But there she was, her beastly canine instincts sharp and ready, snapping and strangling and shaking the bird to death.

Finally, she dropped the bird...on the dining room rug, I might add...and trotted off. She stopped in front of me and waited for her reward so I patted her head and thanked her for saving us from the brutal birdie. The kids were HORRIFIED at this but I assured them that beagles generally do not have a moral code, that she is a hound, a hunting dog by nature, and she was doing what she was bred to do.
Just the same, it didn't stop the kids from collaborating on a way to "save" the bird, even though it was clearly dead. They pulled out my laptop and my son googled "wildlife rescue" in our area and proceeded to call and find out where we could take the bird to be rehabilitated.

One look at the bird told the story, that there would be no rehabbing. Instead, he left a message for the rescue saying he believed the bird was in a coma. The girls looked relieved that the bird might still be alive and so it was that we decided it was in a coma.

Not long after, the kids went back outside to play with friends and I tossed the bird out into the woods, returning it to its wild home. Not wanting to upset the apple cart, when the kids inquired about the bird, I mentioned that our roommate took the bird to rehab and they would release it there.

Perhaps missed a teaching opportunity with my kids. But you know what? They've lost a dog, fish, hamsters and many other pets. I just couldn't bear to disappoint their eager faces with news of yet another dead animal. I did share that I didn't think the bird was doing so well and that it was a good reason to remember to shut the door so that birds won't fly in again and get squashed by our hound dog!

The door has remained closed ever since.


EPILOGUE:


Apparently, the kids KNEW what I did. They saw me throw the bird into the woods and upon seeing this, convened a child-huddle where they likely used hushed tones and concerned "what are we gonna do about crazy ol' mom" voices:

A: "Okay, confirmed. She threw the bird into the woods."
P: "Do you think she really thought the bird was in a coma?"
A: "Negative. I think she was trying to spare our feelings."
N: "Poor mom. She feels sorry for the bird AND she feels sorry for us."
A: "We better not tell her we know. We don't want to hurt her feelings."
N & P: "Agreed!"

P. went and spilled the beans to her mom (my roommate) who then told me the story in between fits of snort-filled laughter. I laughed but I could feel the warmth creeping into my chest; as upset as I had been with them about the damn door, those little buggers did it again, they went and warmed my heart.

Truth in the Empty Spaces

I am a person who thrives on the empty spaces, who feeds off of the things that I cannot have.

My heart is pounding, my skin is burning. Since this has come to pass, all I can think of now is that I want you in my bed. I wish I could tune my mind to something else, wish I could occupy myself in some way that would make this fade to black. But it won't go.

This is not love, not me falling into emotional jeopardy. This is me, raw, at my most primal, my most animalistic. This is me imagining you - naked and by my side. This is wanting beyond wanting, drive beyond chemistry. It is almost violent in its intensity. It is by its nature a primitive drive and there is nothing in my evolved brain that can quell it; no matter what thoughts I use to cover it, it will swell and rise up again to take over any ideas or thoughts or emotions. It is a desire like no other.

There are many who have brought me pleasure but none who've brought this type of pain. There is some element of enjoyment I derive from it, that I derive simply from the pain of wanting you so badly. Another time with you will not stop the wanting, it will only make it stronger, only drive the pain further into me.

In spite of every warning to the contrary, I cannot stop this. My brain will tell me no, but everything else in my body tells me yes. I have to have you, I have to bring you into me. This is a feeling like no other. It keeps me up at night and spins my head by day.

I cannot tolerate another minute without your body. I cannot continue to pretend. I cannot continue to ignore it. If I have to, I will beg. You have me on my knees. This lust has broken my will.

Strangely Compelled

I've been laying here reading and listening to my iPod when a song came on that made me laugh, only because it was so damn appropriate. The song is, strangely enough, titled "Sinner" by Neil Finn of Crowded House fame. It's a great song, but the words just made me think "AHHH", in a good way....

"These things I should keep to myself
But I feel somehow strangely compelled
Under moonlight I stood wild and naked
Felt no shame, just my spirit awakened.

The closest I get to contentment
Is when all of the barriers come down."

Most of this shit I should DEFINITELY keep to myself but I feel strangely compelled to:

- make lists

- say exactly what I think, even when that's not a good idea

- continue to blurt out stupid things to a person when I know I've already freaked them out or upset them. Not out of meanness. Just stupidity.

- share my opinion whether you asked for it or not

- knock down people's barriers

- pry into certain parts of a man's anatomy

- drive long, ungodly distances for the right person

- accommodate people's weird neediness

- read the last page of a book as I'm starting it

- grab at life full force, shake it and make it my bitch!!!



Maybe in a way these aren't really bad things, after all I don't really have any regrets. Most of the time, the regrets I have are of the chances I didn't take or the things I passed up. It's why I AM strangely compelled to do things most of the time, because one of my biggest fears in life is to miss life altogether. 


I'm in the ring, good, bad or ugly, I'm in the fight.