Emotional Milkshake

I laid my daughter down to sleep tonight, just like every night. Tonight, something was different, so I laid my head down on the pillow, next to her's, and cuddled with her for a few moments. I began to cry. It was not a downpour, but more like a misting. Thank God that Trinity did not notice anything- I never want her to see me cry.

I do not know what is wrong with me, these days. Why am I so down? I was fine earlier today... what happened?

Trinity is the light at the end of my tunnel. When everything seems cold and barren, even in the middle of a Florida summer, Trinity always warms my heart, and helps me to see that everything is, as it should be.

I really feel like my emotions have been put in a blender and mixed up to the point of becoming one of those nasty fish-guts "milkshakes" that couples were dared to drink on an episode of that old show, Fear Factor. It is quite a disgusting analogy, but it is fitting.

I just want to move on.

A Few Thoughts... Uh oh, not again!

As always, I have been thinking entirely too much and staying up too late. What can I say? I am a complete extremist! Throughout my life, I have sought something that was always just out of reach: balance. I know that it cannot just be the fact that I was born under the sun sign of Libra, the sign of the Scales of Balance. There has got to be more than just that...

I do have some balance in my life today, but not as much as I would like. I think I have been trying to tip the scales in the opposite direction, from where it was, to where I would like it to be. But fixing a fragmented life is not as simple, as I would like it to be.

At any given moment, I am swinging between at least five different tasks, and not really giving my full attention to any of them. This is readily apparent to me. I am quite certain that those around me continually shake their heads, and wonder: "Where the hell is this girl's head at?" I think that I have a problem with biting off more than I can chew and this gets me into trouble.

So, my main goal now, is to focus. I know, in my last blog, I was begging for a purpose. I have decided, that a purpose is not essential. I focus too much energy on the so-called "problems" in my head, and not enough energy is spent on solution-based strategies. As much as this pains me to write this: I have to resort to becoming a little more conventional and a little less eccentric. Maybe, then, there will be hope for me to start putting all these mental plans into actions. Sitting here obsessing about what is next, does me no good- planning and most importantly, executing, these plans is essential.

I think it is time to stop living in my head and start living in reality. The two worlds are not mutually exclusive! I have to remind myself this, on a daily basis, from now on. I forget that I can bring my quirky brain with me, wherever I may go.

I will close with this thought: Life is something you create. What will I create, next?

Creating Me

I have been thinking a lot about me, lately. This is a foreign thing, actually. I am so used to thinking and worrying about others, over the past few years, that I have not had the time, or energy, to give much thought to myself.

I have recently discovered long-lost friends, hopes, dreams, and ambitions that I thought were gone forever. But I wonder to myself... Who have I become over these years? I have lost touch with who I was, who I want to be, and most importantly, who I am.

I read a quote recently, that I will paraphrase here, because I cannot quite remember it exactly: we do not find ourselves, we create ourselves. I believe that I saw this on the Positively Positive site on Facebook, but don't quote me on that.

So what kind of creation am I, and more importantly, what kind of life do I want to create for myself? Let's see, what I want to create is easy...

I want:

• To be happy, first and foremost.
• My daughter to be better than I ever was, or could be.
• To discover what it is that I am meant to do with the rest of my life.
• A life full of adventure, learning, and exploration
• To start a project and finish it; by this, I mean my book.

In an earlier post, Who am I... I discussed some of the observations that I have made about myself. I found that I am not the empty shell that I have pretended to be these past few years. I am not sure that I even was pretending. I think that I had myself convinced that I was what someone wanted me to be.

I have learned that the only person that one can ever change is oneself, and even this, is often extremely difficult. I was never a victim- whatever I have been through, I co-created. I take full responsibility for my part of the insanity. By definition, insanity is said to be repeating the same action, over and over again, but expecting different results. I was insane. Case closed.

Now, that I have some semblance of sanity, I wonder what to do with it... what is the next big thing in my life? Obviously, a relationship is not what I need- it is actually the last thing that I need right now! Since that is crossed off the list, until further notice, I need something to fill the empty cup of my soul. It seems as though I am not enough to keep myself occupied. My daughter surely keeps me occupied, but not in the same way that I am referring to- I need a purpose! I feel like I have no purpose on this Earth, other than being the best mother, that I am capable of being. I believe that I need something to fuel my fire, some muse to give me inspiration to do, what it is that I am meant to do. I keep doing these little things to create my own reality, but it feels like there is something big that is missing, some key element, that I just cannot put my finger on, at the moment. I suppose that this is the next big life question that I must ponder...

What is my purpose?



Again, another night sans music. However, I have picked out some books, listed below, that apply directly to what I want to accomplish.

Here are the links:

Emotional Masochist

I have determined that I am an emotional masochist.

I am addicted to the Internet, especially You Tube. I love watching music videos, among other things. The only problem with this, is that I tend to be drawn to music that reminds me of people. Why is this a problem, you ask? Well, I tend to seek out videos of songs that were loved by me and my ex. Ah! No wonder I get into these emotional funks that I cannot seem to shake. I am doing this to myself.

I was doing okay this morning, introspective, but okay. Some sad part of myself decided to pull up a video from Enigma, a bizarre group that I absolutely love. Of course, the first link that I chose to click was the one for the Return to Innocence video. Hence, enter the masochistic need for me to hurt. I own the DVD of Enigma's, Remember the Future, and this video just so happens to be his favorite... Why do I do this to myself? 

I actually started to tear up, when it started to play. A wave of sadness came over me, and I actually started to miss him. What the hell?  So many people are proud of me for doing what I did, as am I. That does not mean that I do not have the lingering emotions, of a love lost. No matter how cruel someone can be, there is a flipside to every coin. There were redeeming qualities in him. I think I was always trying to save him from himself. This was futile, and I knew that early on, but I still tried with everything I had. This pain is normal, I keep telling myself.

I was the one who walked away, and I did so for a very good reason. But, like everything, there was good mixed in with the bad. Why is it that I can only see the good in our relationship, when clearly, the bad always won out?

Like I said, I am an emotional masochist.

The inspiration to my madness:
Enigma- Return to Innocence

Who am I? The Latest List...

So, I am trying to figure out a few things about my life, and this is what I have come up with, thus far...

1. I am a bit of a shut-in. I like to go out, don't get me wrong, but I think that I may spend too much time within the confines of our property, out here in the semi-woods. I am fairly certain that I need to start getting out more.
2. I need to gain weight. Yes, you can start hating me now- most people have the opposite problem.
3. I have a gargantuan ego and low self-esteem. Go figure!
4. I am entirely too sensitive. This makes me an easy target for people to pick on me!
5. My daughter needs friends her age; hanging around me all the time cannot be healthy. I think my parenting skills stink, also. I pray only for Trinity to be different from her mother. I love being a Mommy, I just think that I am really bad at the whole thing!
6. I think my writing sucks, but I do it anyway.
7. I want to be my own boss. I am sick of tyrannical employers with bigger egos than my own. Plus, I think that I am smarter than they are, I just lack ambition to be better at what I do.
8. I miss my father. Rest in peace, Donald Stutzenburg, Sr. You are the reason I do not drink anymore... You were taken far before your time. It makes me sad to think that Trinity will never know how funny and intelligent you were, when you were still with us.
9. I have an energy drink addiction. I need to drink less caffeine and more water.
10. I am online way too much. This is obvious.
11. I love being single, but I am lonely and this makes me miss the few good times I had with my child's father. This is a scary thought.
12. I am obsessive-compulsive, but not so much so, that I qualify for having a mental health disorder.
13. My wardrobe looks like I am still in High School. I guess I have a nostalgia addiction, as well. I think, as I get older, I am regressing. I guess I don't want to grow up. Being a kid was so much easier.
14. The past haunts me! I wish I did not have a photographic memory.
15. I really don't know what direction that my life is heading in, and this drives me mad.
16. My taste in music does not help me. I think I need to stop listening to sad songs and revisit the days where I listened to ska-punk.
17. I am a total dork! Enough said, on this topic.
18. My diet sucks! I am a total junk food junkie. I need to get back on the organic foods kick. The food additives in junk food are toxic.
19. Too many interests, too little time- this seems to be the story of my life.
20. Procrastination is an art form. I have been dubbed Avenue, because I am Avoidant.
21. I use comas and semi-colons way too much.
22. Randomness is a way of life.
23. I think I have adult ADHD. Staying on topic is so hard for me to do.
24. Insomnia- something I wish I did not have.
25. I miss the video games that the ex sold. But I am glad I still own all my action figures!

This list is completely pointless to read. It is more for me, than anyone else. I just thought that I would share about what has been going through my mind this morning.

I actually slept last night, which is nothing short of a miracle. I think that I am finally getting enough clarity of mind and thought, that I can actually fall asleep at a normal time and stay asleep. I think that, if nothing else, all the writing I have been doing is very therapeutic. I just wish that I could get this book written and get on with my life, sooner rather than later. I know that nothing that is worth doing can be done overnight, but damn. I just wish that my left wrist would not start throbbing after a few hours of typing. There is so much that I have to write and I am irritated that a silly mistake that I made back in 1997, on Rollerblades, can still haunt me to this day. I suppose that I could just take an ibuprofen when the pain strikes, but I detest taking any sort of over-the-counter medication. If it hurts, then I should just stop what I am doing and come back to it later. I suppose that this list is another way for me to procrastinate. Back to work, I go!

Listening to:
One of my all-time favorite songs, Tainted Love- Soft Cell

Writing

It is about time, seriously. I have finally started on this damn book that I have been talking about for years. I am actually writing it in the form of a book, not just random blocks of text, that I would later have to piece together, and try to make them fit into the context of a story. I forgot how much work goes into telling a cohesive story, one that actually has a plot, structure, and theme.

My bogs are usually the first things that come out of my head- they really have no organization. I just kind of sit down and write. Whatever comes out, at that time, is fine with me. This book is different though. It was, and still is, my life-long dream, to tell a story that I feel is worth telling; one that is full of life lessons from doing things the hard and unconventional way, and jam-packed with meaning. I was surprised at how easily I wrote all those pages. It came like liquid, just pouring out of my finger tips. I probably would have written more, if it wasn't for my daughter using this opportunity, of a distracted mommy, to get into trouble, my cell phone going off with calls/text messages, and the house phone ringing . My left wrist is starting to throb, as I pulverized the bones in that one, back in 1997, so a little pain is expected. Nothing worth doing is easy.

So, now I am on a brief hiatus. The subject I am writing about is very personal to me, and it takes a lot out of me, emotionally, to rehash all the hurt and pain. Writing also makes me yearn for all the good times that were had... Knowing that things will never be the same as they were, in any situation, makes writing about everything a great deal easier.

Oh well. What am I going to do with myself? Probably just continue to tap on this keyboard, until I have pumped out a couple hundred pages of the story I want to tell, or until I get carpal tunnel syndrome and I have to get someone else to type for me! But then I would have to do the whole profit-sharing thing, and I am not down for that cause. Overall, I have been satisfied with the work that I have done today, and I feel that I deserve a swim in the pool, as does my daughter. Corn-dogs sound good, as well.

Listening to the usual depressing music, Nine Inch Nails, Something I can Never Have

Completion & Closure, Priceless

Everything is completed! I am officially moved out of my former home. I was so happy, yesterday, when the final load was in the truck and we drove away from my little place on Clyde Morris. So long, old memories!

It truly feels like that chapter in my life has finally closed, that I can finally move on now, with no hesitation. Knowing that I had to continually return to my old home, was like having a hair in my mouth, that I could not remove. I feel nothing but relief- no sadness, no regret. There seemed to be nothing but bad memories in that house. It was the place where I lost my love, of three years. The location of where I had to swallow what was left of my pride... it was a place of recognition that it was futile to continue on, struggling, and trying to make ends meet, when they would never be met. The memories of Him would forever haunt that place; in the walls, the furniture, and the decorations. Thoughts of what I had to give up, would forever plague my psyche. It was a place of heartache and humility. I am ecstatic that I will never have to even look at that house again. Somethings are better left unexplored, and kept in the past, where they belong.

Now, I am trying to determine what the best next move would be, as this move is finally completed. This is a time of moving forward... but to where? What new adventures lay ahead of me? What is next? These questions are getting to me... I wanted this change, as it was I that set the wheels in motion. I plotted my "escape" for months, and everything finally fell into place, little by little. Now, I feel that my wounds are nearly healed and I am ready for the next chapter in the book of my life. Not knowing what lies ahead is kind of bugging me. I suppose that all I have is the now, the present, and that should be good enough. I guess that it is.

There is no price tag that I can put on my current state of mental and emotional clarity. I do not feel like there is a 135 lb. weight dragging me down into the abyss; no chains to bind me to the past.

I am a formally caged bird, who does not know what to do with her newly-found freedom. When this happened before, back in 2005, I went buck wild and lived it up for 6-months. That continued, until my father passed away, in 2006.  Everything changed, after that, and I sought solace in the arms of a man who reminded me of my father. I have been single a total of 8-months out of the past 10 years.

Things are different now. I am different now. I think that the lack of alcohol use is one of the many significant differences between now and 2005- not to mention the fact that I am a single mother, of course. When I drank, I was crazy... all the pent up feelings and urges were expressed. Years after I have overcome my alcohol problem, and I am much more conventional, I find that I am a wallflower.

At my 10-Year High School Reunion last Saturday, I found out that the most obnoxious and wild girl in my graduating class, (that I never made it to, by the way), has turned into the most shy and quiet person in the room. I saw many people that I would have loved to talk to, and catch up on old times, but I was trapped inside myself. I think that I take transformation too seriously and swing too far in the opposite direction. I am sure that I can correct this, but I am not sure how to go about it. I wonder, why it is so easy for me to have online relationships with people, but I am nearly incapable of being comfortable in a social setting, in the real world. I suppose these are all growing pains- that all of these, so-called problems will resolve themselves, with time. When I have these moments of self-frustration, I have to take a moment to remind myself that I am not the superhero my mind would like me to be! I am only human. I have the same kinds of emotions that everyone else has and there is nothing wrong with that.

Only time will tell, what this new chapter of The Small Street of Avenue 81, will bring...

Listening to:

Jack's Lament, You Tube Video

Memories

I think memory boxes should be illegal. At the very least, someone needs to do a public service announcement declaring the dangers of these inventions.

I found some of the strangest things...

• Numerous sappy love poems, written to my ex-fiance, and one to my first love. I edited the Collection of Bad Poetry blog from last month, to include these poems, as well. They were so bad, that they did not warrant their own blog posting. I will never write another love poem!
• Some of my strange old jewelry from high school. Evidently, I had the weirdest taste back then... Fimo clay must have been all the rage 12 years ago.
• A cassette tape making fun of me, and other people, made in 1998 by my high school rival. Ha! You know that I actually signed a petition to have his show put on the radio air waves in high school- I felt it was all in good sport. Those comments about my chin still haunt me to this day, every time I look in the mirror. Thank you for that.
• A Buddhist guided meditation CD and the accompanying pamphlet, that I got from an actual Buddhist Temple, which was located across from my apartment complex in Bensalem, Pennsylvania.
• My pager from 1999 and a complete list of pager codes and explanations, to boot!
• A little black felt journal, that describes every moment of the relationship with my first love. The tear stained pages are a reminder of how I take everything too seriously.
• A journal from 2004, which is nearly incoherent; more so than my blogs. I was even more of a shut-in, after I graduated college, and was having difficultly finding a job, I was smoking entirely too much marijuana those days, and I had agoraphobia. This journal reminds me of something the police would find in a paranoid schizophrenic's apartment, after an apparent murder-suicide.
• A little red yo-yo. I actually cannot recall the significance, with this object.
• The invitation and ticket to the Homecoming Dance of 1996, my first High School dance. Thank you to the wonderful teenage boy who danced with me all that night; he knows who he is.
• Hair. I found my own hair, still in a ponytail, after I cut it all off. I guess this would be good for Locks of Love.
• Key chains and lighters, a whole schlew of them.

• Some random temporary tattoos that my old employer got for me in The Netherlands.
• An honors medallion from my college graduation in 2004.
• About 25 love letters written to my child's father, that I kept because I knew that he would destroy them. I think it is my daughter's right to own these, after she is old enough to understand what it means to truly love someone.
• My lapel pin collection, a reminder that I am a professional, no matter how long it has been since I practiced social work.
• An antique Yogi Bear square sliding box puzzle
• My baby book, a reminder of how much I miss my dad. You will always be in my heart, Daddy!
• An Intramural Medal from Middle School. One of the only things I was ever good at in P.E. was Crab-Cage ball. How random is that?

So, I am sitting here, contemplating who would put so many random objects in the same box. Oh, that's right- it was me! This box was a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode, if it was not given the attention that it felt that it deserved. Yes, I just gave an inanimate object human characteristics, just call me anthropomorphic and be done with it!

These boxes are both good and bad things. I would definitely not recommend, those who are mentally and emotionally unstable, opening a can of worms, such as a memory box. This box was needed though, as I have been avoidant in my personal affairs and feelings. It is like exposure therapy. There really is no way for me to hide from emotions from the past, if I hold the objects from the past in my hands.

There is a lot to be said about confronting your demons, so that they cannot hurt you anymore. There are certain instances in my life that were so painful, that I stuffed the emotions in a box and hid them away for years. I think this is why I was a heavy drinker and marijuana user. I used these substances to self-medicate my pain, sadness, and confusion. I really thought that I could drink or smoke my problems away. I am much more realistic these days. I know there is so much work to be done in my life and that this is the fresh start that I needed. However, it troubles me that I am troubled. I feel like I should be this super-hero femme fatal, who takes no prisoners, does what she wants, and regrets nothing. I get angry with myself when I recognize my humanity- that I am a person with flaws, just like everyone else. I want to be the Ubermensch, or super-[wo]man. I want to be the person everyone counts on, to always be there to catch them when they fall.

But, I must recognize the truth- sometimes I have to pick myself up when I fall down. The super-hero must do the same, in nearly every tale. It is the struggle that I wrestle with; I want to be perfect and am frustrated that I will never be anything close.


Listening to: the sound of crickets and frogs outside my window, the fizzing of my soda on the nightstand, the sound of the ceiling fan, and the tapping of the keyboard of my laptop. Sorry guys, no music tonight.




Links:
Definition of Ubermensch
Superhero, a list of traits and more information
Marvel, The Official Website
Superhero Database
DC Comics

Mother, a loaded word...

Ha! Aspiring writer. Who knew that this lost dream would awaken. But, what am I doing with it? Nothing but complaining, doing copious amounts of research, and then commenting on people's posts on social networking sites. Basically, nothing. I wonder if I will ever get the needed fire under my butt to actually write about the things that inspire me the most.


I have issues. I have a great deal of them. I feel that these issues need to be addressed before I can start organizing my writings into a cohesive book. I fear that I am incoherent in my writings, kind of like Faust, a brilliant piece of work that needs a codex and a road map, to decipher. I wonder if this is how many writers start off, just randomly writing the first things that come to mind. I sometimes feel that I will always be the squirrel and that stupid poem, that was published in 2006, will be the only thing that I ever produce in print.


That very thought scares the crap out of me. I want to put my ideas in print. I want to tell stories. I want to write the ones that other people want to read, the ones that change lives and perceptions of reality. The trouble that I am having with this is: where do I begin? If I just sit down on my laptop and start writing, will the results be like my blog, the one you are reading now, the one that hardly makes any sense at all? Ugh. I get so frustrated with myself.


I suffer from low self-esteem, I have for many years, now. I used to be a bright and energetic kid. My mother (!) berated me as a child and yelled at me so much, called me names, and finally broke my spirit, to the point that I believed that I was what she claimed I was: a worthless pain in the ass, who talked too much. It is sad to say, but it is true. I was called every name in the book by my own mother. I was made to feel inferior, belittled. This lasted 18 years.


My mother is a can of worms that I have been hesitant to open, while blogging. I could write an entire book about her, as well as the host of other issues, that I feel I have, because of her treatment of me while growing up. My mother was a very difficult woman to live with; that is putting it lightly. But, since I think that I opened this can already, here goes nothing...


My grandparents willed everything to me, upon their death, so that I could go to college, so I would not have to work constantly and have my grades suffer. There was a close family friend, and Masonic Brother to my maternal grandfather, who was designated as the Executor of their will. My grandfather passed away first, on August 24, 1996. This was my second day of high school. I awoke that morning to find that my grandfather had passed away, during the night. The image that has haunted me for years, was that of my grandfather's body being taken down the stairs on a stretcher, draped in a white sheet. It was a sad day, but to avoid being stuck with my crazy and hysterical mother all day, I went to school. High School was an escape, for me. Although it was difficult, I loved to go to school; my mother was not there and I was free to be myself.


Right after I officially dropped out of High School, in the early months of 1999, my grandmother passed away. This killed me. My Nana was my world, my savior, the only person, in my house, who cared about me and would listen to what I had to say. I loved my Nana with all my heart. But she was a frail little thing with a heart condition and chronic respiratory problems. With both of my maternal grandparents deceased, my mother had full reins on me. The Executor of my grandparent's will decided that my mother was just too much to handle and stepped down; this action caused my mother to become the new Executor, by default. This coward made my life so difficult for the next few years... I don't know if I will ever forgive him. He knows who he is, and how much he disappointed his Masonic Brother. He knows just how much my grandfather would turn over in his grave and curse him for being the spineless piece of garbage that he was. I will not name names, but some of you might get your teeth cleaned by this coward. I have an arrest record, thanks to this man.


Moving on... After my mother found out that she was the new designated Executor to the Groeber Estate, she proceeded to spend over $26,000 in two measly months. What did she buy? Leather jackets, cheap used cars, fake wood furniture that fell apart, when you tried to move it after it was assembled. She bought jewelery, for herself, and her paranoid schizophrenic boyfriend, who was the father of her unborn child. She bought baby furniture and a light turquoise leather couch set. All of these items purchased, with my college fund, she lost due to nonpayment on her numerous storage units, less than a year after their purchase. MaryLee also bought me a few items, consolation gifts, I suppose. She knew she had won. She knew that I was just a pot-head, a teenage high school drop out, a loser, and a heavy drinker. When she became the Executor, there was a new sheriff in town and she was going to rule with an iron fist. My only hope was to go back to school.


My mother knew how to get under my skin. She knew how much I hated and despised her for hitting my 73 year old grandmother in 1997; I would never forgive her for this atrocity, and she knew it. After she hit Nana, it was over. This woman would never be looked at as anything other than White Trash, by me. Yes, you read that right, I just called my own mother white trash. Nana was always more of a mother to me than my own would ever hope to be. Nana and I would talk for hours. Mary Althea Groeber was the most witty, intelligent, caring, and spiritual person I have ever known. I miss her everyday, even over 11 years after her death.


I eventually sued my own mother and won. I gained control over my college trust fund and put myself through school. I graduated from a major university with a Bachelor's Degree, at the top of my class, no less, earning Magna cum Laude Honors. My mother may have tried everything in her power to keep my free-spirit locked in a cage, but her efforts availed her nothing, in the end.


I haven't spoke to my mother in years and I do not even know where she is, currently.

... to be continued... one day.



YouTube Mother Video, Pink Floyd