Why nothing will ever be perfect and that’s okay

I am currently not on speaking terms with my dear friend, Anna.  I procrastinated inviting her to my birthday party on the assumption she wouldn’t want to go anyway. She does not get along with two of my closest friends, she had just gotten into it with one of them, and there is no way in hell she would ever want to go kayaking.  Three weeks ago one of our fat mouth bar owners brought it up and the only thing she has said since is, “we are not speaking because I am not okay with what it says about our relationship.” More like you are not okay with what it says about you. I admit I was in the wrong and I am sorry for hurting her feelings. I have apologized repeatedly, written her a snail mail heart felt apology. She has taken it to this whole other level.  She expects me to come to her house and grovel, and beg her to be my friend, and that isn’t how friendship works, at least not for me.

So I am letting it go. Of light, and love, and kindness. That is the end game.

I just recently read through some journals from 2013.  It’s amazing to see how far I have come in just a year or so.  All of the struggle and the hard work has started to pay off. I’m not exactly where I want to be but I am continually making the decisions that will support where I want to go.

I’m not 100% sold on the new guy, and rightfully so, it’s only been 2 months.  I do like him but he is infinitely more immature than I am, but it’s possible that may be the case with most people.  In some ways he is very high maintenance, as am I, so that’s tricky. We do have some pretty amazing conversations and a good connection to begin with but he has A LOT of work to do. I am not allowing myself to get wrapped up in the delusion that I can fix him, because I will always try, and I most assuredly will always fail.  I would like to think that since he has that thing where you want more and you strive to do better, he is also capable of making the hard and necessary changes but there’s no guarantee.  We will see.

Why adapting isn’t always easy

I’m happier than I’ve been in recent months.  My work life is still a nightmare.  My father is still complacent.  My mother is still crazy. I’m still the Maid of Honor for my best friend on my 30th birthday. And I just keep plugging along. Life is never going to be perfect, I know that. I have to choose to be happy. I’ve been working out at least four days a week for the last month and a half. I’ve kept the weight off. I’m eating healthier and I feel better. I’m doing all the things that are good and right and provide stability, all of the things you do for yourself when you care.

I’m still so so very sad too.  Somewhere in the depths of my soul is this sadness that overwhelms me sometimes and almost always brings me to tears.  I honestly have no clue what it is.  I usually have insight into things of this nature, but not this.  And it comes at the most inopportune times. Like today, when there really is nothing ‘wrong” per say. I’m sitting at the nail salon waiting for my toes to dry and it’s almost like a wave crashing over me. I’m at the doctor’s office, where she is happy to see me feeling better, and then I have to guard my eyes.  Can she see my sadness? Is it readily available in my eyes for strangers and friends to see? Oh look at that sad girl.

The doctor is lowering one of my medications.  She wants to give it a go and I’m all for taking the least amount of extra shit possible.  I’m like a walking pharmacy with my antidepressants, one for my head and one for my stomach, my mood stabilizers, my “in case of emergency feed Opal this happy pill”, my migraine pill and of course the lowest dose birth control because apparently that was just feeding into my high blood pressure, which was super normal today, well as close to normal as I’ll probably get, 123/93.

The new guy and I are progressing along fine.  I’m not quite sure what to think about him.  We have similar fucked up childhoods.  We have similar past relationships where someone treated us like nothing.  I’m still scared.. opening up and being honest and vulnerable and starting to want/need someone’s attention is not very flattering on me.  I’m like a floundering child, unsure if I say or do something wrong, the person will just leave, or stop caring, or treat me badly. I’ve come close to self sabotage, which is my go to defense mechanism. But I haven’t! And I’m going to continue to work at it.  I was sorta seeing an old fling when I met the new guy so I cut that off.  This last week we’ve really only hung out twice. We have opposing plans on Monday/Tuesday.  I wanted to hang out the next night but he had other plans..

Usually my self sabotage is the worst when I don’t get my way. . I thought about calling the ex.  I didn’t want to but I did in the most perverse and mischievous way. I knew what he would say though, “you only call me when something is wrong,” which is true and not true at the same time. I knew that the sound of his voice would bring me right back under and I’d be drowning in feelings that don’t have any place to go. He damn sure doesn’t want them. We haven’t spoken in three weeks. I’m sure he knows I’m seeing someone else. I always go off the radar but I always tell him, this time I didn’t.  What’s the point? The last time we spoke he said “you’re always doing better when you aren’t talking to me.” Well, duh.

Anyway. The new guy gives me warm fuzzy feelings and I’m doing my best to not be the same dumb girl I used to be. If the relationship doesn’t work it will be because it doesn’t work, not because I decided to be an asshole.

Why timing is everything

It’s been two weeks since my last post and a lot of things have happened.  Therapy is going well.  After my last session I felt invigorated about the future. I got accepted back to school for Fall semester. I started a new medicine that has truly helped me slow down enough to enjoy what’s happening right now, not over-think the past or rush myself into a decision. I know that I am only responsible for myself. I have a lot of love to give and I deserve to have that love reciprocated. I had gotten curious about a dating website I had seen on TV, Zoosk, “First comes like.”  I was just looking to see if there was someone, somewhere, that might be interesting, and kind, and weird, and that would be worth my love, time, and effort.

No, nope, no, no, nope, hell no, as I flip through photos. Then I see this hipster guy sitting next to R2D2 and I think, we might have something to talk about.  Talking is extremely important to me. Not only do I need someone who can carry a conversation, they need to be intelligent, funny, open minded, down to earth.  His name is Steven.  He is absolutely adorable and I am 100% smitten.  I hope this doesn’t end like the scene from Frozen, where the Prince stabs Elsa, Anna’s sister.  We definitely haven’t pledged our love to each other, we aren’t there yet, but I can actually picture myself with him and us being happy.  It’s been a long time since I had that kind of hope romantically.

I also realize it’s really fast. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but I honestly feel like he might be the one I’ve been waiting on.  We don’t have things in common, we have ideals in common. We have similar trains of thought and we like each other and I’m gonna see where it goes and not make the same mistakes I did in my past.  We had the deepest and darkest conversation and found we had similar fucked-up childhoods.  We had LOTS of growing pains when we were younger.  We do not want to be like our parents.  We are both very affectionate.  We are both strange.

I can’t help but think that if it weren’t for all the bullshit Alex put me through, I wouldn’t know what I deserve and be able to give back to someone without hurting them at the same time.  Another reason I have broken it off with anyone else I was even remotely talking to.  I like him, I don’t want to hurt him. I want to encourage him and be the kind, loving person I’ve always known deep down that I was..  but I will also protect myself emotionally this time.  Another person isn’t going to make me whole.  It’s my responsibility to myself to do that.  So I have continued going to the gym.  I’ve actually lost 5 lbs and dropped my blood pressure a few points.  I won’t be breaking any plans with friends or making excuses for bad behaviors.  I will participate as an adult in a healthy, shared, and committed relationship with someone I view as an equal. Timing is everything.

Why hope is so important

My therapist thinks I have a God complex.  She doesn’t say it out right but most jokes are true.  “You can come back down here with the rest of us, Opal, we aren’t perfect but we get on just fine.”  I have this thing about pedestals, and I like to put others, and sometimes myself, on them.  I am hoping to get to the bottom of this but I’m not quite sure how.  I tell myself that I am seeing the best in people, or that I’m just a perfectionist, or any excuse to not have to change my behavior or the way I look at the world.

My roommate is going through “it” so to speak.  I usually give him a really hard time but I’ve tried to back off since he dropped this huge, life-changing bomb on me about a week ago.  It’s one of those things where you never think it will happen to you, or anyone within your circle.  I digress.  He’s met this guy from Chicago who has been moving his bus ticket home back for at least a week now.  It’s the third morning said visitor has stayed over.  I’m making conversation, “So what do you do?” “Oh, well since you asked me a direct question I will give you a direct answer, I used to be a drug dealer. I’m trying to get away from that.”  We immediately embark on a real conversation.

Recently, a former friend and colleague of mine was arrested for intent to distribute and trafficking.  He was always a little strange, but he hasn’t been himself in quite some time.  The last conversation we had, I asked him why he couldn’t give me a direct answer and his response was “It’s my job to talk in circles.”  I hope that he gets the help he needs.  I’ve known him for seven years; I’ve participated in at least three interventions that I can remember.  At some point, people have to be held accountable for their actions, lack thereof, or at least show remorse and change their ways.  I come to this conclusion after I having discussed it with my therapist.  I expressed my empathy for him, because he will surely spend a long time in prison, or get out and get himself murdered, and her response was “What about all the people he hurt?”

Seven years ago, I was in the middle of divorcing a drug dealer, who also happened to be my on-again-off-again middle school sweetheart. Saying I’m a sucker for love is an understatement, I wholeheartedly ignore people’s flaws.  I tell myself that they will change, that they will get better, but they won’t.  The only way people change is if they change themselves.  I spent several years of my life on drugs, wasting away, out of my mind.  I knew that wasn’t me, it was not who I wanted to be, but I was still an addict.  One day I said I can’t do this anymore, and then some time passed. Another day, I kicked out my ex with all of his drugs and said I wanted a divorce, and then some time passed.  Another day, I used a similar prescription drug to ween myself sober and drank way too much, and lots of time passed.

I tell him all of this.  I usually don’t share such deep, dark secrets with strangers.  I tell him that it’s possible to get out of that life if you want it bad enough, because hope always makes things more possible; it’s a seed.  I know this because I hoped and wanted for a long time, and eventually I chose to be better, but you have to nurture that side of yourself.  I hope every day that I can be happy where I am, that I can accept the strengths and weaknesses in myself and others, that I can have integrity and patience. I hope for the humility to know when I am wrong and the strength to move forward.  I hope to continue to love myself and make good decisions that will support my true desires, to not intentionally hurt myself or others. I hope for the strength to be who I am and follow my heart.  I hope for the real and sometimes the imaginary.  I hope.

Why no one knows what they’re doing

I’m honestly convinced it’s true: no one knows what they are doing. It’s definitely a sliding scale and some are better at pretending than others. It just depends on what day you catch them.  We are all just human.  None of us knows anything for certain.  Yes, scientists have their facts, and religious people have their faith, but DOUBT, doubt is universal.

For example, today I hate everything and everyone, including myself, actually mostly myself. My career has stalled, not that it’s my chosen field, just one I happened into and happen to be good enough at doing for the time being. The company I work for is full of shit but that could just be marketing in general. Now tomorrow, tomorrow could be different. Tomorrow I could have enough confidence to sell a blind grandmother glasses and magnifying lens. You see, it can go either way.

Self esteem is pretty elusive to me. I’ve been beaten, battered, and abused in almost every way imaginable: mentally, emotionally, physically, sexually. At the same time I think I am both horrible and amazingly talented. How many people are an actual success story of the heart? The fact that I even remotely care about others I feel is a win. But yet at the end of the day, I don’t really care about myself and I continue to let others use me at their own will, getting minimal satisfaction in return, until I have bottled so much frustration that I want to scream, die, or hurt someone in return.

Self sabotage is my first and most successful defense mechanism. If I can hurt me before you can then who’s the real loser? Always me, always. It’s a sick game I play with myself. Let me see how much I can really love someone, let them fail me even a slight bit and then destroy their faith in me, love and humanity.

So I’m sitting in the waiting room at the therapist office, feeling like a fraud. I guess it’s a good thing I’m here.

Why high blood pressure is bad for anxiety

It’s a cruel joke.  I already have extremely high anxiety, and then I go in to see my internal medicine doctor and she says, “You could have high blood pressure, so you need to watch what you eat and cut back on the sodium and exercise more and have less stress. Get one of those at home machines but with the arm cuff so you can take it, ok?”  Do you know what makes everything taste good? Salt! Do you know what she was really saying to me? Grow up! Sometimes you have to do things that suck.

I started tracking my stats daily and was averaging 135/100.  That was the average.  So I became obsessed.  I was taking it several times a day to get used to the machine, because it alone gives me anxiety, and then tracking it on an app so I could remember when I returned to the Dr’s office.  I stopped at Publix to get some groceries and to use the little blood pressure machine just in case mine was wrong- it read 166/141 and told me to seek medical attention or wait 3 minutes and try again.  I went home, took a Xanax and a nap because me thinking about my blood pressure will certainly only make it higher.

The next day I’m on the phone with one of my closest friends and colleagues, Anna, explaining this series of events. She says, “Um you need to go back to that Doctor and tell her to put you on something. That’s crazy she let you leave with those kind of numbers. And I’m going to need you around for the next 30 years so you can’t go dying on me.” I’m not even 30. And yes, that is a simple and exaggerated way of suming it up but how am I already thinking about death at this age? And not like “burn in a fiery crash because of irresponsibility” death, like I might die from making “shitty lifestyle choices” death and it will be a prolonged plunge into deteriorating organs. At 30!!!

Then I see my lab results online but haven’t yet heard back from my doctor. Google is a good source to tell me what this all means, right? I read several articles about how high blood pressure can cause kidney failure and how low kidney function can cause heart disease and so on. My chest starts to hurt. I realize I am in full panic mode but what if my kidneys ARE failing, what if I am going to DIE soon. I take my blood pressure again and it is not good. I have two major conference calls that I can not miss. Flash forward to that night, Anna and I are sitting in the emergency clinic while the nurse straps on an EKG machine. It was just a panic attack. I already knew that but I needed real evidence.

The ER Doc said: These types of things happen over several YEARS of unchecked high blood pressure. Both diet and exercise are key. Taking my blood pressure every day is a surefire way to end up giving myself another panic attack. Think about ways you can lower your stress. And stay away from Google. Monday is therapy so this should make for an interesting start.

Why I’m going back to thearpy

Today I went to see my psychiatrist.  The last time I was there I had a complete emotional breakdown in the waiting room, which is unsettling because the only acceptable reasons I have found to cry in public are for births or deaths.  It was about two months ago and I was running myself ragged with work.  I had been averaging about 80 hours a week for a month and I couldn’t remember the last day I had off.  When I arrived at the office, I was already on edge, which is not an uncommon feeling for me, it was just more intense. I hadn’t slept well, my bank account was below an acceptable amount and I was coming to terms with the end of my toxic relationship with Alex.  Then the receptionist told me I owed $140 for missing an appointment six months ago.  In hindsight, I should have reminded myself that it was my own fault and the money will come from somewhere. Instead I burst into sobbing tears as my mind recalculated what money I would be short for food, gas, and Christmas presents for my family.

Flash forward two months and I am having a better perspective. My medicine has evened out.  I was back going to yoga and exercising regularly. The Client pulled the second program I was running, taking with it the most recent raise I had received.  It will be much less work but I will really miss the money.  I’d spent two weeks relaxing with family over the holidays.  I’d already cried a few times in private because, yes, I am single at 29 with no prospective beau and no children.  Yes, I realize that people have it worse than me.  Yes, I realize that my friends who are married and/or have children would KILL to have the freedom I do.  Yes, I do need to decide if I really want children before I have them. And so on.

My current profession is like Fight Club, “the first rule of fight club is you don’t talk about fight club.” It is really demanding, both physically and emotionally.  In broad terms, I am responsible for everything.  Job title is Market Manager and I run a team of 10-15 part-timers who go into bars and nightclubs to promote a product fit for that environment.  I technically work from home, which might sound really amazing, but in truth means that even when I am home I am not at ease, continually thinking of what needs to be done.  There is no down time.  I have to constantly be aware of my time management and when I really want to just sit at home and watch 30 Rock, I end up working or forcing myself out the door to exercise, see a friend, be social, network with colleagues.

I was feeling very motivated before seeing my psychiatrist.  Things had calmed down on the surface and my spirit was up.  I was thinking I might be open to taking something for my ADHD because it takes me twice as long to do something; I am bouncing from task to task, rarely fully completing anything, and to be 100% honest it would give me an easy out.  I could take something and be focused, and the side effects were more like benefits.  It would curb my appetite, give me energy, etc.  We had talked about it before but I was adamantly against it because it can be habit forming.

We went through the normal 15 minute routine.  She took my blood pressure. The Diastolic was high, as it usually is, and she recommended I see my primary doctor regarding high blood pressure.  She had asked how the extended release were helping that she had prescribed post breakdown.  She asked how I was sleeping.  After I asked for options regarding the ADHD, she said “Let’s get you into some therapy.”  Awesome.

I’ve been in and out of therapy my entire life.  I had resigned myself to the fact that I would need to take something for my predisposed depression and anxiety, probably for the long term, and I had finally come to terms with it. “Opal, if you had diabetes you would take something so that your foot wouldn’t fall off.  This is the same thing.” Hence the reason my medicine has finally evened out; I’m taking it like I’m supposed to.  I had recently taken a step back from therapy, just trying to figure things out on my own.  I felt like I had the tools now to deal with things as they come, not get too overwhelmed, set my boundaries with people as needed.  Apparently not.  I agree that there is always something to work on but I am more than a little disappointed to be back at it again so soon.  Therapy is hard work.  I’ll let you know how it goes.  The first available appointment is in two weeks.

Why I’m starting a blog

It has recently occurred to me that I need to do more things for myself.  I love to write and I find myself entertaining; I hope you do as well.  I miss being creative and words have always been my favored outlet.  I am slightly ADHD, typically feel awkward, and always neurotic so expect this to be my natural line of thought with some self-editing.

In the past, I have done journalistic writings but I think the idea of some stranger reading my thoughts is motivating and thrilling, yet admittedly vain, slightly creepy and scary all at the same time. It’s a new concept for me, outside of my comfort zone. Opening up to people and being vulnerable is not a strength of mine.  I am the girl who once told a close friend, “I go to therapy so I can learn to be nice to strangers.”

I went for a run today, and by run I mean an interval jog/walk for almost 2 miles of hilly, city sidewalk.  I love to “run” to the Freedom Park overpass. It’s just intense enough for me to feel slightly accomplished. There was a very attractive male photographer taking pictures of what I can only assume to be a newly engaged couple.  I was annoyed by their typicality.  I feared for a moment that the photographer was actually a past fling, Trevor, who ditched me after two seemingly amazing weeks, never to be seen again.  Although I did eventually get a text, “I’m so sorry I was an asshole to you. I was in a bad place in my life. It wasn’t you, it was me..blah, blah, blah.”  Thankfully it was not, it was an adorable stranger I could smile at and have delusions of grandeur, complete with us finding each other on “missed connections” and living happily ever after.

I am not newly single but I am newly resigned in the endeavor of moving on from a toxic 5 year on-again, off-again long-term not-relationship with Alex.  I didn’t invent the idea of self-sabotage but I’ve definitely perfected it with this relationship and it’s time to be on my own emotionally.  I do not prescribe to the theory “the best way to get over someone old is to get under someone new” anymore.  I’ve tried, several times, and it still hasn’t worked.  I did see him this weekend, he picked me up from the airport after a family trip. We haven’t really spoken in a month after a fight we had in which I badgered him into admitting that he “would say he doesn’t love me enough to look past my imperfections.” I admittedly wanted to see him. We watched mindless TV, I let him stay the night, we flirted and snuggled, he tried to have sex with me and I abstained. It felt like a win.

So I will write, I will run, and I will spend time with my friends and my family. I will have patience for the things that will come. I will be productive in the present. I will let go of the past.

I am naturally curvy yet petite and it would be endearing for me to tell you I am also, maybe, the hairy-est girl in the world.  I struggle with self-esteem like everyone.  I’ve been told many things about myself over the years. I could do a laundry list of both positive and negative adjectives that I might identify with at any given moment but I’ll let you make your own judgments.  I don’t necessarily struggle with weight but I am starting to get soft and as my mother, Bernadette, told me years ago, “Well honey you’re not going to get any taller.”

I recently spent the holidays, 12 straight days, with my immediate family. My mother cannot travel alone. My brother Luke and his family live in Washington state and my sister-in-law, Lucy, recently gave birth to adorable fraternal twins, Thomas and Walter.  We decided to go out for an extended Christmas because, well, they’re outnumbered with 3 boys under 4, including the toddler, Benjamin, who has some major adjustments headed his way.

Luke is a button pusher, as am I, and he got me back into the habit of doing what I consider to be “minimally active” running.  I cursed him the first day, hating and loving him with every step; my brother and I have always been very close.  My mother was surprisingly easier to travel with than expected. Lucy and I may have actually bonded, despite our marked differences.  It should be noted I haven’t spent this much time with my family since we lived together a decade ago.  It was amazing and disheartening all at the same time.