Self Esteem

I took a self esteem test and scored a 4 out of a possible 16.  According to the test: 

Below 8 Points – Your esteem is drastically low! (The test is at www.more-selfesteem.com/test)

I guess my husband is right; I do have extremely low self esteem. It’s weird though.  Two of the questions I answered ‘true’ on were that I ‘deserve love and respect’ and I ‘feel valued and needed’.  I don’t expect these things however.  I don’t expect anything good.  It lowers the impact of disappointment.  I also ‘feel guilty about doing or saying what I want’.  I may get frustrated and force the issue but later the impact of guilt is overwhelming.  I suppose even though I ‘think’ I deserve to be loved and respected the reality is that I don’t really believe it. 

My main hang-up on this is that I don’t want to be one of these people that are pissed off because they didn’t get what they ‘deserved’ in life.  I’ve seen very good people that should be rich and famous struggling over two and three jobs.  It is what it is.  Most of life is the luck of the draw I think.  There is more to being rich than just having money, though.  When my daughter asked me what ‘rich’ meant I told her it was when you have a lot of something.  I didn’t want her to get the idea that rich only means having money.  

I also had whacked out parents and strange relatives.  The only ‘love and respect’ I knew was toxic.  There was nothing I could do about this.  It was just the luck of the draw.  What’s the point in getting angry or feeling like I deserved better?  I’m still angry, but it’s because even though I’m an adult my parents still wish to treat me like they did-and I still feel like I did- when I was a child and the rest of my father’s family could really care less as far as I know.  I am also angry that I didn’t get better but I’m annoyed at that part and really don’t see the use in it.  It’s a constant struggle. 

I haven’t gone through the site yet to see if there is anything that could help my situation.  I have no clue how you would change a thought process like mine.  According to the professionals it is important.  Granted I don’t trust ‘the professionals’ but then I don’t trust anyone so that really isn’t a reason to get all worked up.  Guess it’s just one more thing I get to add to the list.

The Holidays

These days tend to be a difficult time for a lot of people.  While many are looking forward to family gatherings and good food others are plagued with some great loss that is never felt more acutely than during the holidays. 

My holidays were once something some people would have envied…at least the ones I remember.  A gathering of friends and family that would often top 50 people combined with some of the best food I’ve ever eaten.  The Christmas gifts were rarely great.  Generally they consisted of things I would never buy in a million years combined with things that usually broke before I got them home. When one is buying for 50+ people on a limited budget, however, it is indeed the thought that counts.  There were never fights and everyone appeared genuinely happy to see each other again.  Honestly there is nothing in my family gatherings to indicate that I come from an abusive family. 

Now my holidays are small with people that I’ve known for less than 10 years and have never really felt comfortable around.  The last part is not their fault at all, however.  In a way I really miss those gatherings.  Even though I sat in a corner and read a book, or did extra credit for chemistry, I was physically a part of that family.  There is a hollow comfort in that especially since spiritually I’ve never been a part of anything except maybe my husband. 

It is a site to see and sometimes I wonder if I will regret keeping my daughter from it.  The rest of my family should not be punished for the way my parents are, but I can only see such a thing going one way.  My father is a child and I have poor impulse control with entirely too much anger.  I would say that I am a child too, but my anger is justified.  It is best that I stay away. 

I find myself wondering if I will ever look forward to the holidays again.  It is a disservice to those around me but it is hard to help.  I’m alone.  I’ve always been alone but with the loss of that physical tie that loneliness is now more intense than ever. It is punctuated by the fact that I’m sure they could not possibly understand.  They welcome me with open arms and not because they feel they have to, but I still keep them closed away.  I could give them a book full of reasons, but I don’t think it will help.  I don’t understand it either really.  So, for now, it is what it is.  I can definitely look forward to the light in my daughter’s eyes as she talks about Santa and the lights and cookies and all the things she wants.  Thank the universe for her.

Do not judge men by mere appearances; for the light laughter that bubbles on the lip often mantles over the depths of sadness, and the serious look may be the sober veil that covers a divine peace and joy.

~Edward Chapin

Meds

Wow what a topic for me.  I’ve considered them many, many times.  I’ve even sat down to make an appointment but something always happens to interrupt me.  My distrust/distaste/dislike of the possibility is so deep rooted that even making a conscious decision to try them is thwarted subconsciously.  It’s because I have an army of reasons not to try and only reason to try.  That one reason: maybe it might make things easier.  The reason to try isn’t even very concrete.

My main reason not to try: it’s a drug.  My parents are drug addicts and I don’t want to be anything like them.  To me a drug is a drug is a drug.  I worry about how much alcohol I drink and even how much aspirin I take.   I also think any drug is a crutch.  We are capable of doing these things ourselves.  Please bear in mind that these are just my opinions. 

Well, things are getting better here all the time.  My husband and I rarely have to worry about money any more, my daughter is growing up beautifully, and people genuinely love me.  I’m not happy though.  I seem to be deteriorating at a faster rate in fact.  My depression has gone from volatile mood swings to an apathetic attitude that only seems to be deepening.  Call it whatever you want the simple fact is that I’ve spent so long in a stressed out state I just don’t know what to do with myself in any other.  If you read the studies that have come out lately, this is quite literally killing me.  Stress hormones damage brain tissue, muscles, and the heart.  Stress responses are supposed to be short term fixes.  So maybe I’ve been running around on a broken leg all this time and I need a crutch.  

I’ve decided to give medication a try.  The doctor I go to is probably going to hate me.  I’ll be researching thoroughly and I’ll have a strict set of goals.  I’ve seen people rely on these things completely and I simply want to see if there is a way to help fix my current bad habit.  I’m looking at it like a cigarette smoker going on Chantix.  Stress is my addiction and sometimes one needs help to quit an addiction.

Get your facts first, and then you can distort them as much as you please.

~Mark Twain (1835 – 1910)

This Is My Body

I’ve discovered I have an issue believing this.  I seem to think that it is here to please others so I take it very personally if anyone complains about it in anyway.  So this is my affirmation that that is not true.  If anyone else has the same problem feel free to take this for yourself.

This Is My Body

It doesn’t belong to my husband and it damn sure doesn’t belong to my father.  It doesn’t even belong to those that stole it for a few moments of their own sick time because I’m still here and they are not.  I decide what it does, how it looks and what goes into it.  It is my job to care for it. 

I’m not obligated to stay skinny for someone or keep a little meat on my bones to defy the stereotype.  When I look in the mirror the only opinion that matters is mine.  If someone wants to complain about something I’ve done to it they can go fuck themselves and I mean it.  

It’s good for me to take good care of it because it helps me.  The fact that other people are happy I have a nice appearance and don’t smell is simply a by-product.  Someone may call me selfish for thinking this but they have there own damn bodies to worry about and they should mind their own business. 

If I share it, that should be my choice.  If I don’t want to then I shouldn’t be looked down on for it.  This is my body and not anyone else’s.  But, if something bad happens to it and there is nothing I can do, then I should keep in mind that it is only a body.  It is ever in a transient state and it will pass on.  I suppose it is being borrowed from the universe for now.  But while it is in my possession I shall do with it as I please and anyone who wants to think differently can go to hell!

Sadly

It will be some time before I make any further posts.  My brother-in-law had a stroke early Sunday morning and I must focus my attention on my family now.  Please keep us in your thoughts.

Quicksand

My father used to say that any idiot could get out of quicksand because it’s just like water.  All you have to do is get on your back float out of it.  I could describe my current situation like quicksand.  You know the kind you see in the movies?  And, as usual, because of an off handed comment my father made I’m wondering if I’m idiot.  So I decided to see if he was right.  I turns out he couldn’t be farther from right.  The movies are quite wrong too.  And there isn’t a better analogy for my situation than quicksand.  You can get the full story here.

Quicksand most commonly occurs by the ocean.  I’m not going to go into its make up because it takes a few words, but what the movies portray it as is almost entirely incorrect.  For one, you actually can not drown in quicksand.  This is comforting to me.  Humans are actually about half as dense as quicksand so we float.  You will sink up to about your waist if you step in it however.  The real problem with quicksand is escaping it.  It’s nothing like water.  When it is vibrated or jostled it liquifies, but once it stops moving it returns to a semi-solid state.  That means if you wiggle the sand around you will become easier to move in, but once you stop moving you might as well be in concrete.  Also, if someone tries to pull you then they are likely to pull you apart long before they pull you out.  The only way out is slowly, methodically and on your own.  First you wiggle to move a few centimeters and then you rest. 

If I were to take this info to my father he would most likely tell me that this is malarky like he did when I was trying to tell him that there really is no proof that perfectly parallel lines exist.  It is possible that on a large enough scale every pair of lines will eventually converge or diverge.  It makes sense to me but I suppose his mind is to small to comprehend that stuff.  So maybe I can throw him into some quicksand and prove it?  :: snickers ::

So the next time you are in quicksand remember these things:  You can’t drown, and slow methodical movements will get you out.  And maybe your friends can’t reach in a pull you out but I hope they are there cheering you on.

Is Depression Pure Selfishness?

I know that particular line of thought will send some people into a flat out uproar, but it is something I question on almost a day to day basis.  Growing up I was taught that depression was a self induced pity party that deserved no more attention than perhaps and swift kick in the rear.  This particular line of thinking was one of the main things that kept me quiet all those years.  I spent the first 12 years of my life with practically no other influence beyond my mother and father.  I completely lacked the faculties to question their logic.  They were my world.  When I got to school and started learning there were other views I was already lost in my fathers logic. I’m not anymore.

The answer to that question is ‘no’.  ( I know a lot of people already knew this).  I believe it is actually a twisted form of pure selflessness.  When I’m at the lowest point I think I can go (which always get proven wrong) my thoughts are not on myself but those I’m hurting.  Depressed people are wounded animals.  Half the time they go someplace quiet to die and the other half the time they strike out at anyone that comes to close.  That hurts.  Watching our loved ones frustration when they can not help us hurts.  Knowing that no matter what they do they are probably going to have to through it all over again hurts.  Ending it all seems like the only way to end the cycle and stop hurting our loved ones.  I didn’t say the logic was sound.

There seems to be some sort of shift from reality at some point.  It is impossible for the depressed person to believe that thier loved ones would rather seem them like this than not at all.  Though, apparently, that is the case.  I, personally, do not understand this because I lack a significant amount of empathy and ability to attach.  But I’ve seen it in others. 

I’m guessing telling himself that he was merely being selfish was his own way of dealing with depression.  Or perhaps his depressive thoughts were purely selfish?  I will never know.  But I do know that in general his logic was wrong.  I know the logic of a depressed person is wrong as well, but in the darkest times sometimes its just to hard to distinguish what our ailing brain is telling us from reality.  I found a song that I listen to when things get that dark.  It helps me remember to look for that light.

Why by Rascal Flatts

It must have been a place so dark you couldn’t feel the light,
Reaching for you through that stormy cloud.
Now here we are gathered in our little home town.
This can’t be the way you meant to draw a crowd.

Oh, why, that’s what I keep asking.
Was there anything I could have said or done.
Oh, I had no clue you were masking a troubled soul.
God only knows what went wrong.
And why you’d leave the stage in the middle of a song.

Now in my mind I keep you frozen as a seventeen year old.
Rounding third to score the winning run.
You always played with passion, no matter what the game.
When you took the stage you shined just like the sun.

Oh, why, that’s what I keep asking.
Was there anything I could have said or done.
Oh, I had no clue you were masking a troubled soul.
God only knows what went wrong.
And why you’d leave the stage in the middle of a song.

Now the oak trees are swaying in the early autumn breeze.
The golden sun is shining on my face.
The tangled thoughts I hear a mockingbird sing
This whole world really ain’t that bad of a place

Oh why, there’s no comprehending.
And who am I to try to judge or explain
Oh, but I do have one burning question
Who you told you life wasn’t worth the fight
They were wrong, they lied.
Now you’re gone, and we cried.

‘Cause it’s not like you to walk away in the middle of a song.
Your beautiful song.
Your absolutely beautiful song.

Role Assignments

My topic today might be triggering to some. 

Today I want to talk about emotional abuse in the form of role assignments.  What I mean is when a parent consciously, or subconsciously, picks what their child will become and accepts no other alternative.  We are all familiar with the negative role assignment.  The parent that tells their daughter she is a whore and will never be anything else or the father that tells his son he is worthless and will never amount to anything, but there is also the ‘positive’ role assignment.  A parent that decides their kid is going to be a doctor and won’t except an alternative is just as detrimental.  Everyone in the world is meant to find their place and forcing an unnatural one, even a good one, is destructive as hell.  And I don’t think it could ever be done out of love.  A loving parent would accept their child however they are.  A selfish parent wants something to brag about or wants to complete a dream they never could so they force their kid to be something that they may end up hating.  That hate will eventually translate to their parents and themselves.  It is a worthless parent that tells their kids the ugly things mentioned before.  I salute those that defy these parents.  You are heroes in my eyes. 

I am a victim of role assignment too.  I was taught to be a wife.  Specifically the kind of wife my father wanted to have.  My school life was encouraged and on the surface it might seem that I was told I could be anything I wanted to be, but it was the underlying messages that I can’t get rid of today.  I mentioned before that any time I did something really good the praise included ‘you’re going to make a man very lucky one day’.  I based my life on whether or not a man would want me because of this.  One of the most detrimental parts of this is that my ‘training’ included how I was to perform in bed.  I now know that this is not a parents place and definitely not a right.  Sex is personal and a parent’s talk regarding this should go no further than very basic questions and a plea that they be careful.  If the child wants to have a more open relationship, that is the child’s decision.  Unfortunately I never had this right.  My father and mother would take times to lecture me regarding these things.  My father might talk about the things that my mother did for him and how much better a wife it would make me if I did the same things.  Not only was I instructed how to perform for my future husband, I was also told that I should enjoy it.  This was backed up by the state of one of their friend’s marriages.  Apparently because the woman did not perform enthusiastically as well as regularly the marriage was failing. 

For the last six years this ‘training’ has dogged my every step and now its falling apart.  I know it is not true, but I can not shake what was drilled into me for 17 years.  I did not finally start questioning them until I left for college.  Even throwing myself against everything they ever brainwashed into me has not pried that hook from out of my mind.  I feel worthless because I am not performing to the standards of a good wife even knowing that those ‘standards’ were the concoction of a twisted man.  Even knowing that being a wife and mother is a perk to life, not a requirement.  Six years of fighting with no result has made me resentful to the institution of marriage in general and I must now start all over with a new dilemma.  It would be heart breaking if my heart were capable of breaking.  

So I’ll start over because being here was without a doubt my choice.  It is how I’m here that seems to be the problem.

Is there life before death?

~Graffito, in Belfast

Things Are Tough

Today I’m thinking I shouldn’t make posts like the last one.  I’m sure more than one person that might read it will be thinking: OMG she is soooo emo.  Die already.  Yes people are pretty heartless.  

But I’ve rethought this position.  If I’m always talking about things that I handle and never showing just how tough it might be, then it might be a lot like a family member who really has no idea what one has been through look at them and saying ‘just get over it already.’  So here it is:  it’s freaking tough!  I don’t know if it ever gets any easier.  I’ve been told that my poems reflect how deep the pain goes, but right now its not just arranged words on a piece of paper, I am living it.  There is not a word in the world that can adequately describe the confusion, despair, and complete lack of connection that I’ve felt for the last couple of months.  And, unfortunately, there is also not a word in the world that can fix it. 

But I’ve read the words of those that have stumbled over trying to describe what they feel and they always touch so close to mine that I know I can say this without reservation:  I’m not alone.  Bearing that in mind, I can also say to anyone else that is struggling and happens to read this:  I understand.  I can offer nothing else right now. 

I cannot believe that the inscrutable universe turns on an axis of suffering; surely the strange beauty of the world must somewhere rest on pure joy!

~Louise Bogan

Last Defense

I keep leaving…in more ways than one.  It’s strange, no one comments anywhere anymore and I wonder if I’m really fading away.  This is not a lament…it is an observation.  I have many other places I ‘live’ on line and usually I feel so welcomed.  Now I feel unnoticed.  Nothing new.  I think I want to be unnoticed.  If I become muted enough, invisible enough, I will be able to break down without anyone noticing.  I will scream at the top of my lungs and not bother a soul.  And then I will fade away and no one will ever know. 

I can’t stick to how I handle things.  I’m not handling them.  The last defense against depression is the fact that, like all things, it passes.  I must continue as I have so that when the dark clouds pass I will not miss the sun because I was stuck cleaning all the messes I made.  But I worry this time as I have not in the past.  

My father contacted.  It was not a trigger.  More like a kick to the stomach while I was already down.  He threatened to force his way into my life if I do not give my mother my phone number.  I did not answer diplomatically.  I am angry and feel the need to express it.  It did not help either.  So I am not angry anymore.

You must learn from the mistakes of others. You can’t possibly live long enough to make them all yourself.

~Sam Levenson (1911 – 1980)