Waiting for the Lines to be Painted

Divorce sucks even when you are glad to be out of the relationship. I think there’s a period in which we lie to ourselves to ease the transition. My marriage certainly wasn't full of comfort and togetherness…at least not the last few years of it. I grew cold toward him and he did the same. However, even when you are miserable you have the illusion of comfort. When something difficult or painful was happening other than the marriage itself, there was still usually a shoulder or warm arms to wrap myself up in and pretend that there was comfort…pretend that everything would be okay. Now when everything is not okay, there is no masking it with hugs. There is no illusion of protection from the partner who really isn't my partner. The harshness of everything is right there and I have to deal with it.

To ease the trauma, we might tell ourselves that significant others are more trouble than they are worth and that we really don’t want to deal with that shit anymore. It’s true that I don’t NEED a man and to have one too soon would be damaging and confusing. To say I don’t want one though isn't entirely true. I’m not looking to be taken care of. I’m too prideful for that. Sex is fun and I do miss a good go-round, but that’s not it either. To have someone play with my hair, to hold me when tragedy shakes my world, to have those conversations that we only have with a partner while cooking dinner, having coffee in the morning with messy hair and bad breath, or maybe while cuddling on the sofa…that’s what I miss and it was missing from my marriage for a long time. I miss emotional intimacy. I miss knowing that there was someone to talk to without pulling anyone away from their world because that person was part of MY world.

I don’t need a man. I don’t need a relationship and right now that would be bad for me. But I’d be lying if I said that sometimes I don’t want one…just to ease the sting. This is a rite of passage, I suppose. I’ve always been independent and content to spend time alone. But sometimes when alone is the only option…alone can turn to lonely. Maybe when Violet is old enough to discuss her day in more detail it won’t be so bad. Maybe as time continues to pass I won’t want to be with anyone other than her at all. But one day, she’ll move on to live her own life which is what I want for her.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being able to call the shots at home. I like having MY territory. As the ghost of my marriage still haunts me, I am rebelling against what was by becoming what I want to be. I am stirring up the what-is to create the what-will-be. One day maybe I’ll have someone to share that with. Right now what I really want is to be happy alone. I don’t need anyone but I don’t want to want anyone either.

The apartment complex has been repaving the parking lot. Today as I stood in the middle of it under the afternoon sun, what is usually filled with cars and residents moving about, was more like a desolate ghost town. The pavement was new and smooth, waiting for the lines to be painted. Ready but not ready. Renewed but unfinished. Maybe I just need to remember that it’s only going to feel like this until my lines are painted.

In Search of Home

A few of my friends have warned me about how divorce messes you up mentally and emotionally for a while, but wow. I was not prepared for this. I think what makes it so painful and confusing for me is that I was already in the process of trying to find the real world again…trying to get back to life. I was still in a semi-state of limbo and then BAM! And unfortunately, the whole thing has gotten a lot uglier than I could have foreseen (no I shan’t be sharing details. You’ll have to wait for my book).

So here I am, trying to figure out how to support myself financially while caring for my daughter, dealing with the lingering side-effects of cancer treatment, continuing surgeries (oh we’re not done yet folks), waiting on back-disability pay for the duration of my treatment, licking my emotional wounds from my little family being unceremoniously torn apart, trying to shake my inner artist awake, and the list goes on…

I know, I know. It’s kind of whiny isn’t it? At least I feel like it is at the moment. I’m not sure if it’s been made obvious yet, but I can be extremely prideful. Too often I expect myself to be able to stand tall, wielding my claymore fearlessly when inside I’m a crumpled, insecure heap, soggy with my own tears. Why do I insist on hiding this? I’m going through an unbelievably massive load of tumultuous events! It’s okay to fall apart, sometimes! It’s normal! It’s HEALTHY! Perhaps I’m fearful of becoming that whiny “poor me” person who nauseates people. I’ve been her before and it wasn’t pretty. Maybe fearful isn’t the right word. I think TERRIFIED is a better one. I’m already feeling awkward in my interactions with some people. I’m questioning and second-guessing virtually everything I do and say. I’m so afraid that I’m losing myself, but the really strange part is…my closest friends have recently told me (just yesterday, in fact) that it’s good to see me BEING myself again! Really they aren’t wrong. I’ve had quite a few days of feeling my true self scratching through the cobwebs and coming back to the surface. She’s definitely a better version...Rissa 2.0, if you will. I guess now that I see her…err, ME coming home, it’s that much more frightening to think of losing myself again.

I’ve never done the “one foot in front of the other” thing very well and maybe that’s something I should practice more. I have always tended to lose patience with myself rather quickly. I want to be stable NOW. I want to be healed NOW. I want to move forward NOW. But it doesn’t work that way. Somewhere between cancer and divorce the whole world went crazy and it’s not something you can just hack through with a sword. This jungle, these thorns, must be carefully navigated one piece at a time. There are treasures to be discovered and recovered. To rush through this is to miss them and risk going in circles, ending up right back in the same dark place.

Perhaps I should follow the advice I gave to a friend. Always remember to look at the sky in all its beautiful forms…and breathe.

Oh god, how this song makes me cry...but it's so true. I think we all just want to be good.

Words Stretching Free

I never really picked a favorite out of Maya’s works. I never read one of her books cover to cover. I guess I never really needed to. She was always there. It seems that every time I turned a corner, a page, scrolled down a newsfeed or heard an empowering lecture, she was in there. Her words all-encompassing stretched out to all corners of the Earth it seems, and now that she has stretched free, those words continue the work she came here to do.

No, I couldn’t with confidence say what my favorite piece is. Sometimes we don’t know to hold onto these things or seek them out because the person who shared them was simply a part of the fabric of the world around us just as the sky, the wind, the rain. Do you have a favorite rainstorm? Is there a particular leaf on your favorite tree that captivates you? Maybe there is but for me, the tree is there and I can cool myself in its shade. Maya is there. Her words are there. She is the molecules floating around us and her words are part of the language we speak. 

“You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may tread me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops.

Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame

I rise

Up from a past that's rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.”

~Maya Angelou

Is it Really Worth it?

The lessons have been hard, as of late. For the first time since beginning this blog, I actually deleted a post. I think it was last week or something. I was just becoming way too morose for myself to handle. I suppose occasional crippling melancholy is expected when facing my current situations. Some of them I shall not divulge…at least not until I write my book.

One of the most recent lessons that I’m still finding myself in the thick of, is how destructive the sharing of sensitive information can be and it’s not as simple as “don’t gossip.” I mean…that’s pretty basic even though most of us slip and do it from time to time. The trickier situations usually involve a person who “means well” by meddling in ways that cause more harm than good. They aren't trying to hurt anyone, they just aren’t taking the possibility of collateral damage into account. Then there are the self-loathing people who thrive on stirring the pot, either because they crave the drama or they have a personal vendetta against someone. Either way, focusing their efforts on other people’s faults and weaknesses takes their minds off their own.

Suppose you heard something you clearly weren't meant to about someone you know and it upsets you. As a loyal person your first instinct is to run and tell the person who was being spoken about so they can hear the dreadful things that are being said. But before you do that, do you ask yourself questions like:

Does this information need to be shared in order to keep this person safe?

Is this information just hurtful words and will sharing it actually change anything?

Was the person saying it as a way to vent because they are in distress and in need of someone to confide in or are they purposely spreading rumors?

Most importantly…how much pain is it going to cause the person you intend to tell and do they really need to know in order to continue with their day?

Having been on all sides of the above questions, here is what I have learned from experience:

So, I’ve messed up and shared things that were said about a person TO that person that only resulted in hurting them because really…it was not vital that they knew. It was just mean or hurtful information. Congratulations, Larissa! You just ruined someone’s day! Yes, I felt the appropriate guilt.

I have also been in the situation where I had said something that I found out got back to the person I was talking about and oh…what pain and misery it caused! Sometimes I need to vent. We all do. Most of the time there is no action or intent behind my angry or sad words. It’s just a way to blow off steam or release a little hurt of my own. Sometimes, I am worried about a person and I need to confide in someone to talk me through it. In both these situations, the person delivering the news wasn't doing a damn thing to help. Whether it was intentional or by accident, they were only serving to wound the person I was speaking about and it caused nothing but pain all around.

The next time we hear something that is clearly not meant for us, we need to ask ourselves the above questions. And then we need to take one more thing into consideration: when information is shared by anyone other than the original speaker, it almost always gets distorted even just a little bit. And again, whether it’s done on purpose or purely by accident, the message being received can often have entirely different meaning than the one being sent. Remember playing that game Telephone when we were kids? It’s like that only instead of “purple monkey dishwasher”, the result is usually a lot less amusing. Is it really worth it?

Confessions of a Former Ugly Girl

A few months ago something remarkable happened. I don’t remember what I was doing or where I was going that day. I just remember that when I looked in the mirror, for the first time in my life, the ugly girl was gone. Now I had outgrown the ugly duckling phase many years ago and I knew it. In my adult life I’ve had a lot of days when I looked at my reflection and saw a pretty face but I could always see where the ugly girl had been and where she might still hide beneath the surface. This was different. She had completely vanished and I didn’t even notice her leaving. She didn’t make a scene, didn’t leave a note…it was as if she had never existed at all. What’s even better is that she hasn’t returned since. I don’t see her anymore, not even in the morning when my hair is a mess and I have no makeup on. When I look at myself I see a genuinely pretty woman. Sure I have what some would call flaws. The dark circles under my eyes, my crooked ear, and funny nose still exist and they aren’t going away. I don’t mind them though. They add to my unique appearance. Maybe they even add to what makes me pretty though I can’t say for sure.

Is it because I have been working so hard on my self-esteem? Is it my new boobs and flatter stomach? Is it because I’m a mother now? Mothers carry a special kind of beauty after all and people do frequently tell me how much my daughter resembles me. She is absolutely gorgeous! Perhaps all the compliments I receive regularly finally sank in. Maybe it’s all of the above. The important thing is that it happened. I escaped the clutches of the ugly girl and I didn’t even have to watch her finally slip away as an unwanted afterthought. I certainly remember her. I remember what it was like to be her and I definitely understand what Janice Ian was talking about, what Tori Amos shared, and even Christina Aguilara’s words have a special place in my heart.

While I’m glad she’s gone, I also don’t want to seem ungrateful. She taught me a lot of things. She is probably a big part of why I’m a nice person, a compassionate person, an imaginative person. I vividly remember sitting on the flimsy old swing set in the backyard of the house where George was born. I don’t think I had passed 2^nd grade yet. I sat there under a grey sky feeling awkward and ugly, wishing that I would one day grow up to be beautiful. Obviously it had greater importance to me then than it does now. I learned a long time ago that the most important beauty radiates from within and that the outside is just a casing. I guess that’s why I found it to be such a pleasant surprise when I saw that pretty woman in the mirror. I hope with all my heart that I can show Violet that she’s beautiful inside and out. I hope she always walks with a generous heart and her head held high.

When the Sword is Too Heavy...

This was a long time ago...before my brother died, before I became a mother, before breast cancer. How I wanted to be strong enough to lift that sword...

As much as I hate to admit it, I still occasionally have my whiny “poor me” days. Today is definitely one of them. Sometimes it’s so hard not to just scream and smash things and rant about how unfair it is that after all the shit I’ve been through…I’m still struggling. I’m still scrounging and scraping and clawing to survive and now I’m doing it without a partner. Part of me wants to bust into the office of the CEO in charge of life and the world and demand a reasonable accommodation. Hell, how about a big fat pay raise? I’ve battled, bled, grieved and at times I’ve even starved. Let me tell you; there are no tears that flow more bitterly than the ones brought by hunger. Well, at least not in my experience. Hm. I’m not sure I’ve ever shared that before. There is something about going hungry that has some sort of shame attached to it.

I am not sharing this to elicit sympathy. I am sharing it because I’m hoping that by admitting to it, I can rid myself of the self-pity and guilt that comes with it. I don’t feel it every day but sometimes I’m just not strong enough to keep it at bay. I suppose this is okay. I mean it makes me human right? It makes me stop and talk myself down or write a blog. It makes me want to go back in time and pick up that enormous claymore and scream my way into the fray with primal blood-lust and the sort of madness a person sometimes needs to stay alive. Only now there is no field of battered bodies. There is no claymore. However there is that mad lust for survival. There is that mad desire to violently tear down the walls of this unsavory reality and stand atop its rubble bleeding, scarred, and triumphant.

So I guess tonight as I am feeling alone and lost while my daughter is at her father’s house, I can at least be glad that there is a plate of warm and delicious food waiting to fill my belly. As I fight of the self-beating that threatens over doing something incredibly stupid earlier today, I will use the things I’ve done right to guide me through this darkness. I will hold onto the knowledge that Violet will be coming home on Friday and I can hold and kiss her until my heart bursts with blissful love. It’s her. She gives me strength and I won’t stop until I am every last bit the mother she needs and deserves. I won’t stop. Ever. It’s a lonely road right now and I am tired, so very tired but I am also stronger and more determined. I will not let this win. 

Sweeping Up Shards

After a year of courtship, a legal union dressed as pirates, and 8 tumultuous years…my marriage is ending. The thing that was never going to happen to me is happening. It was my call, but that doesn’t make it painless. It doesn’t mean I don’t love him, either. It just means that living conditions became unbearable for me and I had to make a change.

My husband is a wonderful person…and an alcoholic. He gave me permission to share that. It’s been a very tough battle for him and I hope he wins that fight. I really hope he does. He is renting a room in a dry household with wonderful people whom I trust so Violet gets to spend half the week there. A few people have stated that they didn’t want us to split up and that with enough love it can be worked out. What they don’t understand is that this isn’t about love or lack thereof. It’s about a partnership that crumbled years ago. It’s about a promise I made.

When things got really bad between us while I was going through cancer treatment, he reached the point where he was hiding whiskey bottles under the bathroom sink and I found out. I haven’t always been the perfect example and I have enabled him during times when I just didn’t have the strength to fight against it but I have also shown him compassion in this disease. As long as he was honest with me about it and didn’t hide it, we could work through it. When he’d come home drunk and worried that I would hate him I would say that I was frightened, hurt and sad but that we would start again tomorrow…and then we’d start again. What I made clear however, was that if he started hiding bottles again it would be the end of us because I can’t help him fight what he keeps hidden.

So I ended it.  

                                                                                     

I’ve been living in a constantly moving storm so long, I can’t remember what life was like before the chaos, before the seemingly endless tragedies and battles. I think the biggest changes began with the death of my brother almost 4 years ago. Since that universe-altering event, it’s been almost unending. I was bullied by my boss to the point where I had to leave my job and take on full-time student status. The following spring, I discovered that I was pregnant. That’s when my husband first lost himself in a bottle and I lost my ability to trust. When my beautiful daughter came into the world things started to get better between us for a time. We even went to AA meetings as a little family with baby Violet in tow. We were making good friends and he was making progress. Then the next spring, for the second time in my life, Cancer announced that it had come for me. It didn’t take my life but it took my breasts, my ovaries…and my fear. The most important metamorphosis of my life began at that point. While I embraced the gifts cancer had to offer and began to become more whole than I’ve been in my life, he started to crumble. A baby and a wife with cancer had to be a mind-boggling Hell for him. It was an on-and-off the wagon sort of ride while I did what I could to keep things together on my end. I didn’t always do a very good job but in times like these…who does?

And then, about a week before my birthday I found a bottle of vodka behind the bathroom garbage can. It was full and unopened, but behind it was an empty one. My blood went cold and I began to shake. I knew that this was the end.

So I broke his heart…and mine too. The family broke, our way of life broke. Everything just seemed to shatter all around. The storm that had been nipping at our heels for so many years finally hit and everything changed.

Of course it still hurts. It hasn’t even been a month yet. I wanted to keep the whole thing quiet until it was done and the divorce was final but in his hurt, he let the cat out of the bag and questions began to fly out at us both. So I made an official announcement and now everyone knows. As this continues, I am becoming more and more certain that this is the right thing. Even though I feel ripped apart, I also feel relief. Even though I am almost completely without income and I’m scared, I have a new sense of confidence and I am opening up to my potential. The wounds are all so fresh but I accept these scars in my collection and I know that we can still be good parents and even friends. It feels like my days are all about sweeping up metaphorical shards of glass but it is needed in order to find that clean, shiny surface. Healing often comes with pain and this healing is a tremendous undertaking.

Somewhere in the last month, I remember telling my therapist that I have never had a self-esteem so healthy before and that for the first time in my life, when I look in the mirror the ugly girl who always lurked within was nowhere to be seen. She’s still gone and with the down of the Ugly Duckling finally being shed completely, I can see the beginning growth stages of my swan feathers.

No. These are not swan feathers. They are fire and I am rising like the Phoenix…I hope he will do the same. He's a good dad, an amazing artist, and can run one hell of a D&D campaign. He deserves to give himself happiness. I want to see him happy and being together made us both miserable.