I invoke a eucatastrophe

In this last day of the year, I invoke a eucatastrophe -- that I may rise above doubt and fear, revel in the blessings of my family and hand in an eloquent paper that invites good will (from all)...

Today will be a triumph that will define the whole of my little family's new year.

Vigil

Tonight I sit a vigil -- a vigil for 2010.  I sit to honour all the struggles of the past year and to ask the universe for a sweet resolution to each.  Namely:  for my Russian Love to be mine for as long as I live, in body and soul, for the good of us both; for my daughter to find peace and happiness inside of herself; for my son to beam with health, vitality, and calm; for me to bolster all my attempts at success with pride and fearlessness; for everyone I love to be happy and healthy. 

I will remain awake, trying my best all through the night and usher in the dawn with joy and a quiet, yet unshakeable, purposefulness.

Anchor

He has provided me with an anchor -- it is called a talk about our futures, respective and combined, this Wednesday.  I broke down and called him last night to demand to know when I might hear from him.  We both sounded emotional.  He said he wanted this time for us to be away from each other completely to allow us to be clear when we talk -- I reminded him that that works for him and only to an extent for me.  Some space helps to clear my brain, but past a certain point I need a touchstone or I go spinning out of the known universe.  I needed that short call with him, no matter what happens next week.  It is amazing the effect on my nervous system.  Just hearing his voice and knowing when I will be in contact again, I can concentrate, I can breathe easier, I feel some hope for life again.

So, we will decide in the new year... 

His silence

His silence and inaction make me furious.  I don't know why anger is almost the first thing I feel.  Let's see if I can go back before that emotion -- uh huh, desperation.  Desperation is probably a split second before.  I am a complete mess. How can someone who made me feel the best I've ever felt now make me feel the worst I've ever felt?  How can I love and hate him at the same time?  Can I find a way to shoot my disappointment in the head, like the narrator in Fight Club?  Can I ever forgive him, can I ever forgive myself?  When did it all go wrong?  What was the action, when was that moment, can I please be granted my wish to go back in time so we can fix it?   

I wonder when I will hear from him...I'm going to take a guess that it will be after New Year's...

Re-blogged from Ayelet Waldman

A good mother...

 "A Good Mother remembers to serve fruit at breakfast, is always cheerful and never yells, manages not to project her own neuroses and inadequacies onto her children, is an active and beloved community volunteer. She remembers to make playdates, her children's clothes fit, she does art projects with them and enjoys all their games. And she is never too tired for sex."

hahahhahahahahahhhhhahahahahhahahahahhahahhhahahahahahahahahhahhhahaaahahahhhhahahahahahahahahah!

Effing gut rot

Why does re-working this paper make me want to throw up, even as I start I am running away from the mother-effing (literally...) thing.

2:12pm:  Fuck, aching all over for him.  Feel sick with it...

2:42pm:  Scared shitless.  The real separation from him is beginning, with all the terrifying possibilities (temporary or not) that may accompany it.  Fuck, fuck, fuck...

3:53pm:  Are we just learning how to live apart?

11:28pm:  Epic separation anxiety.  Like the ache I've always had for him, sitting on another floor of the house while he remained unavailable, engulfed by his computer.  Only this time, the ache is times a billion.  Night time, the witching hour.  I can't be awake now -- feelings are too strong and untrustworthy.  I hate and am in awe of him, that he won't contact me.  Does he miss us at all?  Or does he have everything he needs, 18 inches away on the screen.  Please bring me restful sleep, keepers of the night.

                           I stood upon the brink.  It was utterly dark before my fate.

In my dreams

I rock out like this:

Thank G_D for sisters

Been lying in my own filth for days, texting desperately, with doubt clogging the arteries to my heart.  Miss him?  Yes.  Ache for us?  Yes.  Know what happiness would look like for us?  Not yet.  Don't think he does either.  Space for me is the toughest.  Dad used to say he couldn't discipline me as a kid because as soon as the conflict began I was a puddle of tears and cling to him like a monkey baby.  He'd have to pry me off just to talk to me.  I am the same.  So the same. 

Enter my sister the Queen.  Thank G_D for her.  She took the kids for me today so I can actually start on my bane (the paper re-write).  And she's going to make sure they have fun, which lightens my heart.  And she talked sense to me for an hour last night.  About he and I needing space, about how we are both addicts in our own way, and that we need the space in order to be clear before we talk to each other -- talk about what we can accept and what we cannot. 

Though it makes sense, being clear is a rather vague concept to me.  While he and my sister seem to instinctively grasp it, I remain grasping.  Time will tell, time will tell...       

All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us

That is difficult.  I know I am stalled.  I am uncertain of what I am doing.  I must re-write this paper no matter what.  Whether I decide to give up on grad studies or not.  I am not sure why I feel so conflicted about school.  I think it was not seeing the kids so much this past term.  I miss them.  It can't be like that.  I will have to find babysitting and work hard in the days and when the kids are busy. 

He doesn't want to talk to me.  I feel conflicted by that too.  On the one hand, I ache to see and hear him.  On the other, wounds are all so fresh I am not sure what would come of a conversation.  I guess I am just looking for some confirmation that he hasn't just completely given up on me yet.  And yet if he has, I need to hear it.  It's just going to be very hard to keep going after that.  I feel lost.  I can't wait until the kids are home tomorrow. 

More withdrawal and self-reflection

Gnawing in the belly.  The understanding that it must be like this right now, though it hurts.  Smilla Jaspersen was right -- pain of the mind is worse than pain of the body.  Especially regret.  But I have to peel away the layers, and for me it had to begin violently -- I couldn't escape it because I have to face it.  I was not only violent to him, but violent with myself.  It's the only relief I've known.  Volcanic emotional emptying.  I haven't trusted love.  I take take take or appease appease appease.  I want to see me clearly, see the real me, and not recoil.  Desire and longing are so strong in me -- for my kids, for him.  How to free it and myself?  I want to give and not expect return.  Only the most self-contained person can do that.  He sneered that I need religion, over the phone; was he right?  Am I that weak?  I've always sought it I suppose -- santa, teenage wicca, tibetan mediation, science.  Now I seek freedom.  If a companion in love is still in my future, if he is still in my future, I will only meet him if I am free. 

Pure of heart

I want to be pure of heart.  To finally get rid of the grasping blackness.  To be able to properly return the love that is offered me.  I would like to be a warrior.

Withdrawal

Withdrawal symptoms are fucking painful.  I am bottoming out on love and attachment.  All the many elusive emotions I have pursued so doggedly and unconsciously since I was 13.  I could blame my parents, my dad in particular, for sending me away to strange places twice in my life.  I had always felt an obsessive love for the people closest to me and knew I was too intense for everyone:  being sent away confirmed it and a love addict was born.  Always searching, feeling like I would have to force and take the love I craved.  I even found a quick way to make some love of my own -- two kids by the time I was 24.  I've been a junkie ever since, negotiating dirty fixes and coming up empty after a few years.  I don't know how to love without the feeling of wanting and taking, screaming for attention. 

And now the love of my life is gone.  Much of our split is my doing.  And I feel the pain of it, in my chest, stomach, head -- it knocks me flat.  I need to be tied to a bedframe for 3 days while the drug leaves my system.  But I can't, I have responsibilities.  I don't know how to pay for my own life.  I've got to find a way.  I would really rather die, truthfully.  I wanted to throw myself under some cars speeding down the mountain, but I have kids and parents who would suffer for it.  So instead, I must go on suffering. 

I don't know what is beyond this.  For now, I must suck the poison out. 

The next morning

I feel nauseous.  I miss him.  I don't know that I did the right thing (though I am certain the way I did it was wrong).  I feel bad for him, of course I want him to get rid of his obsession and come back to me.  I also feel just a teensy weensy whisper of relief, of freedom to accomplish what I need to to be wholly responsible for myself.  Shit, like figure out how to pay the rent, get and pay a babysitter, find a job while in grad school with 2 kids.  Maybe I should look into co-op housing...

Later:  negotiating love by text.  Now, it's time to wait for him to come to terms with us and me to find out that all life is waiting, that waiting is just life in disguise...

Russian insanity

I told my russian insanity to leave today.  I stood over him with mock violence until he packed his fucking computer and left.  I am sad for what wasn't and exhilarated for whatever is next.

Later:  Tears.  Let the ripping begin.

Bikini-a-Day

Welcome to my new Bikini-a-Day program:  a tool to help me see myself properly and motivate me to stick with my health and fitness goals for life.  I've got the rest of my life to look hawt, so let's start now!  How it works -- I put on a bikini and snap a pic every single morning, it's as simple as that!  Thing is, even when I was thinner than now, I hid out in one piece suits.  I thought I was too fat.  Funnily enough, after this morning's shoot, I figured out that me 15 pounds heavier is not so bad!  A few lines about what I see in these pics versus what I see in the mirror while I hide out in my closet.  In the mirror I zero in on a tiny area of me and criticize it until I feel I must cover it up!  In these photos, my eye embraces my whole physical self.  And you know what I see?  I see a girl who might be 15 lbs heavier, but who still has muscle, vibrance and sex appeal.  When I look at these I also think -- you know what, I can definitely wear bikinis at the pool.  No more waiting until I'm that elusive perfect weight!  So girls, I suggest no matter what weight you are, take a snap shot of yourself in your favourite sexy outfit (be it a dress, bathing suit, lingerie or whatever) and be proud now.  Reveal yourself to yourself -- it can only help you to see yourself properly and to commit to take more care of the amazing, sexy you.  The photo below will start my new Bikini-a-Day page, where I hope to post pics most days. 

How to manage stress and not junk out

Dear ethernet diary,

Well gut rot is here, and not the sticky gooey I just ate an entire box of something yummy kind.  It's just boring old stress.  The stress isn't even real, it's imaginary!  So what to do about it before I eat an enitre box of something?  I'm going to take the kiddies and go up a gondola into the west coast snow.  Santa's up there, reindeer are up there, an outdoor fire pit and skating -- and best of all, 6 feet of snow.  We are going to tumble head first into the snow.  And my hope is that this low energy, dragging my body around feeling will tumble with us.  I want to bring back some vitality, some hope, some confidence in myself.  Some joy.  I want to feel that I'm okay just being with myself.  I know this all sounds like shlock, and it is!  But effing shlock seems to actually affect my mindset, and as disturbing and/or laughable that is, it's still true.  So -- time to face it, with christmas on top.   

Two steps forward, one step back

Is still one effing step forward! 

Dear audience, who randomly land on my page but leave no comments, I am sorry I have neglected you for the last few weeks for the sake of a single-mother in grad school ambivalence stress-fest.  This fall was like a repeat of the very first term I began undergrad, alone with 2 kiddies and pre-reqs that were 15 years old.  I felt scared, I raged at the man in my life, I lay on the floor crying in frustration instead of tackling homework.  I even ended up with the exact same transcript, grade for grade.  History in my life appears to repeat itself with alarming accuracy. 

And to you Lady in White, I am sorry for neglecting you for the last almost 3 years, and particularly sorry for so heavily abusing you for the last 3 months.  I ate my feelings every chance I got, including today.  I have ogled the fitblogs of twenty-somethings, envying the scope of their as yet unattained futures.  I would like to suck it out of them.  But instead, I shall wish them well, and attend a command repeat performance of my own weight-loss.  That's right -- in 2004 I lost 40 pounds of baby/ I hate my husband weight and managed to keep it off through fear and fitness until fall 2009.  That's when I let depression over my current relationship (also known as russian madness) and an obsessive need to prove myself through school override my well-being.  Instead, I worshipped the bread-cheese-chocolate holiest of holy trinities. 

What is it about 7.5 seconds of a taste explosion that approximates love and happiness so bemusingly? It's a true mystery, as apparently I am willing to withstand disfiguring self-hatred and stomach upset for hours and days afterwards.  And to go on to partake of another 7.5 seconds of mediocre mouth-love.  Emotional masturbation with food sucks! 

It doesn't help.  I feel weaker and more unworthy of love than ever!  

So here's what's going to happen:  I have a kind of break from school from now until January 4th (a total of 23 semi-vacation days).  In that time I will 1) sleep 2) write 3) seek transformative solitude 4) work-out my ass off (literally).  Seriously, daily weights (only for interest sake) and measures, and a weekly size 8 jeans sit-down test.  Though weight-gain is a symptom and not the disease and weight-loss is a benefit and not a cure, the next couple of weeks will involve symptomatic treatment only -- because it's what I can manage right now.  After that, I will find a cure. 

Do or do not -- there is no try. 

Barely hanging on; but, so what?