The Myth of the Rational Empath

I've written before about being an empath. Not of the supernatural variety, but of the highly sensitive, deep feeling, empathetic to a fault variety. It may be why I startle easily. It probably contributes to my over-apologizing. It absolutely causes me to feel things differently than others. And, like anything in life, it has its good parts and its bad parts. 

This is a subject I have a hard time with because I fear judgment. I want others to think that I'm strong and capable and sane, and I worry that my empathicness (is that a word? It is now!) is more likely to be seen as a weakness, something that makes me somehow less capable and less rational than others. 

And so I've put this off. I've started it again and again. Drafts have been deleted or rewritten to no avail (pretty sure I started drafting this iteration at least 3-4 weeks ago). Then I was reminded of this: 

With my semi-recent #sorrynotsorry challenge (which went well, for the record!) and the looming thoughts surrounding my own insecurities about being an empath and HSP (highly sensitive person), this tweet opened the floodgates. I still didn't write it all at once, because I'm easily distracted this time of year, but here we are getting it done (finally).

The big thing to know is that I feel things deeply. Sometimes unnecessarily so, or to my own detriment, but it's just how I've always processed emotions. And it's not always a bad thing!

It's why I enjoy putting thought and energy into giving gifts to people (even strangers - I loved being a part of Reddit's Secret Santa this season!) in hopes that it'll bring them a smile. It's why I don't really like cooking or baking for just myself because the real joy I find in it is when someone else enjoys what I've made. It's why I get weirdly attached to characters in shows, movies, and books (like when I cried because Weebo "died" in Flubber) and go through a brief mourning period when I end a particularly good series and why I like to rewatch and reread those series so I can visit those characters over and over. Whether we're lifelong friends or new acquaintances, if I feel like we've connected, then you're part of my circle - that means you have my friendship, my respect, and my loyalty (even if I don't have yours).

On the other hand, it's why when my depression starts spiraling, it often happens so quickly that I can't even recognize what's going on until it's too late. It's why the thought of my friends or family in pain makes me hurt - sometimes physically - especially when there's nothing I can do to help them or nothing I can say that will ease that pain. It's why things that may cause small amounts of anxiety in some people result in me having panic attacks (or damn near) out of the blue. When my heart breaks, it takes a long time for me to pick up the pieces, and I've probably even lost a few bits along the way. 

I wear my heart on my sleeve for all to see and, in doing so, it gets scratched, snagged, and scarred along the way. My heart is easily bruised and sometimes that can be really hard. But I believe that having my heart at the ready also means that I can more easily find great love and appreciation for even the smallest things. It often means that I don't have to dig deep to find my compassion. And though I'm not always happy about it, one rarely has to guess how I'm feeling - it's all out there to be seen, whether I like it or not. 

And I'm not sorry for any of it. I would rather feel things too severely than not at all. Numbness may seem easier, especially when things get bad; trust me, I've been there. But to experience positive emotions as strongly as I do? It's worth every sob session, every soul ache, every piece of my heart I've left behind on my path through life. 

What I AM sorry for is the lack of understanding others seem to have regarding empaths and HSPs. It's easy for people to just see that part of someone and make assumptions. People frequently have this notion that the higher one's emotions run, the less rationally they think and act. And for some empaths, maybe even the majority, it does work that way. But as with any group of people, assuming we're 'all the same' is useless at best. Being sensitive and feeling things intensely does NOT mean I am an inherently irrational person. 

Are there times I act largely based on what I feel? Of course. Are there times that my emotions - or the emotions of others - hit me so hard that I get overwhelmed? Yep, that happens, too. Nonetheless, strong feelings and a tender heart don't mean I'm incapable of thinking rationally and reasonably. Logic and emotion are not mutually exclusive, nor are they inverses of one another.  

Maybe we need to stop seeing everything as one thing or another. Maybe we can challenge the ways in which we think of people - including ourselves - so that we stop believing in limitations that don't have to exist. Maybe we can stop judging those we barely know and instead focus on learning more about them and finding who they really are.

Or, maybe I'm the exception to the rule. Maybe I'm a mythical being: The Rational Empath, she who is the veritable "riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma." The elusive creature of great beauty and wisdom, who will bring you good luck if you catch her!

But probably not. I'm pretty easy to catch...

The Pepper Predicament: All Good Things Come to an End

My dog is dead.

OK, so that's a pretty heavy way to start this off, but it is nonetheless true. Sgt Pepper, my Little Man, has shuffled off this mortal coil.

He's been gone for 12 days now, but it hurts like it just happened yesterday. All those cliches, all those sad, sappy statements... they're all true. Our home feels too quiet and empty. My heart feels like it has a hole in it. I'd give just about anything to hold him one more time, to watch him run down the driveway, or even have him bark incessantly at me for no apparent reason. It was too soon. I need more time. I want him back.

And you know, if you read those statements, they all sound incredibly selfish. Our home. My heart. I need. I want. It seems that it's my pain I'm worried about, when maybe I should be focused on the fact that he's at peace now. No more heart murmur or heart disease. No more thyroid problems. No more arthritis. No more coughing. No more pain. No more medications. By Rainbow Bridge standards, he's young again, full of life (and hair!) and able to breathe. He's free.

As rational as that sounds, and as much as I'd love to say it makes me feel better, I just don't see it that way. Not now. Not yet. Maybe someday? I hope.

For now, I miss him. Even the stupid stuff. I miss hearing him bark bright and early in the morning (or sometimes in the middle of the night) for no reason, or because he was hungry and just couldn't (or wouldn't) wait. I miss playing "Poops or No Poops?" - when we woke up in the morning and headed into the kitchen, we always wondered... would there be a bunch of crap (literally) to pick up or would he have made it through the night? More often than not the answer was poops. But every once in awhile it would be a no poops kind of morning, a pleasant surprise indeed. I miss his excessive prancing at meal times, which sometimes reached the point of recklessness as he crashed into water dishes or trash cans.

Even the things I don't miss - like having to lock the trashcan in the bathroom overnight so he didn't get into it or making sure anything leather was out of reach, lest we lose another shoe or baseball mitt - I would put up with again just to have him around. He wasn't a terribly people-oriented dog. He wasn't cuddly (with us, anyway), he never gave kisses, and he mostly just didn't care if you were around or not. But we had some kind of connection. He would follow me around. He would sleep in my arms in the car. He'd let me hold him in the big bed sometimes.

He let me love him. More than anything, I'm grateful for that.

So here's hoping they have good internet at The Bridge and that you're reading this, Little Man. Because I need you to know that you were so, so loved, and I need to thank you for letting that happen. You let us love you as much as we possibly could, and you let us give you a whole year of being spoiled and doted on. You gave us so much, and I hope you appreciate what we were able to give you as well.

I love you, Little Man. Always.

Dear Mam-maw

Dear Mam-maw,

I told myself to write this letter before now, but I thought I had more time (or at least I tricked myself into believing that). And sometimes it's hard to find all the right words at the right time. I'm not making excuses, just explaining myself and hoping you understand.

When I was three, we came to visit you in Oregon at Dot's house. For years I would bring up playing an organ in Oregon, and to this day I remember playing with the adding machine. I just loved the way the buttons clicked and the sounds it made while it printed out nonsensical figures. That's my first memory with you, but thankfully not the last.

I remember visiting you in Sun Prairie. In Wausau. All over Wisconsin. No matter where you lived, you had a room for me, and I remember picking toys to keep at your place so I'd always have something to do. Among the things I kept at your place was "The Giving Tree" - a book I liked at the time, but wouldn't grow to appreciate until I was older.

You traveled with us to Mississippi to see my uncle and cousins, and then Grandpa Chuck. I remember my parents explaining that you two loved each other very much, but you just couldn't be married. I was six, and while it didn't make sense at the time, I accepted it. You were an independent woman, and always encouraged me to be the same.

You confided in me more than once that you were afraid you hadn't been a good mother. And I know I always told you that of course you were. My dad loves you with all his heart, and you did an amazing job raising him on your own. But what I might have forgotten to say is that you were also an incredible grandmother. Were you always around? No. You moved a lot, and sometimes it would be a few years before I'd see you again. But I always knew you were out there, and if I had needed you, you would've been there for me.

You were always my biggest advocate. When I dropped out of college at 20, you told me that college wasn't for everyone! You insisted that I'd find my own path, and that I'd do great things. When I decided to go back to school, you told me how proud you were and that I could do whatever I set forth to do. And both times, you meant it. You weren't just pandering to me, telling me what I wanted to hear. You truly believed in me. When it felt like everyone else was disappointed or skeptical, you supported me. I probably never said so, but that meant more to me than just about anything else.

I have so many memories of you, and stories are flooding my mind so quickly I'm almost drowning in them. In a good way, though. They're warm and loving and beautiful. They feel like your hugs; a little too tight, as if you're holding on for fear of losing me, except I'm the one holding too tightly now. I want to settle into them, to find the comfort and support I always got from you. And I will. Just not right now. Right now, the only comfort I can find is that you've found peace.

Mom says you can breathe again. I hope she's right and that you're never tethered down again. You're too strong, too independent, too incredible to let anything keep you down.

I love you so very much.

Love Always,
Erika Elizabeth

P.S. Tell whoever's in charge they need to stock up on ice cream for you. Butter pecan. Cones, too.

 

The Pepper Predicament - Part 5: Pepper Comes Home

My dad and I drove separately to the vet, since he had business to attend to when we were done, so I led the way. Thankfully, the drive there is super easy. You drive straight down one street for 60+ blocks, make a right, and then just a few blocks later you're there. Et voila!

We went in and I told the receptionist we were there to see Pepper. She called back and Dad and I waited in the lobby. This was the longest we'd had to wait yet, but there seemed to be a pretty good reason. Instead of us going back to see Pepper, they brought Pepper out to us.

When Hubby and I had visited the night before, we took Pepper outside on a walk. (OK, we just wandered around the lawn, but still.) He was fairly stable, but still a little wobbly, so I was pretty excited when the vet tech walked my little man out to us on a leash!

They had us go into a room with a big leather sofa and lots of boxes of tissues (I'm guessing it doubles as the bad news room, or maybe even the euthanasia room...). My biggest surprise of the day came when I sat on the couch and my little man jumped right up after me. What?! This dog couldn't even stand long enough to eat less than 48 hours ago, and now he's jumping up on the couch like it's nothing! Is this the right dog?

We waited for the vet for awhile. She popped her head in to let us know it would be another 5 minutes, and we waited some more. My dad never sat. He just stood there, ready to take on whatever or whomever he had to. I'm so thankful he was there.

Anywhoozles, the vet finally came in and started talking to us. If I had written this sooner, I could tell you more about the conversation, but here's what I remember.

She told us that since they had started him back on the thyroid medication the night before, he had had 2 doses and already she could see a difference in him. Why hadn't we seen it before? Possibly because of the heart meds he had been on at the time. According to this vet (who we'll call Dr. L), everyone was so worried about his heart disease and murmur that we kind of let the thyroid issue take a back seat. But in her opinion, the hypothyroidism is the more pressing of the two issues and should be the focus of our medical attention.

My other surprise of the day was when Dr. L asked what I wanted to do. Did I want to keep him there or take him home. She said if it was her dog, she'd be taking him home. My first reaction was to ask if he was in any pain. If he was in pain and needed more medical attention, then that would have been a factor in my decision. But she said no (YAY!), so I told her I wanted to take him home. She told us she'd have his IV taken out and he'd be cleaned up (hospital policy that all pets get a bath before leaving).

That's when my dad stepped in. As I said, he didn't sit the whole time we were there. He asked a few questions, made a few comments, but was mostly just this presence in the room that gave vibes of "don't mess with my daughter" (or maybe that was just my imagination). At this point he asked about the money, because the figured he had heard were "shocking" for a dog toward the end of his lifetime. Dr. L went to check, and as it turned out we were still within the original estimate. I don't know if the $2700 was a misunderstanding or what, but I was incredibly relieved to see a number under $2k.

The best part of that day was walking my little man to the car, having him hop into the backseat (by himself!), and driving him home. My family had been incomplete while he was gone. Even Maxine could feel it and wasn't 100% herself. Bringing him home made everything right again.

The Pepper Predicament - Prequel

Part of adopting a rescue dog is being uncertain of the past. Miss Maxine, as you may recall, started as a mill dog who had a litter or two very young. Then she was a farm dog, fed only scraps of people food and (probably) given no real love. Then she was adopted by a couple who brought her back within a month because she wasn't the right fit for them. While we know the general outline, we don't know any of the specifics. With Pepper, it's even less clear. All we know is that his owner died, he was transported from Kentucky to Wisconsin (in the dead of winter), and now he's our little man. Who knows what happened during his 10-12 years of life before us?

Part of adopting an older/senior dog is being uncertain of the future. Maxi was probably about 2 when we adopted her almost 5 years ago, so she's about 7 now (maybe as young as 6 or as old as 8). She still thinks she's a puppy sometimes, and she's always full of energy and excitement. We figure she's got a decent amount of time left with us, and we'll do whatever we can to make sure that's the case. When you adopt an older dog, every day going forward is more precious, but less certain. Pepper is our old man. The people who first rescued him thought he was about 7 years old. Then the vet in WI took a look and decided he was more like 10-12, but probably closer to 10 since he's still pretty spunky. This past week, we were told he was more likely on the upper end (more precisely, we were told he was "older than [we] thought"). We've had him for almost 6 months now, but we have no idea how much longer he'll be in our lives. He's in heart failure, has thyroid issues, urinates ALL the time, and is a crotchety old man. And even though we don't know everything that the future holds, we do know that we're in it with him all the way.

Part of adopting ANY dog (really, any animal at all) is love. Unconditional, intense, instant, everlasting love. If you don't love your dog, it's not the dog's fault... Our dogs can drive us absolutely insane. They steal our food, make messes in our house, demand attention at inopportune moments, bark their fool heads off for no real reason, need to be taken out in all kinds of weather, and frequently act like our desire to cuddle them is an annoyance at best. But we wouldn't change a thing. We chastise them for stealing our steak, but still share our bacon. We clean up their messes and blame ourselves for being inattentive. We shirk our responsibilities to make sure our pups know they're loved. We let them bark, take them out in a foot of snow or the dead of night, and we force them into cuddling even if they squirm the whole time. And we do it all because we freakin' love those little furballs more than we can even explain.

And it's that love that means we'll do anything if we think it will help them stay in our lives even for one more afternoon, one more walk, one more cuddle. We know they won't live forever. We might hope and pray that they will, but somewhere inside we know that they will leave us eventually. And as heartbreaking as it is to lose a family member - furry or otherwise - we know that we're better off for having had them in our lives at all. And if we've done things right, we know that they were better off for having been part of our family, no matter how briefly.

This may all seem obvious (especially if you have a pet that you love with all of your heart), but I felt it necessary that I explain all of this before diving into the events coming in the next few posts.

To be continued...

But How Do You REALLY Feel?

I'm going to assume that most people have asked for reassurance at some point in their lives. Asking a friend if an outfit looks good. Asking a coworker to look over something for you. Asking someone to wish you luck. It's a nice feeling to know that someone else believes in us, no matter how trivial it might seem.

But wanting reassurance from time to time is a lot different than needing constant reassurance. You know that friend or acquaintance that's always asking people things like, "We're friends, right?" or "You're sure you like hanging out with me?" The person that seems to be forever fishing for compliments or positivity; talking about how terrible her singing voice is or how he'll never find a significant other. The person that you really did like once upon a time, but all of the negativity and neediness has just gotten to be too much and you're not as sure anymore.

Yep. That's me. I am that person.

Or maybe it was me. I like to think I've grown past some of that, but I do find myself with that itch for someone to tell me I'm doing a good job or that I'm as funny as I think I am. It's a hard habit to break. And it's a possible risk factor for depression.

Ru Paul is famous for saying, "If you can't love yourself, how the hell you gonna love somebody else?" This is more like, "If you can't love yourself, how the hell is anybody else gonna love you?" 

When you have low self-esteem, believing in yourself is pretty much impossible. Or at least it felt that way to me. So I went looking for other people to believe in me. And while I loved the reassurance and praise, the positive feelings I took away never lasted. I was constantly wondering if the reassurance had been genuine. Did they really mean it, or did they say it to be nice? And for that matter, do they even really like me or are they just putting up with me? How could I know for sure?

And so I kept asking. I'm sure to a lot of people it seemed like I was purely fishing for compliments, but it was beyond that. Pardon the cliche, but it's like an addiction in some ways. You go looking for the reassurance. You get some and it feels good. So good! But only for awhile. Then you come down and you feel worse than you did before. You need MORE reassurance. So you go looking for more, and the cycle repeats. 

At a certain point, your questions become ridiculous. Even after someone has reassured you, you ask, "Are you sure? Is that how you REALLY feel?" And my bet is that gets old REALLY fast. Logic told me that if people were willingly hanging out with me, they were friends. If they confided in me, shared things with me, they were good friends. Maybe even best friends. But depression kicks logic to the curb. I would start wondering if particular friends really liked me, or if it was something else. Convenience, maybe. Or just being nice. Or maybe they needed or wanted something from me (though, I couldn't imagine what, since I thought I had nothing to offer). I thought K (yes, my "sister") was only my friend because we've known each other my whole life. I thought Bestie was just being nice to me. Hell, I even thought Hubby was just trying to be a nice guy and cheer me up when we first started dating.

Even now I struggle from time to time. It's impossible to know exactly how someone else feels about you; you can't read minds (much as you might try). Some people are going to lie or sugarcoat things. But for the most part, if you consider someone a good friend and you genuinely like them, there's a good chance the feeling is mutual. I know that my sister doesn't just put up with me. I know that Bestie is one of the best friends I've ever had. And I know that Hubby loves me to no end. I know this because it's how I feel about them. And unless they ever give me a reason to doubt that, I'm going to choose to keep believing it.

So piggybacking on my last post, if you know a habitual reassurance-seeker (or if you are one), don't assume they're just attention whores. Some of them are. It happens. But if you see some other potential symptoms of depression or low self-esteem, they may just need to be reminded that they ARE worth something. And they might need a nudge, push, or shove toward a long-term fix. You can't be there to reassure them 100% of the time, but you can be a friend 100% of the time. 

Morbid Memories

When I was maybe 5 or 6, my great grandpa died. He's the first relative I remember dying, and I wasn't all that sad. I'm ashamed to admit that I was afraid of him; my understanding is that he had Alzheimer's and spoke almost entirely in German, so I didn't understand a word he said, and he was in a wheelchair (which was completely new to me at the time). I didn't go to the funeral.

Maybe a year later (I don't know the timeline, since I was so young) my great grandma died (also my mom's family, but different side of that family). For her, I cried. My mom was so upset that she actually scolded me for crying because I hadn't cried when Great Grandpa had died. She doesn't even remember saying it, but I did stop crying. That was the first funeral I remember. We had to travel for it, and I don't remember much. It was an open casket, and I saw my great grandma one last time. Otherwise, me and my cousins were in the Curious George room at the funeral parlor, reading books and playing games. 

When my great granddaddy died (my dad's grandpa), I was a few years older. Middle school or even high school, I think. I was sad, but I hadn't known him very well since he lived in Mississippi. He was nice enough to me, though. He didn't talk much, but he let me play with a Mr. Potato Head when I visited, which I just thought was the coolest thing ever. When his wife eventually died, my parents forgot to tell me for months. They had found out while I had a sleepover, and they didn't want to upset me. I found out at dinner one night when they were talking about it in passing. She was a seriously sweet lady and I was really sad for my Grandpa since his mom and dad were both gone.

I'd been seriously lucky since then. My family was all relatively healthy and most were in the same state as me.

Fast forward. When I was 21, I was woken up one Saturday morning by my mom telling me that my Gramma (her mom) had died. I'd just visited her a week or so before, and even though she was on hospice, I was shocked. I called my best friend/pseudo-sister K and she came to pick me up and spent the day with me. I took two or three nights off of work so I could help in any way possible. I helped with the picture boards and kept my mom company. At the funeral, I bawled. The hardest part for me was when my cousin N lost it, but the most vivid memory I have is my cousin P's son asking where Great Gramma was and she told him to remember that we could only see her in pictures now.

6 years ago tomorrow, my cat died. He'd been my 13th birthday present, and though I've always been a dog person, I loved that damn cat more than anything. He was a bitch (blocked a few of my friends in the bathroom, hissed at people, bit some of them...), but he loved me. He was also a tubby tabby (22 pounds!), and probably died as a result (heart failure, maybe). Once again, I was woken up by my mom, this time to be told Zeus had died and to ask if I wanted them to do something with him or to cremate him and bring him home. I wanted him to come home. I tried to work that day, but I only made it a few hours in before I broke down and asked to go home. I had been dating Hubby for a few months at the time, and after work he drove all the way from Milwaukee to Madison to be there for me. He brought me potted flowers and if I hadn't already known he was a keeper, that sealed the deal.

Since then, I've been lucky enough to not lose any family. Friends? Yes. It's been a rough year or two for that, actually. But family was safe and sound.

Until yesterday, when my mom called to tell me that my uncle had died in a car accident. He's my uncle through marriage, but my uncle nonetheless, and I can't possibly imagine what my aunt is going through. We don't know details, nor when services will be or anything like that. Right now, it seems cold to even think about it. All I know is that our family lost someone that we hold dear, and just before Christmas at that. I know there's no good time to lose someone, but this is just shitty. 

I've experienced a decent amount of loss this year, and many others have suffered far more loss than I can possibly imagine. I can only hope that 2013 is a little kinder to those in my life. I hope it's kinder to us all.

Be thankful for your loved ones, and hold them close this time of year. Be grateful for the time you have with them and how they've touched your lives. It can be over far too quickly.

Football, Friends and Food

Nov. 18 - On Sunday, I was thankful for...

(Packers) Football season.

Since Hubby was gone hunting this weekend, it was just me and the puppers in the house. Once I got done with homework, there were few options for things to do. I took a nap. I played on the PS3. I read. I played with my puzzle. 

I got bored.

And then it was time for football. Hallelujah! 

Football season doesn't just get me through the day when Hubby's gone; it's a family affair at our house when he's home. The three of us (yes, that includes Maxine) wear our jerseys, grab some snacks, and curl up on the couch to cheer on the Packers whenever they play. It's one of my favorite family activities, and it even comes with its own traditions (like double high fives for touch downs, a tradition I learned from my parents). A win means a good week ahead; a loss means grumbling, outrage, and moments of panic (unless we're already doing terribly, in which case, not really any need for panic). I always hope that we'll make it to the post-season, not just for the glory, but also because it means a longer football season! :)

As long the Packers are playing, I am thankful for football season. When they aren't playing... well, there's only so many months until spring training for baseball! ;)

Nov. 19 - Yesterday, I was thankful for...

My friends.

Normally I would write a long, gushy post about how much my friends mean to me and how they're always around when I need them, blah blah blah. But instead, I'm going to keep this shorter and more to the point.

I'm thankful that my friends understand what I brat I can be, and don't hold it against me that I don't make phone calls and prefer to talk online or in person. I'm thankful that my friends make me laugh and let me cry. I'm thankful that they're as weird as I am and don't get scared off when I say something crazy. I'm thankful that my friends are all different and that I can learn so many things from each of them. 

Mostly, though, I'm thankful for who they are and how they make me feel like a better person, just by having them in my life. Thanks to you all. <3

Nov. 20 - Today I am thankful for...

Food.

If you know me, you know I love food. (You don't get this physique from not loving food.) And what's not to love? It keeps us alive, happy and (somewhat) healthy. And not everyone has access to it like I'm fortunate enough to. Too frequently I take for granted that I don't have to worry about where my next meal will come from or when I'll be able to get food again. 

Preparing food can be a lot of fun, and so can shopping for it (I always grocery shop with Hubby, and we make it fun). Going out to eat, ordering in, carrying out, or making it yourself all have different benefits and are all different ways to experience food. We have it at celebrations, we have it when mourning. It can calm our stomachs, or make us think we'll never eat again (you know, when you feel like Violet from Willy Wonka and someone damn near has to roll you out of the room). We have favorites, and we have things we won't touch with a 10-foot pole. The options are seemingly endless, and finding a perfect pairing or an unexpected new favorite makes our mouths, minds, and stomachs happy campers.

So, for all that (and more reasons, I'm sure), I am thankful for food. Om nom nom!

Working on it...

I keep trying to get caught up, but as soon as I start, something seems to come up. Here goes nothing.

Nov. 16 - On Friday, I was thankful for...

My hubby. 

Lately I seem to have been encountering more and more people my age getting divorced (hell, I even know someone who's been divorced twice already). I mean, yeah, I know it makes sense and that as I get older, even more people I know will get divorced. But it's surprising to me that it's happening at such a young age. When I was younger, I didn't even figure I'd be married yet at 28, so the thought of divorce at this age (or there about) hadn't ever crossed my mind.

I'm sure I've been over the story of me and Hubby several times already, so I'll try to summarize for y'all.

Girl meets boy in middle school and has massive crush.
Girl "dates" boy briefly at the end of high school, then forgets about him.
Girl finds boy on Facebook 3-4 years later.
Girl "dates" boy again.
Girl talks to boy's best friend, who makes her realize that things are not working with boy.
Girl breaks things off with boy.
Girl dates, and eventually marries, boy's best friend.

There, now you're caught up.

Until I met Hubby, I had a "type" that I was drawn to. Typically, I liked tall, skinny guys. Usually with bad attitudes. Usually underachievers or troublemakers. It was kind of my thing. (Note that not all of my boyfriends fit all of these, but most fit at least half. Oh, and I had a different "type" when it came to girls, too. Shorter than me, for sure. And no twigs; I didn't want to break anyone. Anyway, I digress.) So when I realized that I liked Hubby - who is the same height as me, super sweet, and not just a skeleton with skin and hair - no one was more surprised than I was. But, as people so often say, it just felt right.

With anyone else, I was constantly trying to gain approval and affection. I was always trying to be what I thought they wanted and would give everything I had to get to that point. With Hubby, it's always just been about being myself. I don't know anyone I can relax with and be silly with better than I can with him. That means more to me than just about anything.

So, yes, I'm thankful for my husband (and all the events that led me to him, even if they weren't always the most pleasant experiences). I'm thankful that he loves me, that he asked me to marry him, that we enjoy being together and that he doesn't give up on me (even when I'm a huge pain in the ass). 

I love you, Roozles. :-*

Nov. 17 - On Saturday, I was thankful for...

Good news.

Good news can make a good day better and a bad day tolerable (or close to). At the very least, at least it isn't another thing to rain on your parade. Huzzah!

On Saturday, my good news was that my Mam-maw (my dad's mom) is coming to Wisconsin for Christmas!! She's going to be at my parents' for 3 whole weeks, because (the second part of the good news) she's moving back to the state!! YAY!!! That was definitely a welcomed break in my day. :)

Trust me. If you knew my Mam-maw, you'd be excited, too. She's definitely not your typical grandma. (For that I had my mom's mom. But I won't get into that right now. Best left for another time.) This is the woman who wanted to visit a brothel (she lived in Nevada at the time, so there were some near her) just to talk with the women who worked there. This is the woman who wants to visit a psychic, who insisted she and I take an old timey photo together in Virginia City, and who isn't afraid to approach anyone at anytime (if you know me, just ask about the time we were at the mall and she got her nails polished; or about when she got her medical marijuana prescription... that one's just great).

So, yeah. Good news. Definitely thankful for it! More to come...

A little behind...

Sorry about that. I'm working on it though!

Nov. 9 - On Friday, I was thankful for...

Music.

I love music. There isn't a day that goes by without music in some way. I listen to it while I work, sing it in the shower, rock out to the car stereo... I was in choir in high school (two choirs my senior year), and have played piano, oboe and violin. In the car with my mom, I grew up listening to Carole King, James Taylor and Peter, Paul & Mary (whom I saw perform live not once, but twice). My dad taught me to love the Beatles and Queen, two bands that I hold in the highest regard. I love musicals and pop, rock and hiphop, and even some country (though, it took awhile; I used to whine about country all the time). Music lives inside me and I couldn't kick it out even if I wanted to.

On Thursday night, Hubby and I went to Madison to see Pentatonix perform. For those not in the know, Pentatonix is an a cappella group. They won the last season of The Sing-Off, an all a cappella competition on NBC (which, sadly, has since been canceled; Heaven forbid we have a show that displays actual talent...). To say they're amazing is an understatement, and they certainly didn't disappoint the other night. 

For those who watched The Sing-Off, they performed the Britney medley, Born To Be Wild, Let's Get It On, Dog Days Are Over, Love Lockdown, OMG, Stuck Like Glue, Video Killed the Radio Star and Telephone (which was their audition piece). For those with their album, they performed Baddest Girl, Aha!, We Are Young, and Somebody I Used To Know (but they didn't do "Love You Long Time" - booooo!). They did a few other songs as well (check out their Youtube channel if you're interested; if you love a cappella, you should fall in love pretty quickly), and were on stage for a surprising amount of time! We even got to sing with Avi and Kevin for a bit while the core trio took a little break. Sooooo fun!

PTX is just one of many concerts I've been to in my life (check out my Musicality page for a taste), and I am so grateful that talented people like them (and their opener, SJ) are willing to travel all across the country (and even the world) to share their musicality with other music-loving folks like yours truly. I'm thankful that music is so prevalent in my life and that if I want to listen to some, all I have to do is open iTunes or head to Youtube and I have a plethora of music to choose from. I'm thankful for music that relaxes me and music that energizes me. I'm thankful for meaningful songs that touch my heart and I'm thankful for catchy pop tunes that just make me feel good. 

All around, I am thankful for music and everything it does for me. In fact, I think I'll go listen to some now. :)

For what it's worth

Nov. 7 - Today I am thankful for...

Human decency and compassion for others.

Every day there are terrible people doing terrible things. Like setting a puppy on fire and leaving it to die, reacting to election results with hate and disrespect, or any number of awful things. And it breaks my heart every time. I can't understand how people can be so horrible, or why they'd even want to be. (Whenever I bring this up to Hubby, he tells me that there's nothing to understand, or that it's just not possible to understand that kind of mentality; he's probably right, but I can't help but wonder.)

So screw 'em. Forget about the terrible people and the horrendous things they do and say, think and feel... They aren't worth the time or energy. Instead, I focus on the good people and things, and I'm thankful for them.

Like the tons of people who donated to help Phoenix, the puppy someone set on fire. People were so generous that the cost of his care has already been exceeded. 

Or the states that proudly voted for gay marriage in yesterday's election, moving us closer to equality and further from ignorance. 

Or the people who help make our lives better or nicer in small, almost unnoticeable ways every day; the ones who hold doors or smile when you pass them or let you in so you don't miss your exit.

I'm thankful that I was brought up in a family that taught love and acceptance, so that I am one of those good people. And I'm thankful that most of the people in my life are really good people, too. I'm thankful that so many people are decent, compassionate humans, and that those people truly are the majority when it's so easy to feel like they're the minority.

Gotcha!

Nov. 6 - Today I am thankful for...

Maxine McPupperkins! :)

Today is Miss Maxi's "Gotcha" day. Three years ago today, we drove to Bichon & Little Buddies rescue to pick up Maxine and bring her back to her forever home. We had already gotten her a bed, some toys, a leash, food and water bowls, food itself and probably some other stuff that I can't remember right now, so it was just a matter of bringing her home and loving her forever.

This is the first picture I took of Maxi. That night was full of new experiences for all of us. Maxine was hesitant to come onto the couch with us (boy, did that one change quickly) and wasn't sure about coming upstairs. She didn't quite know how to handle being in her crate all night, and I didn't know how to keep my heart from breaking when she whined and cried. But somehow we got through it.

The past three years have been wonderful, in no small amount due to Maxine. She makes our house a home and she makes us smile every single day. Her couch cuddles are the best, and she can bust a move like none other. And when Hubby's gone overnight, she's better than any alarm system, and sometimes even sleeps in bed with me for extra security.

Sure, she steals the occasional block of cheese or steak, and she doesn't always listen to us the first 17 times we say something, but we have no doubt that she loves us, and we certainly love her.

So yes, I am very thankful for Maxine, today and always. Love you, puppers!

No Closure Here

Closure.  Blech.

So, if you've read my more recent posts, you'll know that I had a not-so grand online relationship (to say the very least).  They weren't all bad, though.  

For example, my friend DS who recently died.  I met him online, and we were pretty good friends for awhile there.  We hung out, watched movies, drove around.  I miss him, but we weren't ever super close.  Don't take that to mean I don't care.  I do.  I'm just stating a fact.  We were definitely friends, and he was good for talking to and advice, as well as a good time, but we weren't the kind of friends who hugged or who cried together, we never had terribly deep conversations, none of the things that make someone a close friend.

But there was another online friend who was a close friend.  For the sake of this post, I'll call him Q.

In my freshman/sophomore year of college, as we've discovered, I lived online.  Chat rooms, forums, dating sites, LiveJournal...  You name it and I probably had an account.  One site in particular that I loved was OKCupid.  I wound up meeting a few local guys through their site, but the meetings never went beyond a first date or an initial meet up.

Then one day (a few months before I turned 20) I got a message from some guy in Minnesota (Q).  My screen name was faygokid, and he asked if I liked Faygo.  Well, trying to be the cool kid that I never was, I said yes and started asking if he was a Juggalo (I know, I know...).  He most definitely wasn't, he just liked the pop (for those who don't know, it's effing cheap and tasty), but somehow we kept messaging.  

Through a lot of guessing and mind games, I finally got to know him.  Q was a college student and was about a year or two younger than I was.  He was an absolute music snob, wore skinny jeans before it was cool, and knew off the bat that he'd never date someone like me.  I think that's what made our friendship work so well.  We both knew it would never be more than that.

After a few weeks of talking nonstop online, we moved to the phone and talked for hours at a time.  Q and I both had some emotional damage and mental illness issues, and that was another reason we clung to each other.  He was the first person I had openly spoken to about cutting and burning who I thought actually understood.  We talked through our demons together on more than one occasion, and this fast, intense friendship just kind of happened.

A few months later things were less intense, but we still spoke on a regular basis. A few months after that is when I ended my first attempt at college and went back home to get a job.  He would call me randomly at night.  We'd talk for hours and then I wouldn't hear from him again for weeks.  That was just how we were.

I went to visit him the summer I turned 21.  I had gotten a hand-me-down car for my birthday, and my first big trip was up to Minneapolis.  I ended up getting lost because the address he'd given me had left out that it was S whatever street and I wound up at N whatever street.  I had to call him and have him figure out where in the world I was and how to get to him.  I was nervous as he helped me park where I needed to and walked me up to his apartment.  But somehow, once I got into his room, everything felt fine.  It's not like Q was the kind of person to put you at ease; quite the opposite.  He was always judging and criticizing.  But something felt right about being there.  

That first trip, I spent 90% of the weekend in his room.  The only times we left were to get food, for me to grab a smoke (which he hated), or for a quick trip to the video game store.  Otherwise, we stayed curled up together, listening to music or watching shows on his laptop.  It wasn't really a sexual thing, just a comfort thing.  We just needed to be close to one another.  

I made a second trip up to see him about 6 months later.  He was actually nice enough to take me out to dinner one of the nights I was there and put up with me taking an obnoxious number of pictures.  We still spent a lot of the weekend laying around together, but it wasn't quite as intense as that first meeting.  

That was about 6 years ago, and I haven't seen him since.  Every few months or so I would get a late-night phone call from him, and we'd talk like we used to, but things were different.  His on/off girlfriend didn't want him to talk to me, so he could only call when she wasn't around.  At a certain point, the calls stopped altogether.

I think about him frequently.  Not obsessively, but I do wonder about him, and I miss talking to him for hours.  A few weeks ago, I did some of my best Facebook stalking and found him, but he didn't return my message.  I'm guessing it has to do with his wife (he appears to be married to her now), but maybe he just has no interest in talking to me again.

I wish I knew.  I wish I had some kind of closure so I could acknowledge that our friendship has passed.  It would suck, sure, but at least I could look back and think about the insane and intense friendship we had instead of wondering if we'll ever speak again or if he remembers me as fondly as I remember him.  

Closure.  I kind of hate that word.  Maybe that's because it's so hard to come across and because I want it so badly.  Maybe it's because I'm scared of what it would bring.  Either way, I don't think I'll be getting it anytime soon.

Love and miss you, Q. 

What's Done is Done

The Wisconsin recall elections are over.  Finally.  

And now, I have some things to say.

First - I didn't vote yesterday.  Nope.  Not the first time, probably not the last time.  

My reasons were different this time around.  Rather than feeling under informed, I felt like I'd been beaten to death with information: facts stated as opinions, opinions stated as facts, and mud-slinging to boot.  From both sides.  It was sickening.

Don't get me wrong.  I tried.  I really, honestly tried to take a side.  It felt like as soon as I was close to making a decision, something new came to light that made me back off and rethink the whole damn thing.  In the end, I couldn't justify voting when I couldn't decide who to vote for.

I managed to remain fairly silent about the whole ordeal.  Many of my friends were dead-set on recalling Walker.  Others stood behind him the whole way.  I kept my mouth shut and stayed out of things.  Why?  Because I was scared.

These days, I'm normally not too afraid to share my opinions, especially on here.  But I took the coward's way out and am writing this post the day after the recall elections.  First, so no one could try to goad me into voting one way or the other.  It's over.  I didn't vote.  Let's move on.  Second, because I saw people lose friends over this insanity.  I saw debates that turned personal and cruel.  I felt like saying the "wrong" thing was going to turn my life into Hell, that I would lose the respect of people that I like or even love.

Quite honestly, I'm still scared.  As soon as I post this, it's out there.  It's beyond my control.  Once I've said it, I can't un-say it.  But I have to believe that my friends will respect and love me enough that they will see beyond this and just keep loving me for who I am.      

That being said...

To Walker supporters: You prevailed.  Congratulations.  Please, though, remember to be kind.  People in this state felt strongly enough to initiate a recall of the man you support.  Winning doesn't give you the right to gloat.  It doesn't mean you should talk down to anyone or feel superior in any way.  Be gracious.  It could have gone the other way; think about how you would like to be treated in that case.  Most of all, if you stand behind Walker, don't be surprised when certain people are shocked or even disgusted by your opinion, but do be respectful and be willing to defend what you believe in.   

To recall supporters:  I'm so sorry.  I'm sorry that this happened, that you felt so strongly about something and it didn't work out.  I'm sorry that you're feeling hurt, let down, and angry.  But remember to be proud that you stood up for what you felt was right and stood against what you felt was wrong.  And like the Walker supporters, I ask you to remember that it could have gone the other way.  When your side loses, it's pretty easy to say that you would've been kinder about things (any good sports fan knows how this goes).  I'm not saying you have to take any bullying or that you should let anyone look down on you; no one should have to endure that.  Just remember that the tides will turn, and remember how this feels. 

To everyone: What's done is done.  I know damn near everyone has something to say about the results, and I truly believe you are all entitled to your opinions.  That's part of being human.  But don't shove it down someone's throat.  Don't rub anyone's face in your victory, and don't place blame on someone just because they think differently.  And please, don't throw away friends because they didn't vote the way you did or because they voice a different opinion.  If they're acting like a dick, then fine, only you can make that call.  But think twice before you do anything hasty.

There you have it.  It wasn't eloquent or spectacularly original, but it's me. <3             

The Follow Up

Well, I'd say I've been missing quite long enough.  Here I am.  Bask in my... here-ness?

So, I wrote these pretty heavy/serious/unhappy posts and then I disappeared.  What gives?  It took a lot out of me to write all of that, and I guess I just needed a break before coming back to explain.

I have 3 main reasons for writing those posts.  The first is completely selfish: it was therapeutic.  My closer friends already knew most of what I went through (or, at least the parts they were around for), but I haven't talked much about any of it in a long time.  When something like that sits inside of you, it feels kind of like a bowling ball sitting in your stomach.  (OK, maybe something smaller, but you get my point.)  Writing about it and getting it all out there felt so good.

The second reason (slightly less selfish) is to share my gratitude.  I was (and still am!) lucky to have people in my life who loved me and cared enough about me to take some action.  Not everyone is so lucky, and I'm utterly grateful to everyone who has touched - and saved - my life.  Without some of you, I couldn't have become who I am today.

The third reason is (I hope) the least selfish and most important.  There are people out there with stories like mine who should know that they aren't alone and that it can get better.  It doesn't happen overnight, and it doesn't happen without some effort, but it can happen.

If my story can touch one person, I've achieved more than I could ever hope for.  My pursuit of a degree in Psychology isn't just because I find it interesting, but because I want to use it to change a world.  Not necessarily the world, but a world.  

What's the difference?  The world is a big freakin' place.  It's a whole planet.  With billions upon billions of people, each with his own issues, worries, dreams, regrets, and everything else.  A world is much smaller, more personal.  My world, for example, encompasses me, my friends and family, and the things I cherish most in life.  Many people have helped change my world, and in return, I want to help change some other world.

Maybe I'll help change one person's world.  Maybe I'll help change a community's world.  Maybe I truly will help change THE world.  The best I can do is try.

So with these posts begins an epic journey to change things, one world at a time.  If I've changed your world, thank you.  Thank you for letting me in, thank you for believing in yourself, and thank you for being you.  And if I haven't changed your world, I know someone else out there has.  Be sure to thank them, please. :)

Have a beautiful Memorial Day weekend, lovelies! <3

Riki's History Part 5: Living & Loving

I won't pretend that things were smooth sailing after the "Shane" incident.  I dated a few guys (using the term "dated" pretty loosely here) between fall 2005 and summer 2006.  Remember the old friend from my middle school days who would later introduce me to my husband?  Yeah, I was "dating" him when I met Hubby for the first time (six years ago this month... wow!). 

Hubby and I started dating in September of that year, and things were (usually) great.  He treated me like a queen, and I loved every second of it.  In early 2008, we got an apartment together, about an hour and a half away from where I had grown up and lived for my entire life.  I had very few friends out here, and Hubby had lots of them.  I would get lonely, feel unwanted, and cry.  It sort of sucked.

There was one time when I dropped the box of mac and cheese I'd been planning to make on the kitchen floor.  I started yelling and swearing, saying dinner was ruined and I had fucked it all up.  Much as he tried, Hubby couldn't convince me otherwise.  I wound up sobbing on the kitchen floor for awhile.  Same thing happened when a vase broke.  These are normal occurrences, but I was completely incapable of handling them normally.

In late July, I decided it was time to try the meds again.  I contacted my doctor (who is quite possibly the most understanding and least judgmental doctor I've ever met) and she put me back on Fluoxetine.  I started taking it again beginning in August, and I was already feeling happier just knowing that things would get better soon. 

Then came The Break-Up.  (Dun, dun, dunnnnnn.)

In August, Hubby and I were planning a camping trip, so I had worked "summer hours" that week (9-hour days Mon-Thurs, half day Friday) so we could get a head start.  Instead of trying to recall all of this, I'm going to copy/paste from my journal entry a few days after it happened.

We packed, we had lunch, we packed some more... He seemed a bit strange, but I wrote it off as lack of sleep combined with 3 cups of coffee in less than 3 hours (he stayed up late to play video games and drank a lot of coffee at work just for fun).

Then, when I asked him if he was OK again (I'd already asked, and his arm hurt, so I'd given him some ibuprofen), he said he had a lot going on in his mind. He seemed serious, so I took his hands and encouraged him to talk... He started with some stuff about how there was a lot of talk about marriage lately... and apparently he decided that he really couldn't see marrying me. I told him I wasn't looking to get married right now or anything, and we talked a bit more.

I asked at one point if he still loved me, and he took a long pause. Then he said, "I guess my silence sort of answered that..." He didn't say it in a mean way, just said it. I remained as calm and collected as I could, and continued talking to him about how we could work on things. He would say things that I found encouraging, that I thought meant we could work through it. Things about if we had hobbies together (I had recently told him I'd be happy to come out and hang with him while he worked on the car, and reiterated this, and agreed that I'd even try getting my hands dirty in the process), or if I had friends to hang with (I told him I could try being friends with [insert she-who-will-not-be-named here], and that once the meds kicked in, that I could look for a new job and have new coworkers to hang with)...

But all in all, he just wasn't sure he loved me anymore. He'd had doubts for weeks, he said. Did he still care about me? Yes. Deeply. He even said he "likes me a lot". At some point I started crying a bit, but was still trying to reason with him. Neither of us knew what to do. I told him that the logical thing might be to see if things get better with the meds, you know? But, there's nothing logical about love.

And so, I began to pack. He helped for awhile, but I couldn't stop myself from crying and saying the stupidest things. Things like, "I can't believe you went on vacation with me and didn't love me!" and "I just want you to love me again..." Lines that happen in a bad book or movie, but I just couldn't help it."

It was the worst pain I've experienced yet, and thankfully my sisters were there for me and I flew out to Las Vegas for a few days to recover. 

In my opinion, that break turned out to be one of the best things that happened to our relationship.  I got to spend some time back in my hometown, reassuring myself that I wasn't completely dependent on him, and finding that my meds were making things I normally couldn't do seem much more possible.  His time away from me made him realize that he truly did love me, depression/anxiety/insanity and all.  We were back together soon, and have been together since. 

As of this post, I'm on 40 MG of fluoxetine and 150 MG of bupropion (generic Wellbutrin), and I'm doing really well.  I used to think that being on anti-depressants meant I was dependent on them, and I hated that thought.  My mom put that into perspective for me.  She asked me, "Well, are you dependent on your glasses to see?"

"Uh, yeah..."

"The glasses don't change your eyes, they just make it easier to see.  The pills do the same thing.  They don't change who you are, they just make it easier to be you."

I still have my moments, and some days are harder than others, but it's mostly within the realm of normal emotions.  When I get sad, it's usually because something sad has happened instead of just out of the blue.  When I get frustrated, I don't yell and swear as much anymore.  And when I do have a particularly bad moment, I use some of the techniques I learned back in my days of therapy and some other relaxation methods.  I'm a nicer person to be around overall.

I've been back in school since August 2009, and am on track to get my BA in Psychology (go figure, right?).  I'm married to a wonderful man, and have a great house and an adorable dog.  I have friends who love me and family who always has my back.  I even have a hobby that I'm passionate about (photography is the most therapeutic thing I do)! 

A lot of people have contributed to my happiness and well-being.  I don't have the time or space to thank them all individually, but more than likely, you know who you are.  Thank you.  From the very bottom of my heart... Thank you.

The bottom line is something like this: Depression (and other mental illnesses) sucks.  It's trying for you and everyone around you, and some days (many days... sometimes every day) it feels like nothing will ever get better. 

It will. 

If you give it time, it will.  If you work at it, it will.  If you allow your friends and family to help you, it will.  If you find goals you want to achieve, it will.  And eventually, those days will become rarities, and when you slip back into old ways of thinking, just remember that it did get better.  And it will again.  Don't give up.

 

Riki's History Part 4: Depressed & Desperate

Even after the past three entries, I know this one is going to be the worst.  I'm reliving some seriously messed up stuff and I honestly look back at my life and wonder how I let it get to that point.  The best I can do is try to learn from the past and keep moving forward.

So, when we left off, I was about to leave college for the second time and had met Shane.  Shane was a 19 year old guy I met online.  He was from Missouri, and we had a few things in common.  At college, I didn't date much (or really at all; I was seeing one girl for awhile, but nothing really came of it), so the attention I got online (AOL, baby... I'm that cool) made me feel special.  There were a few guys I IM'd with frequently, but Shane was my favorite.

After I had gone home, my parents insisted I get a job.  I half-heartedly looked, thinking I'd be back for the spring semester, but it wasn't to be.  For a couple of weeks, I lived with my best friend L and her family because I just couldn't take my own family anymore.  "You're breaking your mother's heart, you know," my dad told me.  I knew.  But at the time, I just needed to get out.  On top of this, I had stopped taking my anti-depressants.

The first time we talked on the phone (January 2005), Shane had told me he would sound funny, something about altering his voice.  It should've been a ginormous flag, but I just figured he was being goofy.  That's what we did!  We had fun and flirted and laughed.  Shortly thereafter, I finally got a part-time job.  A few weeks in, I bought my very first cell phone so I could talk to Shane any time I wanted.  By that summer, I was racking up some hefty phone bills (mostly because of texting).

I considered Shane my boyfriend.  I talked to him more than anyone else I knew, and we had such great conversations.  Most of the time.  Sometimes it felt like he wanted me to do nothing but sit around at home and talk to him or (in his absence) think about him or just do nothing.  One time that bothered me in particular was my 21st birthday.  He didn't want me to go out to drink, but there was no way I was missing out on hitting the bars for the first time.  Between texts and phone calls, he kept bugging me all night until I finally stopped responding.

A few times we had broken up (the first time having been a few weeks before my 21st birthday) and then gotten back together.  We were in love, and someday we would get to be together in person.  The drama kept mounting, though.  Hindsight, of course, is 20/20, and looking back, I can't believe how gullible I let myself be.  I believed all kinds of things. 

Want an example?  Once, I believed that he was at a water park and hit his head, giving him some form of amnesia.  I learned this through texts that were supposed to be from his friend telling me this, and warning me that Shane might not remember me.  I was devastated (K probably remembers this; we were over at D's for movie night, I think) and didn't know what to do.  Miraculously enough, everything ended up OK and Shane was fine.

Every day, every week it got harder and harder.  One day we'd be happy and all would be well.  The next we'd be fighting or breaking up and I'd be sure my life was over.  For awhile, we were "engaged" and were planning to get married in a few years.  I even started picking out dresses and rings online (it's the closest I ever got to dreaming of my wedding before I got engaged to Hubby).

For a year this all went on.  My friends thought I would be better off without him.  I know my parents thought so.  But he was the only person I was certain loved me at that point in my life.  I didn't get to go back to school that fall (I hadn't earned enough money for my parents to give the OK), and soon I found out that my sister (K) was moving across the country.  Nothing felt right except for Shane.

So, naturally, that's when my world came crashing down.

In November 2005, more than a year after I'd first "met" him, Shane called to say there was something important we had to talk about.  20-year-old Shane was in fact a 15-year-old girl (we'll call her Girl X).  Her parents had found out about how she had been lying to me (and them) and made her own up to things.  As I talked to her mom and things unraveled, everything started making sense.

The reason "Shane" was always at the local high school ("he" told me he worked there, but Girl X was really a student there).  All the times I heard people call her by her real name (a unisex name).  The extravagant stories meant to force us to break up because she couldn't simply do it.  The excuses for why we couldn't meet (because she wasn't who I thought), and the "altered" voice (in my defense, she had a very gender-neutral sounding voice over the phone). 

Girl X wasn't to contact me anymore, but she did.  She apologized and told me that she really did love me.  And being as depressed and desperate as I was, I kept talking to her because I loved her, too.  I don't care about gender (it's one of the perks to being bisexual, I guess).  A body is just a body; I was in love with the person inside and the body wasn't even a factor.  We secretly kept talking for a day or two until her dad found out.  At that point, it came down to this: Either I stopped contacting Girl X, or they were going to essentially flag me as a child predator and things would've gotten U-G-L-Y.  I opted for the former.

She kept trying, though.  I'd get texts, but I kept ignoring them.  Her or her friends would keep emailing me or IM'ing me.  Within a week, I changed my phone number.  I had blocked her on AOL, along with all her "friends."  At least once she tried to trick me into talking to her.  I had gotten an IM and was chatting with some guy when things started getting weird.  It dawned on me that it must've been her, and I said goodbye and blocked that name, too.  A few years later, I think she might have tried again, but I can't say for sure.  The last time I know I talked to her was 6 and a half years ago.  

This whole thing sounds insane.  I'm aware.  It's hard to believe that I didn't see the signs, right?  You only see what you want to see sometimes, and all I wanted was someone who loved me and made me feel worthwhile.  I sometimes suspected that maybe "Shane" was in high school, but I figured maybe he was a senior and just didn't want me to write him off as being too young.  Never did I suspect he was female, nor that she was only 15. 

At first, I missed her.  Terribly.  My best friend/sister was moving away, I'd lost the person I loved, and I was feeling utterly alone.  But as time went on, I realized that she had lied to me for a year, and instead of being sad, I was just plain old pissed off.  Mostly, I think, at myself for being so trusting, so blind to everything.  I was embarrassed and hurt, and I told very, very few people the truth about what happened.  Now you all know the truth.

My depression and low self-esteem can't take all of the blame for what happened, I know, but they played a pretty major role in things.  Had I been a happier, more confident person, I wouldn't have been spending my entire life online talking to strangers who (at least seemingly) accepted me without question.  I probably would have found more joy in the world around me, I might not have felt like the only way someone could love me was without having to be physically with me, and maybe I could have found happiness in loving myself instead of seeking someone else's love.

Onward!

And so continues the tale of our awesome Disney vacation...

Sunday, we got up and ready around 8:30.  We came downstairs to find that I (of K & I) had made us an awesome breakfast of bacon, fresh fruit and cinnamon buns.  This is a man who knows how to play host!  We were sad to leave them (and their two little furbabies), but we were so appreciative of all they did for us.  We're already trying to plan another trip to the South so we can visit again!  

From Atlanta, it's about another 7.5-8 hours to get to WDW, so onward we went.  Hubby wound up driving the whole thing (because there was NO way I was driving in Orlando; I can barely handle traffic in Milwaukee!), and I played navigator.  I found it interesting that billboards in that area don't seem to be utilized in quite the same way they are up here.  Most of the billboards around us are for PSAs, cash for gold, chain restaurants, and clothing lines/stores I never knew existed.  But in that stretch, things were a little different.  

First, and most noticeably, only about half of the existing billboards were in use.  There were a TON with "Available Now" on them, and some that just had remnants of an ad from long ago (or maybe last week; it's hard to tell).  Next, of those being used, there were 3 types that stood out the most: religious/political messages, pecans, and strippers.  Pecans are, of course, very southern, but holy wow.  Every other billboard was for goo goo clusters or fresh pecan picking!  Kinda nuts (pun definitely intended)!  The ads for strippers were usually pretty hilarious.  There was one joint in particular that apparently had the motto, "Strippers: Need We Say More" and used it on every single board.  They also had deals (and parking!) for truckers, which I suppose is nice.  Cater to your audience, right?

But then... then there were the ultra-conservative, churchy ads that I just don't take kindly to.  And these made up a LARGE number of the signs along this stretch of the interstate.  "Prepare to meet thy maker!" one of them said.  Really?  Is that a threat?  Or...  I dunno.  The ones that really get me are the anti-abortion ads.  I don't want this to turn political (Puppies & Rainbows!), but suffice it to say I was ready to get out of there. 

When we finally started seeing the signs for Disney, I was beyond thrilled!  We were almost there!!  By the time we pulled into our resort, I was bouncing in my seat and grasping all my confirmation papers, because there was NO way I was going to screw this up, dammit.  I was at Disney, and I was there to stay.  End.  Of.  Story.

Thankfully, check in went quickly and soon we were in our room, unpacking for a week of magic and fun.  A nice cast member stopped by with some gifts for us (darn that bestie of mine!), including little Mickey and Minnie stuffed toys and a set of Nightmare Before Christmas ornaments.  We'd been told to text C's phone when we got there (M's hubby; M's phone was about to die), but hadn't heard back yet, so we just settled in and were pleased to be out of the car.  When our room phone rang, we both just looked at one another.  Hubby was closest, so after a few rings he answered.  It wound up being M telling us that they lost C's phone, but that M's phone was alive and we could call when we were ready to head to Magic Kingdom for the evening.

Words can't really describe the overwhelming feelings that followed.  I was reunited with my bestie after a year of being apart.  I was at the happiest place on Earth with her, her husband, and Hubby.  I had no work or school to think about for a week.  And I was about to go eat INSIDE the freakin' castle, FCOL!  For a few moments there, everything in the whole world felt perfect.  I don't think I could've stopped smiling if I had wanted to.

Dinner was wonderful and fun.  M and I each got a magic wand and the guys got swords.  We each got a wishing star and M and I got to keep our menus!  As we ate, princesses strolled around, visiting each table.  We were greeted by Aurora, Snow White, Ariel, and Belle during dinner, and had gotten our picture with Cinderella before the meal, so things were pretty magical from the get-go.  Even more magical was that a few tables over from us, a couple got engaged.  How freakin' amazing would that be??  (The sad part was that the bride-to-be didn't look all that excited; in fact, she looked pretty 'meh' about the whole thing.  Poor guy went through a lot of planning to get that put in place, and she just continued on eating after he put the ring on, as if nothing had happened!)

Magic was everywhere, and I was in such a good place.  So, it should be no surprise that when Wishes (the fireworks display set to Disney music and quotes) came on and we could see the fireworks from our table, I couldn't help but cry.  It was perfect.  Absolutely everything I had hoped for and more.  

After dinner, we did a few rides and found a few souvenirs, but we were all pretty exhausted, so back to the resort we went to get some sleep for a whole exciting day at Epcot! :)

For M's take on the day, check out her blog here.

The First Time Ever.

We watched this week's episode of Glee last night (man, I love DVR) during dinner.  I loved it, and all the songs were just great (OK, "Summer Nights" was a little hokey, but, it's Grease; what do you expect?).  But the highlight of the episode for me was when the girls sang "The First Time Ever (I Saw Your Face)" for Will.  In fact, I even cried a bit.

You see, I'm a lucky girl.  I got to grow up in a house where not only were my parents still married, but were still very much in love.  My dad traveled a lot, but he would bring home flowers for my mom randomly.  They often went on date nights together and when they were both home, they were usually together, even if they weren't doing anything at all.  I really had the best example of what marriage should be like.

I'm not saying their marriage is perfect.  Of course it's not.  My dad has always had a pretty short fuse and is pretty OCD about certain things, but my mom's the most patient person on the face of the planet (my husband being number 2 on that list), and somehow, it works out.  I remember once as a kid wondering why Mom put up with him, why she didn't divorce him.  It seemed like such a simple solution to me, but I was probably 7 or 8 and really didn't understand divorce anyway.  

As an adult, I understand that she "puts up with" Dad's quirks and temper because the good she sees in him outweighs the bad.  I understand that she's not about to just leave him for an offhand comment he makes while he's upset about something completely beyond her control.  It makes sense.

When they met, my mom was 15 and Dad was 16.  They started dating just before Mom turned 16, I think, and got married about 5 years later (1976).  Last month they celebrated 35 years of marriage, and despite the fact that they met over 40 years ago, and that my dad can't always remember why he just walked into a room or what he had for breakfast that morning, he can still tell you exactly what my mom was wearing the first time he saw her.

So, it should be no surprise, then, that Roberta Flack's version of "The First Time Ever" is my mom and dad's song.  I can't imagine a better song for them, and hearing that song reminds me of how lucky I am to have such amazing people to call my parents.

Here's hoping that Hubby and I can follow their lead and be as happy as they are when we've hit the 35 year mark.  :)