Tiny Victories, take two…
—–Originally posted March (?) 2006 —–
Tiny Victories
Easter was always a grand affair in her family. She always got a frilly new dress, the best that money could buy. Of course it was; it wouldn’t do to have others gossip about not owning the latest in fashion. This year the dress came complete with a new straw hat and pink gloves trimmed with lace. White stockings and shiny white Mary Jane shoes completed her attire.
A new dress also demanded a new Easter basket overflowing with toys, candy, and Easter eggs. Why, it just wouldn’t do to have last years’ basket. New dress, new shoes, new basket; she was now ready for the yearly family Easter egg hunt.
Her dad’s family was extensive. There were always plenty of kids to search out the colored treasures. Arguments broke out on occasion when an egg was found by two or more kids at the same time. As in nature, the most powerful would get to claim the prize. It was seldom her.
She didn’t understand back then why she was always given the secret hiding place of the great golden egg. It was a big plastic egg spray-painted with gold paint. She thought it was ugly-it didn’t match with the rest. Dad would tell her it was because it came from a factory and not a chicken, but she really didn’t understand. She just knew the egg was ugly. Creepy uncle would always point out secret location of the golden egg for her anyway. She didn’t understand why she was more special than the rest of the brood, nor did she want to be.
This year the golden egg was hidden in the house. Now, this wasn’t any ordinary house. It had three stories. The first story was used as living quarters for the family. The second and third stories had been converted into apartments, which were rented out during the depression for those down on their luck. Rent payments would sometimes be a chicken or repairs on the house. After all, the family must maintain outward appearances. Such a gross display of wealth would surely have to include works of charity, and appearances meant more than anything. The family took extra care to maintain appearances.
As the kids were gathered into the room to wait for the hunt, she was cornered by his evil smile. No one ever seemed to notice how she was singled out to go with him. This year, she really didn’t want to play his games. She tugged on her dress. She threw her hat over to one of the other girls who had been bothering her all morning to wear it. The girl happily skipped off, and she never saw the hat again. He was not to be avoided, though. He waited until the kids were occupied with a game, and pulled her, with her new frilly dress, to him. “I’m going to show you where you can get the golden egg! This year someone put a new 20.00 bill in it,” he whispered in her ear. Money had no meaning to her. Maybe he wanted her to give the money to him? She complained about her stomach. “Don’t worry about your stomach; I’ll get that fixed in a little while.”
Darkness and dread came over her. She did not want to go with him, but still he pulled her along to the edge of the staircase. She hated those stairs. With horror she realized he was going to make her go up those stairs, yet again. She started crying, softly, trying not to make any noise. She tried to make herself as small as possible. He was becoming impatient; he just scooped her up and put her on his shoulders, and they went up the first flight of stairs. By the time they reached they top, she was openly crying. Annoyed, he told her to ‘be a good girl and shut up’. He told her how she was going to like the surprise, and how lucky she was that she would be the first to know. They went up the second flight of stairs, she still on his shoulders. She told him she was going to throw up. He told her if she did that she would not be around to hunt for the eggs. She pulled into herself, again, trying to be as small as possible.
“Here.” He put her down, and opened the door to one of the little apartments. She hated the smell-old, dusty, unclean. “The golden egg is going to be right behind this door, and I want you to get it first thing.” He made her straighten herself up, and then told her to go. She took a tentative step away from him and he didn’t follow. Then she took another step, and another, and then when she realized he would not follow her, she ran down the two flights of stairs, relieved. She slipped into the room where the others were waiting for the hunt, tossing around in her little mind what had just happened. He hadn’t bothered her. Now she was back in the relative safety of others, but the key fact that he hadn’t bothered her just exploded in her mind. Then it occurred to her. What if she wasn’t the one to find the golden egg? What would he do? She thought about the arguments that had broken out before when an egg was found by more than one kid. Well, what would happen if it were the golden egg they were fighting over? She couldn’t care less about the golden egg, but it seemed important to him and to the other kids.
With a smile, she called the group together.
All of the kids were waiting impatiently at the door for the signal to begin the hunt. Eggs were hidden both outside and in. The kids usually ran for the outside first. The signal was given. The door swung open, and the rush for the hunt began. The adults were outside, waiting for the kids. Well, most of them, anyway. The one who gave the signal was shocked when all of the kids ran for the stairs. She stayed behind, again, in the relative safety of the other adults. She did not want to see his face when those kids came bursting through the door for that golden egg. She sought out her mom. “Why aren’t you hunting with the others?” Mom asked. She told mom she wasn’t feeling well, and she couldn’t find her hat. In her mind’s eye she was imagining his reaction. She knew ultimately she would pay for this tiny victory, but for now, she was safe.
30 October 2006
I’m not at my best at the moment.
I’m trying to figure out how to write myself out of it…and keep coming up blank.
Eldest daughter fell asleep at the wheel. Evidently she thought she didn’t need a sleep break during the 28 plus hours she was up. The baby was in his car seat in the back.
Nice job she did on her car…it sure won’t run again for a while…if ever. Oh, she and the baby are going to be fine. Sorry, I should have said that up front. But, as I said, I’m not at my best at the moment.
I keep going back to yesterday and the freedom from aches and pains I felt. It had been so long, I had truly forgotten what that was like. It is wonderful!
But it was just a teaser of a reminder of how things aren’t.
I need to snap out of this.
Daughter and baby will be fine.
Cars can be bought, lives can’t.
So what if I have to deal with a little discomfort every day?
There are people in this world who are in far worse shape than I am in…and probably a helluva lot more grateful for life.
So why do I keep hearing those soft calls again?
No, not literally.
Don’t want anyone to think I hear voices. I don’t. Just my own when I am talking to myself.
It’s just me dealing with my screwed up brain chemistry again.
Again.
Time for me to fly?
Ok. Here’s my test run with wordpress. Blogger has tee-d me off one time too many, I believe. This blog seems simple enough…hmmm….we’ll see.
Kiss De Girl
Kiss the girl-little mermaid
I think this is one of the most romantic scenes ever! I love when Eric figures out Ariel’s name…so sweet! Sebastien’s smooth as satin voice…sing wit me now…(sigh)…the fish all pulling together to make the little boat slowly spin around…(bigger sigh)…the anticipation of the kiss…kiss de girl…(big sigh and swoon!)…And…AND…the boat tips over!!!!! No kiss!!!!! So typical of my romantic life!!!!!!!!
Yeah, I can feel it now. Good.
Today marks the seventh day. I’ve always thought if I could make it to ten days, I’d have it licked. I was wrong. The turning point was between the third and fourth day. I think I was suffering some serious nicotine withdrawal because that’s when I usually failed. This time was different. Yeah, last week was spectacularly irritating…that was my overriding emotion. Professionally I could have done without it, but, hey…not every week is going to be fabulous.
I wondered just a few days ago how I would handle overpowering positive emotions. I sit here right now with a peaceful and content heart. Last week I was feeling so poorly that I couldn’t even attend services, and that sorta bothered me all week. Sure, I listened to Dennis online, but it’s not the same. I missed the people and the music. Today when I showed up for church I was really surprised. The couple of friends I’ve made there welcomed me with big hugs (and I happily accepted them…who would have thought?) They also expressed concern over me since I wasn’t there last week. Wow…they noticed! Lou told me the group prayed for me (I also missed a prayer meeting because of my silly tummy ache.) Kevin was center stage with his guitar where he belongs. I found out TBC is going to participate in a community Christmas concert…not sure on all the details but I’m absolutely sure that I am going to go. Dennis preached about ’stop worrying and let God handle it.’ Of course, the theme has been finances for the past couple of weeks, but that message applies to life in general. Yeah, I heard you, Dennis. And I will listen to you again online when I start worrying…which will probably be sooner than later LOL!
Today has been completely pain-free. Completely. I have not been able to say that in quite a while. This is remarkable. I just hope I’m not speaking too soon, but it is 4:30 pm at the moment, and so far so good. I will take whatever relief I can get…and I’m not worrying about later. He will provide.
How am I handling positive feelings? I’d say I’m doing fairly well at the moment.
Wisdom from my email
Thanks, RA.
Be kinder than necessary,
Live simply,
Love generously,
Care deeply,
Speak kindly…….
Leave the rest to God.
Smoking or Non-smoking?
I rarely get asked that question when going out to dinner these days because so many bans have been passed on public smoking. I think the only safe place to smoke in peace these days is behind your house under a thick bush so no one else can see you. Of course, if you continue to use said bush, the leaves may turn brown and fall off, forcing you to find more cover for your vice. It’s either that or the local bar…and I have found that few people enjoy smoking while indulging in adult beverages these days.
So here it is. Today marks the fifth day. I’m not ready to call myself an ex-smoker. I’m thinking I’ll always be more of a part-time smoker…just in case. After dumping the rest of my Marlboro’s in the trash Sunday, along with my lighters, I added some extra nasty stuff on top so I wouldn’t be tempted to fish them out of the trash and smoke them anyway, as I have done before. So far so good. I still wake up in the morning feeling like I smoked a pack the previous night, though, and I’m wondering when that feeling will go away. That nasty taste has not left my mouth yet. I have greatly increased my purchases of Extra Winterfresh chewing gum, Starburst candy, and M&M’s. Me and my mouth. Maybe I should just find an adult pacifier and use that!
Tonight is going to be quite a test. I’m going out with some friends. This will involve adult beverages, cigarette use by others, a cozy little place, and possibly a game or two of pool. As my friends have realized my seriousness of wanting to quit, they have become quite supportive. So…we’ll see what I do. And yes, it is my choice. No one else’s but mine.
Not my will, but Thy will be done.
Can you feel me now?
One of the very first life skills I learned was how to completely shut off my feelings. I learned really early it was just better that way…and it didn’t matter if the feelings were good or bad. Partnered with that I learned to never trust what my heart told me.
I’m still dealing with the ramifications of that skill, and probably will for the rest of my life.
Because of that wonderful little ability I picked up early on, I never really learned how to make friends on the playground. It was far easier to keep myself at a distance and tolerate the taunting and teasing I occasionally had to deal with. I consistently chose the wrong type of…hmm..’boyfriends’ sounds so juvenile, but I guess that’s the right word. My heart would be screaming at me to run. (Marc is such a prime example of what I should have never done.) I don’t think it’s a matter of I wouldn’t listen to my heart, it’s more a matter of-I just couldn’t hear it.
I remember a conversation I had with my mom during one of her saner moments. I must have been around twelve or thirteen. It was the age of which I was beginning to get a idea on the plain wrongness of what was happening to me yet I was completely helpless to do anything about it. I remember her telling me how easily she could shut off her feelings and just walk away…from anyone. No, it didn’t occur to me at that time that she could be talking about me and my brother. What I remember is being totally fascinated by her admission- and immediately working on myself to become such a person. Thirty years later, I still think about that conversation. Talk about leaving an impression!
Giving myself permission to feel things, and actually going through with the feelings, is something I am still working on. It’s one of the first things I had to discuss ad nauseum with my therapist when I was finally able to admit what was really bothering me (that only took about four months…trust issues are another entry!) Admitting to Jane what had happened to me forced me to feel some of the stuff I’d blocked in and stuffed down for years. I still don’t understand how she understood me…I was a blubbering mess for over an hour with her…but I guess that’s why she is the professional. Thank God for Jane.
Why am I thinking about this and what point am I trying to get across?
Actually feeling something and living through it is something I am still learning. For the past few days I have been extremely irate. Extremely. Instead of accepting that and living with it, I’ve been distracting myself with everything under the sun to deny my feelings. Until this morning, when it hit me that I was going back to using old coping mechanisms. So. What the frak. I’m irritated. It feels…weird. Because I give myself permission to actually feel it. Am I going to live through it? Heck yes. In the grand scheme of things, this is only a tiny little thing.
For as much as I feel this irritation, I am also dealing with the deeper part of me that wants to cut it off and not feel anything. And this is a ’so called’ negative feeling. I’m wondering what the overwhelming positive ones are going to do for me…should I be so fortunate as to be able to test those out.
The Bobby Factor
With heartfelt apologies to Ann and Brian. I write stories, not poetry. I leave that special pen in yall’s hands. But every now and then I get an itch…and it just won’t be satisfied until I write it down…so…I promise to stick with my stories…mostly…now…on with the tomato throwing! (And maybe I can get some work done now!)
Bobby Goren, you’re irresistibly sweet.
How thrilled I am that we did meet.
My lust…uhmm…love for you led me to a whole new world
How quickly I discovered I wasn’t the only ‘Goren Girl’.
A year ago this month I took notice of you-
With the help of Google I found friends who already knew
How incredibly sexy and powerful you are-
Why, I’ve even read fan-fic about you being drunk in a bar.
Your talents are many and my words are quite few.
It’s your vulnerability that got me into you.
My world has expanded and so has my heart
One year later I think back to my start.
Thank you Bobby, for being out there.
And having a platform for my soul to bare.
Writing online is an outlet for hope.
Through it I’ve been given new ways to cope.
The friends I’ve found are truly a treasure
No monetary ruler can ever measure.
Thank you again, Bobby-you are simply the best.
You’ll always make my heart beat faster in my chest.
Piddling around with my thoughts
A piece of the emotional pain of my soul seems to have found a new residence…inside my stomach.
I have no right at all to complain. I have been and continue to be blessed…yet I suppose it’s just part of the human condition to complain no matter what. And so I complain.
I think about people out there who are so much worse off than I am.
It helps to keep me focused. Who am I to complain about a little tummy ache every now and then? So what if it drops me to my knees at times. Just means I should be thankful to still have a gut and the capability to feel it.
Yeah, yeah. Doesn’t work on me when I am in a world of hurt, either. But I try.
And I complain. Right here. When I’m hurting so much I’m wondering if I should just call in. Like now.
Somehow…that helps a bit…
I’m going to have an awesome day at work today…God willing…
