A fresh perspective?

Well, that’s kind of a lie. I don’t have a fresh perspective, unless you count fresh as saucy, rude, etc. I am so fucking tired all the time, and so angry. I have to take a lot of medicine to stay sane and not scream at everyone. What meds? Not lithium or anything like that. I take a mix of 1 part each milk thistle, astragalus and dandelion.I am to replace the dandelion with celandine, but I have been too lazy to order it. Anger for the most part is a symptom of imbalance. Stress is hard on the liver. Though sometimes it is a valuable survival mechanism. The trick is telling the difference.

Anyway, I’ve been getting up super early to have time to myself, so I can write and whatnot, which is great. Today I got up at 5:45 though, which is now pretty common for me, and my brother was still up. I didn’t say anything except “goodness, you are up late,” but I was thinking a lot of black thoughts. He often goes to bed at 4am (I hear him), so this was late even for him. But that didn’t stop me from wanting to scream at him. Plus he was on his laptop on the couch. First he took over my nice fancy computer chair. I worked at the kitchen table. Then he took over the table-without relinquishing the chair, as it is still surrounded by his shit. So now the only place I had to work was the couch. Now he’s working on the fucking couch. Everything bothers me. I am so prickly.

I hate myself when I am a bitch, too. It is so unattractive. I hate everyone. My bro is a cranky pain, and when i m just as bad if not worse, I can’t hate him with a clear conscience. Plus it’s just a bad, thoughtless habit, to expose others to my craptastic mood. But there I am, muttering unkind imprecations, not even under my breath 24/7. It’s just wrong. Plus I’ve been talking to myself–out loud. Bad sign. So something has to change.

Hence the medicine.

It helps a lot.

My astrologer told me I’m entering ANOTHER EFFING SATURN RETURN (she’s ayurvedic, so the system is different). Fuck me, right? She told me to take out the trash. I had just told a friend my biggest problem was that I don’t take out the trash–literally or figuratively. I’m drowning in garbage. I know that’s my problem on the inside as well as the outside. I just don’t know how to do that. I never have.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

 

 

PS, I am not totally crazy, and often quite pleasant. Really.

 

Demented

So here is the promised update, which, yes, took a long damn time. Why? Because I do have another life, but more importantly, SHE NEVER STOPS TALKING. She never used to be a motor mouth, but in the last maybe year? She just never shuts up. She murmurs, so you have to listen–and you have to listen, bc she gets huffy if you don’t respond.

Worse, almost all of it is made up stuff, total delusions, which are far more real to her than every day life, and which unfortunately tend to skew towards being held captive, the people all around us (there is no one here), who are going to steal her stuff and even her seat on the sofa if she leaves it untended long enough to go pee.

I can’t fucking think with constant babbling. She is worse than a television and it is so toxic and dark much of the time it boggles the mind. When we go for a drive, which we try to do every day, she is either explaining to me how every house e pass she used to stay at at or lived at or owned, and she has a house around here someplace that she loaned to a nice family who needed a place to stay and maybe they will give us something to eat if we show up. The rest of the time, any time we pass a wooded hillside (and they are everywhere), she explain how she had to escape off the mountain after she got dumped there and was held prisoner and had to crawl on her elbows to get out of there…

PLEASE. There was no mountain! There was no escape! I am am familiar with her life story. So this is all some kind of traumatic imagery but I am at a freaking loss to deal with it.

Then there is my germaphobic OCD completely crazy brother who is living with us to help out. God bless him, because we would both be dead without him. But omg, he is a bad-tempered pain in the ass who is afraid to be left alone at my house (though apparently any other place on earth is fine), so I can’t even take her out of the house by ourselves, he has to come along to anything we do or get left alone with her. And he is channeling our dad, who was a shit parent, and it’s not a pretty picture.

He is obsessed with the idea that she doesn’t wash her hands after using the toilet so she is spreading e-coli all over the house. It’s true she doesn’t wash her hands (she used to put expensive cream on her hands and didn’t want to wash it off, and the habit stuck), but she is so personally fastidious that she cannot bear to have anything on her hands, or face, or anything–it all must be wiped fully and carefully away. Aside from that, her health is great, so it’s just not that big of deal. No one is immunocompromised. It’s all a lot of bullshit.

But he now has this obnoxious, elaborate ritual of reminding her not to flush so he can go see if she pooped (since she’s forgotten by the time she gets out of the bathroom), and then he takes her into the kitchen where he badgers her to wash up and snaps at her when she pushes up her sleeves, since in his eyes her sleeve is now a festering hotbed of e-coli. He could give her a hand wipe for chrissakes. But no.

He won’t touch anything she may have touched, using one finger to grab anything. It is so insulting and demeaning it makes me want to spray him with a fire hose. He’s basically Asberger’s so he has no idea unless I tell him that anything he’s doing is driving me insane.

Plus he likes to cook. But he likes to cook basically slop, which takes him ages to elaborately make things that were once good into overcooked slop. And he doesn’t want me to cook–he prefers to be in control of everything. And he likes to have dinner at 9 or 10 pm by which time she should be in bed, blah blah blah, whine bitch complain.

But he is here and I can go away and do things, which otherwise I could not do. A devil’s bargain. It is better than when he wasn’t here, and that is a fact. But I spend most of my days in a state of rage, trying to be nice to be these people. And that is not good.

AND my massage therapist, my ace in the hole, to whom I was going to bring mom to remove some of this leftover trauma shit, DIED. Out of the blue. Like, REALLY out of the blue. So now I have no backup at all, and she made the medicine that keeps me sane and not shoving the old bat down a flight of stairs (and keeps me from having another gall bladder attack). And I am out of medicine.

Pray for me, my friends. This is some kind of turning point in my life.

Saturn is retrograde, so I am thrown back into my second Saturn Return. I am still not sure what the hell I am supposed to learn out of all this (don’t have a mother?). I think it is about self-care, since I have basically NONE, and feeling sorry for myself leads me to eat things that are bad for me. I gained 20 lbs early in this ordeal, and they haven’t gone anywhere. All the trauma work I did previously is helping me stay sane and self compassionate, but I can’t get much of anything done.

I’m writing a book, but have been stalled again for weeks. I feel bad leaving her alone with my brother (and leaving him alone with her), but I can’t get any work done here.

For my own sanity, I have to detach from all this. She usually knows who I am but often thinks I am part of the staff here (staff? What staff? It is a house with 3 ppl in it). However the less she knows me the farther away I can drift. I don’t mind her living here, I mind feeling trapped by it. I mind having to be on call al the time. I mind her getting up at 6AM. That is MY time.

And yes, i do love her–we were so close for so long. It’s heartbreaking to see this happen. It’s terrifying to think about what’s going to happen to me. I do hug her a lot and love her a lot. But it would take 24/7 hugging and I don’t have that in me.

What do I want? I want my mom to be and feel safe and happy, warmed by love. I want to feel footloose and fancy free, grounded by my home but able to move easily in the world. I want to get my work done and feel good about my accomplishments. I want my concentration, my focus, to bring my gifts to the world and help others find and treasure theirs. I want to dance and enjoy life, visit with my friends, and meet cool new folks who become part of my circle of joy.

The GF is still hanging in there, and thank god for her. The BF is still hanging in, though I rarely hear from him. He is planning to move here after he retires. That’ll be interesting. I’ll keep you posted…

Thanks for reading. I appreciate your time and thoughtfulness.

May we be free from suffering. May all beings be free from suffering.

It just got stranger…

So yeah, I’m still here. Only now my brother is here, too. Oh Jesus. So I have my demented Mom and my cranky, germaphobic brother who is afraid to be left alone in the house. I’ll be back in a bit.

The Definition of Insanity….

…is repeatedly doing the same thing and expecting the outcome to be different.

The scene: I have avoided not just the place where he works, but the entire town, for 6 weeks. Yesterday, I went there, with my MOM. He is, of course, there, on the sidewalk. He wears lime-green tie-dyed overalls with no shirt. I hate tie dye. On him, it’s hot. I laugh. “Someone should just take a picture of you every day,” I call. He comes over, takes my hand, kisses it, looks directly into my eyes. “I’m R___” he says.

“I’m Nuria,” say I. “And this is my Mom.”

He takes her hand and kisses it, too. Turns back to me. “I am straight,” he says. “And I am married. To ___. We have an open relationship.” He gives me a rather hard look. “I was a little put off that you only wanted to date me if I was single.” My mom is goggle-eyed.

“It’s easier,” I say. What else can I say? He is holding my hand. I am melting.

He nods. “I would love to hang out with you and get to know you.”

“Yes,” I say. My eyes slide down his skin to where it disappears under his clothes. He is tan, and lean, wiry, strong. I want to eat his entire body.

“I’ll call you,” he says.

“Yes,” I say. He gives me another kleig-light megawatt soul gaze and we part company.

My Mom and I continue up the street. “Forget you heard that,” I say. And she is just old enough that she will, thank God.

So, part of me is like, hahahaha, HE SAID YES!!!

The other half is like, fuckety fuck fuck.

Because, here’s the insanity part:

I have dated (more than) my share of married men. Somehow, there is always drama involved with that. You go in with the calmest intentions, you make sensible agreements, and lo, in about 15 minutes, people are freaking out and keying your car. This man is married. Excuse me while I scream hysterically.

All I want is someone to enjoy sex with, to feel beautiful with, to touch and cuddle and get off with on an occasional, sustainable basis. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Then there is this Don’t Ask; Don’t Tell thing. Frankly, it makes me feel like I’m keeping secrets. I hate that feeling. And if this guy would have a convo like that in front of my mother,  he obviously has no sense of shame. People will talk. I’m more worried about other people spilling the beans (on FB, for example), than I am about myself.

But I am also worried about myself. I am worried about my own sense of guilt, because that’s a real danger here. If I feel guilty about what I’m doing, there is a MUCH higher chance of something going nastily wrong. One can easily create misery and drama where none need be.

And I’m worried about my sanity. I want my life to be fun and engaging, a creative adventure. Period. And I love my man. I want him to be happy.

I just can’t stand the loneliness, the isolation, the sense of futility.

So how can I remove the conditions that create feelings of guilt? How must I conduct myself in this upcoming affair? Because, let’s face it, I am unlikely to walk away from this. I want him. I do not meet a lot of people whom I find attractive. Like none. So finding a way into this that is ethically and morally clean is of the utmost importance.

A talk must be had with R. I’d like to know just how this so-called “open relationship” works, its history. And I am going to visit my man next week for a couple of days.

I will know when I get back.

Okay, decision made.

I shall simply stop. No more emails, no more calls. If he emails me or calls me, I will cheerfully respond, but I will not initiate. I will send hm the copy of my novel that he asked for, and then that’s it. If space is what he needs, he can have it. No anger, no guilt trips, no bullshit. No breaking up, either. When winter comes and it’s time for my visit, I’m going. I love him, and I miss him. But I have spent most of my life being understanding and putting myself second. I’m done. I need someone to be close to.

Whose control issue is this, anyway?

So I’m trying to work this out.

My boyfriend lives far away. In our relationship, he generally calls me. Of course, I call him, too, but usually, he initiates. I like it like that. He used to call me almost every day. Now he almost never calls. When I call him, his phone is usually off. I fucking hate that. Sometimes he calls back. When I do get him, he is always pleased to hear from me.

We also email a lot. Or we used to. I still email a couple times a week. Occasionally I get a spate of emails in return.

The last time I heard from him was 10 days ago. We had a lovely conversation, talked for an hour. Unfortunately, this call was in response to the email I sent him saying that I felt like I didn’t have a boyfriend.

The facts: I have asked, begged, and threatened for more consistent communication. He is genuinely surprised when he hears we haven’t spoken for two weeks. But it doesn’t improve.

The facts: he is broke (like, odd jobs, no rent broke). The local free wifi connection has become unstable. His cell phone costs 10¢ a minute, and his credit cards are long gone. So communication is genuinely difficult for him. But still…

I am pretty sure he doesn’t have anyone else. I am pretty sure he is still interested in me, though I could be wrong about that. I know he loves me, but that doesn’t always equal interest, if you know what I mean. One can drop on the scale from hot lover to cherished old friend and never see it coming.

I do believe he is deeply bound up in his own world. The question is, What the fuck problem of that is mine?

When you are in a relationship, you have to think of more people than just yourself, right? Not that you subordinate your life to theirs, not at all. But especially when you are in a long-distance relationship, you have to keep the smoke gathered, as Walter Mosley would say, lest it go cold and drift away from inattention.

I am going cold and drifting away.

Are my expectations too high for guy who is currently way down on his luck and hitting his second Saturn return? Has he decided I’ll probably leave him anyway and this is the easy way out?

The facts: I have been over-helpful in the past and have pulled way back. I want a man, not a baby. He wants a lover, not a mother.

Is my wanting him to call just more manipulation? Do what I say? Show me you need me? Or am I just a woman who is lonely for her lover?

Is his refusal a way of gaining space and autonomy? Or is he just too self-involved to bother?

I have this idea that the problem is in me, in some way that I see, or refuse to see, this situation. I just don’t know what that is. Yet.

It’s like, if you want to keep me, I need more attention. On the other hand, why debase myself? Why put up with a man who can’t be there for me? Maybe I need to just let go, quietly and without fanfare. At what point am I breaking up with the guy, and at what point am I just giving him space (a whole lotta space)?

I don’t want to break up with the guy. He is delicious. His hands are magic. His voice melts me. His skin is smooth and silky, and he’s easy to be around. But he’s thousands of miles away. I haven’t seen him in months, and as far as I can see, I won’t be seeing him for another half a year, b/c he’s too broke to visit.

But I’m lonely. I want a lover. And the pickings are fucking slim, let me tell you, b/c there just aren’t that many people around whom I find attractive. So any casual sexual encounter runs the risk of turning into something not so casual.

I love flirting. I love the beginnings of relationships, when it’s all rosy and hot. I love feeling beautiful and desirable. I’ve been in my share of long-term things. I’m not the love ’em and leave ’em type. But maybe I could be more relaxed about the whole thing.

I want my love life to be easy and delicious. I am way past drama. But something in me is paranoid, hiding, anxious that there will be some. That fear of exposure, so recently activated, is not gone. Where does it originate? How do I get rid of it?

Drift again

She is indeed his confidante. How totally random is that? And she’s completely trustworthy. So it’s all good.

What’s better is that I got to deal with the fear, coming to the Oh Well stage all on my own: Oh well, whatever he said, it can’t really hurt me, and if he really is a jerk, I never have to speak to him again. But it’s nice to know the guy is okay after all.