Fack I am Tired!

Godamn I am tired . . . . I don't know how else to explain it . . . i am just plain out worn out, plain old tired.  I hate to use the word exhausted, but that is one of the first words that pop into my mind.  I am sure I am not officially exhausted, or I would not be able to function.

I have not written since September as I had no inclination to, my inner thoughts were just that, inner thoughts.  My emotional moments were mine to deal with.  All of my closest friends and my confidants were dealing with their own lives and so I have internalized, and tried to deal with this my own way .  My sudden teary breakdowns and feelings of no energy have become an accepted part of my day.

But the scariest part for me of the past 3 or 4 months is that my memory has gone to shit.  My recall of names; my memory for titles of movies or books; my normally great ability to remember street names and TV show characters . . . all this has gone for total SHIT.  And for someone with a memory that I pride myself on (I can recall conversations from 10 years ago word for word pretty much), this has become an extremely worrisome issue for me.  Dr. says could be stress.  Given me some little white pills to take the edge off that made me want to puke, so trying another type for a few weeks.  Follow up appointment in January (4th appt. in 4 months).  Next step is a scan to see if someone not quite right in the old brain cavity.  My eyes hurt as well, he says that may be something to keep a close watch on . .  I didn't ask why. . .  I didn't want to know . . .

On top of this is have started to have freaking psoriasis flare ups - my scalp is raw, the back of my thighs and my arms are itchy and sore.  Dr. says Stress causes it. 

And I don't sleep too well.  I will pull over on the drive home because I feel my eyes closing and my car weaving.  I will wake up 6-8 times a night and sit bolt upright and think about work, family, relationships or friend stuff.  Dr. says could be contributing to stress levels and memory issues.  I want to sleep at 8pm.  12 hours feels like 12 minutes of rest

Blood pressure up and down like a toilet seat.  From 190/100 to 132/70 to yesterdays reading of 178/91 . . . . . blood test results x 2 were ok.

BEFORE I QUIT SMOKING NONE OF THIS SHIT HAPPENED.  So, do I go back to smoking, and relax?.  My blood pressure was never above 128/70; i slept somewhat well; my memory was spot on; i didnt know what stress was - I was under pressure, but never felt overly stressed. Do I quit my job that is becoming extremely intense and I cannot be performing at less than 100% every day? 

No, I will keep pushing, and get the tests done if needed,  and will not worry about this brain cavity thingy unless it becomes an issue.  Could be that it has been one damn shitty year!

September 18th, 2012 . . . .

It is weird/surreal/scary/upsetting to say those words, "my dad is dead", or "my dad died", or "I lost my dad". 

Saying them is the only time that I cry now - well that and looking at this photo, the only time i will allow myself to feel the pain and the grief . . I have kept myself very busy . . . but the nights when I am sitting alone, I will sometimes write.  I write my sadness at not only my loss ,but at my childhood.  It is funny though, strange, that I don't feel any regret or need for personal apology when it comes to our distant relationship . . our lack of communication . . . our unwillingness, or inability to bridge that gap.  I have not once said "I wish I had . . . . . . "

I was seeing a professional to help me with my emotional struggles from May to end of July - not only with my dad, but my leaving England, my own personal demons that I had buried etc.  I never finished the 10 sessions, I only got to 6 and then my dad died.  I don't know exactly why I stopped going . . . . maybe if "I don't acknowledge it, I don't have to deal with it".  I do know that I did not really enjoy the tears and the sadness of the sessions . . the recollections of emotions and feelings that I had buried; the acknowledgment of my anger towards my dad, and at times, my mum for things done years and years ago that I didn't realize I was angry about; the feeling of inadequacy and the importance of being 'the golden child' . . . all the things I had buried and pushed so far back into my memory, that it took hours to bring them to the front.

So I have once again retreated to my comfort zone, my inner child has been silenced, and my brick wall had been re-erected, only it is not quite so high this time.  I didn't like the person I became in the weeks I was seeing the therapist . . . I would cry for no reason; could not sleep; mis-intrepeted my feelings and emotions; upset my friends and my family . . . while my answer was "I need to do this for me", I hated  upsetting everyone that I love so much . . . they are too important to me.  Maybe that is one of the reasons I stopped going.  Maybe one day i will go back and ask exactly that question.

So in 12 sleeps I will be visiting my sister in England.  My strong sister who had to go through this process alone; my sister who is always so strong, but now will choke up and cry when we talk about our dad; my sister who arranged to get us all one of our Dad's watches (apparently he had quite a few of them) to remember him by; of getting some ashes for herself and Linzi (I have no desire for them); my sister who travelled 9 hour round trips to see my dying father many times over the past year. 

I know there will be tears at that time, there will be discussions of things we had forgotten, of memories of our father; memories of our childhood; I am sure we will cry, talk, and maybe at that time I will allow myself to openly grieve. 

And I need this - I need to cry, I need to be held..  But do I also put my wall up so that I can appear to be strong on the outside?  Other than my sister Linzi (xoxoxo) my hubby, and a male friend, no-one has held me, and let me just cry . ..  and told me that it is ok to cry; it is ok to be sad that they are 'sorry for your loss'.  My friends tell me over the phone, over the email, over chats - but no "sorry" hugs  . . . .  I am just glad I was not alone when I got the phone call that my dad had died, and the dear sweet friend that was with me at the time, had no clue on what I wanted or needed (she told me this about a week later). . . maybe that is the impression I put out there, and that is why I didn't get those shoulders to cry on - but it is the furthest thing from the truth.  I would have so melted into any arms that surrounded me, and I probably still would.

Aren't I one screwed up chick!  don't know whether the hell I am coming or going . . but this is all new to me, and one day I am sure I will get it.

I just had to write, and write and write

He died 2 August 2012 at 130pm

A few days to a week after he died, I wrote this. 

I feel a lack of closure that is beyond what I have ever experienced. I will never connect with him, in anger, love, or forgiveness again. What was done was done. I have sobbed silently for the loss of time and familial closeness. I have cried for my father's stubbornness, and for my own inability to rise above it.  While I tell myself that I am at peace . . . I still weep - and the weeping comes in waves - some feel like tidal waves, some like a calm lake awakening . . . .

There comes a point in your life and grief process that you have to remember the smaller good things and happy moments, and forget or forgive the bigger not so good things . . . and that is the path I have chosen to take at the end of all this.  But first I need to get all things off of my chest, and out of my head, and onto paper. 

People are asking if I saw my dad before he died, and are questioning why I didn’t go over to England.  While I do not have to explain my decisions to anyone anymore, I will tell you that I did not feel the want, nor the need, to go. I have seen a cancer death.  Debs told me that I would not want to see him this way, and I believed her – maybe I was also afraid of how I would react . . would my emotional shield get cracked?  Would my strong façade fall to pieces?  Would tough old Nicky show her weakness?  Why was I afraid of appearing weak?  so much to learn about myself.

People tried to make me feel guilty for not going, told me he was probably hanging on just waiting to say goodbye to us (me and my sister) – that was the worst thing they could have said. . . and for a while it worked, and I struggled with my decision.  But now I am totally at peace with it.

I was 7 when he left our family home; I was 15 when I was taken to Canada; I was 21 the next time I saw him, then I was 35 or so and for the last time at age 43.  In all that time, we never talked about anything substantive – I don’t know if there was really a lot left to say.  We shirked the questions we both probably should have asked; we could not seem to speak beyond basic pleasantries, weather, TV, other things.    When he lived with Linzi here in Canada (in the late 1990’s early 2000’s) he would come and stay at our house on the weekends – it would give Linzi a break and hopefully give him a chance to connect with his 2 grandsons (never really happened).  I found, even then, the conversations stilted and difficult, forced and strained – maybe too much time had passed for us to fix the relationship.  Linzi was always searching for a relationship with dad, and I felt so sorry for her as he never seemed to have any love left by the time she came along . . . I cannot imagine how she must have felt . . I put up an emotional brick wall, Linzi got a broken heart.  By this time I had pretty much sloughed it off I think – I had told myself that there was no relationship there - easier to deal with that what I felt was the unloving and non-acceptance of him as a father. 

I remember that one night I just suddenly grew the balls to ask him what I always wanted to ask. I asked him why he didn’t love me.  I think I shocked him.  He very non- emotionally told me that he would have loved me more if I was a boy, and that he wished it was always just 'him and mummy'; and that he deliberately refused to take us on weekends “to hurt Mummy”, because he was hurt he wanted her to hurt.  He put us in the middle of his waging war against our mum.  

To sit across the room from you father and hear those words cut me to the core.  I knew that he was not going to win the Father of the Year award, however, I felt totally unloved, unwanted and not needed at that moment.  Why was I even bothering to be honest?  The moment he said those words I wanted him to leave, leave my house and leave my life.  I can remember the wall of protection go up higher around me, I can remember the switch inside me move to the off position.  I can remember the feeling of emptiness and worthlessness.  I guess even though we had not had the best relationship, I still needed his acknowledgment and acceptance – I guess that was not going to happen.  This was the day I totally shut him off emotionally. And I did not realize that until now.

The last time I saw him was October 2008.  I had no plans of going to see him that year, or ever again, (could never afford a trip) but a great friend of mine, Sue, gifted me with airline tickets, arranged it all with my sisters without me knowing, and even booked the week off of work with my boss.  Debbie took me to the IOW to see my dad.  I was still deciding the day before I got on the plane as to whether I was going to visit him or not – Dean and I had many talks about it.  Debbie pretty much made up my mind for me . . . . while it was not a very comfortable visit, too many years had passed; I had told myself it was the right thing to do . . .and that I would be a better person for doing this . . . and when I left I was convinced that I was able to shut that door forever.  Get that chore out of the way . . . . yes, I thought of it as a chore to be honest.  Our visit felt strange.  He seemed pleased to see us as we stepped off of the ferry, and apparently had waited all day – had got there early, but after 5 minutes we seemed to be like strangers trying to make small talk.  The relationship really had not survived the distance and the hurt . . . I told myself that day that I did not love him.

I told myself after I returned to Canada at the end of that holiday, that I had closed that chapter in my book of life, and that I was at peace with my decision that it was going to be the last time I spoke to or saw my dad.  

I have since found out that I am probably the world’s best liar. . . I told everyone, many times, that he was gone from my life – book closed, story over, and that I was totally cool with it all.  And I will swear on a stack of bibles, and I truly believed that I was okay with it.  I truly did  - I had no clue that I was lying to myself – I had told myself so many times that it ‘just didn’t matter’ that I had begun to believe it.  I created my ‘perfect little world’ of ‘I can handle anything’ . . .I was surrounded by a big wall of concrete, and protected by a huge emotional shield . . . I was safe.

So, Debs called from the UK and told me that dad was sick back in January 2012, I replied “ok, well let me know when he dies” I felt no emotion . . out of sight, out of mind. . . . . don’t forget, I was OK with this (world’s best liar).  And I really thought I was ok . . . and I really didn’t react emotionally, I just put up another huge block up in front of me, added another layer to the emotional wall I have built around me, probably since about the age of 11.  I was fine, good ‘tough old Nicky’ was not going to let anything through that wall – I had it all planned out perfectly . . . so so perfectly . . .

Until . . .

early February I pop onto Facebook at work, and my whole day came crashing down around me, in a way I could never have predicted.  In fact, I would have put money on the table against the emotions I was experiencing.  The tears started flowing, not just slowly and steadily, but accompanied by sobs, the feeling of nausea, the shakes – what the hell was happening to me?  It was all because of a single photograph.  A photograph of my dad smiling with his great granddaughter by his side, he is laying in his hospital bed, with charts on the back saying “Mr. Edwards’s fluid intake”, “Mr. Edwards’s medical chart”.  But I saw three things clearly, his hands, his face and his eyes.  You could see the cancer had taken hold – now it seemed too real – now I really realized that I was about to experience the imminent death of an immediate family member – my dad.  After experiencing a visit with a cancer patient only 6 hours before his death a few years ago, you could see that Deb was right; it really is just a matter of time. That was 6 months ago . . . . they gave him 6 weeks, and he made it 6 months.

My reaction scared the shit out of me . . . I became a wreck, I cried for hours, had to leave meetings, close my office door.  I became a mess . . . and didn’t understand why.  I felt like I cried for a week straight.  

It took 2 friends to figuratively grab me by my ears and drag me to the corner, sit me down and tell me the truth, and it hurt, and it still hurts.  It took them treating me like the child I had locked away, like the emotional person I was trying never to be, like the person that had suffered from abandonment and loneliness that I was, they literally put me on the path to self-discovery.  I came away from our chat feeling like I was suddenly emotionally alive . . . a new me had been born . . . I knew that I needed to find out who I was.

I started to recall my childhood a little bit at a time.  I never really recall hearing a lot of “I love you” coming out of my dad’s mouth, and spoken to me, but that is another story.  But when you look at his young life, maybe he didn’t know how to say it.  He was the youngest of 11 children, born in the 1920’s and 1930’s.  He probably didn’t hear those three magical words very often.  He may have never known the strong love between a parent and a child – how much energy can you really have as a parent after the 11^th child in 20 years?  Who am I to now judge the lack of words to me?  Pam, a close friend, made me realize this about a year ago when I first heard of dad’s onset of dementia.  And those words have stuck with me ever since, and made me accept the small things that my dad did for me as his way of showing he loved me.

For 36 years I shut off my true emotions, and now I am mad.  Mad that he refused to pick us up on weekends; mad that mum threatened to call the orphanage every time he didn’t show up; mad that we seemed to be a chore to him; mad that my cousins saw more of him that we did; mad that he ignored Linzi; mad that I wasn’t a boy; so so so mad; mad that when my mum asked for him to take us for a few weeks or months so that we could move back to England in 1981 he said NO.  Gee thanks Dad . . . . .

And the journey continues . . . . .

Anger, hurt, love, loss

all those years a broken child
angry and torn and pushed aside
where was my father?
these days i feel emotionally lost
and barely hanging by a thread.
when asked to love me,
he ran away, abandoned me, broke my heart
left me alone, messed up my head.
all fucked up is where I am
feeling hatred and love, loss and anger
wondering why, and how,
and if I had not seen that photo,
then would i even care?

Happy Birthday Daddy . . . .

A last word spoken and not heard, or was it?
the words of forgiveness I spoke them out loud,
My permission to leave was granted, but does he want it?
Or is this me being selfish as I just want this to end?

A day of tears and emotions I am not good with;
thinking no more tears, only to start sobbing again.
I told him goodbye, said it's his choice to make now
I did what I could, now I just will live with my emotions

The tough shield that I wore lasted under a minute, the tears
and the emotions just washed it away.
Even though it was rough and there was never a lot of love shared
this man is, and always will be my dad

 

Today is August 1st.  Today is my daddy's birthday.  Today will be his last birthday (according to the drs.).  That is quite a hard pill to swallow. It makes me cry. 

 

My dad is a gentle man, yes I meant to put the space between the two words.  In all the years (17) that he and my mum were together, she only saw him lose his temper once . . when she was in a dangerous situation. He loved her so deeply, that the end of their marriage devastated him. But he was never going to win the Father Of The Year Award.  My dad was always the favourite of all my cousins, aunts and uncles - because he was a good man.  He was always there to help; always there when needed; and did smile a lot from what I remember.  My dad does not have a malicious bone in his body or an evil thought in his head.  And I want him to be remembered for the being the gentle man that he was.

For years I have told myself that our relationship did not matter . . . now I realize what a good liar I was . . especially to myself - god I am a great liar . . . and became an emotionally void person.  

 

I told myself it did not matter . .but oh man, it mattered so much.  I am who I am due in part due to him; to his mannerisms; the way he raised me in the early years; the personality traits he has passed onto me; the genetics; the fact that I am more of an Edwards than my sisters; while I will not look back and regret - I will look forward with an emptiness in my heart.

 

Thomas Charles Edwards . . happy birthday . . I wish i could say and heres to many more . . . . . 

Just words . . .

At first it hurts, to realize that when you turned that corner
That corner took you so much strength to turn
And you looked beside you and realized
That the friends that you thought would be there were not;

They are not walking beside you as thought they would
But not because they don’t want to, but because they needed not to
and it took them courage and strength and strong love to let you go
So that you could learn;  Learn how to stand on your own two feet

Learn how to deal with loss and pain; hurt and anger; abandonment and shame;
And the new understanding of those emotions
That  have been kept deep down inside and are now alive.
Learn to talk for yourself and open up wide
So that the life you have been holding deep and dark
And inside your soul will come out and fight;

Fight to be acknowledged, fight to be heard, shout over the rooftops
Understand what your life has meant
What you have learnt and what and who you are . . .
A true friend will let you take those last steps, and while
Not walking beside you, will be only one step behind
In case you falter.

~ N Pearson, June 18, 2012

A little bit coincidental . . . .

So, June 13th, 2012 . . . . 25 years to the day when we married . . . celebrated this day with the exchanging of silver jewellery and cards that had just the right words in them.  Both worked all day, worked hard too . . . I am sure we will take some time to celebrate on the weekend, with friends. 

We treated today pretty much as we do every other day in our lives . . .as nothing any different - each day you wake up and can make a fog on a mirror is a good day :)

So we were out shopping and farting around, and decided to have a quick meal with our oldest dumbass Kyle and his young lady.  So we are sitting there just chatting, and the radio in the restaurant is on quietly in the background.  Suddenly if sounds as if the radio is turned up to full volume, and the song Love Me Tender By Elvis Presley starts playing.  Now, on any given day I would have paid no attention to this song.  But at this time I looked at my phone, and it was 7:13pm - pretty much the same time that Dean and I danced to our wedding song that wonderful day 25 years ago . . . . I remember it was after 7 as my step dad took so long with the speeches . . . . well our wedding song was, Love Me Tender by Elvis.  So 25 years to the day, almost to the bloody minute, our wedding song plays loudly at the restaurant where we are eating dinner . . .. coincidence, or a friend on the other side making sure that we took the time to acknowledge that today was more than any other day . . . it was time to take a breath and look at what the last 25 years have bought to us. 

At times you wonder if this is all life has to offer; or how much you can take in times of tragedy or heartache; or will you ever feel as joyful as you were at the birth of your first son; or where will the money come from to pay that next bill; or why am I so lucky to have two beautiful, wonderful and healthy children; and such a loving supportive spouse.

Twenty Five years of sometimes struggling - but now finally able to take family holidays; of watching both kids excel in sports and relationships; twenty five years of chatting, laughing, crying, giggling, talking until the wee hours . . . . would I change anything ??  I am sure we would all want to change a few things in our lives, the only things I would want to changes are the tragedy and the agony . . . . . The lack of money; the nasty bosses; the horrible jobs; the house I really don't like; the friends that turn out not to be friends; the hard times; the wonderful friends; the times of joy and laughter; the heartfelt girl talks; the time with my family - I probably would not change any of them as each one of the contributed to the strength of the relationship we have today and I feel have made us better people.

June 13, 1987 to June 13, 2012 - we did it Deano . . . . . not many can say they have reached such a milestone - :)

My surprise 25th . . . I love it

On our wedding day, Dean's favorite cousin (who he called his uncle) Ken Hill gave us a 5 ounce bar of troy silver. He said that he wanted to make sure we made it to our 25th, and for use to be sure and find out what it was worth on that day . . . he paid $50 for it in 1987.

So Dean took this bar to a friend of ours that does custom jewellery, and started the process about 7 months ago. He asked Alexander Brancier to customize a necklace signifying our 25 years together out of this piece of silver. Alex took the silver bar and made a symbol of our time together . . . if you look closely you can see the XXV in the spot where the chain goes through, the clock in roman numerals signifies the time we have spent. This was all custom made.

There is on piece left of that silver bar. We are going to cut that into 3 pieces. One piece for each of our children to polish and maybe put on a chain, and one piece for Kens daughter, and our wonderful 2nd cousin Cheryl Hill so that she can have a little piece of her dad memory, as he passed away a few years ago, and he was a wonderful man.

It is a lovely piece that I will be so honoured to wear tomorrow to the Royal York hotel for an evening out with Dean Pearson (work related too). Thank you Deano for a lovely surprise, and Alex for some lovely work. I am so excited to wear this!!!

Let down, but a good read started

May 31 2012

So I have worked myself up to this day . . . for 2 weeks I have been thinking about what my first ever session with a therapist would be . . . and this hour was going to be spent on talking about my childhood.

So I leave work early, fight traffic, get there 1/2 hour early, buy a spiritual book and start reading, and wait for my turn.

L.L. (therapist) invites me upstairs and just says "I have to start the conversation"  So I am thinking, wow, quick start, lets get on this!  And she follows up with the fact that she cannot work with me due to a conflict of interest.  One of my great friends is a classmate of L.L. in the same college, and it would make things uncomfortable for them both, and would not be fair to me at case study time etc.  At first I felt like I was a balloon that had been deflated . . . and I felt tears come to my eyes - but then I realized she was right, and I respected her telling me now, rather than after we had built a relationship.  And as my peep says "trust, trust, trust" not "f**k. f**k, f**k" - reason for everything.

I will see the other therapist i was referred to next Tuesday, so I have more reading and writing to do.

So here is what I have come up with today:

I know something is off with me, and I could be happier with who I am, but how can I start to work on me and heal, when I don’t even really know what my problem(s) is/are?

Uncovering the source of my dissatisfaction, sadness and wild emotions can be scary, lonely work.  And the past 3 weeks it has felt that way  (even though it has not been) . . . I just have to keep telling myself that I am not alone.  I am blessed with some amazing people.  I have to tell myself that there is no right or wrong way to do this . . . just whatever way works for me . . . go with my gut, my inner feeling, my sixth sense . . understand that by ignoring and not fixing what is damaged, it will just follow me, from here to my next life, and the life after that, and after that  . . . while I will eventually leave my body, my baggage will still be with me if I do not deal with it, and release it.

I realize that Nicky Pearson is a “yes” person, a ‘let’s make everyone happy’ person, an ‘I can fix your problem’ person (so I don't have to fix mine). . . I have the perfect answer for the ‘how are you?’ question . . . it is “I am just fine, everything is just fine.  I don’t need anyone’s help thank you”

I have always been the one that was too scared to say anything if I was upset or angry, or wrongly judged – why? . . . because I didn’t want conflict, or to upset anyone by saying how I really felt, or by defending myself, or stand up to a verbal abusive bully or friend.  God forbid I upset anyone.  I have developed a habit of pleasing, placating and calming others rather than honouring my own wants and needs.

Well guess what . . . . I want to, and I will cry out:  I am scared, I am heartbroken, I am hurt, I am angry, I have failed, my dad is dying, I can’t keep quiet anymore!  I need to cry out.

A quote from a great book I am reading right now “Spirited, by Rebecca Rosen” about finding your inner spirit and inner voice, and how to use your intuition to help you.  One of the most resounding excerpts from this book is “When we are feeling lost, defeated or alone, it is hard to believe the answers are inside us, and that is often because we have cut ourselves off from our inner knowing.  Given enough time, this state of disconnect from our inner knowing can lead to self destructive behavior.  When we hit rock bottom we can either recognize our self-abusive behavior as a wake call and do the necessary work to reconnect, or we can continue down the same broken road.”

I wish you all a good night, and peace in your heart.  Today I feel peaceful, I feel ok. . . . . only teared up twice today . . and that is a good thing :)

Two days to go . . . . . what will i discover?

Today was not an especially good day for “emotion control”.   

I want the phone to ring, but I also don’t want it to ring . . . . I want him to be in peace – I want him to be out of pain – I want him to be where he wants to be.  And I want to be able to shut this all off, and not have to deal with it.  

If you had told me in December that this is how I would be feeling in June, I would have called you a great big fucking liar and idiot.  Why the hell would I really care about a man who I didn’t love?  Who was so distant to me?  Who I wrote off a long time ago?  Well I fooled myself didn’t i?  And if I am reacting about my dad like this – wtf am I going to be like when a close family member goes?  

 I am struggling to handle and control the emotions I am feeling, and those that know me, know that I like to have some form of control (over pretty much everything!). . . . I feel like I am losing my focus at work, and losing control of me.  I am keeping my office door closed as I don’t want people walking by and seeing the tears in my eyes and on my cheeks and asking ‘what’s wrong?”.  I just have a post it note on the outside of the door saying “sorry, crazy busy – knock if important”  

I know that I am consumed and confused by these unannounced and surprise tears; by my stomach feeling somewhat nauseous; by the utter feeling of a lack of control over when and where I will start weeping.  I have never been one to show the weakness of emotional breakdowns, I have always been able to push them back into the recesses of my mind . . . to not acknowledge they are there – I haven’t figured out yet why I do this, but I just know that I am bloody good at doing it.  

And I have lived with that strong, tough, unbreakable exterior of emotions, and never realized that deep inside it was probably causing me more harm than good.  And anyways, if it was causing me harm . . . I could handle it!  I am that A Type Leo!

So in 2 days I will talk to a psycho-therapist for the first time.  I once spoke to a counselor (2006) but this is different, this is about finding out why I do what I do; why the fake tough exterior?  why the habit of hiding emotions?   Why the sudden need to tell my whole story?  I know that the first meeting will be talking about my childhood, and finding the base of the complicated structure that I am built on. 

I have never felt the need for daily chats with my friends, or strong hugs of understanding, or the full sharing of my emotions (I was always just fine thank you) but I find an extreme need for non-family chats; non-family hugs; non-family understanding . . . not because I don’t want them from my family, but because the friends didn’t live my history with me . . and they cannot assume the reasons I  am feeling this way, and they can’t identify with the situation, so they will have to identify with me instead . . .  they just have to listen and let me act like a blubbering fool. 
  
That is why I am going to see the therapist – she knows nothing of me, and we will learn about me together.  I need someone with no idea of who, or what I am.

When I read my posts back, it sounds like I am whining and so negative, but that is not my intent . . . I am just trying to be honest about how am I feeling, be honest about things that I have not really been honest about before.

A friend told me last night that she writes blogs, but never has the balls to publish them.  And she was proud of me for publishing mine – that is not why I am publishing these.  Writing releases.  Writing allows me to put onto paper what is in my mind.  Writing lets me escape for an hour.  Writing for me is therapeutic!  And if you don't want to read it, then don't.  

Home, by Philip Phillips, American Idol winner 2012:
 
Hold on to me as we go, as we roll down this unfamiliar road, 
and although this wave is stringing us along,
just know you're not alone, cos I am going to make this place your home
Settle down, it will all be clear, don't pay no mind to the demons they fill you with fear.
The trouble it might drag you down, if you get lost you can always be found.
Just know you're not alone, I am gonna make this place your home.


Love and hope,

Oh here goes the blood pressure . . . . . .

Thomas Cardinal Collins opposes students calling clubs gay-straight alliances

What part of this story really makes sense?  It is not ok for students to call their anti-homophobia clubs Gay-Straight Alliances.

"The Archbishop of Toronto issued a stinging attack against the Ontario government's anti-bullying bill Monday, after the Liberals announced students must be allowed to name anti-homophobia clubs "gay-straight alliances."

"Trustees and principals are legitimate stewards of the spiritual tradition of the school, and in a Catholic school that includes the Catholic faith tradition," Thomas Cardinal Collins said in a statement.

"Why should the power of provincial law be used to override that legitimate adult authority so that this one particular method can be imposed by any student who wants to do so?"

UMMMMM last time I checked, this country was ruled by a Government and not a freaking catholic dude in a fancy hat . . . . and do you really think that there are no Gay Catholics in your schools?  I applaud all of the students that are fighting for their rights.

And my goodness, what's worst ? A school club that caters to Gay orientated students with the name "Gay Straight Alliances" or the Catholic system where Pedophile priests molest countless children, are moved around by the world to molest again or given "re-orientation" therapy and protected from prosecution ?


Full story at http://www.citytv.com/toronto/citynews/news/local/article/207642--thomas-cardinal-collins-opposes-students-calling-clubs-gay-straight-alliances

Preparing for the inevitable . . . .

I have been accused of being stubborn, strong willed, unwavering and opinionated – can you imagine that - little innocent me.    I certainly can be overbearing, ignorant of any issues other than my own at times; angry; emotional; weak and strong . . . . and that is all within the first 10 minutes of my day :)

When I feel like I have made the right decision I usually stick to my guns. Be it right or wrong, to admit that I fucked up has not been a normal part of my psyche - slight case of "A Type Personality, Middle Child Syndrome" and being a Leo.

I try to live up to my own expectations of myself, and those of my family and friends.  The golden child syndrome was hard to live up to . . . and still is . . . cos sometimes I just want to climb up onto a rooftop and yell “I am not the nice person you all think I am” and “I have done things that I am not proud of” or “I am not the person you have made me out to be.”  I try to love all my family and friends all the time (even when I have upset them or them me), I try to see the good side of people for the most part, and I am a somewhat forgiving person, and sometimes it is so hard to be good 'all the time'.

I had a really good friend when Tim died that knew I was slowly sinking into a hole that I could not crawl out of alone, and I felt that they turned their back and heart on me.   I didn’t talk to that person for years because of that.

I was sitting in my preverbial corner, in my own darkness and could not see any light at the end of the tunnel; and I was grasping and reaching internally for anyone to reach out their hand, yet I would not extend my hand out for them to grab and help.  I felt like I was drowning, but still would not yell for help; I felt the fire burning inside of me, but did not even attempt to fix myself - I was not worthy of being fixed!

It was not until I felt a friend step forward and force me to reach out my hand and open my eyes to my depression and grief, my anxiety and anger, my sadness and absolute exhaustion. She was the one that made me realize that my actions were not healthy for me; that trying to make it ‘all right’ was not going to work – I could not bring Tim back. That person knows who she is – and I tell her to this day, she saved me from taking a step that I may not have recovered from.

And for that person that ‘turned their back on me’, I now realise they really didn’t, as I had the same reaction to helping a friend a year ago. I realize that it wasn’t that the person was being nasty to me; or just didn’t want to help me – possibly they didn’t know how, didn’t have the energy; realized that they were not what I needed; or just couldn’t at that point in their life – and because they were very important in my life, I just assumed they would be there for me. I thank them now for not attempting to do something that would not have worked out for either one of us.

So I have to learn that not everyone wants to take this journey with me, or hold my hand along the way, or wants to hear of my hurt and anger; my confusion and tiredness; and help me understand the last 4 months of emotional outbursts that make me feel weak and angry.   My sister is also going through a similar exercise, and it is nice to be able to talk with her about our childhood and compare notes, memories and stories - and through our discussions we are realizing that more and more we have put way back in the memory banks.

I am on the opposite end of my normal emotional scale right now. I put too much weight on small things that people are doing – I am reading into everything way too much, and I am hurting myself by doing this –and writing this down, this seems to be the way to get these emotions off of my chest, and as I said before is somewhat therapeutic as I cannot speak these words out loud to anyone at this time.

What I find the hardest thing to adjust to is the need to know that I am not alone – cos right now I feel like a lonely person in the middle of a very large round empty room . . . . . when I was not going through this process I was quite happy with my own company . . . . now I feel alone most of the time. I am sure my professional friend will tell me why . . . . and I am really looking forward to understanding . . . .