Quiet

I've decided to give Project Reverb a try again this year. I've missed writing, and I think this might be a good way to get back into the habit.

December 1: At the start | Where did you start 2014?  Give us some background on this year.

I spent New Year's Eve home alone on my couch. I made mac n cheese and went to bed at 9:30pm.

It wasn't as sad as it sounds.

I had spent the bulk of the previous three months living out of a suitcase at my best friend's house. I was relieved to be home, grateful for the solitude.

The previous September,  I had totalled my car. While driving my friend and her daughter to the airport. For a Hawaiian vacation.
Needless to say, they missed their flight.

My friend was hurt. One minute we were joking about pineapples and the next minute she was in a crying hospital bed and I was suddenly responsible for a five year old.
I've never wanted my mom more in my life than I did that day.

When we got home, her mother immediately began talking lawyers and lawsuits.

I knew the only way through was together. So we both slept on couches in her living room until she was cleared to climb the stairs to her bedroom. I watched hours of Food Network with her when she was in too much pain to sleep. I fetched and carried and plumped pillows. I became a familiar face at her daughter's day care and dance studio. I did everything I could think of to help.

Not because of the guilt. Because I love her and her daughter and because you don't abandon family.

Make no mistake, there is guilt. So much guilt. The kind of guilt that comes to you so orangically after nine years of Catholic school. The guilt cannot be fought with reason or tears. Perhaps it will go away with time, but for now it endures.

By New Year's Eve it was beginning to look as though the worst might be over, there might be no more surgeries, she might be cleared to work again soon. And so I had gone home to snuggle my dog and sleep in my own bed.

This all turned out to be wishful thinking, of course.

But I got that one glorious day to relax, to not be strong or put on a happy face... to feel something besides soul sucking guilt.

So my beginning was quiet, but that was exactly what I needed.

Disconnect

I have come to realize that I am not good at being alone. There is too much noise in my head for me to be one of those independent people who do everything by themselves.

I used to tell myself that I was in constant contact with SkinnyB because she needed it. Now my text messages and my call log tell a different story. I am always in touch with someone. I used to complain about all of the work calls I received, especially because they invariably came when I was in the midst of a celebration or a social event or a Skype call to TheFish. I used to talk of changing my number or turning off my phone at the end of the work day. Now that the calls have lessened, I almost miss them. I never changed my number; I cannot bring myself to turn off my phone for longer than an hour.

I wonder if this is just part of being a twentysomething in the new millennium. Have my age, Facebook, Android phone, Twitter, etc ruined my ability to be alone?
Or is my inability to disconnect for even a few hours indicative of something else? Am I too needy? Have all the years of pushing people away turned me into a lonely creature who craves human contact, no matter how limited or impersonal?

Maybe I'm overthinking this. The people I call most are the people I care about most. The people who call me care about me. Maybe it is just that simple.

I love and I am loved, what else could really matter?

Tantalus

I have been feeling like I'm running in place lately. As though all of the things I have been actively striving for (sanity, happiness, stability, independence, success) aren't getting any closer to fruition.

Small slights sting more than they ever have before. Every unreturned phone call and harsh word cuts deep- even though I knowingly surround myself with blunt and brutal people. I know with one hundred percent conviction that I am being ridiculous, but that doesn't stop the wounded feelings.

Lovegood once told me that I'm a pushover. The part that she doesn't understand is that I can't always tell if I'm overreacting or if my hurt and anger is justified. I'm afraid of letting my crazy out, so I pick my battles very carefully. Maybe too carefully.
This is, perhaps, where I get myself into trouble. I have a hard time trusting people, so when I do let someone into my life I expect that they will appreciate how difficult it was for me to do so. I expect that they will respect and understand that I can't always vocalize my needs. I expect that they will understand that when I say something isn't a big deal it almost always is, and that when I'm dramatic about something it is almost always trivial. I know that it is ridiculous to expect people to know this. I know that I hold people to higher standards than they are capable of meeting. I know it is crazy to do this- to set my relationships up for failure. I know that I can't expect people to follow the strict life rules that I set for myself. I am incapable of explaining this without sounding like a self-righteous asshole. This is why I cycle through friends with such regularity, it is why my relationships don't have staying-power. I am easy to disappoint.

I wonder why I do this. Maybe it is easier, safer to just be disappointed. If someone disappoints me, I don't have to try anymore, right? Maybe. I'm not sure anymore. Its something to think about it.

Lately, I have been actively making an effort to get better, to be better.. I have been making an effort to verbalize my feelings (with the exception of last week). I have said no. I have done things for myself because it was what I wanted or needed. I have spent time alone, rather than spending time lonely. I am actively trying to be independent and healthy and let go. I am making an effort to forgive and understand and be reasonable.

This is where the running in place comes in- all of this effort seems wasted. I don't feel any more healthy or stable or independent. Everything still feels messy, like I'm barely hanging on... like I've been barely hanging on for awhile.

Ah Ha

I think it has become clear that reverb-ing is not my best thing. But for me participating in the challenge was about jump-starting my writing again. I never realize how much I need my blog until I've neglected it horribly. By the time I realized it this time I was stuck. I tried to write, but I just found myself staring at that damned blinking cursor. There are ten or so saved drafts on my blog dashboard- all of the unfinished reverbs. Some of them are simply the prompt. Others are unfinished drafts: half thoughts, fragmented stories.  This hidden wasteland is probably just as telling of my year as any whole published post. Rereading the reverb posts makes me sort of ashamed. I wonder when I lost my voice. When did my words switch from chatty to stilted? Has my life always been so empty?

Anyway, in realizing that my blog has become cluttered with these half-formed posts, one jumped out at me. It struck me in a way that it hadn't before. Perhaps I will drag them out and finish them at some point this year. Perhaps I wasn't able to write them yet because I didn't need them yet. Who knows?


Reverb11
Prompt for December 24: Ah Ha: What deep thought struck you this year? How did it change you? 

I rolled over sloooowly. It hurt to move and for a moment I was disoriented, unaware of my surroundings. I reluctantly opened my eyes and the room came into focus. 
Brown bed sheets, white wall. Loose change, Bic lighter, digital alarm clock, lotion, and a man's watch on the nightstand. Earrings, necklace, bra, underwear, cocktail dress, I was fully dressed in my party clothes from the previous night. Spartan furniture, large TV. Silver heels (mine), discarded jeans on the floor- belt still threaded through the loops (not mine). More walls, they're extreme whiteness marred only by scantily clad girls, "The Official Rules of Beruit", and Bob Marley. 
I was alone. At Lames's. In his bedroom, to be exact. The night before we'd gone to his company Christmas party. The party was a two drink affair, but it was not a two drink night.
This realization was a relief, if for no other reason but that it meant nothing inappropriate had happened. I was safe. 


A week or so later, over cocktails and appetizers, I related to BestFriend a story of my night of over-indulgence after the Christmas party. It led to how laughably cliche Lames's room was; how every single guy I knew when I was 19, 20, 21 had virtually the exact same room.

"So, anyway, I realized..." I started to say.
"You need to stop hanging out with 21 year old boys?" she finished for me, eyebrow arched. That was not what I was going to say, but I was so startled by her words that the rest of my thought was lost forever.

I was already embarrassed about over-indulging that night. I hadn't drank so heavily (or been so hungover) in an incredibly long time, maybe years. But aside from the heavy alcohol consumption, it had been a tame night. No crazy antics, no inappropriate naked business, no law breaking. I was a polite guest. I didn't make a spectacle of myself.
Her judgement hurt. 
I think it hurt most that she was right. 

Not about my friendship with Lames, of course, but about the scope of my life. There's nothing wrong with drinking or sometimes drinking a little too much. But being 25 and making a habit of drinking to excess with a handful of barely-legals would be pathetic. It is passed time for me to get it together for good. I need to stop trying to be 21 again. I can't go back. I can't fix it. No matter how much I want to, or how much I joke about it, I can't be young forever. 

I had already realized that I need to let go of my father-issues, but I hadn't realized that I needed to let go of this too. I didn't realize that sometimes I'm still just trying to be popular, drinking to be popular. 
I'd forgotten how I self-destruct.I'd forgotten that I'm my own worst enemy.

So I'm going to grow up and I'm going to shut up. 

Self compassion

Reverb11
Prompt for December 18: Self compassion: Were you gentle with yourself in 2011? Tell us about how you were compassionate towards yourself in 2011. Or maybe you want to be more compassionate in 2012. How will you be kind to yourself?


In January, I declared that 2011 would be the year of love and self-indulgence.


Outwardly, I failed miserably. I didn't splurge wildly or over-indulge myself in anyway. I didn't throw caution to the wind or take chances. I spent much of the year stressed about work- under rested and over caffeinated. I ended several friendships and set serious boundaries in others.


I think that last part- the friendship ending- was the most compassionate thing I've done for myself in a very long time. I've come to realize that self- indulgence and self-compassion don't have to be about giving yourself a free pass or being wildly frivolous. It can just be about saying no. It can mean taking time for myself; refusing to feel guilty; raising my standards; choosing not to give it my all.


So maybe I failed on a large scale, but I won so many smaller battles. In 2012 I can only hope for more of the same. I hope to continue to set boundaries and reasonable expectations for myself. I hope to take time out for my sanity, and to learn to place blame where it is warranted. 
I suppose a little bit of coddling and frivolity are in order too.

Ordinary Time

Reverb11
Prompt for December 14: Ordinary Time: Tell us about an ordinary week in your 2011 life; describe your routine. Do you hope that your day-to-day, week-to-week life remains much the same in the coming year, or are you trying to shake things up? How will you do that?




My work life winds around a never ending series of staff meetings. They run a gambit from mind-numbing to absurd, and they're peppered with moments of unintentional humor. 


I wear many hats: assistant, babysitter, dictator, confidant, MeanGirl, disciplinarian, advisor, comic relief.
Each day is different; each has its own challenges and triumphs.


I come home to a big goofy Rottweiler who thinks she's a lap dog, a comfortable sofa and a bottle of red wine. 


I "drink about it" with friends on Friday afternoons and Tuesday evenings. I take refuge at BestFriend's house where we watch DVR'd episodes of PanAm and Glee and The New Girl; drink; plan her wedding; emotionally recharge. 


On Wednesdays Lovegood and I take a long lunch. Lunch is the only respite we get on a day dominated by staff meetings. We go to a local steakhouse where I order sweet tea, "the salad with the scary cheese, but hold the scary cheese" and a bowl of soup every week. Our server's name is Dom and he reminds us of Lames. 


Thursday is my "Saturday". On Thursdays I do my laundry. It takes hours. I am extremely particular about the entire process. I sort my clothes very carefully. I use time- honed combinations of water temperatures and laundry products to achieve my desired results. I hang-dry and hand-wash. I starch and iron every wrinkle, collar and cuff. I fold with a precision born from years of folding ninety dollar tank tops. Laundry, I suppose is my own weird sort of therapy.






My world is small, insular, safe. I've worked hard to make it this way. I've worked hard to build my routine. I enjoy being a creature of habit. I might shake it up a little this year, but right now I love the monotony. 

Achieve

Reverb11
Prompt for December13: Achieve: What do you hope to achieve next year? 


Let go.


I want to let go. 


I want to find a way to "cut the fat". I want to exorcise my demons. I want to streamline my life.


I need to minimize my mental and emotional clutter without running away and avoiding my life. 


I want to focus only on the things I can control. 


Sanity. I want my sanity back. I want to feel stable. 


So. That's what I'll be doing in 2012.

Cry

Reverb11

Prompt for December 9: Cry: Where or why did you cry? Did someone make you cry? Was it happy or sad? Describe a good cry you had in 2011.

I'm not much of a crier. But maybe I've gotten soft. I've cried more the last six months than I had in the last two years before that. 


I've cried publicly. Notably, in the midst of the bulk goods at the local natural foods store. I'm sure passers by thought I was devastated by the price of nutritional yeast.


I cried at work in front of my boss. Huge gulping, gasping sobs that I couldn't even form words around. Poor kid looked totally freaked out.


I cried over lunch to Lovegood in a steady stream of leaky tears that blurred my vision and had me covered in (allegedly) waterproof eye make-up.


Probably most embarrassingly, I cried at work in front of the district HR manager when he mentioned giving me a raise. They weren't tears of gratitude. I don't know who was more horrified.




I'm a basket case (I've never really understood that expression). I feel as though I cry all the time. Maybe its not what I think. Maybe my problem isn't that I can't emote, or that I'm bad at it. Maybe I built of 25 years of unshed tears and now they're pouring out unbidden. 


Maybe I was supposed to be a crybaby all along and life got in the way. 
It does that, you know.

Safe

Reverb11

Prompt for December 8: Safe: Where did you feel safest this year? Describe the person, place or thing that made you feel safe in 2011.

I am not a person who generally feels safe. I check under my car in parking garages and shine a light into my backseat when I enter my car after dark. I keep a baseball bat in the track of the sliding door in my bedroom. I am diligent about helmets and seat belts and respirators. I get nervous if strangers stand too close to me or make eye contact or follow me when I'm out alone.

Even more important to me is emotional safety. I protect my feelings and keep most of my thoughts and opinions to myself. I don't really confide. There is only one person who always makes me feel safe. When everything is pear shaped, she is the person I depend upon to take care of me. She's the only person I can be vulnerable with.

This is BestFriend:

(It was impossible for me to find a picture of just the two of us that wasn't at least two years old.)

BestFriend gets me in a way that I can't explain.

She's the only person who can convince me that its going to be okay. She has a tendency to call me out of nowhere on the days that I'm falling apart. She knows when I need her before I figure it out. She's unshakable in a crisis. She makes me laugh harder than anyone else.

She's my port in a storm.

So when everything is pear shaped, chances are you'll find me frowning and quiet on the sofa at her house. We'll be drinking wine and eating carbs and watching Say Yes to the Dress, mocking tacky brides and planning her wedding to ManFriend. And when ManFriend comes home from work or the golf course, we'll change the channel and start cooking. I'll pour more wine, ManFriend will talk about his day and BestFriend will invariably burn herself. They'll make me laugh and the last of my melancholy will melt away. Later, I'll climb in my car and head home, steady after spending a few hours in safety.

Celebration

Reverb11

Prompt for December 3: Celebration: What did you celebrate this year? What do you hope to celebrate next year? (I know, I know, I'm days behind!)

Things I celebrated: old friends, new friends, family, love, victories, closure, new adventures, over coming challenges and facing demons.

As for next year? All I can ask for is more of the same.

Humble Beginnings

I've decided to join Reverb11.

I've been neglecting my blog and thus my mental health lately- two things that are infinitely tangled to together. I've been looking for a way back, and so here I am. Reverb11.

Prompt for December 1:

Humble beginnings: where did 2011 begin for you? Describe where you were- be it physically, emotionally or otherwise.

I rang in the New Year at a party with work friends. We had these parties fairly often to celebrate- milestones or Saturdays- it didn't matter what. The house was packed with coworkers in fancy dresses and sparkly ties. My tiara fell off and was trampled when I got caught under the mistletoe that was still up from Christmas. I used a sharpie to scrawl my signature on "my side" of the beer pong table. We consumed dozens of bottles of champagne. It was a giddy, sparkly mess.

I was bored. I was tired of drinking. Tired of these people. I felt a deep down restlessness that I didn't know how to name. I didn't know at the time that this giddy mess was the last in the long line of giddy messes. Our era had ended.

A few days later I received a promotion at work. I was put in charge of the largest department with the most personnel. I'd taken a chance in applying. I was technically under-qualified, but I knew I was up for the challenge. This department had not had a leader for a few months, and the previous department head had been beloved. I had been promoted from outside of the department. Most of the people who now worked for me did not know me. They did not care that I was smart and capable and hard working and funny. I was an outsider.

I had to grow a stronger spine and thicker skin. FAST.

It became clear that huge and immediate changes were necessary for the department to remain productive. The place was in shambles. The procedures were outdated and directly conflicted with company policy. Important files had been misplaced. The filing cabinets hadn't been touched in over five years. Unethical practices were the norm. Beloved or not, the previous supervisor had not been very good at his job.

I had thought that I would be able to rely on the people who had worked with me previously for support. No dice. On top of that, the individuals who were supposed to be my assistants had been my competition for the position. Some of them had been counted among my friends before my promotion. Some of them were part of the giddy mess. I couldn't look to them for anything more than the barest civility, let alone support. I was met with opposition and insubordination at every turn. Every small procedural change was a battle. I thought that if I heard "Well, that isn't how Joe did it" one more time I would scream. I had fantasies of just throwing myself on the floor in front of everyone and throwing full-blown kicking-and-screaming toddler tantrum. Thankfully, sanity prevailed

My boss wasn't able to be very much help to during this transition, but I didn't want to be in the habit of relying on him. I knew that if I was going to command the respect of my department and be an effective leader I would have to do it alone. I needed to make the tough calls and have the awkward conversations without someone holding my hand or standing behind me like an enforcer. I had to find the support I needed outside of my department and outside of my branch of the company.

I was lucky. There were plenty of people who were willing and able to help me find the answers I sought and institute the changes I needed to make. I actually found allies where I least expected them, and developed friendships with the unlikeliest of colleagues.

Some of these challenges are ongoing, some took the better part of the second quarter to be resolved, but by the time Valentine's Day rolled around the worst was over. My friendships had been irreparably damaged, but things had turned around at work. New challenges were on the horizon.

I honestly don't know if I learned more about my new job, my old friends or myself during those first six weeks.

January 2011 was a lion fight and I won. Barely.