4

Je houdt alleen van jezelf…

I knew a girl who went to Boston

Opportunity knocking at her door

Dreams of editors to save her soul

That she’d known once before-

 

So she planed this glad reunion

And wanted so to be his muse

Said the kids would stay in Europe

With their papa, what the deuce?

 

I cannot fathom heartless women

Who leave their families in dismay

Chasing dreams of lust and scandal

While motherhood slips fast away

 

We should let this be a lesson

Hold to ourselves those most dear

Instead of freaking drugs and aging

When abandonment is surely near 

 

The moral of this little story

Jotted down by this kind elf

Is the truth, when you tell them

Je houdt alleen van jezelf 

11

This Blog Saved Me & Social Isolation- Also, WHY I Overshare…

Today I spent the entire day in bed- something I don’t remember doing (except when I did bedrest during pregnancy) in EONS. The stress of the last day caused a massive and sudden flare up of my lupus, which is never fun.

I am SO glad that I had the luxury of doing this- and had people to help watch baby while I did.

I slept, mostly. I had nightmares- so many! A few of them involved my parents, but the details are faded.

I needed this. It helped. The rest was lovely.

The evening was spent playing with my new ‘toy’, the iPhone 6- and the Periscope app, which is a live streaming vlog thing from your phone. Sam showed me it this morning. It was a lot of fun and gave me something to take my mind off of my troubles.

I know a lot of people wonder why I am so transparent with me life.

I grew up in a household where we were ashamed to admit to things- or hid things- or whatever. Not always, but oftentimes. I refuse to do this now. If I don’t have the courage to speak up, who will? If I can inspire even one other person going through tough times (alone in their heads or otherwise), I feel like I will be doing my job.

Living in fear, in shame, in secrecy is not good at all, not ever. I overshare because I have to. If I don’t, the feelings and thoughts and memories inside of me threaten to eat away at my soul. I have to force myself to be honest with myself- and I can only seem to do this with the written word… as poorly written/edited as it may be.

Also, I am ‘landlocked’ in a house with a baby and males who aren’t the best conversationalists- this blog SAVED ME. I started this on the 1st of July of this year when my back went out again and have been pretty much faithful about posting ever since. I have a wee bit of social anxiety as well, which can translate to agoraphobia at times. If I don’t feel I look good, I don’t want people to see me-type-thing. Spending years in front of a camera and having to be photographed is often a shitty thing for the ego as one ages, believe me. It’s shallow and stupid, but it happens- it’s happened to me.

Though I have a TON of friends on my Facebook and Instagram, I really don’t in real life. People come to visit, they come to my dinner parties, they ask for readings… but I never seem to ‘connect’ fully. I also don’t know how to give my own problems a voice in Real Time. I feel guilt to even admit to them. Sure, I can bitch and moan like the best of ’em, but I have been so used to being the ‘ear’ to others, I can’t be vulnerable in person. It’s like I have an armor around me that is made of smiles and jokes and laughter- or anger. I try to avoid drama at all costs nowadays, even if I sometimes lose my goddamned mind and instigate it within my own family because I get sick of the same dynamic.

Our voices are formed within the familial unit(s). If we feel we don’t have a voice, or our opinions/thoughts don’t matter- this can be as bad as physical abuse. It can, like it has with me, translate into a lifetime of defensive hurt.

Writing it out is a solitary thing. There is no pressure. I can see what I think. I can read what I think. I can understand the whys of who I am. It’s non-sexual mental masturbation at it’s finest, really.

I talked to a friend in real life recently who says that she NEEDS people and has a problem being alone. I have none of that. I’ve always felt alone, even in crowds. I understand her, though.

Today, when I was going through one of the toughest times in recent history emotionally- not ONE SINGLE ‘CLOSE’ FRIEND OR FAMILY MEMBER REACHED OUT, at least no one I know in real time. The ones who did were folks I’d never met before, people from the Internet or FB or what have you and THIS HELPED ME SO MUCH. For the first time in years, I NEEDED to be ‘talked off the ledge’ and I am so grateful for those few kind words from virtual strangers.

I don’t habitually HAVE issues like these, so people are not used to me ‘venting’ per se. Maybe that’s it. I don’t know.
I just know that it hurts not to be able to have anyone to talk to in real life. It hurts to watch my children be depressed, too, and not be able to do anything about it. I cannot easily speak to my older sons, they’re men and have their own support systems.

When I posted the blog of the things that happened to my FB wall, for the most part it was met with UTTER SILENCE. I had one person whom I knew that was kind enough to speak up, but that was it.

I scrolled through my own FB feed and saw others venting about their own problems- and, as I usually am prone to do, I left messages and comments.

I hate seeing other people hurt. I hate hurting emotionally, too. It makes me sad that my ‘real life’ is the most unreal when it gets down to the brass tacks. It makes me sad that only the strangers and friends I never met were there for me.

So, yeah… this blog saved me. If I cannot talk to another human being, at least I have the comfort of knowing that I can talk to myself.

I have people coming to me, asking for readings all the time. I understand that they NEED me. I understand that they need someone to help sort out their problems. I have, for the most part, refused to do any readings (I am a professional psychic, btw) since becoming pregnant with Maisie. My job takes a lot out of me. I absorb too much. I want to be able to reserve my energy for my child/children/parents right now, because they NEED me.

My biggest question is: Where do I go when I need someone to talk to?

This blog is really the only answer. I can feel sorry for myself here and ‘let it go’.

I DID, however, have ONE PERSON call me and ask about the incident with my mother. It was my 2nd oldest sister.
She reprimanded me and yelled at me for not ‘standing up to my mom’- not realizing that our mother has dementia now and it really would not do a damned bit of good to go off her. It would just make it worse. My mother now TRULY has no control over her rages. At one time, when it was ‘just’ the bipolar, she should have been accountable.

It’s far too late now.

I can’t change anyone. I can only try to change myself… and ramble and type on until my fingers hurt and I am able to get this all spewed out so it no longer lives inside of my head.

Social isolation blows. Being frozen within yourself, ditto. I love my blog, though. I love that I have a voice, even if nobody reads/hears it. I love that I can remove the clutter from my brain and brush myself off and go on with my life.