I wish the answer to life was as simple as read the book, follow the rules.

I am a girl.  I like just above the knee dresses, summer days, really good bronzer, and freshly shaved legs.  But I pride myself on being that tough girl who likes old sweat pants, rubber boots, unwashed hair, and getting dirty while pushing a rusty chuckwagon in the pouring rain.  Despite what I look like and what I like to pretend I am, I am still just a girl. 

The kind who holds back the stinging tears even when she's alone. 

The kind who falls for stuff and people so hard that it almost always causes pain (this includes ice cream and men).

I have been reading this book, "Why Men Love Bitches", bought for me my a very good friend who sees my constant struggle with boundaries.  I really try to work the principles in the book, just like I do with my blue book that so rigorously outlines how I need to live, but it's hard.  I am that nice girl that goes out of her way to make people happy, that says exactly how she is feeling, that pays for dinner, and that often gets wound up so tight that she inevitably snaps.

I slept with someone and it was different.  Or maybe I was different.  That's it.  It took me a very long time to get even close to overcome my issues regarding the opposite sex.  The need to consistently please or fear being left has haunted me for years.  When I was with this person (C, for generic sake), I didn't feel that need.  Unfortunately, despite every effort to convince myself it was nothing and I could compartmentalize the sex and the feelings and lock the feelings away, I couldn't do it.  It wasn't long before I felt the barrier around my heart start to crumble and I began to have "insane" thoughts like, "I want to hold his hand" and "I wonder if he would have a three B Saturday this weekend!?" 

And then it happened again.  Same person.  Slightly different circumstances.  Even better sex.  Well, give me that euphoric feeling of acceptance and I don't even consider leaving in the middle of night, and I am pretty much hooked.  Half smiles, random flashes of lame things like the color of his eyes and how I catch him looking at me in public.  I was like a fish that is almost caught - squirming uncomfortably, knowing full well that if I pull off, I hurt, and certain if I stay hooked I become dinner. 

Thank God for fear. 

Fear kept me grounded today.  Fear said, "told ya so," when he told me tonight that I'm "awesome" but we need to "cool it for a bit."  Sadly I know that my fear is an excuse.  The fear that I carried with me today that I would be rejected was real; but using fear as a cop out knowledge based excuse is bullshit.  It hurts to be rejected.  Even by someone you were only with twice.  Hurt is a feeling.  Fear is the brains way of dodging that bullet that results in tears creeping out the sides of my eyes and chain smoking until 1am.

I like to be the girl that can go from hurt to acceptance in 3 seconds, or at least I like to pretend to be.  I am smart.  I can work my way through my part pretty quickly and make my hurt a direct result of how I was selfish/insecure/lustful.  But what if part of the solution is getting there.  What if I am supposed to sit back and cry for a minute and feel that rejection?  I don't feel resentment, truthfully.  I trust C a lot after knowing him for a few months and know his reasons for pulling away are valid and I believe he feels like an ass as he claims to.  And I don't even resent myself in the situation.  I hurt.  And that is okay right?  To like someone for a while, and break all the rules in the book about when to text and what to say and what to do and when to have sex, well that makes me human - which is also okay.

I'm usually the girl who acts tough and says the right thing to bandaid feelings and stop the first awkward tear from falling, but tonight I am going to be me instead.  I am going to hug my pillow and maybe cry because getting pushed away brings a lot of feelings to the surface for me.  Tonight I am going to embrace my inner awkward, hurt, kind of scared little girl, and hopefully wake up tomorrow morning and find a renewed sense of purpose.  And if it doesn't come right away, that is okay too.  I think tears are like sleep, we don't get enough and we need them to grow.

Hope is the fire that burns the brightest

I sat at the beach yesterday with a friend who shared with me his zest for life.  We exchanged light conversation about the pros of being single; the freedom to eat what we want, sleep when we want, and watch whichever baseball team we want on TV.  His total confidence in the subject of love and what it means, even when single, gave my relationship status virtue.

I went to a wedding yesterday.  There was a 13 year old girl there (the daughter of the groom) who made a speech so eloquent about love that everyone in the room was moved to tears.  The true definition of love rang from her lips so crystal clear that it made my knowledge of the subject seem utterly inadequate.  The bold observation that one soul without its mate is incomplete, made me question my earlier acceptance.

I carried on a flirty text message conversation in between dreams last night that made me wake up with a smirk on my face so sly that even the Tim Hortons employee seemed to know I had a secret.  I peered eagerly into the future of what was to come of that.

I sat at a meeting today and listened to lady share about her growing pain at 10 years sober- the discovery that she was willing and capable of giving love but terribly afraid of receiving love.  I questioned again what is to come and how do I really feel?

Lately I feel as if I bought a plane ticket to destination that I never seem to arrive at.  I looked boldly into the future when I met C earlier in the year and expected a brief lustful rendezvous; when that expectation failed me, I leaned on the friendship pillar and prayed endlessly for acceptance of that.  Today I over analyze every comment, every text, and every gaze.  I dare to state that I usually know what is coming, because I always have.

When I was with X, I knew what to expect when we got back together.  I knew how the fights would unfold, how the sex would go, and what we would eat for breakfast on Saturday mornings.

I am confused.  I don’t know what is coming, the hopeful side of me finds that very exciting.  The fearful side of me finds that very terrifying.  C is more complex than I ever expected him to be.  I have exhausted all efforts of giggling and even tried the not giggling game.  I am not sure if it is the pursuit of a challenge that makes this so tempting or if it is truly feelings based. 

The power struggle between my ego and God has not allowed me to put C’s name on a piece of paper and turn it over.  Or maybe literally I would, but symbolically I know I can’t.  I can see this plane I am on landing and it won’t be gentle.  I will wake up one day with the ultimate feeling of rejection heavy on my heart and I will hurt.  I will tap into the heart shattering pain I felt the first few times X left.  The crash landing I am setting my heart up for is going to rattle me, but maybe riding this plane is the only thing I can do right now.  I have always been told that “life is a journey, not a destination.” 

But the same author wrote “People destined to meet will do so, apparently by chance, at precisely the right moment.”  So maybe, just for today, I will hold onto hope.

The Friend Zone

It has been a very long time since I blogged, but I have a serious, possibly life altering issue on my hands and suspect that sharing it with the cyber world will not only lessen the burden, but possibly allow me find peace with it.  Maybe?

The Friend Zone.  That Bermuda triangle of awkwardness where crushes go to die.  The Seven Minutes in Heaven that you spend playing rock paper scissors.  The “oh my God he is going to kiss me” moment, that is really just a “I have lettuce on my face and he is staring at it” moment.  The Friend Zone is horrible!  Have you been there?  How long did you stay?  What brought you there?  If you are curious about it, don’t be, it is terrible.  Definitely the worst place I have ever spent time.

I am not an expert in this field, but from my experience I think these are some of the reasons I have ended up in the friend zone: I like baseball, I can swear and it sounds natural, I don’t like to do my hair, I would rather be in Nike Frees than heels, I enjoy golf on TV, when someone asks what time it is I often reply “two freckles past a hair”, I would rather lift weights than go to Zumba, hamburgers are my favourite food, and lastly – I am not afraid to call you on your nonsense.

Here are some of the things I have tried to reverse the effects of the above: wearing fake eyelashes, giggling, going on girls trips, buying lip gloss (haven’t remembered to put it on yet), not following the playoffs, talking about myself endlessly, not mentioning that I can do all my own automobile work, taking inappropriate selfies, and wearing short dresses.

The end result is I have spent money on things I don’t want when I could have bought new Nikes, my IQ has dropped from laughing at guys jokes when they aren’t funny, and I have a cell phone full of pictures that even Paris Hilton would be ashamed of.

A couple months ago when the realization hit me that I had been friend zoned by someone I actually liked for real reasons (not the normal ones like, “he’s so mean!” or “he is so hot!” or the worst, “he is so good on paper!”), I drove out to High River.  That half hour drive offers solitude, excessive smoking, and my Dad to talk to upon arrival.  When I shared my woos with him he simply told me, in a bit of a drunken slur, “Krist-e-oni, you are born alone, and you die alone, so fuck em and be happy with you.”  It didn’t take away that hurt I felt from being friend zoned by “C” but it put things into perspective.

I see C more than I would like to, and I talk to him more than I should; I am not mature enough to turn off crush mode and turn on friend mode so I sit in the middle, balancing on a beam called “Lack of Acceptance” and hope that my patience and pathetic giggling (which has turned into an uncontrollable thing) pays off one day.  My defeat in the relationship area is not proving to be as frustrating as it once was, in fact last night I watched baseball, hockey, and ate a burger after spending 90 minutes killing myself at the gym…and no, I didn’t even wash my hair. 

The friend zone sucks, in fact it can be kind of lonely, but the only place worse is the place of self-doubt when you change everything about yourself for one person…who probably won’t even notice.  So go do your thing, “fuck em” as my Dad says. 

LF: answers, direction, and the easy way

I have written this blog 7 times and have no success creating any form of reasonable thought. I have so much whirring through my head: X, abuse victimology, the inner voice, who I am, what I want, how I process anger, my relationship with God...all that stuff ties together really nicely but it would make for much too long of an entry. So, as always, lets start with what is right in front of me.

Fear (which wasn't on the list, but at this very second seems most important).

I'm afraid I am going to end up with X.
I'm afraid my lack of relationship with God is going to send me back drinking.
I'm afraid that I will become a statistic of an abused woman, turned to alcohol to cope, who stays with her abuser until ultimately ending her life.
I'm afraid that I will die alone, or worse, with someone who doesn't love me.
I'm afraid that when I feel angry I am unable to process it and my first thought is, "I'm scared. Can't drink. Cut?"
I'm afraid that my inner voice will never shut up long enough for me to figure out who I really am and focus on the 5 senses all around me.
I'm afraid I won't end up with X.

I'm scared absolutely shitless because I have no idea what I want from anyone.

I tell my sponsees, friends, and family members to trust their gut and go with instinct, but my instincts are seeming to cause problems. To me this identifies the biggest problem in my life, my lack of God, or more specifically lack of relationship with God.

So if I am going to focus on what is right in front of me, what I can take action on right now, it is not obsessing about X's suggestion that "maybe" we have lunch this weekend, or why the hot chiropractor I went out with hasn't called, or what I'm going to do about the extra few inches I want to lose, or how I am going to spend all the money that I don't make...it is God. My friend always says, "where is God in this?"

I know God can and will if He is sought, so I'd better start seeking again.

Stay tuned... I think these next few days are gonna be heavy.

Should have been in sales so I could track my progress

Anniversaries have been popping into my head a lot lately - on November 11th, it will be 7 months since I broke up with X; December 5th will be 2.5 years sober; November 3rd was my 4 month mark at my job.  A year ago I met one of my best friends.  I am not sure why dates have become so important to me.  Perhaps it is because I mark everything in my calendar so I don't forget anything?  I remember making fun of a girlfriend once because she set reminders in her phone to shave her legs so she would get up earlier on those days...I am now that bad (or that good?).

I think that we are reminded of certain dates and lengths of time so we can track how far we have come since then, or where we hope to be by then.  7 months ago I was sitting on a couch staring into the eyes of the person that I love most in the world trying to verbalize that I couldn't stay with him; 2.5 years ago I was hiding bottles of red wine so no one knew how much I drank and praying that self esteem group therapy was the answer to my problems.  4 months ago I was nervous and excited and certain that THIS was it, this was the job for me.  A year ago I was sitting in a coffee shop with a girl I hardly knew, though knew so much about, intimidated beyond belief.

I was chatting with a girl today about how we are often the last person to see the progress in ourselves, explaining that we often hold ourselves to such high standards that we cannot ever seem to meet them, though everyone around us sees us blowing by the metaphorical bar.  Why do we do that?  Upon further thought I realize this expectation we have ourselves and the inability to ever meet it is a form of self hate.  I should speak in "I" and "me"...forgive me.

I set my bar high to always keep growing, or thats what I tell myself.  But I wonder, when will I ever be good enough for me.  When will I stop cringing when I look in the mirror (I got my first cellulite a couple months ago and it seems to be replicating at an uncontrollable rate)?  When will I be proud of my length of sobriety?  When will I accept that I love someone I was with for almost 5 years and that is okay?  I read that the level of my serenity is directly proportional to my level of acceptance, therefore; to be at an optimal level of serenity, I must simply accept things the way they are- cellulite, broken heart, and all.

But I struggle with that.  I am results driven.  I want things to be done perfectly, immediately, and my way.  I love change, though I hate pain.  But I guess some things never change - I still love him, I still wish the solution to life was group therapy and worksheets, I still think this is the job for me despite my struggles (thank God for TJ), and I am still intimidated by so many people and their absolute wondrous abilities.

So I am at a crossroads, where I find myself often right before bed when my very best insane ideas come - do I do a thorough self examination and set goals and make sincere changes to achieve the things I want?  Or do I continue to do what is working, find peace in my mind and body the way they are, and simply enjoy the gifts that life is giving me now?  To rededicate my life to changing my body, how I am perceived at work, my friendship groups, and my quality of sobriety, will be exhausting, likely too much to do at once, but worth it?

I am not a sitter.  I know the answer to my whirring mind and loneliness is not isolation and group therapy.  I know that my ass will not rejuvenate to its once perky dimple free self if I sit and eat blizzards.  I am pretty sure that not increasing my work ethic to reflect my work load will not get me very far.  So I will take action.  I ask myself when faced with the task of creating an action plan, "what can I do immediately?"  I work in 8 hours...I guess I'll start there :)

So much more than giggles...

I was on the phone tonight processing my emotional hangover.  The first call was a lot of listening to some one who I love and respect more than I ever thought I could.  More on W in another entry.  The second call was a more heartfelt one, honest and open…fearful and teary at times, echoed with the light hearted giggle that says, “you are not alone.”

I listened a lot tonight, to W & my gorgeous friend Holly, but the key thing I heard was, “unlearn to unlove.”

The most natural thing in the world for us is to love and allow ourselves to be loved in return.  What happens to us, usually as young children, is that we are taught though a less than desirable experience, that loving someone is scary.  They might leave us we fear.  Or die.  Or not love us back.  So we harden our hearts into coffee like masses (blackness) and disallow anyone to really permeate the membrane that we call caution.  By doing this, we turn to cold shadows of people who say, “I love you”, and write kind words in birthday cards, but do we mean it? 

We have spent our lives learning to be hard, strong, and independent.  We have learned to unlove.  We have turned our back on our God given state of loving human beings, and given up our Heavenly instinct to adore, nurture, and cherish, because we are AFRAID.

I have learned that living in fear is wrong.  That there are steps I can take to recover from that “seemingly hopeless state of mind and body.”  However, when the tools are presented to me, in a perfectly wrapped blue book, what is preventing me from picking them and putting them to work?  More fear.  Because to change my current state of blackness, hardness, and unloving state, is terrifying, not to mention hard work.

I don’t have the answer (to life the universe or everything else), but I do know that if I really truly to LET GO and trust my gut, I have a chance to returning to the innocent state of bliss and serenity that I once was that allowed me to LOVE.

Once again, I have gone on long enough, and as a result I have no idea what I was trying to say.  But I loved and I got hurt and because I got hurt, I got scared and now I have mastered the art of unloving.  I am starting to realize that perhaps unloving needs to be unlearned. 

This is my commitment, I will jump in, head first.  I will follow my gut and I will start letting myself love again.  And as it happens, I am certain that things will hurt again, but I was reminded tonight, that through the tears I will giggle.  

Wake up, cry, work, cry, don't sleep, repeat - then pray

It’s been a while since I blogged...April 12^th of this year...I am not sure if I still know how to write?  I do know that when my life is this full, my head is this dizzy, and my heart is this swollen, the words flow freely; here I am, trying to create literary genius one poorly organized blog at a time.

When I got sober I was told that God will always give me what I need when I need it.  Not when I want it, or in some cases, not want it.

I can assure you I didn’t want 6 weeks of zombie like motions, tears, sleeplessness, and rage when I broke up with X.  I promise you that I didn’t want to stop golfing, watching baseball, and sleeping in my bed because it made me think of him, but I did.  Even 5 months later, I am not sure if I was in love, or if my co-dependency was in full force for the entire time I was with X.  I know that the wrench twisting my heart every day was hopelessness, and I know that the weight in my stomach that left no room for food was fear.  I’ve decided that they call it a break up because when you are so fully invested in another person and when you leave them (or they leave you), you are physically, spiritually, and emotionally broken.  If you are completely enamoured with one individual and you have based your entire adult life around them, you are beyond broken.  You are catapulted into another dimension where you are certain you will never smile, laugh, or love again; and where trudging though the day and forcing a smile requires so much effort that a mid afternoon psychotic melt down is essential. 

I remember weeks of going to work in baggy jeans, baggy t-shirts (malnutrition will do that), and ballet flats with my hair in a disgusting dirty pony tail.  I vividly recall turning out my light, praying for sleep, and being able to remember every inch of X’s skin and every swell of every muscle.  That was normal.  And disgustingly painful. 

Despite the grief cycle working EXACTLY how Google (and my shrink) said it would, I was not prepared for the anxiety and hurt that took up most of my waking hours.  My shrink assured me I would be on the upswing in 6 weeks and suggested I start practicing Step 11.  I responded, “Oh, I don’t do that.”  Which clearly explains how spiritually bankrupt I was. 

However, when I had enough of letting the obsession and disease run my life, and I realized I was incredibly close to picking up a drink, I got on my knees and somewhat doubtfully asked God for help. By day two of praying again (because it had been over a year), I got honest; crying, yelling, wiping my face so I could go to work, and then coming home to do it all over again.  I faced the fact that God took away my fear of being sober, my obsession for alcohol, and my selfishness because I humbly offered myself Him; therefore, why wouldn’t He take this away too?

“This is an action program”, so I worked myself to the bone to renew my shattered spiritual condition. I stumbled, many times; tried dating again; cried, yelled, threatened; smiled – finally.  And now I smile often.  Every day.  I finally understand what it is like to have a bad minute, not a bad day.  I have latched on to hope and have turned my back on guilt, shame, and remorse.  I have decided my life is mine and it will be lived.  X still crosses my mind, and even sent me a text this morning, but when I start to feel sad, lonely, hopeless, scared, and completely unloved, I get down on my knees and work on developing the calluses that those who have come before me, and stayed, brag about.