relationships – Page 4 – It’s All in Your Head

“Perception is strong and sight weak.” ~ Miyamoto Musashi

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“Dream delivers us to dream, and there is no end to illusion. Life is like a train of moods like a string of beads, and, as we pass through them, they prove to be many-colored lenses which paint the world their own hue…” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

So, one of my pet peeves is when people say “It is what it is.” Because even if you’re talking about a tangible object, nothing ever is what it is (rhubarb pie to you might be a great thing…to me, it’s a trip to the toilet). Here’s why: every word we speak, thought that we have, suspicions that might haunt us, how we see a gift, how we react to a particular person or animal or food, etc. are filtered through our own perceptions. Period. Our minds are like onions with things being processed through various layers that are unique only to us (and that can also make us cry).

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Think about it. When you were a baby, nothing ‘was what it was.’ You had to learn about everything through your own innate abilities and then from others. If a baby pulls a dogs tail (and O did this many times with Scooter who would sigh and look at me for rescue) and the dog snaps at them, guess what? That baby is going to perceive dogs as being mean and will most likely be afraid of them. I remember a cat hissing and making that horrible snarling type noise at me when I was at a neighbors house in the 2nd grade…ever since then, I do not like cats, have absolutely no desire to interact with them, and avoid them like a plague. P.S. Please don’t try to change my mind: me not liking cats is what it is. 🙄

I remember walking home from a friends house when I was around 10 or so, and our neighbor had a HUGE Great Dane (yes, that’s an oxymoron but I had to emphasize this beasts massiveness) who was getting old and cranky. As I walked around the corner of our block, he came at me fast, hard, and snarling. I peed myself covered my face and finally his owner heard me screaming and got the dog under control. After that, I perceived all big dogs to be a threat and only lost that years later when Hubby 2 had a white German Shepherd I had to be a mama too. She was able to change my mind, but I’ll tell you what, I was terrified of her at first but cried like a baby when she died.

everything-we-hear-is-an-opinion-not-a-fact-everything-we-see-is-a-perspective-not-the-tru Get my point? Instead of saying “It is what it is”, we need to change that to “It is what we interpret it is based on our own thoughts, viewpoints, experiences, memories, values, belief systems (including political and religious ideologies), socialization, cultural norms, verbal and non-verbal language used, etc.” However, that just doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, huh?

I think perception really comes into play with communication and can cause a lot of conflict when the perceptions differ and effort isn’t made to understand what thought processes are being used. Take flirting. I’m an extrovert. A HUGE extrovert who loves loves loves to chitchat and interact with people anywhere and everywhere. Besides my lucky family, I talk to my neighbors, postman, garbage men, random people in stores or when I’m out walking, on airplanes, on social media…pretty much where ever someone happens to be. When I write anywhere but here (I’m trying very hard to make sure this blog is taken seriously), I use a ton of exclamation points! In fact, I feel guilty when I don’t because to me, periods look like you are ending a sentence with kind of a ‘meh’, instead of with excitement! 😄

So anyhoot, when I talk to people on social media, I use exclamation points, lots of emojis, etc. and a friend of mine said I was much too flirty. Heh? I’m not talking to men any differently than I talk to women. I see (perceive) my interactions to be funny or sweet or jokey. But, my friends perception is different. I think a lot of it is because he’s far more quiet and introverted, and as a guy he just doesn’t use emojis and exclamation points quite as much as women might. I also wonder if he’s had issues where flirting led to much more, so he perceives any ‘excited and fun’ communication as the start of something more serious.

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I can understand this, but my perception doesn’t agree with it. Should I change my perception and start to see that I’m ‘flirty’ when I feel I’m just being fun and nice? Should I change myself to fit his perceptions? Should I stop using emojis when I respond to men’s comments? Would it be disrespectful if I didn’t? If we were in a relationship, would it be ‘fair’ for him to expect me too? Why does my perception have to be his…and vice versa?

However, I know my perceptions have colored so much of how I see things in my life. After being sexually abused by my psychologist for 2 years, I am very leary when a new man comes into my life because a part of me still assumes they only want me for their own satisfaction. Rationally, I know that’s probably not true, but my perception stands.

When I start getting close to someone, I want to know who they are messaging or texting regularly since this is how J communicated with the woman he was planning a rendezvous with. Because of my experiences, it makes me nervous that any texts to another woman could be fodder for an affair. So, should a man have to hand his phone over to me based on MY perceptions? No. But should he try to understand why I have that perception? Yes.

Early on when I was growing up, I always felt I wasn’t enough. Obviously, so many of these sensitive, self-critical feelings/perceptions were stemming from early indications of mental illness, but even now, I still have the same perceptions. Regardless of how much I try to give or do, in my eyes it’s never enough. So, when someone says “This is your fault, you didn’t do enough”, it doesn’t matter if it’s objectively true or not. My perception is that of having failed them…and myself.

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I learned in my family that work is very important (which isn’t a bad thing) and being idle can be seen as laziness. To this day, I try to ‘keep busy’ and if I watch a movie in the middle of the day or take a nap, I still feel a sense of guilt and make up for the lost time when I get up.

When I was suffering that fucking breakdown, so many things had piled up on me: the senseless death of my nephew, the passing of my mentor, finalizing the divorce with Hubby 3, the crash of my relationship with J, a troubled student who threatened me at school, as well as surgery I was scared to have. And here’s the thing (which actually breaks my heart), I used to see the world as sunshine and rainbows…or at least I tried too. I really did. I was a modern day Pollyanna who had a tough time seeing bad in things. But now I do…and I hate it. These things that happened changed my half-glass full perception to seeing a half-empty one instead. I understood that the world can change in a heartbeat and there’s a lot of bad out there that can hurt you anytime it wants (I’m trying to mitigate this view and understand there’s both good and bad…).

Once I ‘came out’ as being bipolar, so many people rallied around and supported me. But so many also faded away…their perception of me and mental illness was one they just couldn’t ‘see’ in their minds. I was no longer Kristi. I was mentally ill Kristi that made them uncomfortable and unsure how to act around me.

I think it’s a good idea to examine our perceptions to get a better understanding of where they came from and how they are affecting our lives…our relationships…our communication. If we don’t understand what lenses we’re using to see the world, how can we pass those glasses to anyone else? And, if can’t explore the basis for our own feelings and behavior, how can we begin to work on what we want or need too?

You know, my perceptions aren’t right or wrong, and neither are yours. Our perceptions are ‘ours’ and need to be respected. Obviously, this doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be open to other viewpoints and change, but by the same token, it’s not fair that others demand you to see things through only their eyes. It’s not right to HAVE to change who you are and what you believe to be accepted. What’s right is to explain WHY you hold these perceptions to be true, because that’s the only way understanding will take place.

Kristi xoxo

“…Revved up Like a Deuce, Another Runner in the Night.” ~ Bruce Springsteen I

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So, in a post last week, I talked about whether or not love is blind and I said that actually it’s not since we all have our preferences along with what we NEED to see. But like I do, I’ve been going over that in my mind and started thinking about how love truly is blind in certain circumstances…places where none of us want to go, where we say we would never go, and swear we would leave as soon as the issue is clear. My son and I were talking about it yesterday, and he said this: “Love isn’t necessarily blind in the beginning, but it can become blind after the love has taken hold.” Let’s take a look-see.

For you sweet newbies, my ma was married to R (I won’t say what I usually do when I hear his name in my head but I have to say something so I guess asshole will suffice), for 28 years and although my sis and I knew about it and tried very hard to get her to leave him, she didn’t for all of those years. In fact, she wouldn’t admit to the abuse until close to the time she was able to get away. I saw black eyes more times than I can count, black and blue arms, marks by her neck, a beating so bad that she was rushed to the ER and was throwing up blood, and an eye injury so serious I took her to the doctor to make sure she wasn’t going to lose her vision in it.

Now, for the big question: why the hell did she stay? The first reason after the initial act (just a ‘little’ slap) was, she told me, almost unbelievable to her. She grew up with parents who were never violent in any way and my dad treated her very well; she didn’t have any experience with domestic violence so it was out of her realm of comprehension that it could happen to her. Using my favorite phrase, she was simply gobsmacked and since it was ‘small’, and he profusely apologized, she assumed it was a one-off and wouldn’t happen again. The second reason? Because she loved him. Because she had fallen in love with who she believed to be a good man, and this one incident didn’t change that. The next dozen didn’t change it. The love was still there and she said she could compartmentalize the bad and only focus on the good.

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Years later, after the abuse intensified , she continued to stay for a myriad of reasons: he broke her down so far she had absolutely no self-esteem or feelings of worth; he manipulated her thinking to believe she was the cause of the violence; he psychologically abused her to presume she was unlovable and no one else would ever want her, and the list goes on. In other words, he used the proverbial ‘Game Book’ entitled: “How to Beat Your Wife and Get Away with it for Decades.” (Probably the only fucking book he ever read 🤬).

So, she stayed for love in the beginning, and he used that initial showering of love to get away with just enough until she was essentially his prisoner. I remember my grandma, T, and I sitting down with ma before she even married him and telling her how much we disliked him and were suspicious he was hurting her. She looked us straight in the eye… said she loved him…he loved her…and everything was fine.

Hmmmmm. Love is blind.

After living with R for 5 excruciating years and then having to see him for 23 more, I swore to myself I would NEVER ever ever ever be in a situation like my poor ma found herself in. Never. And seeing that written, and remembering how smug I was every time I said it, makes me realize how terribly naive we are when it comes to our hearts. Those fragile, irrational hearts that can cloud our eyes and dull our senses because all that matters in the end is the love. Right?

I’m going to be honest with you (because I always try to be), as much as I loved Hubby 3 (shutty the mouthy) and still do…we talk almost daily and are very close…our first 2 years of marriage were horrible. Like I’ve said before, Hubby came from an extremely physically, verbally abusive home which was coupled with neglect so awful he basically had to raise himself from about the age of 10. His adult relationships were very volatile with tons of drama, yelling, throwing things, alcohol fueled incidents, etc. Then he married me, and guess what? He started re-creating the only dynamic he knew. So, I got yelled at, accused and berated for the most absurd things which forced drama into our lives, had things thrown at me, had my bathroom door ripped off the hinges because he was upset I had slammed it, had a chair thrown across my kitchen, had my arms grabbed.

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And I stayed. Yep…I surely did. Why you ask? Because I loved him. I really really loved him. I was terrified when he was angry and would cry when he’d scream at me (and once, peed myself 😟), but I loved him. And guess what? Love is blind. But finally, after those first 2 years, I told him this: “If you ever do anything to me again, you will be out of here and probably in jail. Period. You need to grow the fuck up, learn some self-control, and realize I’m the best fucking (sorry for the cussing, ma 😳) thing that’s ever crossed your path.” And he began too.

Hubby put so much effort into his behavior and words…he truly did. He made changes that most people wouldn’t think are possible and our last 8 years together were actually very happy and fun. Yes, we’d butt heads at time, but I’ll tell you what: he changed into a kind, sweet, loving guy who would run bubble baths for me when I was having a bad day, wrote notes for me every single morning of our lives together to start my day off with a smile, took me to Chicago each year after Christmas for a fancy schmancy time to celebrate the year, and told me he loved and appreciated me more times than I could ever try to count.

Just last week were were yacking on the phone and I told him I was feeling down and here’s what he said: “Kristi, you are a beautiful woman who is the sweetest person I’ve ever known. You made me a better man and no one has ever given me the chances you did. I will always love you for doing that.” But you know what? I should have left him the first time he was abusive to me. The very first time. But I didn’t because of that love I had for him. Yes, after 2 years it was ‘worth’ it but the road to get there was NOT guaranteed at all (so please please please don’t think I’m advocating staying with an abusive partner…not at all!) and it could have ended horribly. I gambled and that time, I ‘won.’ A million to one shot (I think I’m going to buy a lottery ticket today…you never know 😳).

Not so with J who was physically abusive twice, psychologically abusive for most of our 3 years together, verbally abusive countless times, would go into rages (which I now understand to be part of his Borderline PD), and finally was cheating on me in very public ways numerous times (in other words, he never tried to hide it once it started happening) and blaming me for it. And once again, I stayed. I had gambled once, and won! Who’s to say I wasn’t on a streak?

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Like a broken record, I stayed at first because of the love I had for him. I loved him with a passion and yearning I’ve never had before and doubt I’ll ever have again. I can honestly say I felt he was my soulmate. My forever. I could see all of the good in him (because like Hubby, there is a lot of good) through the bad. I kept thinking that all he needs is patience. Understanding. Security. Why? Because he too grew up in a very abusive home and also had PTSD from his 3 tours overseas. Of course I needed to stay…for fuck sakes, he needed me! And I also needed him.

So, I took him back again and again after he’d leave and cheat. After he’d swear to me about things right before catching him in a lie. After he put his hands on me. After he said horrible things to me. I stayed because I loved him. Because I was blind to what was outside of that love. It’s almost like our heart creates a space that doesn’t allow anything ‘bad’ to get in to threaten those feelings. I had to work my way out of that tunnel I found myself in where I couldn’t see anything but what I wanted to see. Maybe that’s why people say hindsight is 20/20. And it really is.

Look, we see what we want to see. We believe what we want to believe. We love who we love no matter how irrational it might be. We are blinded while in love (or at least I’m convinced we are) and that accounts for a lot of things we accept in our relationships.

And I’m going to tell you one more truth today: Even though I have ‘learned my lesson’ about this phenomenon, I also understand it could happen again. Because each time we open our hearts to love, we are taking the risk of being overpowered by it. So, what I’m hoping to remember is this: to keep my eyes as wide open as I can in the beginning. Look for red flags. Trust that intuition. Let the mind rule the heart while it still has a chance. Actually, I think that’s something we all need to do.

Kristi xoxo

“But She Was… Blinded by the Light” ~ Bruce Springsteen

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So, my sis had me watch “Love is Blind” on Netflix and it was fascinating. Here’s the premise in case you haven’t watched: 30 men and women go into these rooms (called ‘pods’ on the show which makes me think of a post- apocalyptic time 🙄 ) in which you can’t see, but only hear, the other person. All of the contestants spend 10 days speed-dating with each other, and then can talk to certain people they connect with the best. After 10 days, some of the people get engaged, and it’s only after this that they actually see each other and meet. They go on get-aways and then tackle ‘real life’ before getting married (maybe) after a month of being face-to-face. Plus, during the ‘pod’ interaction and get-away, there are no phones or social media of any kind so that the people/couples can totally focus on one another.

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Now, as the name states quite clearly, this ‘experiment’ is trying to answer the day old question: Is love blind? I’m not going to tell you what happens to the 8 couples that actually get engaged (6 are followed on the show) since I don’t want to spoil it for you, but it’s interesting to watch the relationships unfold.

I think we would all like to think ‘love is blind’ but after watching this, and really stewing about it, I believe this concept is more complicated than what’s seen on the show and can be looked at on a lot of different levels.

First, the show focuses on looks and race in terms of ‘blindness’. Fall in the love with the person, not how beautiful or handsome they are and learn about a person without stereotyping in terms of skin color or ethnicity. The thing is, this isn’t a big deal on the show. EVERY single contestant is gorgeously yummy, so anyone picked is going to look good!

Why did the producers do this if they really wanted to see if love is blind? Because it’s not. Does it sound shallow if we say looks don’t matter? I personally don’t think it is. I believe we all have somewhat of a type, but if you talk about it you sound superficial as if knowing what looks good to you is wrong. Look, I like a certain look in fashion (running shorts and t’s…quite the couture), a certain type of car style, a certain type of house architecture, etc. I know what I ‘like’…what pleases me. Why is it bad to have preferences for partners too? I like tall men, a bit bigger guy (but someone that can hike and run and do stuff with me…in other words, keep up with this bipolar woman), a crinkle to the eyes when they smile, hands that show they know how to work, some arm muscle, facial hair, nice teeth, etc.

This is MY type. What I like. So, if I meet a man who is shorter than me with a smile I don’t find attractive and very skinny, I’m sorry but I’m not going to be attracted. “But Kristi, for fuck sakes, you can learn to love them if you have the right foundation.” Maybe so. Platonically at least. I’m not saying this guy wouldn’t be a good, kind, sweet, smart man by any means. But, I happen to believe that sex is an important part of a partnership, and not being attracted to someone physically, even though you are mentally and emotionally, can cause the relationship to be more brother and sister, than hubby and wifey (I’m looking at this heterosexually since that’s what I am, although it hasn’t worked out great for me 😳).

“But Kristi, you yourself, in your amazingly brilliant, much sought after lectures, have yacked on (and on and on) that you can learn to love someone. That love is an ‘art’ (thank you Erich Fromm)…something you have to build and nurture.” Yes, I know that grasshoppers, but building love, and building sexual attraction, are 2 very different things.

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Think about this: I knew a guy from 7th grade through high school that I thought was ‘it’! I tried to get him to notice me all of those years (don’t say it…pathetic) and finally, after graduation, he asked me out! YEA! I was so excited! I don’t think I ever spent as much time getting ready for a date in all my life since I wanted to look as perfect to him as he did to me. When he picked me up, I was almost giddy; I mean, this was it! My dreamboat (🙄)…my 18 year old soul-mate. He drove us to the mall to look at CD’s (shutty…I know I’m old(er) and can even remember buying…gasp…cassettes at the mall too, along with 45’s. If you don’t know what those are, ask your ma.) and after just arriving he opened the mall door, stepped inside and kept walking. Heh? He let the door close on me. OK. But I figured this was a small thing and something I’d fix when we were married. Throughout the night he proceeded to be the most self-centered, pompous, narcissistic asshole I’d ever met (and even now, he’s still up there). Those 4 hours we spent together made me go from salivating over him to thinking how ‘ugly’ he was after all. I wouldn’t have been with him for a million bucks (OK, maybe for a million…but then again, getting paid for sex is well…ahem…a bit slutty), but you get my point.

Maybe some looks don’t do it for me, but then again, some personality quirks can turn me off an attractive person as well. Hmmmm…love is blind?

Why didn’t the producers use people that were overweight? Disabled in some way? Here’s one: mentally ill (gasp!)? More regular looking, as opposed to every woman having a flat belly and big boobs, with the guys having extra good looks. Would love be blind then?

Then, you have to look at another question: SHOULD love be blind in terms of other aspects of the person? Once again, rail against me if you must, but a criminal record that includes any sort of domestic violence or child abuse is something I need to SEE. What about a current addiction for which the person isn’t wanting to get help? How about them being an atheist when spirituality is important to me? Seven divorces (above my own personal record)? No thank you. A man whose work ethic is non-existent? Someone who is racist? Homophobic? Refers to mental illness as those ‘crazies’? Nuh uh. How about someone who is as opposite me politically as you can get (been there…done that…and the arguments left us both alienated and frustrated)? Someone who has never had kids because they really don’t like them? And I could go on and on and on.

My belief is that we should NOT be blind to these things. Seriously. Because as an older woman (but not that old…remember that, peeps) who does have some (cough cough) experience in the realm of relationships/marriage, these are things that can greatly affect your relationship and can pull you apart faster than Taron can get my heart racing (and that’s mighty fast, y’all 🤭). These are also things that can be dangerous (obviously), pull your own family apart, have a horrible impact on your kids, etc.

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When I was dating ‘The Counselor (lawyer)’ in December and January (much too long), I ran a report on him like I did for Hubby 3 and J when we got together. Look, I have a son (and with Hubby, he was only 12) and hope to have grand kids soon (O…did you read that sentence? Go back honey…and read the freaking thing again); I definitely don’t want some boob around them. ‘The Counselor’ was highly pissed when I casually mentioned the report (run one on me…I don’t care!) and that was a huge red flag for me. For piss sakes, he has a daughter! Does he want her to jump into something with someone who’s been in jail 5 times? C’mon now. Or, as my ma likes to say: “Think Man!”

The last really interesting thing I got from this show is when the couples had no access to their phones or social media, and only focused on each other, things were hunky-dory. However, after their engagements and get-aways, when they got these things back, a lot of couples slid downhill and were really negatively affected by them. That in itself teaches us a huge lesson. Let me say it Professor K style (not like I would in the classroom, but with frankness): leave the fucking devices alone and focus on the real person right in front of you! I know couples that can’t even eat together without their devices. That are on them when they are watching a movie together…when they’re out and about. Great. This will be a terrific foundation for caring for a baby together, where you have to put these time-suckers down and get your hands dirty…literally. Hey, there’s no freaking app that changes diapers, wipes up puke everyday, helps you handle the stress of colic, deals with a tantrum in the middle of the store, etc. Right?

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So, is love blind? Nope. And it shouldn’t be. You should look for what your preference is. What you want in terms of looks, personality, morals, ideologies, etc. In class, I call it my ‘Captain Crunch’ theory (this is going to get copyrighted since it’s such a deep theory that could be written about in a textbook): if you like CC, crave CC, are always happy with CC, and enjoy the looks and texture of CC, for fuck sakes don’t buy Fruit Loops just because you have a coupon and it’s easier to reach on the shelf. And if you do, and decide they’re icky after all, hey…that’s your fault. You chose what you didn’t like instead of what you knew you wanted. You went the easier route…and look what it got you. A taste of fake orange in your mouth that you try to brush out and then your toothpaste tastes disgusting and mouthwash only moves the goop that gets stuck in your teeth all through your mouth and for the rest of day, you are tasting spearmint fruit. Ugh.

‘Nuff said. 🤓

Kristi xoxo

“Oh, It’s Been a Hard Day’s Night” ~ John Lennon & Paul McCartney

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So, yesterday sucked balls (for some reason I really love this term). I’m having a bit of a tough week, and yesterday I pretty much lost it. I’m missing my son and his girlfriend since they are in their own apartment now…I’m working really hard to get my house in order and have a wrenched back and purple/numb finger to show for it…and this week marks the 3rd anniversary of seeing my nephew for the last time before his death. Also, this is the exact time that J began making plans to see his ex which started his back and forth abandonments and cheating.

In some ways, I’m really proud of how I’m handling things because not long ago, I would have been much worse. It shows that I have grown and healed to some extent these past couple of years and that I really am stronger. But it also brings me back to a place that I never wanted to visit again.

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My sis and I were talking about this last week as we discussed things happening in our quarantined lives. She’s always worried about me…she was my protector growing up and still plays that role today. I know she’s proud of how far I’ve come since that fucking breakdown 3 years ago, but she also knows once you experience something like that, there’s always a chance of going back. I have to agree.

Anniversaries are tough, aren’t they? The anniversary of someone’s death. The anniversary of a divorce. The anniversary of a marriage or relationship that failed. The anniversary of a tough time in your life. As much as we like to put things behind us, they still have a tendency to haunt.

For some reason, I find myself saying “I’m Sorry” an awful lot lately. It’s almost like I’m going back to a somewhat ‘weaker’ me I thought I had all but buried. Maybe since these anniversaries are here though, I find myself going back to being a ‘people pleaser’, just to ensure I don’t get hurt again. Hmmm…I don’t know.

One of my precious students messaged me last month and asked me something I’ve had other students deal with as well: she had been sexually abused as a child and was worried about having a child someday herself. How would she protect them? Would she be able to recognize when something was wrong? How could she open the road of communication early so her child would feel comfortable sharing things with her? Other students who have been physically abused worry they might end up repeating the generational cycle they were in, that their own parents lived. I’ve had female students tell me they will never marry or live with man because they are so scared they’ll be in a domestically violent situation like their mom was.

So, I tell them it’s understandable how these serious past issues are affecting their present. I talk to them about being conscious of the damage these situations caused will help them in stopping these cycles. After all, you can’t fix what you don’t acknowledge (Dr. Phil 🙄). I also recommend they develop a support system of friends and family who are aware of the issues, see a counselor to learn how to put ‘safeguards’ in place, talk to their partners about their fears, and to make themselves understand they don’t have to be like those who hurt them. They can make a cognizant decision to be the kind of parent or partner they want to be, and anyone, with enough ‘want’, truly can break this cycle of abuse.

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We are all in cycles…patterns…dances…whatever terminology works best for you. I know I am. I fall for someone and immediately I’m so elated and excited since I love to love (that sounds like a great title for a song), and I want to share with them, be with them, and get to know all I can about them! Falling in love excites me; it opens my heart and so much flows from it. I think this can be attributed to the feeler inside of me…the empath. This sensitive person I am who when I feel something, I feel it strong and want to share every single bit of myself with that person. The problem? It can be hard to keep up! I know it can be overwhelming. I know I’m very excitable. Well…I know I’m bipolar.

I also know that when I’m around others, I try very hard to be the person who never rocks the boat. It’s almost like Everyone Loves Raymond…I want everyone to love me! And I guess I’ve learned, through various life experiences, that to do that I need to acquiesce to the wants of others. To make sure they’re happy. Satisfied. “If I’m good enough and sweet enough and act happy enough, this person or these people, will have to like me!” For some reason, I associate any criticism, hearty disagreement, or conflict with the idea the person has ceased to approve of me, and for those of us who are sensitive ruminators who tend to personalize things, this is terrible for us! As a result, we do what we say we won’t do again: push our own needs down, do all we can for the other person, envelop them with a love that’s very hard to return, and then take blame for when things go wrong. I don’t like this dance and I’m trying so hard to change the steps. But when this is the only way you’ve danced for 50 years, that’s easier said than done.

This fucking bipolar. I know so many people have it much much worse. I truly understand that and I thank God every single night about how grateful I am for the blessings I have. But I still hate this. It’s so easy for people to say, “Of course I understand you’re bipolar”, but it’s not so easy to understand that if I am more emotional or sensitive to words and behavior than others are, it’s because of this brain illness. Unless you’ve been there, how do you describe what it feels like to have your brain pushing you one way, when you really want to go the other. Pushing you to have that emotional, hypersensitive reaction instead of letting you tone it down to what is more appropriate. What’s more realistic. You’re fighting an opponent that’s very very difficult to beat.

Maybe I need to put some of those masks back on that I tore off a couple of years ago. I am starting to understand masks can be a good thing too and we really do wear them more than we think. Sometimes I say to myself, “OK, Kristi, who do you want to be today?” When I get into another relationship, will I be able to put on a mask that says: “I’m a bit reserved because I don’t want to give so much that you have the power to destroy me.” I wonder what that mask would look like?

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There are so many ‘anniversaries’ for me in the spring and summer: my grandparents dying, 2 husbands leaving, 2 weddings (and no, the weddings and leavings were not necessarily the same people…and yes, I understand this aspect of my life is a freaking soap opera), my nephew, J, my breakdown, etc. It’s impossible not re-visit these. To make yourself forget. And so many of these bring me pain. Remembering my sweet nephew who was killed on a Naval ship continues to bring tears to my eyes. Looking back at my weddings and remembering the excitement of starting a new life with this person, and then trying to understand how the marriages fizzled out like they did. I smile when I remember my grandparents, but get choked up too after all of these years since I wish they were here to hug and talk too. Having to go back to all J did and trying to still build myself up from being torn down like I was. And remembering that breakdown. That fucking breakdown. Actually, I’m reminded of it everyday since I have scars that mark the time.

I’m going to try to put on a ‘strong’ mask for this summer. I’m not going to be fake or go back to being someone I’m not.

I just need to consciously remember I’m capable of handling anything that might come my way. Old memories…new situations…new people. I’m not going to have the mask completely cover my face though. I’m going to have more air holes so I can breathe. More flexibility in how it fits. A better representation of who I am compared to masks I used to wear.

So anniversaries…memories…do you worst. I’ve got the ability to handle them now. And to be honest with you, I’m pretty proud of that.

Kristi xoxo

“Someone Call the Doctor. Got a Case of Love Bipolar.” ~ Katy Perry

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So, I’m reading a book about a school shooting, and during the trial of the shooter, a psychiatrist is testifying after interviewing the boy. The defense attorney asks what the psychiatrist was looking for in terms of mental illness, and he states ‘bipolar and schizophrenia.’ Heh? Bipolar (I’m going to focus on this one since I have it)? Really? It’s perceived as being that dangerous it needs to be ‘looked for’ in a school shooter? I’ve had a LOT of ups and downs with this illness, and it hasn’t been a bed of roses, peeps, but I have never entertained the thought of hurting others.

After reading this I decided to peruse the web (you know, the one Al Gore invented) to see what is said about bipolar out there, because this particular illness really does have a lot of stigma attached to it. So, I googled (that’s a search engine, ma…don’t monkey with it or you’ll get confused) ‘what are some questions people have about bipolar’ and I was gobsmacked (Lord, I love that word) about the way it’s perceived. Let’s dig in, grasshoppers.

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One question was: “Can bipolar people love?” (Skip over these next few words, ma) but what the fuck? Really? There’s the idea floating around that you can’t LOVE if you have bipolar? No. Not true. Here’s where I think this came from: when we’re in a manic state, everything looks wonderful and exciting, including potential partners. We might feel that initial intoxication very quickly and be giddy in the romance. Yes, some might become very promiscuous too. However, what the person feels during the manic state may not be love; we are so emotionally bombarded with energy that’s overwhelming us, we might say it’s love when it’s really just sexual infatuation. 🤩

But, you gotta remember that us bipolars are not always manic and not always depressed. There is a state in-between where we are ‘relatively’ stable called euthymia and this, at least in my case, is when I can really ‘fall in love’ (whatever the hell that means) and know that it is love. When I love someone, I love ’em whether I’m manic or depressed, and I love them hard!

Another question was: “Can people with bipolar be faithful?” Short answer? Yep. Long answer…well, here goes: when we’re manic we’re not making the best decisions and are usually very impulsive with no thought of consequences. So, during those times, yes, it’s possible. Sometimes the mania is so strong, there is no ‘you’ left inside to help mitigate what the mania is wanting you to do, but sometimes there is and that reigns you in.

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However, a medicated bipolar (me!) who is on a mood stabilizer (I love Lamotrigine…if I could marry it, I would 😳), then the ups and downs are so much more calm; it’s like the roller coaster becomes a bunch of small, rolling hills and your thought processes are much more clear. You have to keep in mind though peeps that 40% of people cheat on their spouses and I can guarantee you they ain’t all bipolar!

How about this question: “Are bipolar people violent and dangerous?” Yes. I keep a roll of duct tape and some tarps in my trunk. 🙄 There are so many mental illnesses that can can cause a person to be dangerous including psychopathy, sadism, narcissism, borderline, etc. However, people with bipolar are either really really happily manic or we’re pretty down in the dumps, and neither one of these states has violence as a feature. Of course, someone with bipolar ‘could’ be dangerous, but so could anyone. Right?

Last one: “Is it safe to live with a bipolar person?” For piss sakes, yes. Hello! I raised my son very very lovingly…I adore each and everyone of my students…I’m the best dog ma around…and my house is comfy cozy with me sitting on the couch at 7:00 every night, in my jammies, watching Netflix. YIKES! Sounds horrible! Now, people who live with someone bipolar need to understand there are going to be issues, but through education, patience, and counseling, these can be handled well.

You know, when you see how stigmatized bipolar is and how it’s perceived by others, you might believe we’re just dangerous people who fool around and will bitch slap you at anytime. Nope. But, we do have some serious issues affect us that should garner some sympathy: bipolar people have a reduction in life expectancy of 9-20 years (more than a heavy smoker) and this is scary as hell to me. Particularly since I don’t have a grandbaby yet (did you read this sentence, son?). We are also at greater risk for dementia as we age, as well as seeing an increase in the severity of our depressive episodes. These things are disheartening to me and should show people that we have more fears about being bipolar than others might have regarding the myths about it.

Look, people with mental illnesses struggle. Right? So many of you reading this are battling everyday and we need support, understanding, love, patience, and encouragement from others to get through. What we don’t need is misinformation circulating about that causes yet more problems in our lives. We need to be seen as people. Individuals. Folks who are sometimes good. Sometimes naughty. Sometimes happy. Sometimes sad. We’re ma’s and pa’s and sisters and brothers and teachers and CEO’s and nurses and doctors and electricians and sales people and on and on and on. In other words, in so many ways, we’re really just like everyone else.

Kristi xoxo

“…But I Grew Strong, and I Learned How to Get Along.” ~ Gloria Gaynor

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So, something happened last night and when it did, I was quite gobsmacked. A friend and I were chatting about relationships, and she said, “You know the saying… no one wants a woman who has ever been abused.”

What? I guess when she said that, 2 things quickly ran through my mind: first, that a relationship with me is probably not advisable, and second, I am ‘dirty’ or ‘shameful’ for having been in abusive situations.

I guess I can understand the idea of a relationship not being the easiest thing with someone who has been abused…whether man or woman. There is a lot of baggage we carry and although time can soften those memories or even push them down so far you aren’t really conscious of them, I know how easy it is for those to affect others. My friend and I have been discussing trust lately and both of us have struggled with situations that have broken it, and let me tell you peeps, nothing breaks trust more than abuse. Once that happens, and although you tell yourself again and again the next relationship is a new playing field, it’s easy to be wary of how the game is going to be played.

Take cheating. Please. Before J cheated on me the first time, I would ask him if he was talking to his ex. He would look me in the eye, tell me a firm no, and also made me feel that questioning him was wrong because I had nothing to worry about. And? Those words meant nothing, because all along he was planning for the moment. After, when we got back together, he said the same. He had learned his lesson…saw how much it hurt me…and vowed, eye to eye and holding hands, it would never happen again. The next day, it did. Of course, through this all he was emotionally and verbally abusive to me. In retrospect, which truly is so much clearer than when you are in the midst of something, I could see the purpose in that: the worse I felt about myself, the more likely he could proverbially have his cake and eat it too.

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How do you get past that? How do you allow yourself, in a new relationship, to believe the person when they say the same? Once you’ve been burned, how do you not assume that all stoves are hot? It’s almost reflexive…an ‘instinctual’ reaction that has been created to protect you from this happening again. It’s not that you are ‘blaming’ the new guy/gal for something they haven’t done. It’s not that you don’t want to believe what they are reassuring you of. It’s not that they have hurt you. But unfortunately, our past experiences dictate so many of our future ones, and when something has made such a lasting impact on you, it’s hard to brush it aside.

Now, the idea you should never be with someone who’s been abused? Hmmmm…gonna narrow your playing field, that’s for sure: 1:3 girls and 1:5 boys will be sexually abused by 18 (scary as fuck, isn’t it?), and about 3 million cases of child abuse are reported each year…and these are only the ones recognized and turned in for help. So there are an awful lot of victims out there walking around as adults.

What upset me the most about the comment of never being an a relationship with someone who was abused made me feel disgraced. Embarrassed. As if I was at fault for what happened. As if I could have stopped it anytime.

With J, it seems I should have been easily able too. But like anyone who has been abused by a partner, once you have been manipulated, broken down emotionally, made to feel less than in every situation, it’s tougher than it sounds. You see, I liken an abusers tactics to fishing (something I actually love to do): the victim needs to be hooked and then played with so they don’t fight what’s happening. That’s what abusers do. They bait their hook based on what they see in you (vulnerability, sadness, loneliness) and use that to catch you and reel you in, all the while making you think you are in a better place. But it’s not, because it’s a net where everything you wanted was just an illusion. Then, abusers break down their victim. It’s not as dramatic as cutting off your head and scaling you, but it’s damaging none the less. Once you’ve been broken down to the very bottom of who you are, it’s very very tough to pull yourself up…or even believe you should try. This is so hard for people who haven’t experienced abusive partner relationships to understand.

And then with the psychologist. I was a teenager when he started sexually abusing me. I had come to depend on him to where I trusted him with my life. The power dynamic between a psychologist and client is very one sided, with the professional having all of the influence and advantage. People seek out help because they are dealing with something that is insurmountable to face alone, and the person they seek help from becomes something of a guru. A savior. And once that’s been established, especially in a 15 year old and for 2 years, being able to see it any other way is almost impossible to do. Then, to be told you owe them…that’s it’s going to be healing for both of you…that it puts you on a higher level than his other patients, is something I needed to hear at that point in my life. It made me feel like I must be special, and that I must have some power over him too. I mistakenly believed I was so much better than I had thought for him to see me in a sexual way. That was a heady thing to someone who desperately needed that validation.

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But it leaves a mark. A scar. Like a smudge across your face that everyone can see. You perceive yourself as being different, because you are. You’ve been through something that was dirty. Wrong. Degrading. Humiliating. Hurtful. The feeling of powerlessness that goes along with such abuse stays with you, whether it’s been 5 or 35 years. And since having a mental illness feels the same way in terms of feeling different (for lack of a better word), it’s a double whammy. Having bipolar makes me more sensitive, emotional, more likely to ruminate, etc. so processing the abuse, and then putting it in a compartment to try to ensure it’s effects on new situations are minimal, is tough to do.

When ma was going through her divorce with R who had abused her, she would say how she never addressed it because of the shame it wrought inside of her. I told her, time and time again, that the shame was on R, not her. She was the victim. Not the perpetrator. I wish I could listen to my own words.

Those of us who have been abused already feel guilt, a sense of betrayal by those who have hurt us, feelings of stigmatization, and damage to our perceptions of our self-worth. We don’t want to be seen different or damaged. We want to be seen as survivors who have come through abusive situations with strength. With lessons to share. With an experience that allows for empathy. With more compassion for all who have faced such dark periods in their lives. Maybe others will never ultimately see it the way I do, but I think it’s admirable.

Kristi xoxo

P.S. Wanna show me some love, peeps? Just click on the FOLLOW button on the right! 🙂 xoxo

“Oh, Oh, I Gave You My Heart.” ~ Elton John

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So, when I started this blog it was for 2 reasons: first and foremost, to talk about life with mental illness and to shed light on related issues that might help start conversations while reducing mental illness stigma by letting others see we are ‘real people’, and not just diagnosis, who are coping with issues as best we can. Second, it was selfishly for me. I suck balls at journaling. I get the cutsie notebooks with the fancy schmancy covers and then write for 2 days and stop. Having this blog helps me be consistent, with awesome feedback and support, and allows me to get things out I need to process.

I’ve had this friend since we were in Jr. High. He’s amazingly funny, kind, smart, respectful. Actually, he is everything that’s good in a person that I’ve lacked in my other relationships. When we were in HS, he asked me out a couple of times and has said how he had wanted so badly to be with me, but I was with my first ever boyfriend so it didn’t happen. We lost touch after graduation but a couple of years ago we rediscovered each other on Facebook and started responding to each other’s posts and having bits of conversation.

As I was dealing with the break-up of J, he reached out to me and we started messaging. He made me feel better and more confident in myself by building me up, telling me how much I have to offer, and how I should never ever settle for anything less than wonderful. I was starting to think that maybe he was the wonderful that was finally coming into my life. I’ve known him for so long and talking with him was second nature.

I knew I was developing feelings…feelings that started a long time ago and grew quickly as we re-connected. In my mind, I could see a future. A ‘forever’ partner that I could be ‘me’ with and know I was safe with. I told him that the difference with him was that my other men had made me cry…but he made me smile.

A few days ago he said he loved me and that he had always had me on a pedestal. I didn’t say it back right away; I needed to think about what my feelings really were. And with the joy his words brought to me, the way my heart opened, and the butterflies I was experiencing, I knew I loved him too. It was like a part of me always did, all these decades since school.

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Now the caveat. He’s with another woman who he says he’s not happy with, doesn’t have sex with, but who he’s comfortable with since the relationship has lasted for a lot of years. I know, I know: “Kristi, wake up and smell the fucking coffee! ALL men say that when pursuing someone else! Duh!” And you’re right; so many men do say this. But I know him, and I think he’s genuine. Don’t say it…I know what you’re thinking, grasshoppers, that it’s just another game I’ve been sucked into.

So, I said I love him too. And I mean it from the bottom of my heart (sing that sentence like Stevie Wonder does please). We talked about having a life together and wanting to be together. But then, just today (which is why I needed to write this so I could process it the best I can right now) he told me that the future would be us together when we could be, and him going home to his partner. He just can’t leave her after these years together, no matter how unhappy he is.

I can’t do that. I simply can’t. I know first hand, not just with me, but with family members too, how horrendous ‘affairs’ are to everyone involved. They destroy relationships…break up families…hurt so many people in the name of ‘being happy.’ How can I do that to someone else? How can I selfishly hurt a person I don’t even know? How can I look my ma in the eye and tell her why this man I love won’t be around for any holidays and just sporadically at my house?

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But (and y’all will be proud of this), how can I do that to myself? I have spent the last 2 years of my life rebuilding it. Rebuilding me. The reason why Hubby 3 left (sigh)…everything J did to me…my sweet nephew dying senselessly…my health scare…my issues at school regarding a threatening student…my mentor passing away…dealing with the most difficult depression I’ve ever had in my stinkin’ bipolar life…cutting myself…attempting suicide. For fuck sakes, I’ve had a lot to patch up and, by the grace of God (I’m very very serious about that, and I need to add with the grace of O, ma, and sis too), I have. I was at the very bottom of where I could be. Sometimes, I can’t even think about it. Revisiting that hole is terrifying because it makes me have to wonder if I’ll ever fall in again. I don’t know if I would make it this time if I did.

I like to joke and laugh about being bipolar. Like I’ve said before, if I don’t laugh I’ll cry, and to be honest with you (and I always am), I am so fucking tired of the tears. Us bipolars do that a whole lot you know, and it’s exhausting. So many of you with other mental illnesses can relate all too well; I know my sis does who struggles immensely with her major depression. Like so many, I’m overly sensitive, overly emotional, overly affected by rejection.

How ironic is it that this man is everything I say I want? Need. Desire. And like a bad joke, he’s the one man in my life that’s not accessible to me. I feel like I don’t know how to handle this. The tears have been flowing…my heart has been aching…and my brain is trying to process how I could get hurt again so fast.

Remember when we talked about punishment? It’s hard not to think that’s what’s happening to me now. I know ‘logically’ that’s probably not true. But as my neighbor and I discussed yesterday as we chatted for a couple of hours in my backyard, it’s not reality that we work from, but our own perceptions of that reality. So, ‘right’ or ‘wrong’, my perception holds true for me. I’ve also talked a lot about really shitty things I’ve done in my life that I attribute so much to my unmedicated bipolar, as well as just really crummy decisions I’ve made. I deserve retribution for those things. I deserve to pay the price. Unfortunately, I selfishly thought I had already paid that debt, but I think there’s still more there to do.

And you know, when something like this happens, it’s very difficult to think my mental illness doesn’t play a role. After all, our mental illnesses affect every part of our lives, don’t they? Maybe I’m too ‘much’ for him. Too ‘different’. Too ‘imposing.’ And yes, I probably am.

Anyhoot, I needed so bad to talk about this; to see these thoughts in words. And to be honest, connect with you, my sweet peeps. I thank you for listening. Thank you for the understanding I know you will give me because y’all are just so supportive and kind to me. In fact, thank you for going on this journey with me which I’ll continue until my age-spotted hands just can’t type anymore.

Hopefully, you’ll all be here with me for a happy ending. Very greedily, I want it sooner than later. I’m 53 (sigh…) and want my forever. Not a perfect forever…I know fairy tales aren’t real. But a forever where I’m happy…he’s happy…and we build something genuine and stable that keeps us together through the good and bad. I’m ready. I’m waiting. And when it does happen, I’ll appreciate it so much. I promise.

Kristi xoxo

Do You Want to Check that Bag?

So, I have one of the coolest things I own in my office and I look at it everyday. It’s an old steamer trunk (a real one…not a knock-off from Hobby Lobby) that I got a couple of years ago. The guy that sold it to me for just a few bucks said it was ugly and he just wanted it out of his garage. (By the way, every time I say ‘bucks’, I can hear Michael Scott telling Pam it’s not ladylike). I thought I could paint it really funky and it’d be a neat piece in my basement. Then I started doing some research on it, and come to find out, it’s an oldie that was most likely used by immigrants coming to America in the early 20th century like my grandpa and his family did. How cool is that?

The manifest from my family’s voyage. My son and I also looked it up on Ellis Island when we visited NYC.

We started moving my son and his girlfriend into their apartment yesterday (luckily, it was from a basement with stairs to a top floor apartment with stairs…just sayin’) and if I never see a cardboard box again, I’ll be thrilled. Another by the way: there was a dolly in the U-Haul that we had to park a ways away since the apartment house sets back behind a big grassy area. Being someone who likes to make work easier, I asked why we weren’t using it. My boy said, “Ma, we don’t need it” while he was mopping sweat from his brow and panting like a dog. Anyhoot, when he was carrying a load, I got the damn dolly out, chucked the heaviest item on it, and scooted it up to the stairs, saving more than half the work. You may insert an eye roll here.

So, this morning I was sitting at my laptop doing some very important things (scrolling through Facebook while watching Rocketman for the 100th time) and started thinking about baggage. That’s a word we hear so much, isn’t it? How everyone has ‘baggage’ from past relationships, their childhood, their high school years, what have you. When I look at my trunk, I always wonder what baggage was in it. Baby clothes for an infant that was going to be born in America? Old quilts from relatives the immigrants won’t see anymore? Books in their native language so they will never have to stop reading? Food especially canned for the trip so they’ll have something to eat while seeking work?

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I guess I’ve been pondering this a bit more these past couple of weeks because I’ve reconnected with a high school buddy and we’ve been talking pretty much non-stop. And here’s the thing, I know that no matter what, my baggage, and his baggage, is going to play a role into whether or not this goes anyplace at all.

How do you learn to trust someone again after so many others have betrayed you? I trusted my psychologist with my life. Literally. And he used that trust, manipulated it into something cruel, and made me feel a horrible sense of shame and guilt even though I was another one of his victims. Hubby 3 was not only my spouse, but I can honestly say he was the best friend I’ve ever had. Every single day he would tell me how happy he was and how much he loved me. And then he walked out on me Christmas day after our 10th anniversary. J was the one person I trusted every single secret I’ve ever had with. I opened up to him more than anyone else, and he took so many of my words and confessions and then used them against me. He threatened so many things, one of them being my job.

So tell me. How do you come back from that? Yes, I understand that no one should pay the price for someone elses’ mistakes, but let me know how that works. Seriously. Because once you’ve been ‘burned’, the scars are so deep and the baggage packed so well, that just ‘getting rid of it’ is something hard to do. OK…I’ll just do what some self-helpers recommend: jot all of this stuff down, tear up the paper, and then flush it down the crapper. Wow. Works like a charm. All of those decades of being hurt and used are miraculously gone Yea!

Hmmmm. No. Everyone talks about how hard it is to rebuild trust in a person that’s wronged you. But, our ‘baggage’ makes it hard to actually trust anyone. I don’t care how many times someone says, “Kristi, you can trust me.” Okey-dokey. Haven’t heard those words before. Haven’t been to that shitty rodeo. Face it, no one is going to say: “Look, I’m going to be really nice to you for a while and get you believing that this is going to be great. And then I’m going to fuck you over, use you, tear you down after building you up, make you believe you deserve no better, and then when I’m done toying with you, I’ll find someone else that I may actually be good too…you know…for fun.”

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Wouldn’t it be nice if people came with warning labels? “WARNING! Good looking guy, out for a hook up, likes to sweet talk until he gets in your knickers, but cooks great.” Well hells bells (my grandpa used to love saying that…I just had to use it at least once in a post), at least I know what I’m in for. And for piss sakes, let’s not even imagine what my label would look like…let’s just assume it would have a lot of skulls and crossbones on it.

OK, so besides trust, what else is in my trunk (steamer…not booty)? Respect is a biggie. I hate how that word is used so easily. “Hey…that guy didn’t give me my fries…he disrespected me.” Welllllll…maybe if you hadn’t screamed into the mike at the drive through while calling him a douche bag when the audio was still on, you would have gotten your freaking fries. As my ma says : “Think, man!”

Respect is more than that to me; actually it’s more than that period. True respect is believing a person to be of value because of qualities they have…because of who they are and what they’ve done that’s admirable. I think a problem I have (among a myriad of many) is ‘giving’ respect to people that actually haven’t earned it yet. Just assuming this person is admirable because of this and this and this. “Oh…you’re a CEO! You must be a great person and I have such respect for you!” (Actually, they are a blithering imbecile, but they got one terrific office).

I learned very early on in my teaching career that you can’t expect attention and control in a classroom without earning respect first. I learned you can’t expect your child to respect you unless you have shown them you deserve it. “But, Kristi…our kids should respect us no matter what!” OK, kiddies…respect your parents who are drug dealers and beat you at night when you need fed. Just sayin. See what I mean? Once, an elementary teacher told me she was so tired at screaming at her class all day. Huh? When I looked gobsmacked, she said, “Damn, with college kids you must do that a lot.” Nope. Never. I’ve never screamed at my son, never at my rambunctious elementary/jr high/high school students, and never in my college classroom. If I can’t talk in my normal tone of voice and be listened too, I have a lot of work to do in terms of earning respect.

What about kindness? First 6 months: “Hey, sweetie…anything you want.” “Love you baby, I’m behind you all the way.” “Hon…of course you can have your wonderful, kind, loving family over for the holidays…your family is my family.” Then, let’s fast forward a couple of years: “Kristi, what the hell are you doing spending so much money on that?” “Kristi, if you think I’m going to spend another holiday with your God forsaken family, you’re nuttier than I thought.” (Actually, I probably am). Kindness for some is almost like a bait and switch: turn it on in the beginning so you ooze honey, and then pull it away until it’s gone. Blech.

And love? “Hey baby…I love you more than anything! You took care of my dying mom, helped me raise my daughter through adolescence, and pretty much provided for my every whim with no questions asked. Oh, I’m leaving tomorrow.” Or, “Kristi, you weren’t my first, but you’re going to be my last (bloggers note:I think this came from Pinterest), and you’ve done more for me than anyone else in my life. Oh, by the way, I’m going to cheat on you this weekend…just wanted you to have a heads up.” So gee, I wonder why hearing ‘I love you’ is hard for me to accept.

I guess it comes down to this: I know I have baggage…a lot of it. A steamer trunk full. And I know that no matter what I do to unpack it and get it put away elsewhere, there will still be some left at the bottom. But I also know that everyone has a trunk. How can we not? Unless we’ve lived like Pollyanna, it’s gonna happen. So, someone is going to have to work a bit more hard in gaining my trust. Earning my respect. Helping me realize their kindness is genuine. Opening my heart. Actually though, that may be what I’ve always done wrong in the past…given these things away too quickly before realizing the true value of them first.

Kristi xoxo

Don’t Stop Believin’ ~ Journey

So, never in a million years (well, let’s not start out too dramatically…let’s say 50) did I think I would base a post on a Lifetime movie, but here goes: I joined the Lifetime Movie Club the other day; it’s a pandemic and I’m desperate for entertainment outside of watching Edward lick himself. So anyhoot, I watched a doozie today about a couple of contractors, one who is trying to off this gal (shocker) and the other one that ‘acts’ crazy but is really the good guy. To make a long story short, the good guy never ever gave up on this woman he was trying to save, even when she was bad to him and told him to go away. He just stayed true to what he felt was right.

Hmmmmm. It got me thinking about giving up on people; when you should…when you shouldn’t.

J texted me again today, and I can tell he is in so much pain. He’s angry, hateful, acting belligerent, all of which I know is covering up the pain he has inside himself. No, he would never admit this. No, he won’t allow himself to try to confront it because I don’t think he would know how to handle the feelings he’d be flooded with. And no, he won’t seek out help because he needs this shield against a world he doesn’t want to be a part of anymore.

I have re-connected with an old friend from high school and we are really having some great talks, so I chatted with them about this today, and they said, “Just block him.” Of course, I could do that. Easily. But I’m not going to and I’ll tell you why. (Ma, if you are getting pissed at me, turn off the computer…the little button on the left. The one that says ‘power’. No…not that one. The other…oh…for fuck sakes, just shut the lid and turn on the TV).

It all goes back to giving up on people. Yes, he gave up on me. And yes, how it happened was wrong. And no, I didn’t do anything to deserve that sort of treatment (this is progress, peeps). However, after 3 years, half of them living together, I know him very well. I know his family and they are horrible to him (and to me, but I digress). They gave him absolutely nothing in his life but the bare minimum to survive and that was it. And yes, that included ‘love’ too. It’s truly beyond my realm of comprehension, as a mom, how you can’t show love to your own child. I just don’t get it.

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I could give up on J. I could turn my back. Walk away. Cut myself off. And that means I would be like everyone else in his life. I’m not though, and I think this tenacity comes from a couple of things.

First, my ma has never done that to me. I put her through hell and back a couple of summers ago, and she bore the burden and stayed by my side as long as I needed her too. She still does. I have dumped shit on her I should have taken out on myself, and she looks at me and tells me she loves me. In other words, she has never given up on me. Not when I was at the lowest place in my life…when I was telling her I wanted to die…when I was cutting myself and she had to see the bloody bandages…never. And I wouldn’t be here if she had.

Second, what is in us as humans that we walk away so easily when people need us the most? How many times have I said to someone “GO AWAY” when all I really wanted was for them to come closer? When I was younger, I’d yell “I HATE YOU” to other kids who didn’t want to play with me (gee…I wonder why), and actually, all I wanted was to feel included.

When I was in the midst of that fucking breakdown, so many people gave up on me…backed away…ignored me. People I had known for decades at school turned their backs on me. When I would cry in my office over lunch, no one would ever ask me how I was. People whispered about me (I know this because I heard them at times), would turn away when I’d walk by, would pretend they didn’t know me. How can I even describe how much that hurt? My nephew was dead, I was finalizing a divorce, J was treating me bad, I had cervical surgery, my mentor died, a student was giving me trouble, etc. I needed people more than ever. I needed just one person at work to say: “Look, I know you’re hurting, what can I do?” If just one wouldn’t have ‘given up on me’, I wonder how much faster I would have healed?

stars and clouds at nighttime — Photo by Arnie Chou on Pexels.com

So, how can I do that to J? He’s reaching out for a reason. Not because he wants me back, but because he doesn’t know any other way to connect with someone who understands. How can I turn my back on him when he’s at, what I believe, to be the lowest point in his life? How can I let him down…give up on him…like everyone else has?

Look, those of us with mental illnesses know we are going to have good times in our lives, and we are going to go through hell at times in our lives. Walking with someone in the sunshine is nothing. But helping them through the storm is. By not giving up on J, I’m paying forward all the times people haven’t given up on me. And that’s a debt I’m happy to be responsible for.

Kristi xoxo

“Great Gobs of Goose Shit” (Clay – City Slickers)

So, I love to go back and watch older movies and one of my favorites is “City Slickers.” If you’re not familiar with it (because of being much younger than me…sigh…) it’s about 3 guys who take a trip to a ranch where they learn to round and drive cattle while working through the various issues in their lives.

Anyhoot, in one scene (my fave), the men share what their all time worse day was and all time best day was. It’s always made me think about what I would have chosen, and I finally have an answer…at least up to this point in my life. After all, our best and worst days can change, can’t they?

Of course my all time best day was the day my son was born…that’s a given. My all time worse day was when my nephew died on the USS McCain. Both of those are above and beyond anything else, so I’m going to talk about 2 other times in my life.

Let’s start with worse day(s)…so we can finish on the positive (that’ll be a switch…huh?). When my son was a sophomore in high school, he started having stomach problems. His dad has always had them, and O was tested for IBS, Crohns disease, food allergies, etc. Those tests all came up negative, and then we started thinking that maybe it was psychosomatic. The divorce from his dad was still pretty fresh and because O is very much the type of guy to push feelings down, this seemed to be a possibility. That was pretty much ruled out too. Finally, the specialist told his dad and I that he needed to biopsy lymph nodes in his abdominal area (they seemed to be swollen) because there was a possibility that O could have Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia.

The minute I heard those words, my world completely shifted. It’s hard to explain, but before even knowing whether he had it or not, all of a sudden I realized that something horrible could befall my son without me being able to just fix it with a smooch or band-aid.

O was admitted to the hospital and had his biopsy, then spent the night for observation. After the biopsy was done, I asked the doctor this: “Would you be worried if this was your son?” He said: “Yes.” OOOKKKAAAYYY…thanks for the reassurance, doc. O told me and his dad that he would be fine spending the night alone…he was 15 after all! I went home, which is just a couple tenths of a mile from the hospital…I can see it from my back windows, but couldn’t sleep. I went back to his room and slept in a chair just so I could be with him. The next day, we got him showered and he came home. Then, the waiting game started. His doc said it would be about 72 hours before we knew anything conclusively.

I gotta tell you, this started the longest 72 hours of my life. My ma and I weren’t talking: I couldn’t take her husband anymore and she wouldn’t be around me without him because she knew what the consequence of leaving him out would be. So, it was pretty much just me, my hubby, and his dad. Even though hubby tried to comfort us, he still wasn’t as invested as O’s dad, and so he and I talked a lot during this time. It was our son, and we were the only ones who could really relate.

Obviously, O was aware of what was happening and tried to be brave, until that first night at home when he called me into his room and asked me to read some of his old books to him like I used to when he was a little guy. I got a few of his faves out, and in a choked voice started reading. It was so hard to do, but I wanted to reign in anything I was feeling and do what he needed me to do. We trudged through every day, trying not to think the worse, and even though hubby kept telling me to be positive, your mind can’t help seeing the darkness.

46451738_2164519953567469_8359044309877522432_n — My awesome son!

Finally, we got the call that O was OK. He didn’t have leukemia. He was battling some kind of bacterial infection in his stomach that made his lymph nodes swell. I can’t even begin to express the relief I felt. I truly couldn’t see myself living in a world without him, and to think of such a talented, sensitive, genuine boy to not have his whole life ahead of him was too much to bear. Going through something like this with your kid makes you realize the gift they are. How they are so much a part of you that you can’t really see them any other way but connected to you. How they are so inextricably tied to your heart that they have become the biggest piece of it. No matter how much I knew I was blessed with O before this, I’ve never forgotten how incredibly lucky I am to have O in my life. Truly.

Now, my best day? Easy. Y’all know I had a breakdown around 2 and a half years ago, and I hit rock bottom. We don’t need to yack about all that contributed to this, but it was a combination of so many things that I simply couldn’t handle my life anymore. I have to admit something horrible though: prior to this, I really didn’t think ‘nervous breakdowns’ happened. I thought that was a histrionic term for “I can’t handle things anymore so I’m labeling it as such.” What a stupid asshole I was.

The break was a few weeks coming as situations kept piling up. And then POW; I found myself broken with absolutely no ability to care for myself. I would cry for hours at a stretch and was incapable of eating, showering, dressing, or doing anything in terms of self-care. Just getting out of bed was a major feat, and the cry of my dogs needing to pee is the only reason why I had too. I couldn’t think straight at all…it’s like my mind got so jumbled up nothing made sense. I’d hear my doctor, my counselor and my mom talking, but I was in a dark tunnel where their ‘words’ registered, but not their ‘meaning.’ I was living alone and getting through an hour by myself was hell. This is when I started cutting, badly, and also when I attempted suicide. I truly didn’t want to live (which is so hard to recall now) and I kept sobbing to my mom that all I wanted was to be with Grandma and Grandpa in heaven. And I meant it. It wasn’t a metaphor, it was a truth.

The tunnel I found myself in was dark as hell, and I was petrified to even try to crawl out because that meant facing some of the demons that were challenging me. But I had too. It was slow going…two steps forward…one step back. It took weeks, but I managed, with the help of those around me, to do it. Like the breakdown, it was a process. But light started shining again.

21557453_10159268687895082_2740290679604424814_n — I have this on my bedroom mirror to remind myself every morning that there’s always reason for me to smile.

This pic of me and Edward is so important for a couple of reasons. First, my son was visiting me from Texas where he was living at the time, and took this pic. He knew what was going on with me to a degree, but until he was here, he didn’t realize how bad I was. This particular afternoon, since I was getting better, he talked me into taking Ed to the dog park. He snapped this pic of me smiling. The first smile I had smiled in a couple of months. Having my son with me gave me so much more motivation to keep pulling myself out, because I could see the pain I was causing him. I realized I couldn’t hurt myself…couldn’t kill myself…because it would kill him. He made me remember that I was needed. Wanted. Loved. And that day in the park was my best day: I smiled. I knew I was going to be OK. I knew I was going to fight this. I knew I had people here on earth I needed to be with. I knew there was an end to this pain.

Isn’t it something how our own worst times can lead to our best days? And how the worst times in our kids/loved ones lives can give us the understanding just how precious life is? Just how much we need to enjoy each and every day we’re given?

In the movie, as 2 of the men are talking about their worst days and their best days, they use the same day for both. I guess I could too. Both of these times for me were horrific. O’s the worse…my son is everything to me. But I guess in retrospect, they were my best times too. Each made me realize how blessed I am. How lucky I am.

It’s easy to forget that, isn’t it? I hope I never do.

Kristi xoxo