The struggle

I hate the gym. People say "have fun at the gym" to me when I leave work. WHO HAS FUN AT THE GYM? I'm only doing half an hour a day (5 days a week) right now of cardio. That's anything from eliptical to running as much as 4 miles. If I don't meet my fitness goals, I have in my head I need to increase my time to one hour a day. OMG. That's stupid. It's no wonder people just DON'T do that business.

It's like all those hours I waste trying on clothes and crying alone in the dressing rooms wondering why god cursed me with such a deformed body so that I realize why other people just dress really shitty - because looking good and finding clothes that fit your body is painful and awful.

I hope all this work pays off. I seems like I'm just sitting in my house, but in reality I'm at my limit. I'm working. I'm experiencing THE STRUGGLE.

Last week I learned that everyone at my work is watching my cooking show. I can only imagine they've now found this blog too. Am I that interesting? I really just want to disappear. I don't want to, but I want to. I'm such a contradiction. I hate people judging me, yet I put all my thoughts out on the internet. I want to just fade away, yet I want everyone to know and like me and to leave a legacy of SOMETHING.

MEH

Carry on.

Holiday Deconstruction

Before I say ANYTHING, let me show you the one thing that makes me smile EVERY TIME! This is HarMar snuggling in my warming blanket. AWWWWW

Okay, so I lied. This really doesn't have anything to do with the holidays. You can't miss something you've never done. I don't have all these mushy feelings about family and tradition. I'm a vegetarian so I don't even miss eating the food, but still I start to breakdown towards year end.

I see people planning parties, making effort to get together, dressing cute to attend gatherings, cooking, going out of their way to extend kindness, and that's when it starts to eat at me.

I'm lonely.

I feel empty.

I have no place to go. Nothing to do. I just sit here by myself and imagine this is what it's like to be the last person on earth. The stores are closed. There's no one outside. I can't call anyone to do anything, aaaaannnnddddd, that's when I cry and feel bad for myself.  Sure I could go to my parents, but it's not the same. We'd just sit there and watch TV and I'd rather lay on MY couch and nap than try to foce an interaction just to prove to myself I'm not the last person on earth.

I shouldn't even be writing this. Now you guys will call and give me the pity invite to your house. That's not the point either and I won't be attending, so save your breath. Sigh.

It's hard too because I can't shut my brain off. I start reflecting on the past year and pondering what the next year will bring me and it tailspins. Did I accomplish everything I wanted to this year? Where will I be next year? Are my expectations realistic? Have I made big enough personal growth? How can I lose these last pesky 15 pounds? Why are things so hard sometimes? UGH!

On second thought, don't read this, it's just depressing. BUT, if you thought you noticed I was in a funk, yeah I am. Just go on about your business. I'll snap out of it, I promise.

You know what else helps? Nature! Driving around Woodward Lakes is like getting my 1st lesson in COLOR! Just LOOK! WOW - even this picture makes me feel better already!

And Oh, how I pray...

Oh, how I pray.

Do you pray? REALLY pray? I mean, REALLY REALLY?

Oh, how I pray.

A prayer that makes you break into a cold sweat. One of such intensity it brings you to your knees. A feverish pleading with the forces that be. A hand wringing, heart beating, brow furrowed prayer. A desperate yet quiet cry and yet the response I get is, disappointingly, what I asked for - NOTHING.

You see, what I want, NO, what I NEED is nothing. I scream for it, for space. I beg for it, for time. I dream of it, a vacuum. I sacrifice for it, for silence. Sweet elusive silence.

AND Oh, how I pray.

Please, god, buddha, mother earth, PLEASE, where is the off switch?

There is no psychologist, no drink, no pill that quiets her voice.

Eyes open or closed, asleep or awake, ever present she speaks. Every fear, contradiction, judgement, change, difference, and opinion. Every scenario, possibility, and action. Every blink, every risk, every danger. She speaks. Without hesitation or even pause for breath, she rambles on, droning past intention and pleadings...

And OH HOW I PRAY, just for one minute, PLEASE let there be silence.

There is no TV show, no nature walk, no song that stops her dialog, her voice.

Am I crazy? Or am I just that sharp? Oh, how I pray for dullness. Oh, how I pray for mediocrity. Oh, how I mouth the words in silent imitation of my deepest desire - for there to be no voice.

For stillness.

Presence.

Silence.

Peace.

If bibles were beers and life were one giant party...

Boy oh boy would we have some awkward stories to tell LOL. Actually, this is quite possibly the most perfect illustration of what I feel my current experience is. Some would say it's sacrilege to speak of such things on Easter Sunday. I say it's more like the universes cruel joke on me, but whatever.

I enjoy a good adult beverage now and then, okay probably more now than then, but anyways. I'd say my experience has been that I can have a good time almost anywhere and don't need a drink to tell stupid jokes, laugh really hard, or do whatever else people do while drinking. For whatever reason though, every once in a while I don't feel like drinking. Still having that invite to a party or a gathering or even a bar, I'll go - happy to be out and to see my friends - ready for good jokes and catching up and lots of laughs and even a little gossip, I often find my conversation goes a little like this:

Do you want a drink? Where's your drink? Hey, what are you drinking? Marisa, can I get you a drink? Somebody get this girl a drink!! OH LOOK EVERYONE, Marisa isn't drinking... Are you not drinking for a reason? It's just one drink, shoot you can have just one!! I'll be right back, let me get you a drink! Marisa, where's your drink?

That's about the time I step aside and go get a glass of cranberry juice or Red Bull.

What is it about me not having a goddamn drink that makes everyone so uncomfortable? Why does me holding this fake drink suddenly make it ok? Now let's get this party started! Then we talk and we share and we laugh and the night moves right along and everyone is happy - even me!

SO, if bibles were beers and life were one giant party, I would be the one making you want to crawl out of your skin. Why is my participation so necessary for your experience to be pleasurable? It's not like you can't still talk about it, share with me stuff, and tell me what makes you happy or inspired.

For the majority though, it seems spirituality is no longer a personal journey. We must beat down every door and pound the pavement and rove the bus stations and laundromats and leave no one behind! Okay, I'm in, sign me up... Wait, what?! There's MORE invasive questions? Now it's not even good enough to do that. Suddenly you feel entitled to know all my inner workings... the why. It's not that you want to know why, but so that you can change it once you do find out. It's not even okay for us to do the exact same thing, I also have to do it for the exact same reasons as you?

I'm fighting a losing battle here.

Can't everyone just be okay doing what they do? I don't eat meat, but I don't need you to stop for me to be happy. I honestly am so happy with my iPhone and think the world would be a better place if you all had one, but in reality you don't. Okay... AND? Does that make me enjoy mine less? No! Does that make me uncomfortable? No!

I just want to be left alone. I want time for these wounds to heal. I don't want to play this game anymore. I just want to be real and be accepted for who I am, yet no matter what I do, I can't please everyone. I think everyone should quit putting the weight of their happiness and fulfillment in my hands then because I am going to disappoint you. Sigh.

It's not...

_______________________

You fill in the blank.

I often ask myself what it "is" and I'm unable to answer. I don't know what it is. In fact, I don't much of anything at all. Here's what I do know.

It's not... easy.
It's not... easy to be me.
It's not... simple.
It's not... endearing.
It's not... pleasant.
It's not... admirable.
It's not... ever going to change.
It's not... even close to being over.

What is "it" ???

_______________________

Again, You fill in the blank. It's late and I'm tired and I've had a long day. I'm unable to formulate the words it would take to truly capture it.

Death by a thousand cus

It is the cut. The unexpected sting. I thought I was prepared, but I didn't see it coming. I willingly did it though. I pressed forward knowing there would be UNknown. My future lay in Pandoras box. I had to open it.

As I gasp for air, I now ask 'what did I do?' The weight is so heavy. It challenges my inner strength. I take a deep breath to steady myself. Softly I whisper 'This too shall pass. Just go in, Marisa. It's what you agreed to do. It's what they expect you to do. It is what they NEED you to do.'

It is the cut. My tender skin splayed open. At first cold, then warm as the blood burns forth. I press it to my lips seeking relief, but oh how fleeting.

The clock tick tocks. Slow and heavy it thuds, every second taking it's precious time. Stealing MY time. One more minute. One more hour, siphoning away my will, my joy.

As I drift to into the void, seeking that happy place where this is not my existence, voices weave their way through my subconscious. Instructions. Proddings. Reminders of my failings.

It is the cut. A now familiar ache as another wound reveals itself. New and old, together they make a collective cry.

Pseudo-friends approach. Reassure. Their smiles tender, their soft spoken eyes beckoning me to follow. As I take that step, I remember the judgment. The shame. The abandonment.

It is the cut after cut. I beg for it to stop, but my cries remain unanswered. Flesh now exposed and raw; I am the essence of pain. Every movement seers. I recoil in surprise at how overwhelming it is, but that only brings more discomfort.

I lay down and drown myself in tears. Why did I open that box? Like a woman hearing the caustic words of her lover and begging him to just hit her, I pray for them to finish this.

Instead, another cut.

It is my life of pain and my death by a thousand cuts.

Do they know I am slowly dying so that they think I may live?

Eh...

So here's a little about me. I hate being alone. I'm fully capable of being alone and I was raised an only child in the country many miles from civilization and I am MORE than capable of entertaining myself. However, I don't like it. (This doesn't include going to my parents house, I'm sure I could always hang out there)

Anyways, a lot of my friends are pretty free and fancy free. They have an open door policy and you can sorta show up whenever. I refuse to do that. Even if someone says "Yeah, we're going to "blah blah blah" later..." I need them to actually say, "WOULD **YOU** LIKE TO COME?" I will not show up to an open ended invitation. I would so much rather be alone than have someone be ambivalent to whether I showed up or not.

However, people always say, Marisa, if you are feeling low or sad or whatever, CALL US. Lean on your friends. Don't sit at home and be that way. So I call. And I get an "uhhhh, yeah..." REJECTION! I'm reading into it I'm sure. I'm extra sensitive I'm sure. Every reasonable explanation in the book I'm sure.

So... Maybe it's my problem, maybe I'm too sensitive. Or maybe my feelings are hurt because I have NEVER EVER asked for help or told someone "I need you" and I made myself vulnerable to them and I finally did that and .............. nothing.

Rejection is really hard for me to cope with. Sometimes it's perceived rejection. I think a lot of times I prefer to text because then there's a distance there. Then it doesn't "sting" so much when the rejection comes.

Eh. So I put it all back in perspective now. I'm okay being alone. I'm finding a way to turn off all that "NEED" that I have. So there ya go, that's a little bit about me.

Binge and Purge...

Well, it's a binge of information for YOU and a purge of years of insanity for me. I want to write about something I never ever write about or speak about for that matter.

My real father.

I suppose the only real way is to go back to the very beginning.

I could hear them arguing again. That's all they did. I was probably 6. My bedroom was right next to theirs so I had to be stealthy. I took all my stuffed animals and most prized possessions and stuffed them into my Garfield sleeping bag. I packed up my parakeet and it's cage. I carefully misspelled every word on my note that told them I was leaving until they could stop yelling. I headed out towards the pasture. I hadn't quite worked out how I could carry a bird cage in one hand, a FULL sleeping bag in the other, and still ride my pony to grandmas house, but apparently the note slipped under the door alerted them to my plans and they stopped fighting for the night.

I never EVER faulted my mom for asking for a divorce. Even at 7 I'd say it was the best day of my life. Not that I understood anything, but I did know the yelling would stop. At 7 you still think everything is your fault and you still trust your daddy even if he's an asshole. After they separated, once he came to the door and I answered. Mom was outside (We lived in the country) and he said he wanted to come in. I innocently didn't know any better. He used me to get in the house and while telling me "daddy loves you" type things, he stole a spare key off the fireplace mantle. He used that key to come back to the house when we were gone and rob the house. My mom had always been a stay at home mom and we had no money. She often went without food so that I could eat. He used me and I thought it was my fault because I let him in the house.

Before visitation had been settled he once came to the house demanding to see his daughter. He had been drinking. I was in the bathtub. He kicked the door in. He pushed my mom down and beat her with a frying pan. He ripped all the phone cords out of the walls. I ran in the spare office, locked the door, and called 911. He ran away before they got there. For YEARS I felt guilt over calling the police on my own father. I thought it was all my fault because he just wanted to see me.

When he got his own apartment in town, he always said my mom tried to keep him from me. She never EVER let me miss a weekend. She actually forced me to go. He had no furniture and 2 yellow striped twin mattresses laid on the ground in 1 bedroom. He would force me to sleep in the room with him, but I didn't get to sleep. He would keep me up all night telling me all the awful things he thought about my mother. What a bitch and whore she was even though she was neither of those things. I will not forgive him for stealing my innocence. For doing everything textbook wrong. He put all of his adult problems on my small shoulders and I carried those for years.

When I was 12 I wrote the courts and was granted permission to make my own decisions regarding visitation. My parents (my mom and step-dad) still made me go so that he could never complain. My dad moved to a town about 30 minutes away. Since my visitation was on the weekends, it really cramped his social life. He would go to the bars downtown and lock me in the car until closing time. It wasn't the best art of town. I've never been so scared. I felt bad for being a burden to him.

(As a side note you should know my father is an alcoholic and also a paint sniffer. Ok, well kinda. He owns a body shop and does custom paint and body work along with specializing in firetrucks, school buses, planes, and diesel trucks. He used to brag that he didn't need to wear a mask. That's called getting high in my book. I'm sure he's just "not quite right" because of that.)

He often antagonized my fears. He openly mocked me for being afraid to fly for the 1st time. After my family was in a debilitating car wreck (My step-dad broke his neck, my mom dislocated her hip and was in a hospital bed for months, and I broke my back) my real father and I went to Carmel for a weekend. I was probably 16? He took the scenic route back and told me it was time to face my fears. He proceeded to cross over the yellow line and drive on the wrong side of the road. Turn after turn on that winding mountain road I screamed and I cried and begged for him to not do this. He called me weak and said I needed to get over it. I finally hit him and yanked the wheel. RIGHT then a diesel truck came around the corner and we skidded off the road, barely avoiding the mountain. He cried like a bitch at our near death experience and I'll never forgive him for that.

Sometimes he would hit me with an opened up wire hanger. I don't even remember why, but he was often physical like that. When I cried he would tickle me. I'm EXTREMELY ticklish and even though it's painful it makes me laugh. Even though I was crying, he would say "See, you're laughing, quit being a baby, everything is fine" To this day, I don't allow people to tickle me. 1/2 way through I always freak out and feel like I'm being manipulated.

During my summers I would stay at his house. He admitted he never wanted a girl. I had to sleep on the floor and get up at the crack of dawn. To wake me up, he would shove me with his foot and them make me fix breakfast for him. Then I would go to work painting and sanding at the body shop. On my breaks he wanted me to go back to the house and bake cookies for him and his workers. It was a weird mix between having to be the boy he always wanted, but needing to know my role as the good little woman. I hated it.

Although he RENTED a 700 square foot apartment that literally used to be a cow barn, when I got my first apartment, he came to my house and white gloved the entire thing. I'll never forget what started out as pride in establishing myself and ended in humiliating disappointment and failure.

When I announced my engagement he DEMANDED to be the one to walk me down the isle. I had asked my (step)DAD. My father made such a stink, my dad stepped aside and said, let him walk you. I told my father, I don't want you to touch me and there will be NO kissing on the cheek. He showed up early, tapped the keg, got wasted, drug me down the isle with such a tight grip on my arm I had bruises on my inner arm and you should see the look on my face in the picture where he's kissing me on the cheek. Fucking drunk asshole.

When I was divorced and disfellowshipped, the BEST thing that ever came from that exile was him not being allowed to talk to me. He would still call. He asked me if I had "fallen to drugs?" (No dad, sorry, my life's quota for drunk paint sniffing losers has already been met) Did I have an STD yet? I don't even know what to say about that one. I'm in the middle of a divorce, I just had to sell my newly built house, my ex kept the dogs and even the bread maker, and none of my friends or family are allowed to speak to me and I AM TRULY at my most vulnerable and alone and you call with your reassuring words that I'm a whore? Fuck you... F.U.C.K. Y.O.U.!

Time and time and time and time again, I told myself Marisa, that is your father. You have to love him. What sort of horrible person are you to not be a part of his life? I subjected myself to insults about my looks, my hair, my weight, my friends, and my home and I took it and I went back for more so that he could never fault me for denying him his right to be my father. There were moments where I thought he had changed. We would have a nice dinner, a lucid (and possibly) sober conversation, and I would immediately default to the THE GLASS IS HALF FULL mentality and think it would be different, he would be better... In between everything I've typed I thought that. I doubted myself. I gave him a million chances. But I can't do it anymore. I have always had trouble setting boundaries. I have always doubted myself. I didn't want anyone to think I was mean or wrong or bad. He loves me so much he says. He misses me he says. He wants me to be a part of his life he says.

After my reinstatement (He remarried about 10 years ago) he and his wife invited me over for dinner. I begrudgingly went and I fell right back into the same trap. He looked old. He looked sad. I experienced INTENSE guilt over my own bitterness and negative feelings towards him. Maybe he's different now..? I shouldn't feel like I do. I wouldn't want someone to feel about me the way I feel about him. I should make more of an effort...

NO.

And you know what's sick? As I re-read this, I keep thinking I shouldn't post this. What if he reads this? His feelings would be so hurt! I'm doubting again as I type this.

NO.

Sorry dad - I can't do it anymore. My life has to be on my terms now. I have to protect myself and my sanity. Do it to me once, shame on you, do it to me twice (or a thousand times) and it's a shame on ME...

I've now written the longest blog ever documenting a LIFETIME of mental, emotional, and physical abuse that cannot and should not be forgotten OR forgiven.

Contradiction

Yeah... That always sums it up for me. I am everything. No 1 thing is ever the answer.

I am fighting.
        Yet I’ve given up.
I am strong.
        Yet so powerless.
I am happy.
        Yet filled with such great sadness.
I am love.
        Yet bitter inside.
I am hope.
        Yet numb and dead already.

I just don’t know. I have these moments of clarity, breaths of fresh air, light... But they are always tempered with contradictions. Confusion, trapped, panic, and darkness. UGH.

I would say if people defined me by my passions they would somehow involve work, food, sleep, and music. But all of those have left me for now. And I feel bad for my friends and family. My mom is trying so hard to help. I don’t know how to kindly take this out of her hands. Lord knows what they think of me. I mean, I’m not even nice anymore. It takes so much energy just to maintain my composure, I just show up and grace everybody with my bad attitude. I walk around with my arms crossed and my voice with no inflection. I’m sure this isn’t the reaction they would want from me... Marisa, the most hyper, lively, arms flailing about, talking a mile a minute person they remember.

I know... this too shall pass...
RIGHT?

I guess I don’t write much about my mom. Well, that’s not true, I’ve written a few things about her in the past (years ago), but that was a rough time in my life, and my reactions to her then were simply a product of that devastating time. My mom and I are 2 exceptionally strong willed stubborn women. We’re also extremely passionate and pretty hyper-sensitive to everything. You can only imagine the two of us together. The same, but SO different - it’s bound to be volatile... and usually comical too. But I love her and she loves me. It’s just our thing - our dance. I don’t think she believes I love her, but if only she knew how much I do. How much I’ve changed my entire life, just so she could be in it. Just takes time I guess.

Here’s what I find fascinating about life. We are ALL this way. We are all the same, yet SO SO different. Part of my struggle some days is how to fit in. I want to do what is good and happy and reassuring to others. (without losing myself) But all I really know how to do is treat people like I like to be treated. But some days I think I am totally crazy and so, like some fucked up Seinfeld episode, I pull a George and try to do the opposite of what my instinct says. Ha Ha

I notice this happening alot. I have a friend who is constantly saying and doing things that get me all worked up. That totally drain me. I’m confused as to how he is so confused. However, when I stepped back, what I really heard him saying is - “This is how I would like to be treated. This is what I would like someone to say to me. This is what I need.” We’ve talked about it and he admitted as much. But WOW did I have the opposite reaction! Sorry “friend”...

The same, but so different.

I have another friend to whom I just sent an email. I hope he doesn’t mind me sharing an excerpt of what I said to him. It was basically me saying, “Hey what’s up, I don’t know what to do... so I’m gonna tell you personal truth about me and see if it resonates. Or at least excuses the fact that I might not be reacting how you want me to, but my intention is in the right place and I hope you can see that... and also, since I don’t know what to do, will you to tell me what to do?” I wonder if that’s what he took away from the email? LOL

Here’s the part about the personal truth:

------------
It's weird cuz my reactions to trauma and despair is to be like an injured animal. I want to run off into the woods and lick my wounds until things are better - in solitude. When it comes to my life I have a pretty rigid grip on serious decisions being made by me and only me. I have to do it myself. Learn it for myself (Even if it's the hard way) Make up my own mind. So, that makes friends sort of a dead issue. You can sit there and stare at me and listen to me and hug me and none of it changes anything until I come to it myself, until I'm ready. I like to just SIT thru the uncomfortableness until it passes.

But then I think back on some horrible times and I remember the few people who didn't forget about me. Who checked on me. Sometimes who just left me little things on my doorstep or sent me an email with no expectation of return conversations because I had no energy to do so, or came and forced me out every once and a while. And THOSE few people I will love forever because I was incapable of giving anything back and yet they expended the energy to show kindness anyways.
------------

That is my natural reaction. To retreat. I don’t want to talk about it. Think about it. Have you touch me. Hug me. (Did you see the contradiction in the above too? cuz I kinda do... LOL)

Actually, as I’m typing this I’m thinking how unfair I am. I don’t trust many people. I don’t think many people see much value in me. Well, I think people see value in me when it’s EASY. When I’m happy and fun and generous... When I cater your party... When I spend money on you... But what about when it’s difficult? When I don’t laugh, or go out, or have anything good to say? Who is willing to hang in there with me? I don’t know if that’s a subconscious thing or not, but I’ll apologize now for basically admitting that a small part of my funk is now an admitted “test”... Oh brother, am I that typical of a woman? ha ha

SO, where am I going with all this? I don’t know. It’s all the same old thing. Me just rambling about where I am on the roller coaster of life. I don’t think it’s solving anything, but it does feel relatively therapeutic to write it all out. Maybe part of it is a whisper to my friends to hang in there with me. Let me work it out on my own. We’ll see what happens.

Mind Fuck

Seriously, no one can truly fuck you up like your mother. I know it has different effects on boys and girls, but WHEW... my mom... I can't even put her into words.

I think the SICKEST part of all of it, is that I'm just like her. Stubborn, strong willed, independent, headstrong... (When I have to be that is... I'm not sure how I come accross to others since I'm desperate to please and fear I come accross as rather submissive... But I guess that's just because it's what I want to do...) However, we always seem to be that way AGAINST each other. And you know what that means? That means "I Lose" because she's the mom, she's older, she's just that much more evil.

Sadly she doesn't see how she has created this competition between the two of us. She's always saying how proud she is of me, how far I've made it in life at this age compared to her, how she loves me, fights for me, needs me, but then she's quick to remind me she's still better. When I bought my cute little sports car, she was the first to remind me that she had a Mercedes 600 series AMG. When i built my new home, she was quick to inform me that her house cost close to a million dollars. When i got my 1st coach purse, she went and bought a bigger one. When I told her I've been sticking to my diet and I've lost 10 lbs so far, she has apparently lost 20. When I mention how hard my divorce and excommunication from church is on me, I get a 2 hour speech on how much more aweful her marriage to my father was or how unfair her own reinstatement was. When I say I feel pretty, she reminds me that she was professional model when she was my age. When I say how well I'm doing at my job or that I got a raise or that I've just crossed the 10 year mark, she's the 1st to say how fortunate she was to find a man who takes such good care of her and that she doesn't have to work.

I can't win. I'm never enough. My whole life I've been fighting, fighting SO hard to prove to ANYONE that I am something good. But it's never ENOUGH. I'm not smart enough, pretty enough, fun enough, established enough, successful enough, tough enough, good enough, gracious enough... ANYTHING ENOUGH!

It's maddening.

And I'm not sitting here saying that I really feel that way. Of course, the rational side of me says there is always someone out there who is going to be better than you. I can't be perfect. I guess what I'm saying is, I'm tired. Keeping any sort of self esteem and blocking all those thoughts out of my mind is EXHAUSTING. Especially when she calls me OFTEN and this just keeps happening. Have you figured out yet that I just got one of those calls this morning?

And when I told her how I felt, her words were "Well, you are dead wrong." And when I got upset and screamed and cursed at her, she said that I was sick and twisted and that she would just never call me again because she couldn't take the emotional beatings that I KEEP giving her. When I asked her not to martyr herself of the phone, she cried hysterically and said she's just fighting for me and missed me and needed me, but that I was heartless and made her feel like she could never do anything right or be good enough for me.

... silence ...

Maybe I really am sick and twisted. Maybe I am the martyr. Maybe anything... I have nothing to ground myself. No guage to let me know whether I'm swimming up or down. But I have to be tough for my brother. I have to be tough for myself. I have to be tough for her. And I just have to block all that out and stand on my own 2 feet. Make up my mind that I'm fine and just work on being good and loving and kind and honest so that no one else will ever say I've created these feelings in them. I may be the only one I know with THIS exact situation, but I am certainly not alone in dealing with trialsome family issues. It's good to know I'm not alone.

Thanks for reading this. If you think I'm really fucked up, please tell me and straighten me out. I fear I need a reality check. LOL.

Religious Oppression

You know, I don't really talk much about religion because it's hard to explain to someone who hasn't lived MY religious experience. Especially in a blog. Plus I have this incredible guilt about bad mouthing them to the world for fear that if there IS a god he would be quite displeased with me.

BUT in talking with a friend who has shared the hell that is witnessdom with me, i had the revelation of how strongly it has affected me. Not just in my growing up, but now in my adulthood as the rejection is palpable.

I guess I never learned how to make friends as a child. How could I? I spent all that time at school, but couldn't really develop a relationship because there was never any after school possibilities. (Parents wouldn't let anyone who wasn't a witness come over) and we always lived so far out no one would come see me even if it was acceptable. No after school activities, no school dances, no football games, no prom, no ANYTHING. I truly spent all of my time alone or only with family.

Being sheltered was not the protection parents thought it was. It was a life sentence for me. I feel like I'm years behind and always trying to catch up. Instead of dating or having a boyfriend or just hanging out with friends and going to the mall, I was on home studies cooking for a husband that was really my dad, caring for a baby that was really my brother, and nursing a dying patient that was really my mother.

I'm unsure of every step I take because EVERY STEP is a new one. At 25 I'd never celebrated a birthday, a Christmas, a mothers day. Never drank a green beer. Never set off a firework. I'm days away from turning 28 and I've never even been on a date.

And now that the witness ties and family bonds were broken, I have this huge abandonment issue. If EVERYONE I KNOW ,including my own mother, can turn their back on me while I repent and beg for forgiveness (to no avail), how could I not doubt the sincerity of those who claim to BE THERE for me now? That's why I don't TRULY lean on my friends when i need them. SIGH

In the same way, it's caused me to be selfless to the point of injury in my own forgivness of another. That's my problem. Instead of setting a standard for myself and setting boundries to protect myself, I just blindly open up and put MY WHOLE SELF OUT THERE and hold them close to me. I can't bear the thought of someone feeling that cold hearted "rejection" coming from me. I know how badly that hurts.

It's also caused me to realize I don't know who I am. I spend HOURS trying to think what makes me... ME. Yet, I can't choose a direction. I WANT TO DO IT ALL. I'm so starved for EXPERIENCE, how could I possibly cut off even ONE option? It comes off like I contradict myself or that I just lack follow thru, but that's not true. Is jack of all trades, master of none really a good thing?

Is it a contradiction to listen to Pantera and want to get the shit beat out of me in a mosh pit, and then come home and put on an apron and make vegetarian chicken w/ an herbs de provence sauce?

Is it a contradiction to drink wine and listen to jazz and just be a tourist/sightseer on Saturday and then go sit in some bachelors house on some shitty hand me down couch and drink a 40 of Mickey's with the boys?

Is it a contradiction to shop and wear pink and heels and be stupid and immature and totally valley girl today, but spend my time recycling and connecting with nature and meditating on my life seeking for inner peace and positive depth and growth tomorrow?

I've noticed that this same "contradiction" manifests itself as some sort of duality in my personality. In my need to not be judged and therefore not judge others I just want to BLEND in with who I'm with - be accepted. I constantly relive every laugh and sentence and comment to make sure that it was in line with who I'm with at the time. The worry that I said or did something wrong might cause another "cutting off" is more than I can bear. I laugh it off and say "When in Rome.." but does that mean there is no REAL ME?

Let's say I want to be a better designer and web programmer. That would mean giving up friendships and fun to stay in the house and read books all day. Lets say I want to be perfectly skinny. That would mean giving up my free time to cook and clean and be domestic so I could work out at the gym for hours and hours for the rest of my life. I want to work with animals and nature and just be a hippy who owns a communal garden and runs a small vegetarian cafe, but would I have to give up my fast paced, challenging, technical job and my glorious shoes and impractical sports car? I'm lost.

This has of course gotten off subject and bit too revealing for a blog. Talk about opening up and putting yourself out there for rejection...

I think to sum it up, I want people to put as much time and effort into me as I so desperately put into them. I just want balance and acceptance. For everyone to be happy. FOR ME TO BE HAPPY. Think it's possible? In my innocence I have to say yes. I'm working on it. I'm working on it.

:D

I don't want to do this anymore

Yeah... That about sums it up. Everything sucks. And I can't even tell you if I'm unbelievably sad. Really lonely. Or I just don't care anymore.

Spare me the speech where you say... "Oh My Gosh Marisa, You're so smart and pretty and successful... everything will be fine" UGH

I'm numb.

I'm sure things will pass. It's only been 1 week since grandma died... Did I mention grandpa was given today to live... so boy should tomorrow be exciting. Can't wait to attend another barbaric funeral.

I really don't want to care tomorrow. I don't want to "need" anymore.... to worry anymore. Not that these leave much to be desired in an average life. I'm home alone today. It sucks and yet i could care less. I feel trapped in the quit center of a storm. Like there is nothing, no sound...

So before I just rant out things that are mean and stupid and defetist, I'll simply write lyrics from my new favorite song:

Beth Hart
Hidden Track after ..13 - Screaming For My Supper

Violence, here them play
On the Fence, where I lay
It's where I live
Tumble down to the ground
Watch it flash
Not a sound, there's no sound

And he says, that it don't matter to me
He'll say, that all this love is for free
He said, it don't matter to me, it don't matter to me

Take me down, unconsciousness
Hold me now, decadence
Lay me out in your house of sin
Take me down...
...There's no sound

House of sin, somebody sinned
Tumbled down onto my knees
Watch it burn, hold your screams
Somebody sinned

He said nothing to me
That all this war is for free
He said, it ain't nothing to me and i would never agree
So take me now, unconsciousness
Hold me now, decadence
Lay me in your house of sin
Take me down

THERE'S NO SOUND !!!
THERE'S NO SOUND !!!

YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS IS FUCKING WEAK!
Violence screaming at your feet
You're sowing every time you speak

----------------------------

Good night everyone.

Melancholy and my infinite sadness

Sounds dramatic doesn't it? Well it is, so if you want to keep pretending that I'm just happy go lucky all the time, stop reading now.

On this rollercoaster of life, I've found myself in a downward spin. I wish I had the courage to just kill myself and not have to worry anymore, but the eternal optimist in me says tomorrow will be better. It's tomorrow... It's the day after tomorrow... It's still not better...

I just returned from my grandma's funeral. You know, the grandma who hasn't spoken to me in 2 years. The grandma who put religion before family and considered me the... what am I saying? She didn't "consider me" at all. I wasn't even welcome at the hospital to say goodbye. Yeah that grandma... the sweet little old lady that was so affectionately called "Dear Dear" by all that knew her.

As I walk into the hall where 562 people arrive to pay their respect, I'm not allowed to speak to anyone. I am angry, yet i find myself crying. Crying, not for the grandma who didn't care, but for myself. For myself as I see a SEA OF PEOPLE all hugging and "supporting" each other, but not me. Marisa, once again, has to be strong for herself. As I look at my sister who hasn't so much as glanced in my direction for over 2 years, and my brother sitting with his new wife that I was so diplomatically not invited to the wedding. THEY smile, THEY get hugs, THEY get support... THEY are ok. But not me. I will forever wear this scarlet letter. The one that lets everyone know what a wreched whore I am. What a defective reject I am.

It hurts... I HURT...

THEY are all on their way to a huge dinner/gala event. 561 of them were invited. Not me. I was sent home, told to LEAVE. It would be inappropriate for me to "sociallize" OF COURSE. For those of you who have talked to me, you would know my WORST fear in life is for someone to not like me... HMPF... Talk about living your nightmare.

I will never be the same from the experience of these last 2 years. So alone. So unworthy. Marked. How can they do this to someone? Yes, I've made mistakes. Yes, I OWN THEM. I LIVE THEM... But I can't take them back. 2 years - TWO YEARS. Where I gave up everything I knew, my husband, my house, my dogs, my friends, my family and I'm still not forgiven. This from the people who said these "displinary actions" were out of love. A loving reproof to HELP ME see the errors of my ways and return to the right path. Well, if embarassment and rejection and shame is a "loving reproof" then consider me reproved.

So I'm that girl. The sad girl who sits in her house. The wierd girl who cuts herself and cries herself to sleep at night. And why go outside? So that I can spend my evening avoiding the 6.5 millions Witnesses out there who aren't allowed to utter so much as a "hello" to me? I didn't know I was THAT GIRL. You know, the one who is so powerful that simply speaking a greeting to me is enough to cripple your whole faith in god. Be warned...

I have some friends. They say "Call me if you need to talk..." Talk about what? About all the things that I can't do anything about? About all the things no one else could understand unless they had truly walked in my shoes?

I have no friends. All I have is distractions. I don't know anyone like me. I know cool people with husbands, kids, busy lives, things to live for, look forward to. And so I sit here in this house... I work... I work some more. I feed the dog. That about covers it.

So I'm home, home alone, again. And I've lost interest in this subject. It's saturday night, but no ones calling. And I don't know if I want them to. I have work to do. I have some shelves to put together in the garage to store some work decorations on.

Take care all. I'll be fine. I always am.