Peeves

I have a pet peeve. Ok... I have several... and this particular topic probably fits into a bigger category than "pet peeve" implies. I have an Elephant Peeve. Or not... that just sounds gross.

At any rate... here's today's little bitch (and I don't mean me... I'm, quite frankly, a big bitch and I realize that)... I don't really care what your political leanings, religious beliefs or personal creeds are, but what happened to common courtesy? Why does it appear to me that the human race is increasingly showing the worst of humanity? What happened to "thinking before you speak" or even "do unto others?" (ok... yes maybe that last has too much religious connotation for some, but really... is it THAT difficult to accomplish?

I have friends from all walks of life, all backgrounds, skills, religions and political affiliation. I've stated before why I don't share my political beliefs most of the time... but maybe the reality of why is because sometimes, I'm just really on the "don't want to offend anyone" path.

Let's start with something very simple.

Whether you're a presidential candidate, a member of the armed services or just a guy on the street with a big mouth and an opinion, "get a job" shouldn't come out (in writing, in photos, in speeches) as an answer to ... well to anything. I can almost guarantee that you know squat about the person or people you are directing that to. It's insulting to assume that someone who does not have a job is simply "lazy". Do those people exist? Sure. Are they "milking the system"? I'm sure some are. But, if you don't know the circumstances 100%, STFU.

I'm tired of people carelessly commenting on the lives of their "fellow man."

You see folk posting about "bullying" all the time... but I seriously doubt that some of them consider that careless comments can be just as hurtful as someone who's pushed you down in the dirt.

Let me make a few things clear:
- ALL shapes are beautiful. Don't tear someone down because YOU think they're too skinny or too fat or too anything.
- ALL colors are beautiful. It's what makes up the world.
- ALL religions (and no religion) is valid. You are not better than someone else because of what you believe in. You're better when you BEHAVE better and treat people with respect.
- I would LOVE a job... please, PLEASE tell me where I can find one right now. And please don't suggest I'm lazy because I won't take ANY job, but actually prefer to search for a job in my field, and utilize the money I PAID INTO while I do so in order to supplement my income.
- Lastly, please do not point out my flaws, in any way, shape or form. Even if you think it's to help me; even if you think it's to sympathize. I know what my flaws are. I deal with them every damned day. I already feel a failure and don't need your help having it pointed out to me.

If you really want to know what it is to be my friend, stand by me, love me... and consider what your words may be doing to my self-esteem when you comment on what you think you know about me.

(This ramble brought to you by the words "sick" and "tired" and a complete lack of patience anymore).

Being Stuck

Well, it's been a bit since I've posted about this. Honestly, I haven't been ready; I haven't been dealing; I haven't been happy about it.

My next IVF cycle technically starts tomorrow. We're on a different regimen this time and I'm anxious. The one drug they are giving me (Lupron) seems to have a history of bad hormonal reactions from a lot of what I've heard. I'm hoping that my trend of being the exception, not the norm, continues with this one in a positive light... because I'd really rather not deal with that on top of everything else going on in life.

Being unemployed is hard (obviously). But add to that about a million other little things which make me feel a tiny bit useless each time one occurs and you rapidly have a problem. Add hormonal wackiness that my body is just not used to, constant pain that I've dealt with for years, acid reflux rearing it's head again... and it's a wonder I manage to keep myself together on a day-to-day basis.

I'm tired. I'm tired of explaining. I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of crying. I'm tired of feeling that with some people I repeat myself over and over and I'd get more understanding from the wall. I'm tired of feeling back-stabbed, lied to or just ignored.

But I'm most tired of the apparent lack of concern because people are either too "afraid" to ask the dreaded question "How are you?" (when they know the answer is likely not positive) or who just don't care. Or, sometimes worse, who care, but who don't seem to understand the fact that, asking is fine and great and helps remind me I'm loved... but lecturing me on ways to fix my life does very little to make me feel better. I know I have blessings, I know I should exercise, I know, I know, I know...

Here I am, facing more injections, more pain, more bruising, more changes in mood and changes to my body which are not comfortable in the least. Facing more potential disappointment and tears and early morning doctor appointments and blood draws and ultrasounds and procedures and best rests... all the while trying to find a job to keep us out of financial straights - a job that won't mind all the potential interruptions of the above - and to keep a roof over our heads and our bills paid and ....

You get the point. At least I hope you get the point. Because honestly, what I need right now are friends who can help hold me up; not who manage (deliberately or not) to push me down or just turn their back.

_____ Behaving Badly

So, what do you do when people you expect better from are behaving badly? In theory, a real friend would speak up, explain how and why the person in question is effing up and make suggestions to help them fix it. But what do you do when you've attempted that route and are either "wrong", "interfering" or just written off entirely and ignored?

How many times do you try before you just need to give up for your own sanity? How often do you attempt to repair a broken relationship before it just becomes apparent that, maybe, the best answer is to walk away, regardless of how much it may hurt?

When do you admit to yourself that it's entirely possible you've been fed a line for too many years to count, allowed to believe the best in someone when they repeatedly prove that may not be the case, or realize that something, somewhere, somehow changed in the relationship, and no matter how much you are told to the contrary it hasn't, that it is just time to move on, move past and give up?

"Fool me once" as the saying goes... but fool me over and over and over again and it becomes apparent I've either become a masochist at some point or, in truth, you are not who you've led me to believe all this time. It hurts; it's hard to accept; but it's driving me deeper into a frustration I don't need at this time in my life. The effort has become far more than the rewards could ever be and that is sad, but sometimes the only recourse left is to walk away. You don't need me anymore, if you ever did, and I need to not be hurt any longer. I am not here as a friend of your convenience; I am not your mother to teach you right from wrong; but most of all, I am not putting up with it any longer.

I thank you for the times we had. But I can no longer hope for the times we could have. You have spoiled that; you have messed up too many times and ignored all chances to make amends for the hurts you've caused. The future of the relationship is now on you... like trust, my friendship has now become something you must EARN, not merely something you're given.

Cleaning out the cobwebs - more on infertility and other pain

I have only gone through two actual IVF cycles.
But, I also went through 6 cycles of Clomid.
And 5 YEARS trying on our own.

Every failure hurts, but not so much as the failure of giving up entirely. And that is what I need to cling to as I approach our next cycle.

There was so much which had happened during the end of that last cycle, I've had a real hard time getting a handle on it all. I have been depressed. I have been grieving. I have been hurt, time and again, it seems. And I have put a terrible burden upon myself. Every thing that has seemed to go badly lately I have placed the blame squarely on my shoulders.

It's not fair to me. It's not helping me. And it needs to stop.

I have been given "permission" to grieve, but it was pointed out to me that this doesn't mean permission to blame myself. Or permission to hold onto the past, like links in Marley's chain. I've allowed myself to grieve, but getting passed the past has been quite difficult for a variety of reasons. I'm trying... very hard... but I'm not very successful yet.

I have a great fear and anxiety approaching this next cycle. Which will do me absolutely no good. What's worse is my fears and anxieties are spreading, like wildfire to other aspects of my life.

As much as I have worried about the costs associated with going away to Pennsic for a few days, there is another side of me that keeps saying "you need to do this... you need to get away... you need the little fantasy world for just a little bit to get back on track." But, a part of me fears that even the fantasy will be ruined or (maybe worse) be so good coming back will be yet another disappointment.

See? Worries before they even happen. Worries about the past and the future instead of enjoying the "now" like the counselor suggested to me.

*deep breath*

I am a strong woman. I have been through a lot. I have finally started to sort out where real love is in my life, where passing concern and acquaintance resides and where falseness has been allowed to creep in. I need to remember the positive of those people and places and ideas and let the rest walk past me,  move on in life, keep selfishness and hurt and ignorance away. I need to stand up for myself when I'm being taken for granted... but more I need to allow myself to not be so concerned about not being so concerned - I put too much burden on myself to care for the world, when I have neglected myself for far too long.

I can do this. I am ready for this. I may hurt now, but there is still hope (even if it means passing through more hurt, I accept that possibility). And as long as I hold onto hope, I can get past this hardship like I have so many other times before.

My heart hurts tonight.
Something was entrusted to me a long time ago and I was sure I had kept it somewhere I could always go back and read it and reflect on it and remember with great fondness the struggle through a difficult time which led to a great love and passion.

And I have lost those writings. I'm sure they exist somewhere in this world... but they are no longer to be found among my things.

In light of so much that has happened to me lately, this is that proverbial last straw that makes the ache of loss so much more painful right now.

These were a time, a moment, a writing, an emotion I will never be able to reclaim.

One would think memory often more sweet than truth... but, at least right now, I'd rather have the truth of those writings than the faded memories which went with them.

Moving on, Moving Up, Moving Past (Or Why I’m a Terrible Writer)

Sometimes there really aren’t words for all that goes on in one’s head. Emotions are a tricky thing at best and as much as it is sometimes necessary to vent them and rid your mind of them in order to move on, public forum is often a terrible way in which to do so. Why? Because emotions taint everything all of us do. I can say or write one thing, a very clear meaning in mind as I do so, and yet someone else may add their own emotion, feeling, bias to it and change my meaning entirely. I am a lover of language and truly believe anything can be expressed through writing. Pure writing can take out emotion, can lay the soul bare and explain more concisely than the spoken word, tinged with emotions and inflection and body language ever can. But, the real problem with such writing is that you can never ever control the emotion of the reader. Certainly words can manipulate the emotions; create anger or sadness or joy… but to attempt to remove the emotions of the reader is impossible.

That being said, I did my best to vent my spleen in a private place. I am still full of a great hurt and disappointment and fear. But, I cannot change the past… I can only acknowledge it, grieve for it and move past it. It’s been pointed out to me that I dwell too much on the past; and what’s worse, I take too much burden of it upon myself. I cannot change events. What’s more, I cannot change those who do not wish to change themselves. We all walk a lonely path; the best we can hope for is one or two who can hold us up when the road becomes too rocky. I have to remember I have those one or two and be grateful for that instead of lamenting the lack of many to carry me along that path. In the end, we walk a lonely path… and if we don’t learn how, we end up merely walking in circles.

On to the second part of my title – why I am a terrible writer. Unless I were to write tripe for Hallmark, I don’t think many poets make a living from their writing. I’ll happily retract that statement for proof to the contrary; particularly in the form of monetary compensation for my poetry. So, my main means of writing makes for a poor way to pay my mortgage.

Which leaves my prose… which leads me to answer the above question.

I write in the moment. I am inspired to my writing by that which surrounds me. I write as the words flow into my head, rather than plan a story arch, make an outline, develop characters and then write the story. Or, perhaps more importantly, the story writes through me, rather than I write any story. I am merely the conduit through which the words spill onto a page. There is no planning; what inspiration I glean I get from gaming or dreaming or broken hearts.

My greatest “achievement” in the arena of writing thus far has been my novella of the Fae of Sylvania. Now, for those of you in the “know” this should probably more than explain my Writer’s Dilemma. This novella has been over 10 years in the making. And it’s still not finished. And due to my serious lacking of memory, may remain an uncompleted work until the day I die.

Some have said “well… just make it up – it doesn’t need to follow what really happened in the game.” But, that feels untrue; false. I can’t get the “tone” of the characters right (with one possible exception) and the story was told; was played out… how can I change that? What’s more, how could I write an entirely new story that had never been told?

And that’s why I’m a terrible writer. A real writer wouldn’t need that sort of outside inspiration to the actual actions of the story. Inspiration for characters or a plotline perhaps… but not inspiration for every action which takes place; every word a character speaks.

I am an excellent mimic. I can take the tale that happens and capture it on paper, much like writing a plot review for a favorite movie. But, I have no story of my own to tell. And that’s sad – because I will never have those years back again. They are lost to me now… a fond memory, fast fading into the future.

Which brings me back full circle to the start of this entry… I live in the past. It’s shiny and sparkling and very beautiful from way up here in the future and so it always just seems like a happier time. And, those which aren’t so happy? That way leads to anger and emotions which drive that happy story like a villain to my heroes. You cannot define light without the darkness; goodness without evil.

So, I’m left bereft of a good story… only able to use “real life” events to tell fictional tales. What’s more is that sometimes those real life events fall into that category of “things best left unsaid in public.” A real writer wouldn’t care; she’d put it all out there in some form; find a way to use the words to manipulate not just emotions but actions of those around her. Inspire, cowl, anger, shame… playing the reader like a violin, without them even realizing she’s done it. My words only fall flat; lumps of aggression, puddles of tears, questions of confusion. If I can’t even shape one person’s understanding, how can I expect to reach an entire readership with my stories?

A Thousand Stabbing Hurts

This weekend seemed to be full of them. Physically and emotionally and even financially.

I am at a loss. I have so many words and yet they all seem to get stuck.

I am hurt and angry and devastated and ... it turns into a vicious cycle. When I think I've got one hurt under control, something pulls the rug out from under me and all those paper cut wounds come bursting open again.

I'd like to blame self-involvement... but I'm certainly as guilty of such as the next. So instead I'll blame complacence. Somewhere along the line, it seeped in. I recognized it years ago when I commented on one of my yearly ruminations on Erik's death. But, it wasn't until now that I realized just how much it had seeped in; soaking everything around me.

This is likely to be the last post for a while. I need a break from the world and I'm tired of trying to be nice; trying to pretend there's nothing wrong - with me, with situations, with others - and I'm quite honestly tired of being hurt so much.

My body and mind need a break. So I'm going to indulge them in that.