Archive for September, 2005
through it all
Sep 20th
I’ve just finished reading Goat by Brad Land for one of my classes.
Ouch. That’s what I say. This book hurt my soul to the core.
Maybe it’s because I understand him far more than anyone should. I’ve been there. I’ve done crazy things.
He writes:
…I know I’m too much for anyone, that if I let myself, I’d love them all, I’d think they could fix me. But I know they can’t, and it’s enough, because every so often when a girl kisses me, touches my hand, my face, I remember that the world has light.”
I’ve been told, time and again, that I’m too much for people. Just too much.
I’ve been afraid like Brad Land. I’ve lived with that perpetual churning of the stomach everytime I exited my front door, afraid of what the world held for me that day.
I’ve been called those names that will forever echo in my head: stupid, ugly, fat, liar, bitch. I forgot where the labels ended and I began. Words do hurt me.
I’ve bled at the hands of another, bruised, beaten, shaking with every turn.
A young woman in class today said she felt pity for Land. From the beginning to the end of the book, she felt pity. And I wondered…would she feel pity for me, too?
Maybe she doesn’t understand what torment does to the mind. What fear can do to the soul. How overwhelming it can be.
And yet, we want to go on. We cling to things. Land filled his pockets with trinkets of life to remind himself he was still among the living and to cling to the smallest remnants of sanity. I filled my life with my dogs, my photographs, my books. These were sanity.
Like Land, I’m a worrier. I worry about everything. Everything.
I worry if I’m going to fail at grad school, not fulfill my dreams. I worry that I’ll be alone forever. I worry that people at work don’t like me. I worry that I’ve upset my mother.
And through it all, like Land, I had someone to turn to. He had one brother, I had two. When he was scared, that was who he could cry to. When I’m scared, I know they will listen to my cries and try to help me through it. They’ve saved my life, much like Land’s brother saved him.
And in that one single thing, we are wealthy and blessed. Fear does not have to own us because we have something so much more powerful than that.
We have love.
remembering what?
Sep 18th
“The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark.”
~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ~
There are entire sections of my life that I can’t remember; years during my twenties that are either entirely dark or are so hazy that it is useless to rely upon them for any truths at all.
My twenties weren’t so long ago that I should be forgetting them already. It isn’t even a recent occurrence. I couldn’t remember those years in my early thirties, either.
I know, to some extent, the things that happened during those times but that’s just because I was writing journals. I know it was a dark time of my life. It was scary. I wasn’t sure if I’d come out alive.
I remember one incident so clearly that it still stays with me. I had to find something that would give me a reason to smile every day because smiling didn’t happen often then.
I would wake up, see the sun shining through the blinds, making beautiful shadows on the walls, and hear the birds chirping outside.
I clung to that bit of normalcy. My world was a war zone and knowing that the world was still normal outside my walls made everything seem a bit brighter. I could have hope that things would get better. I could believe that life wouldn’t always be so dark.
And it hasn’t been. It’s been a long road to extract myself from that darkness. It has been difficult. It has been painful.
But I’m here. I’m alive. And I’m taking care of me.
I couldn’t ask for much more.
closed doors
Sep 17th
She writes,
“I think no one would stay with me if I allowed myself to be who I am, and so I don’t, and it’s the daily hiding that’s so hard, so tiring, and so lonely.
How do you keep the monsters from touching the ones you love? You don’t love. You keep a cool distance from everyone, even those closest to you, and keep your monsters to yourself.”
I get that. I understand it. I’m thirty-eight years old and I’ve never been in love. I’ve loved…and I’ve loved deeply…but it’s never been an “in love” thing.
Those first relationships taught me not to let people too close. People knowing too much about you can be a dangerous thing.
She says,
“Sometimes it’s hard to believe people truly love you, isn’t it? When your entire life has been spent hearing people’s voices say they love you, but their actions tell you it’s only the external shell they love, because when your internal self comes out to play they run, still loving the outside, but unable to deal with the inside.”
And I think this is the problem. People throw the word “love” around like it’s nothing. “I love you.” Do you really? Do you know what that means? Why do you hurt me, then? Why is it so easy for you to hurt me when you say you love me?
I doubt I’ve ever been truly loved back. I’ve had people tell me that they love me, that they are in love with me. I’m not sure if they were, though, or if they understood what that meant. Or maybe, for them, they were and I just expect too much from someone who says “I love you.”
I have a feeling I may never find that elusive love. There are too many obstacles. I searched the world for it and have ended up coming home to live like a recluse with my dog because love, to me, means pain.
And I don’t want to hurt anymore.
nothing
Sep 14th
I religiously read the blog of an online friend every day. It is raw. It is the dirty underbelly of society that we often close our eyes to and that we refuse to see even though it’s there. It is pain. It is love. It is horrific and it is joyous.
Today, though, I read something that hurt me to the core.
Someone asked her about her reflection in the mirror. She said she’s invisible to others. When asked what she sees, she said, “nothing.”
That hurt my heart. It hurt me to think that she doesn’t see what we may see of her. I know she would say that we don’t understand or that no one truly knows her. I understand that she often feels alone or taxed by too much need of others or that she is beating her head against the wall, that she trying to just stay above the water.
To all of this, I say this: Does anyone truly know any of us? I don’t think there is a soul alive that knows the real me…the me that I feel I am. I don’t think anyone out there knows the depth of my compassion or the ruthlessness of my heart at times. I can be a cold bitch. I can also be a cuddly girl. I can be extremes within moments.
People have perceptions of us that they have formed based on their own experiences in life and how they approach us. Oftentimes, those perceptions are created out of what they may need from us. Oftentimes, they are created out of nothing. People see what they want to see.
I used to look in the mirror and not recognize myself. I didn’t know who that woman looking back at me was. I avoided mirrors because it hurt to not see myself. In fact, sometimes I couldn’t see anything when I looked in the mirror. It was a blur. It was unrecognizable. It was painful.
I don’t wish that on anyone…especially this beautiful woman who gives more than she realizes.
I hope, soon, she sees something in that mirror. I hope she sees all sides of herself and embraces them. I hope she realizes that all of the bad and good make up who she is and that person isn’t as awful as she may think she is.
Most of all, I wish her peace. If there was anything I could give her, it would be that.
elitist?
Sep 6th
We are reading Jarhead in one of my classes this week. We are looking at prospective audiences, themes, reasons for the writing, reasons for reading, types of language used, etc. I love all of these kinds of things. I love healthy debate over literature and like looking at things from a different perspective.
I also like playing devil’s advocate.
I found the book to be a bit dull. I found it to be sophomoric. I didn’t read the brilliance that New York Times or other such esteemed critics read.
I stated this in class today. I also stated that I felt the author used elementary language and spoke down to the audience. I have a feeling he even dummied it down for some reason.
That offends me.
My classmates took offense to the things I said. They liked the book. They liked the level of language used in it. They reminded me that the majority of Americans read at a 6th grade level. They reminded me that Marine “grunts”, for the most part, are probably not educated.
I wondered if I’m an elitist when it comes to literature.
I love William Shakespeare and Jane Austen and Langston Hughes. I also love the books that I call “beach reading” – Stephen King – Okay…I just went to my six bookcases to find some of these “beach readings” to give some titles and couldn’t find any. Maybe I sell them to the used bookstore to get other books. I dunno. But you know the ones I mean – the books you can get at the grocery store book racks. Silly, fun books that you can finish in an afternoon.
Maybe I am a snob. As I perused my bookcases, I noticed a proliferation of Margaret Atwood, Barbara Kingsolver, Maya Angelou, Alice Walker – all authors who deal with serious social issues within their beautiful prose. I noticed the rows of feminist theory, the tomes of English Literature, Romantic poetry, and anthologies of women writers.
Really, what it boils down to is that I like to be engaged. A writer doesn’t have to use polysyllabic words to engage me. It’s the nuances, the depth, the subtelties of language that draw me in. Double entendres. Symbolism. Metaphors. Foreshadowing. The classics of creative writing.
I like language and I like to see it used in an inventive way.
If I wanted something straight, we’d be having a conversation. When I read, I want to be involved.
justice reigns supreme
Sep 4th
The future is blurry (as it always is). Justice Sandra Day O’Connor has resigned. Justice William Rehnquist has now passed away.
Where we had a somewhat moderate voice in the reigning court of the land, we now have upheaval and uncertainty. Will the rulings of the highest court now take a more conservative bent? Will they follow the lead of the Christian Coalitian? Will they project the feelings of a lame duck President or will cooler heads reign?
I think that the next few months in judicial confirmations will be interesting. I think that whomever is chosen to be the next justice could change the entire way this country works. Whomever is elevated to the Chief Justice’s position will be able to steer the court in a very deliberate path.
Am I worried? Definitely. In the last few years the Supreme Court has appointed a President, made rulings on illegal aliens (notably the Elian Gonzalez case), made rulings on the separation of Church and State (in favor of Church), and has ruled on various other cases that affect the citizens of the U.S. on a daily basis.
Will the Court take away my rights as a woman to govern my own body? Will more civil rights be restricted?
I hold out hope that I don’t have anything to fear; it is a thing strand of hope, though.
It is doubtful that our representatives will step up to the plate and fight a good fight.
I am worried.
another round
Sep 2nd
I knew this was coming. I could feel it somehow.
There was an 80% chance that it was going to happen again anyway.
I know it’s “just skin cancer” but it happens to be the worst type of skin cancer: malignant melanoma.
I went in for my regular 6 month check-up on Monday. My doctor did a biopsy the size of Texas (seriously, this is a big gouge in my body). It is as big as my thumb and deep enough that my thumb fits into the depression.
I had a feeling something wasn’t right. It hurt more than the other biopsies have. It bled a lot more than any of the others.
She called about an hour ago to tell me that it was melanoma and that I had to have surgery as soon as possible.
Last time, she had me in the next day. This being a holiday weekend and a short week next week, I didn’t expect that to happen. As it is, they got me in on September 15th at 8am.
I know I’ll be okay because we catch them so early. It’s just so invasive having huge chunks of your body taken out and then having stitches and scars.
And I’m such a wimp. Seriously. I’m a big baby.
