Insomnia

Can you really call it insomnia if you actually fall asleep by 11:00? I guess I'm just talking about the time between when I go to bed and when I actually fall asleep. My mind races and all sorts of thoughts come bubbling to the surface. Some of them are pretty mundane like what I could take out to thaw for dinner in the morning, or the fact that I'm running low on shampoo, but most of the time I'm thinking about My Love. I'm in a long distance relationship. Regular relationships are hard enough, now add hours of driving (and have you SEEN the price of gas?!? Gaaa!!) and clashing work schedules into the mix, throw in some serious complications and the occasional dash of insecurities and you have the recipe for some lost sleep.

Most nights are good. I ALWAYS miss him, but I can metaphorically wrap myself up in all the lovely, wonderful and perfect sweet nothings he's told me throughout the day, and sleep sweet. But sometimes I lie here and blink, trying to chase the worry away, trying to trust. Most of the time I do, and as anyone who has known me for any length of time, trust has always been my downfall. I'm naive and stupid and always want to see the good in people, and it has lead me to some very dark places. I'm certain that's not going to be the outcome this time, or at least fairly certain.

Sometimes the insecurities, fear and doubt get to be too much. Seriously too much. Like I feel like it would be easier to give up and wait for a more opportune time to pursue the relationship, but let's be honest: I love him. I'll always love him, so if I get so scared that I end the relationship, it wouldn't really be over. I'd still dream about him. I'd still think about him non-stop. I'd still be his and no one else's, and I'd still be sick with anticipation over when that "more opportune time" might be.

So I melt down. I have a serious meltdown of nuclear proportions. I cry and shut down and try to shut him out, but I love him and I don't really want to shut him out. I want what everyone wants: to have someone know the core of who I am and love me in spite of the icky parts. So I let him see the crazy in me. I let him in and let him see me unravel. And he listens. And he hurts because I do. And he listens. And he tells me that I'm wrong when I make wild assumptions. And he listens in my moments of weakness. And he hurts.

When I get a grip and realize that I'm freaking out and trying to throw away the most amazing thing I've ever experienced, I am filled with remorse and self-loathing. I have just let my fear, insecurities and uncanny knack for self sabotage drive a wedge between myself and my beloved. And when it's all over, he tells me that he loves me. When I properly apologize, acknowledging what I did, how it made him feel, what I should have done differently and how I plan to deal with it next time, he simply says, "Thank you, but I understand Honey. I love you!" And the best thing is, I know that he means it. He doesn't hold it against me, and probably realizes that I've tortured myself enough for it. It's yet another reminder of how fortunate I am to have him.

So, even though the distance between us sometimes feels like an insurmountable obstacle, I know that we could be a million miles apart, and it wouldn't change how we feel about each other. There is a great comfort in that, so I snuggle up cozy in my bed and drift off to sleep to dream about the day we'll be together for always.

Butterfly Kisses

I remember exactly where I was the day I found out the man who was raising me was not my father. I was sitting on the dryer in our laundry room talking to my mom. I was about 8 years old, and I remember feeling RELIEVED. It meant that the jerk who was always picking at me, screaming at me, hating me, wasn't my dad. It explained why my little sister got away with everything, and I got hit for asking "huh?". Yay! This guy wasn't my dad, and my real dad was out there somewhere and someday he would find me and I would get my Brady Bunch life. Unfortunately, I was stuck with the jerk for several more years until he finally pushed my mom too far with his drugs, cheating and abuse to both her and myself.

I was 12 when he left, and I stopped wetting the bed that very night. Needless to say, it had been pretty bad. Fast forward a few years, and he finally got clean and sober. One of his steps was having to make direct amends to me. I remember being about 14, and mortified at the idea of him confessing or reliving any of the crap he put me through, so I eagerly told him I forgave him rather than hash out all that ugliness. He was grateful for my forgiveness and I was just grateful we didn't have to talk about it.

Forgiveness is a funny thing. Even as a 14-year-old kid I realized the gravity of that word. Now that I gave my forgiveness I couldn't just take it back or have issues with what had been done or I would be a big ol' hypocrite. Because I said those words I had to honor them no matter what it took. What it took for me were long periods of not speaking to him while trying to work things through in my own head. I was always polite, but avoided him if at all possible. I've seen a few therapists for different reasons over the years, but it always comes back to this one relationship that would shape all my future relationships: the relationship between a father and daughter.

I read somewhere that boys generally have higher self-esteem than girls. Boys know that they are handsome, smart and special because we as mothers tell them they are. Of course they don't know why they know it, they just do. We start instilling it at birth in our boys. What about our girls? Moms can tell us as daughters that we are beautiful all day long, but it doesn't sink in or get believed like when we hear it from our Daddy. Who can blame them really? Women are so obsessed with how we look and will do anything to make ourselves look better, it all seems so fake and insincere. Little girls need to hear from their Daddy that they are beautiful just the way they are. Unfortunately, with more and more kids being raised in single parent homes with little to no paternal involvement, our little girls are missing out on their first love: Daddy.

A little girl's first love should definitely be her Daddy. He is the standard by which all other men in her life shall pass or fail: Daddy will always love his little girl no matter what. He will protect her, provide for her, spend quality time with her, never hurt her, cherish and adore her.

It's taken me many years to truly forgive the man I called dad for so many years, but I'm a work in progress. I will admit that whenever My Love takes his daughter outside to ride bikes, push her on the swing or play in the sprinkler, the little girl inside of me is a little jealous thinking of her own broken childhood and the Daddy she always wanted but never got, but soooo happy that his little girl gets to have an amazing first love in her father.

On Love & War

Love and war. I know a little about both subjects, and just when I was convinced that war was the easier way to go, just waiting for the next mission I would be called up for or even volunteer for, love appeared. Oh, cynical heart! Why would we allow ourselves to fall into sweet, sticky love when we already know the outcome? It's the same. It's ALWAYS the same. New and fun and sweet, but soon it's the growing pains and compromises. Sacrifices that we make to what we want and how we feel because we feel we can make it work if we we just give up this one thing or one way of thinking. Before we know it we've given up so much for the sake of the relationship that we've lost ourselves. Avoiding things we once loved or walking on eggshells to avoid a confrontation. ACCEPTING LESS THAN WE DESERVE.

Now, here we are: unhappy, but afraid that maybe THIS is all there is, or that maybe that we are just so screwed up that we don't feel like we can do any better. At some point, we decide that we can be miserable and lonely on our own, and who needs a relationship for that? Now we have to find a way to extricate ourselves with as little complication or hostility as possible. It seems nearly impossible the longer you've been together and more things you have jointly: property, houses, vehicles, furniture, personal effects, children... You know, the usual stuff of life. Guilt, anger, anguish, fear, second guessing... It sucks, and I would rather stab myself in the eye than go through it, but it needs to be done if it's not right...

Let's talk about the word "potential" for a minute here. Potential is a dangerous word and an even more dangerous way of thinking. As a woman I think in terms of potential. In buying a house I see the potential even if it isn't EXACTLY what I want, but with a little money and sweat, I can have the master suite I always wanted, the open kitchen, even the pool in the backyard. We see men the same way: with a little time, love and pressure applied just the right way (up to and including manipulation), and he will be our dream man: no bad habits, sweet, thoughtful, faithful.... The problem with potential is that we tend to have those rose colored glasses on and see things the way we want them to be instead of the way they really are. One day we wake up and realize that the person on the other side of the bed is NEVER going to change. It's not their fault, it's ours for our pompous delusions that WE could change them. So I say, to hell with potential!

Where does that leave us when we decide that we aren't going to settle for something that's wrong? Maybe we decide that we are tired of trying. Relationships take work, but crap! Why am I killing myself to please someone who can't be pleased? So I quit. I'm done with relationships. Don't need one, don't want one, too much work! Going to be single and stay single.

Let's talk about the word "soulmate". Pure B.S. Sappy crap a guy says to get his way whatever that may be. Sorry if I sound cynical, but I've never believed in soulmates. I thought it was a sweet sentiment, but there are plenty of people that I can be perfectly compatible with. There isn't one person out there that I am perfectly matched with, so I just have to decide what I'm willing to live with and without. Yup. No such thing as a "soulmate". And then God decided to prove me wrong...

The first time I met him I didn't look at him with the eyes of someone on the hunt for love. I was adjusting to being single and he was WAAAAAY off limits for a multitude of reasons, but he was handsome and charming... and smart and witty... and sweet and interesting... and attentive and wonderful and amazing... BUT he was still WAAAAAY off limits for a multitude of reasons, so I never allowed myself to think of him that way. Within 2 days he managed to find a way to get my phone number and the texts started coming. They have yet to stop, and I'm not complaining. Never in my life have I ever met anyone like him. He gets me and I get him. The connection I feel with him is absolutely unreal. I was thinking about it this morning and the connection we share is how I always imagined twins to be connected. He's in my head - reading my thoughts, in my heart - causing it's disjointed thundering... I love him with my soul and I would go anywhere, do anything, find any way to be with him. When I look at him I see my future. He is mine and I am his and I know that he was made just for me by God Himself. Maybe He decided I've seen enough war...

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do Part 2

I hung up the phone and felt an overwhelming sense of loss. Going through with the divorce meant that it was truly over. Forever. I was devastated and enraged at the same time. How could he do this to me? To us? To unilaterally make this decision without any input from me, with no warning and no regard for the feelings of the many people it would adversely effect? What a selfish piece of crap! On the other end of the spectrum was the knowledge that if I hadn't been deployed, we would still be together. The heartache that goes along with giving every ounce of your soul to someone KNOWING it wasn't misplaced and then to be let down so spectacularly.

To say I was devastated would be an understatement. I had only known this kind of heartbreak once before, with my first husband, but at least he had the guts to be honest with me. He didn't string me along making me believe everything was okay. He refused to live a lie and was honorable enough to let me go. I can't say the same for my current husband. It seems he had been carrying on his affair for a month. Maybe longer. Telling me the whole time that he loved me more than anything and that we were going to be so happy when I got home.

After a few months, my despair began to turn into determination. At that moment on December 11th, I had everything taken away from me - my husband, my home, my life and my power. I was completely helpless. What can I possibly do from 7,000 miles away? I was absolutely at his mercy. He was calling the shots and I had no control over my own life. Without consciously deciding it, I was determined that I was never going to let that happen again. Sure, I might get my heart broken again, but why put myself in the position to be screwed over?

First order of business, buy a car. In my fiscally responsible reasoning with my husband before I left, I told him we should not buy my car until after I returned home so that we weren't making a payment on something that wasn't being used. Now, I was without transportation. I spent a lot of time researching what I wanted and needed. I picked it out all by myself, and bought it.

Next on the list, a house. My mother (who was a saint and took over caring for my children) scrambled and found a 4 bedroom house for us to rent, complete with a dog. I was relieved because my kids were no longer sleeping on the dining room floor of my sister's dinky apartment, but it soon occurred to me that renting was just putting money in someone else's pocket and in the grand scheme of things I only had something to show for it 30 days at a time. I wanted to buy my own house. My own house means security. It means that even if every relationship I ever get into fails, I will always have my safe haven. Not to mention I want to have stability for my kids. Stability and a place where they can make lifelong friends. The search was on. I found it myself. I saw it. I loved it. I wanted it. I'm getting it. I close in September and I got an unimaginable deal.

As much as it sucked being left in the worst and most cowardly way possible, it truly has made me a stronger, more self-assured person. I know what I want, and I'm going to get it, and no one can stop me.

P.S. I have been home from Iraq for 3 months tomorrow and I still haven't seen the man I'm married to. He avoids me like the plague because he's a coward. It's just another demonstration of his lack of character. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm much better off.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

"I don't think I want to be married to you anymore." The words fell flat in my head like huge granite slabs. When caught in a lie, these are the words my beloved, newlywed husband half whispered to me that night. Technically my night, his morning. You see, I was in Iraq, and he was home in Oregon. He was dropping the 3 year old off at daycare as a matter of fact. He was cheating. He said her name was unimportant, and he wasn't in love with her, but he was "lonely". We can all guess what he meant.

I screamed into the receiver. Told him he didn't have a soul. Told him he would never be even a fraction of the man his father is. Sobbed in disbelief and asked if he had thought about what this was going to do to our family, the kids, our blended family that truly loved each other, the 3 year old who, although not his biological son thinks that the Sun rises and sets at his "Daddy's" command. He stated that he had, but he still wanted to go through with it. I called him selfish, but beyond that what can you say?

That was December 11, 2009. We had just been married February 27th of the same year. I started train-up for my deployment to Iraq at the beginning of April, giving us just over a month of wedded bliss before I left. This was not some fly-by-night hair-brained scheme to make more money. In fact we lost money by getting married, but after nine years of off and on, back and forth, we thought that the fact that we always ended up back together was God telling us something. Looking back, it was probably boredom or the fear of being alone that drove us back together time and time again. We decided to get married. We were deeply in love (at least I thought we were) and living together without any real issues. Of course we had our arguments, but nothing major and we would always resolve, kiss and makeup.

That phone call changed my life in ways I could have never imagined...

To be continued...

Fearless

Fearless. That word carries with it a heavy weight. No one is totally fearless and to profess to be is to open yourself up to scrutiny and rampant testing of your proclamation. Everyone is afraid of something. Sometimes it’s irrational: I once met a girl who was terrified of clowns and nuns. Nuns? She explained it was because she couldn’t see their feet. Okaaaaay. I have an almost irrational fear of spiders, and if one gets on me I will almost dissolve in tears. That is of course after the shrieking and spastic limb thrusting that can only be described as horrifying in it’s own right. Other fears are not so irrational: Fear of losing a loved one or dying alone. Most of these fears are purely psychological, centered around an idea, rather than a physical manifestation. People die. Everyone in fact. Therefore, to fear death is based on a logical and tangible conclusion that everyone will die and either you will be left to mourn them, or they will be left to mourn you and take care of the things you may have left undone.

At dinner last night, the topic of conversation was what to do on our four day pass coming up in a week or two. Some people are flying home from Mississippi to Oregon to spend a few more days with family. I thought I might rent a car and check out Biloxi or head over to Gulf Shores, Alabama and check out the beach. Heck, Bourbon Street in New Orleans is only an hour and a half drive. I could always save my money that I would spend on hotels and head up to Clarksville, Tennessee and stay with my in-laws for a few days. The possibilities are endless. One girl was saying how she wanted to go home, but the plane fare was too expensive. I asked her where home was and she stated she was from Georgia. I told her she could rent a car and drive, and she looked at me as if I’d suddenly sprouted a third eye. “BY MYSELF?!?!?”, she practically shrieked at me. “Why not?”

Why not ? indeed. Some say my Mother is a flake. A restless soul. A gypsy. Never staying in one place too long as if my sister and I were growing up in the witness protection program. It was not an unusual thing to come home from school to find boxes half packed and Mom cheerily packing them full of her antiques, or grumbling about how on Earth we had acquired so many dishes. We were lucky to have the opportunity to go back to school and clean out our desks, and then we were off to a new town with new friends and a new home. We would drive, singing Randy Travis songs until Mom was tired. We would pull into a rest stop and catch a few hours sleep and hit the road again. The open road isn’t something that scares me. In fact, most of the time it bores me. Without stopping to see the sights and attractions that every little town inevitably touts as its claim to fame, the road is just a ribbon of winding asphalt carving its way through mountains and forests, high deserts and prairie.

Maybe it’s because of the fact that I grew up with the gypsy spirit that is my Mother taking us to exciting destinations like…. Oklahoma that I’m not afraid of losing my way. My Mother would marvel at me when I was a young teenager deciding I NEEDED to go to London Underground in Downtown Portland to check out those Doc Martens I HAD to have. She refused to drive me. I didn’t ever bother to ask. It’s well known my Mother HATES driving in Portland. It’s one of her irrational fears. So, with no more than three dollars in change in my pocket, I would hop on the Tri-Met bus that would take me from Hillsboro into Downtown Portland to wander the streets until it was time to head home. At fifteen I would walk the blocks, checking out the stores and shops, the people and the places and marveling at the architecture. If I needed to go elsewhere, I would just hop on another bus, always comfortable in the knowledge that (almost) all buses lead back to Downtown Portland. My Mother said I was fearless.

Now, nearly twenty years later, I still try to embrace the spirit of adventure everywhere I go. I want to see and explore every place I am. It doesn’t matter the reason I’m going, just that I’m there, and I want to make the most of it. Maybe that’s the secret to being fearless. Maybe it isn’t sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop, maybe it’s looking at your life, exactly how it is and determining to make the most of it. Explore your life, explore your city, see things that you’ve never seen before and do things you’ve never done before. Find the joy in everything, and spend each day doing something worthwhile. Nobody gets out of life alive, so spend your time here wisely. Now if I could just come up with an anti-spider force field…

Tagged

I’ve been tagged by AnnMarie. So here you go; random factoids about yours truly:

a) What was I doing 10 years ago?

In 1998? I was 22, pregnant and living in a homeless shelter in Montana.

b) What are 5 things on my to-do list today?

Well, it's a bit late in the day to do stuff, so for tomorrow I need to:

Finish cleaning the kitchen Do laundry Vacuum all floors Clean up my bedroom Go to the bank


c) Snacks I enjoy:

Everything junk! LOL


d) Things I would do if I were a billionaire:

Buy a few houses for myself and some for my family
College for the kiddies
Support various charities for children and troops
Help people who were less fortunate
Travel the world with people I love


e) Places I have lived

Oregon, Washington, California, Idaho, Montana, Oklahoma and South Carolina LOL


f) Who am I tagging?

Ummm, I'd say nobody since the person who tagged me is the only one who reads my blogs... LOL