Before I get into it, I'd like to point out how, for some reason, emasculating it is to order a specialty latte with "no whip." I then feel obligated to point out that it's not because I'm on a diet or something, it's just because when I put the lid on it starts to ooze out the sides and the little pinhole thing at the top and, sometimes, when you peel the drinky/sippy part back the whipped cream shoots out right on me and gets all over my clothes and I'm just not down with that. I don't dig it. So, most of the time I just let them put the whipped cream on top and then I put the lid on and deal with the repercussions. I've tried licking/eating the whipped cream off first but it feels dangerously erotic in ways it shouldn't and I don't feel like that's something I should be doing in public. Not to mention the mess it creates by getting all over my face and then I just look really super childish. It's a fucking mess. Anyway, on to bigger things.
My therapist/counselor/whatever and I have been discussing whether or not I ever really achieved closure from my father's death. First off, I'd like to say she is, really and truly, only a counselor. But I have issues with that title. If I call her a therapist it makes it feel more official in my mind. More necessary. If I tell people I'm seeing a counselor, it sounds stupid, it sounds wimpy, it sounds like I don't have any direction in life. I guess I don't know if I do or not, but there's that. So, anyway, she's a counselor but I call her my therapist.
We're discussing closure. I couldn't say whether or not I've ever actually achieved it. I found ways to cope with it, but never actually confronted it head on. The ways I found to cope with it were, obviously, less than healthy and had caused some pretty disastrous results in my life after a while. As the saying goes, "You can run, but you can't hide." I can tell you, that shit's true, dude. Amy (my counselor) suggested I write a letter to my dad as a form of attempting to reach closure. Y'know, tell him all the shit about how his death has affected me, the things he's missed out on, and whatever the hell else I felt like was worthy of inclusion.
The thing is, I can't write this letter. It's like the thing of telling all the people the shit I wish I could. Only a little different. I can't write this letter because, well, he's dead. I don't write letters to dead people. What's the point? Who would read it? Why am I writing it all down anyway? I'm going to write it and I'm not going to read it. I'm going to write it and I'm going to immediately delete it, or throw it in the trash after tearing it up, or whatever. It's about as pointless as masturbation. Well, I guess that's a bad analogy, masturbation is pointless but it has its purpose. Once you're done with it you are truly done, but sometimes it's just something that needs to be done. Shit. Maybe I should write this letter just to get that "release." Ah, fuck.
But, that was not my intention for this post and it's not what I'm going to do. I was going to write the story, from my recollection, of his death and the time leading up to it. I've really been slacking on writing in here and I need to get better. I still have some sliver of hope in my life thinking that somehow I might be able to make writing a source of income and happiness and be able to quit all these other bullshit jobs I've had through the years. So, here goes nothing. I can assure you that what follows, extremely few people have heard and my recollection may be a bit foggy at this point, but it's to the best of my ability. It will also be extremely difficult for me to write and you better believe, sure as you have a crack in your ass, that it's going to be long. Even though this post is already dreadfully lengthy.
My dad wasn't doing too well to begin with. He had colon cancer which they removed and thought it was successful. In a follow up visit they discovered it had come back and was inoperable. Basically, "Sorry, you're done for, Mr. Weaver. All we can really do is make sure you're comfortable up until however long it takes." I was a junior in college at GVSU at the time and was coming back to my hometown every weekend to spend time with dad and basically do anything he needed done that I could do for him. When we got this news, the talk of hospice came up. As a veteran of WWII, everything was covered for my dad through the VA. All we had to do was make the arrangements and do the damn thing. Through some tough conversations it was decided that I "wasn't dropping out of school" (as he put it) to take care of my dad and hospice was the thing we were doing. I still would be up every weekend to visit him in the hospital (about an hour's drive away from our house) and take care of the house and things since nobody would be living there through the week. All the shit like utility bills, car payments, credit card bills, whatever else, were now my responsibility to take care of too. Mind you, dad was still providing the cash to cover them, but I was in charge of seeing that it gets paid. I know a lot of other kids have had it tougher than me growing up, but it seemed like a lot of crap on my plate between classes, keeping all these affairs in order, knowing in the back of my mind that my dad was dying, and coming up every weekend to take care of stuff. It was overwhelming at times.
A new semester had just started and that brought along some of its own stress. It must have been the first week yet because I remember looking over the syllabi for some classes the day before I got the call. A call that happened at something like 2am. I didn't answer it, I remember hearing my phone ring but not answering because it was a night that I had class the next day and I figured it was just drunk people calling. That happens a lot in college and it might happen even more when you're in a fraternity. I remember the phone ringing, reaching down and pressing the silence button, and sending the call to voicemail. I didn't listen to it until I was up and getting ready the next day. When I did, it was from one of the doctors overseeing my dad. This is the VA, so all the doctors are from some foreign land far away and their accents are thick as hell. But, I had no trouble understanding what the dude said, "Hello, Mr. Weaver, I'm calling about your father, Earl. He has recently become... uhhh... unresponsive and I'm afraid I don't think he has much time left - a few days at most. If you have any questions, please feel free to call back any time."
In hindsight, I was kind of stupid. I can't explain why, but I just went about my school day. In my fucked up reasoning, that was the thing to do. Nevermind the fact that my dad could die, probably any second, I've got to walk around this goddamn campus and pretend like nothing is going on. Maybe I thought that's what he would want. Maybe I just didn't want to deal with the reality that I had to face. Maybe I really just was a fucking idiot to think that if I ignored it, it would go away. Maybe I thought it was a joke. I don't know, but it was stupid. I still can't explain it to myself, but it's what I did. I made it most of the day as if nothing was actually going on. Just another day. I even remember stopping in the spot where all my friends hung out and chatting and goofing off like nothing was happening - I didn't even make any mention to anyone about the phone call I received. Nope. just another day.
I made it through most of the day like that. I dunno how, but I did. Another shining example of my ability to hold in emotions when they're SCREAMING to be let out. Luckily, I think I've got a hang on that bottling it up stuff. I was in one of my last classes for the day, it might have been second to last. I remember it was a writing class that was NEEDED for graduation at GVSU. I think it was WRT350 for some reason. Class started and I made it about 40 minutes into the three hour class. I calmly gathered all my things, got up and walked out. Once outside the door I started that hurried walk some people do when they are about to shit their pants but don't want to outright run and the bathroom is in sight. I did that all the way to my car... feeling tears on the verge of bursting through but never quite getting there. I wanted to cry but also didn't want to face the potential ridicule I might face if someone saw me (and of course they fucking would, it's a college campus, there's people everywhere).
I don't remember if I went home first to get clothes or what. But, I knew I wasn't coming back right away. The next thing I do remember is merging on to the freeway and calling my mom, the tears (finally) flowing freely. Of course voicemail picked up and I left what I can only assume was an almost unintelligible message that went something like, "I got a call from dad's doctors and I think he's dying, he's at least unresponsive. I'm coming home and I'll see you in a few hours."
And that's where we'll leave it until I feel like I can write more of this... But, man, I need a break right now. To be continued in part two of however many pieces it takes me to finish...
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Sunday, February 14, 2016
Formative Memories: An Ongoing Series of Mostly True, But Potentially Embellished Greatly, Stories based in Memory
Kids are always looking for some weird form of responsibility. We all want to be grown in a hurry because it seems to be the coolest thing imaginable. Until you are grown and then you'd give anything to be a kid again. That's not the point I'm looking for, but it's odd to think about.
I was like any other kid my age in this aspect. I wanted responsibility of some sort and, man, when a parent trusted you with a task and it seemed like it might be kinda fun too? Well that was a win on almost all levels. It was a summer day and I must have been somewhere between the ages of five to seven. Somewhere in there. Summertime, when you're a kid, seems to stretch on forever and school had just let out. I had an eternity ahead of me to enjoy everything about not being in school.
Today was going to be extra fun because dad was mowing the lawn. That meant that I'd be sitting on his lap and enjoying a grand tour of our lawn straight from the pilot's chair. Another one of those things that seems awesome when you're a kid, but as an adult are significantly less cool than you remembered. Of course, dad was up to his usual tricks; he had promised me he'd "cross my palms with silver" if I picked up all the sticks in the yard so the mower blades wouldn't be dulled. To this day, I can't imagine why we don't have blades on mowers that are just tough enough to withstand it, c'mon, people. Also, I was always disappointed (and how did I not remember?) to learn that having my palms crossed with silver didn't mean I was actually getting paid, but that my dad would simply hold a quarter in his hands and, literally, draw a cross on my palms with it and then tuck the quarter back in his pocket with a smug look of satisfaction on his face.
While I was traversing the lawn and ensuring it was clear of any debris from those bastard trees I made a discovery. An exciting one for a kid my age too: some rabbit had decided to have its kids in a little hole right next to one of our trees in the yard. I didn't know where the mom had gone, but she had left the nest, or whatever it's called, full with what looked to be five or six small, white, baby rabbits. I ran to my dad almost immediately and told him what I found and this earned me another precious task of responsibility: gathering up all the baby rabbits before dad mowed so they wouldn't be hopping all over the yard when he was mowing. Dad dug through the garage and basement and found a box somewhere that seemed an appropriate size to store them in while we mowed. He put a folded up towel in the bottom and charged me with placing them all in there and making sure I captured them all.
What seemed like a few hours later, but was probably really just a single hour, I was all set. The yard was stick free and baby rabbit free. The mom rabbit was still nowhere to be found, and it was doubtful I'd be able to catch her anyway. The babies were still kinda dumb or something, because they didn't even attempt to run away (except for one or two that I caught quickly) when I reached into the small rabbit hole. Anyway, the point is the work was done and it was time to ride that lawn mower - the anticipated highlight of my dad for sure. If I was gonna be real lucky, dad might even let me steer the tractor here and there. To a kid that small, that's practically being entrusted with driving! Driving - another one of those things that seems really cool as a kid, but as an adult I'm totally over it. I just wish I had someone to drive me everywhere these days and can't wait until self-driving cars are affordable and mainstream.
The time had arrived and dad pushed the huge grey Craftsman riding lawn mower out of the garage, popped its hood, and did whatever dads do when they pop the hood before starting the mower. I've still not figured that out, but that might be because I don't have any kids of my own - or any mechanical ability to speak of. I looked over the dashboard of the thing while he was doing that. The lever that adjusted speed was most interesting with a turtle at the bottom and a rabbit at the top, and it seemed like a funny coincidence to my kid brain. Dad finished up whatever it was he was doing underneath the hood, had my hop out of the seat and got in it himself. He patted his knee as an invitation for me to join him and ride around the lawn while he cut the grass. Finally, the thing I had been waiting for all day had arrived.
It was great riding around the lawn and looking behind us to see the path the mower made in the grass. What was once an unruly looking yard was being tamed by my dad and I in a co-effort to make our neighborhood respectable looking. After a few laps around the yard and after dad had established a good looking pattern for the grass, he decided it was time for me to do some steering. The front side of our yard was done and we were now on the side with the tree where the rabbits had made their home. This thing was hard to steer - but, I guess most riding lawn mowers don't have power steering and this Craftsman certainly didn't. In hindsight, I'd be surprised if that Sears piece of shit cost $500. Seriously, here's a picture of one, I'm surprised anyone ever bought these ugly pieces of shit:
I was like any other kid my age in this aspect. I wanted responsibility of some sort and, man, when a parent trusted you with a task and it seemed like it might be kinda fun too? Well that was a win on almost all levels. It was a summer day and I must have been somewhere between the ages of five to seven. Somewhere in there. Summertime, when you're a kid, seems to stretch on forever and school had just let out. I had an eternity ahead of me to enjoy everything about not being in school.
Today was going to be extra fun because dad was mowing the lawn. That meant that I'd be sitting on his lap and enjoying a grand tour of our lawn straight from the pilot's chair. Another one of those things that seems awesome when you're a kid, but as an adult are significantly less cool than you remembered. Of course, dad was up to his usual tricks; he had promised me he'd "cross my palms with silver" if I picked up all the sticks in the yard so the mower blades wouldn't be dulled. To this day, I can't imagine why we don't have blades on mowers that are just tough enough to withstand it, c'mon, people. Also, I was always disappointed (and how did I not remember?) to learn that having my palms crossed with silver didn't mean I was actually getting paid, but that my dad would simply hold a quarter in his hands and, literally, draw a cross on my palms with it and then tuck the quarter back in his pocket with a smug look of satisfaction on his face.
While I was traversing the lawn and ensuring it was clear of any debris from those bastard trees I made a discovery. An exciting one for a kid my age too: some rabbit had decided to have its kids in a little hole right next to one of our trees in the yard. I didn't know where the mom had gone, but she had left the nest, or whatever it's called, full with what looked to be five or six small, white, baby rabbits. I ran to my dad almost immediately and told him what I found and this earned me another precious task of responsibility: gathering up all the baby rabbits before dad mowed so they wouldn't be hopping all over the yard when he was mowing. Dad dug through the garage and basement and found a box somewhere that seemed an appropriate size to store them in while we mowed. He put a folded up towel in the bottom and charged me with placing them all in there and making sure I captured them all.
What seemed like a few hours later, but was probably really just a single hour, I was all set. The yard was stick free and baby rabbit free. The mom rabbit was still nowhere to be found, and it was doubtful I'd be able to catch her anyway. The babies were still kinda dumb or something, because they didn't even attempt to run away (except for one or two that I caught quickly) when I reached into the small rabbit hole. Anyway, the point is the work was done and it was time to ride that lawn mower - the anticipated highlight of my dad for sure. If I was gonna be real lucky, dad might even let me steer the tractor here and there. To a kid that small, that's practically being entrusted with driving! Driving - another one of those things that seems really cool as a kid, but as an adult I'm totally over it. I just wish I had someone to drive me everywhere these days and can't wait until self-driving cars are affordable and mainstream.
The time had arrived and dad pushed the huge grey Craftsman riding lawn mower out of the garage, popped its hood, and did whatever dads do when they pop the hood before starting the mower. I've still not figured that out, but that might be because I don't have any kids of my own - or any mechanical ability to speak of. I looked over the dashboard of the thing while he was doing that. The lever that adjusted speed was most interesting with a turtle at the bottom and a rabbit at the top, and it seemed like a funny coincidence to my kid brain. Dad finished up whatever it was he was doing underneath the hood, had my hop out of the seat and got in it himself. He patted his knee as an invitation for me to join him and ride around the lawn while he cut the grass. Finally, the thing I had been waiting for all day had arrived.
It was great riding around the lawn and looking behind us to see the path the mower made in the grass. What was once an unruly looking yard was being tamed by my dad and I in a co-effort to make our neighborhood respectable looking. After a few laps around the yard and after dad had established a good looking pattern for the grass, he decided it was time for me to do some steering. The front side of our yard was done and we were now on the side with the tree where the rabbits had made their home. This thing was hard to steer - but, I guess most riding lawn mowers don't have power steering and this Craftsman certainly didn't. In hindsight, I'd be surprised if that Sears piece of shit cost $500. Seriously, here's a picture of one, I'm surprised anyone ever bought these ugly pieces of shit:
Right in the middle of my lawn mower steering bliss, I saw it out of the corner of my eye. Something white and quick to the left. It was too fast for me to discern what it truly was, but my brain quickly put things together when it was too late.
The baby rabbit that I had missed was right in line of our mower and I was steering the damn thing. "Look out, Adam!" my dad warned, but I couldn't turn the wheel that easily. I guess my dad didn't think to take over or he feared I might fall off or something, and the mower remained on its path straight for the baby. Like many of its siblings, the baby rabbit didn't even seem to want to run. He just kinda sat there placid and awaited his fate. Truly, I know the mower wasn't going that fast (10hp, come on!) but it seemed to go by too quickly to do anything. Before I knew it, the rabbit disappeared from the front of my view and I turned my head to see clumps of white fur (now dyed significantly red in parts) shoot out onto the lawn and into the clean grass.
I don't remember dad's reaction, but I do remember mine. At first, it was nothing just a brief pause in my brain saying, "That was kinda weird." Then I remember crying silently, alone later about it. I had one simple task when it came to those rabbits, and that was to get them all - and I had failed. I know now I was just a kid and kids make mistakes, but it seemed pretty heavy at the time. To this day, that day sticks with me. It' weird the things the mind hangs on to...
Thursday, February 4, 2016
Emotional Vulnerability
There was a time, not that long ago, that emotional vulnerability seemed like one of the worst things in the world. It seemed to take insane amounts of alcohol for me to even be able to recognize my emotions and even more booze yet for me to let them come out. Luckily for me, I never drank all that often. But, when I did drink, I could (and would) sure put 'em down.
Then all the emotions would come boiling to the surface. Unfortunately for me, it was mostly emotions that had developed into self loathing. And a lot of that probably resulted in my inability to cope with or express my emotion. Emotion that had been built up over countless years. Way too many. Years of being teased as a fat kid, years of feeling inadequate because I never seemed to be good at anything like sports or playing musical instruments, years of failed diets, left over emotions from deaths, left over emotions from break ups, left over emotions from just the shitty stuff that seems to go on in the world. There it all was, bottled up and mostly unaddressed.
I've touched on this stuff before, I know. Sorry for repeating myself.
It exploded. It came out at a very bad time and had terrible consequences for me. There's not a lot I can do about it now, it's over and done with, but I knew I couldn't go on living life that way. I sought out a therapist and have been going religiously every two weeks. Two weeks seems like the perfect amount of time for me because each week seems just mundane enough, but when a couple weeks pass, shit happens.
You know what's crazy? I've noticed a huge change in myself. Others have noticed a change. But, nothing really has changed... and, yet, it has. I still am who I always was, but I somehow have learned that my self loathing is undeserved. I'm not as bad as I think I am and people don't seem to think so either.
I wish I would have been able to accept that earlier.
I also know it's alright to feel things. I guess that might sound stupid to some people - but I needed to learn it. It's okay to feel. This has caused some interesting side effects to me. I wasn't sure I quite believed that I had accepted this idea, until the other day. I'll get into it, but first you need a little background. To keep things somewhat anonymous, but not entirely for those that know me, I'm going to refer to my coworker as Stephanie.
Stephanie is close to my age, just a little bit younger. She's fairly recently married and one hell of a catch to any guy. She's friendly, funny, drop dead gorgeous, and has a decent career. She's moved through the ranks at my employer pretty swiftly. Stephanie is also pregnant with her first kid. It's incredible to hear her talk about her growing baby because, I swear, I can feel her excitement. I know she's going to make one hell of an awesome mom too. You can really tell just in the way her eyes light up when she mentions every doctor appointment, talks about stuff she read in magazines, or whatever. It's a great thing and sometimes I'll bring up stuff I've read just because it's such a great feeling to see someone have such genuine excitement and joy for the future.
Stephanie has a doctor's appointment to find the gender of the baby - and starts having contractions. The doc says, "Whoa, Stephanie, this is pretty crazy. I think you better stay on bed rest and take it easy until this kid of yours is ready to make his appearance." Stephanie agrees and is no longer at work.
A few short days later, a Facebook post from her husband shows up on my Facebook newsfeed. It says that Stephanie had the baby that day, prematurely, and he (the baby) had passed away within the minute.
I read this and was absolutely devastated. Seriously, I couldn't contain the tears even if I wanted to. I could only imagine the pain and suffering that Stephanie must be going through. The guilt (even though it's not her fault by any means) she must be feeling, the complete and utter sadness and emptiness. The unfairness of the world we live in. The thought that one of the things that made someone so goddamn happy I could see it in their face, even when she was feeling ill from pregnancy stuff, was taken away from them just because.... just because... just because life is unfair seemed like the complete and utter bullshit it is. To make it worse, there's nobody that can be blamed. There's nothing anyone can do and, so, all that anyone can be left with out of this situation is sadness. I can't even begin to fathom what Stephanie must be thinking or feeling - but I have a weird feeling it's not sunshine and rainbows. For something like this to happen to someone so undeserving, destroyed me for a while. It still chokes me up when I think about what she must be feeling, what she must be thinking, and what must be running through her mind.
When I read that, and had the reaction that I did, I knew something within me had changed. Because, before that would have just been another shitty thing happening to someone and that's that. That's how I would have processed it. I would have moved on to the next tragedy because, hell, life seemed like mostly shit and if you keep expecting shit, you won't be shocked or disappointed when it happens.
That's not me anymore. I'm glad for that. But, like I said earlier, I wish it hadn't taken me so long to get here. As for Stephanie, well, she's still not at work and I don't know when she's coming back. I know it's not going to be easy for her and I don't even know what to say to her when she does come back. Just the thought of seeing her though and not seeing the smile that she usually has is making me tear up...
Then all the emotions would come boiling to the surface. Unfortunately for me, it was mostly emotions that had developed into self loathing. And a lot of that probably resulted in my inability to cope with or express my emotion. Emotion that had been built up over countless years. Way too many. Years of being teased as a fat kid, years of feeling inadequate because I never seemed to be good at anything like sports or playing musical instruments, years of failed diets, left over emotions from deaths, left over emotions from break ups, left over emotions from just the shitty stuff that seems to go on in the world. There it all was, bottled up and mostly unaddressed.
I've touched on this stuff before, I know. Sorry for repeating myself.
It exploded. It came out at a very bad time and had terrible consequences for me. There's not a lot I can do about it now, it's over and done with, but I knew I couldn't go on living life that way. I sought out a therapist and have been going religiously every two weeks. Two weeks seems like the perfect amount of time for me because each week seems just mundane enough, but when a couple weeks pass, shit happens.
You know what's crazy? I've noticed a huge change in myself. Others have noticed a change. But, nothing really has changed... and, yet, it has. I still am who I always was, but I somehow have learned that my self loathing is undeserved. I'm not as bad as I think I am and people don't seem to think so either.
I wish I would have been able to accept that earlier.
I also know it's alright to feel things. I guess that might sound stupid to some people - but I needed to learn it. It's okay to feel. This has caused some interesting side effects to me. I wasn't sure I quite believed that I had accepted this idea, until the other day. I'll get into it, but first you need a little background. To keep things somewhat anonymous, but not entirely for those that know me, I'm going to refer to my coworker as Stephanie.
Stephanie is close to my age, just a little bit younger. She's fairly recently married and one hell of a catch to any guy. She's friendly, funny, drop dead gorgeous, and has a decent career. She's moved through the ranks at my employer pretty swiftly. Stephanie is also pregnant with her first kid. It's incredible to hear her talk about her growing baby because, I swear, I can feel her excitement. I know she's going to make one hell of an awesome mom too. You can really tell just in the way her eyes light up when she mentions every doctor appointment, talks about stuff she read in magazines, or whatever. It's a great thing and sometimes I'll bring up stuff I've read just because it's such a great feeling to see someone have such genuine excitement and joy for the future.
Stephanie has a doctor's appointment to find the gender of the baby - and starts having contractions. The doc says, "Whoa, Stephanie, this is pretty crazy. I think you better stay on bed rest and take it easy until this kid of yours is ready to make his appearance." Stephanie agrees and is no longer at work.
A few short days later, a Facebook post from her husband shows up on my Facebook newsfeed. It says that Stephanie had the baby that day, prematurely, and he (the baby) had passed away within the minute.
I read this and was absolutely devastated. Seriously, I couldn't contain the tears even if I wanted to. I could only imagine the pain and suffering that Stephanie must be going through. The guilt (even though it's not her fault by any means) she must be feeling, the complete and utter sadness and emptiness. The unfairness of the world we live in. The thought that one of the things that made someone so goddamn happy I could see it in their face, even when she was feeling ill from pregnancy stuff, was taken away from them just because.... just because... just because life is unfair seemed like the complete and utter bullshit it is. To make it worse, there's nobody that can be blamed. There's nothing anyone can do and, so, all that anyone can be left with out of this situation is sadness. I can't even begin to fathom what Stephanie must be thinking or feeling - but I have a weird feeling it's not sunshine and rainbows. For something like this to happen to someone so undeserving, destroyed me for a while. It still chokes me up when I think about what she must be feeling, what she must be thinking, and what must be running through her mind.
When I read that, and had the reaction that I did, I knew something within me had changed. Because, before that would have just been another shitty thing happening to someone and that's that. That's how I would have processed it. I would have moved on to the next tragedy because, hell, life seemed like mostly shit and if you keep expecting shit, you won't be shocked or disappointed when it happens.
That's not me anymore. I'm glad for that. But, like I said earlier, I wish it hadn't taken me so long to get here. As for Stephanie, well, she's still not at work and I don't know when she's coming back. I know it's not going to be easy for her and I don't even know what to say to her when she does come back. Just the thought of seeing her though and not seeing the smile that she usually has is making me tear up...
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
I'd Like To
I'd like to say I'm perfect and that I've made no mistakes.
I'd like to say love is eternal and ignore my own heartache.
I'd like to say that everything is just as it should be.
I'd like to say I don't understand what it means to feel lonely.
I'd like to say I know what's up and exactly where my life's headed.
I'd like to say I have no cares and it all works out in the end.
I'd like to say that everything turns out like one big movie.
I'd like to say I'm full of hope and things are going groovy.
I'd like to say that I'm carefree and focused solely on the moment.
I'd like to toss my hands up high and shout at the world "Yeah, so what?".
I'd like to. Sure. I'd like to. But it's plain to see.
I'd like to. Yeah. I really would. But that's not true to me.
I'd like to say love is eternal and ignore my own heartache.
I'd like to say that everything is just as it should be.
I'd like to say I don't understand what it means to feel lonely.
I'd like to say I know what's up and exactly where my life's headed.
I'd like to say I have no cares and it all works out in the end.
I'd like to say that everything turns out like one big movie.
I'd like to say I'm full of hope and things are going groovy.
I'd like to say that I'm carefree and focused solely on the moment.
I'd like to toss my hands up high and shout at the world "Yeah, so what?".
I'd like to. Sure. I'd like to. But it's plain to see.
I'd like to. Yeah. I really would. But that's not true to me.
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Miracle on Cascade Street
Do you guys wanna hear something weird? I'm sure you do. Gather 'round, kiddies.
Yesterday I went out to breakfast by myself. It's one of my little treats I do for myself just because I'm awesome and I deserve shit like that. It's also tradition before I go to my therapy session. The nearest Coney Island for a gyro meat and feta cheese omelette, french fries instead of hash browns, and white toast. Coffee and water to drink.
If time allows, it's also an extension of my daily allotment of "me" time where I get to read, listen to new music I've been meaning to, maybe write a little bit, whatever. The rule is I can't do anything important during "me" time. Although, I could make a case for the importance of all those things. Anyway, I digress in getting to the true point of the story.
This particular morning, I had a lot of time. I got my breakfast, I read my book for about an hour, I drank a lot of coffee (bottomless refills!), and I was feeling quite pleased with myself before seeing my therapist. I had to drive straight to work after my appointment, so I was set for that with all my stuff I'd need for the day. I gather up all my things, hit the restroom, and head up to the counter to pay my bill and be on my way.
One thing some have noticed about me is I'm chronically early. Like, I'm the dude that's at work 30 minutes early just because I don't feel right if I'm not. This goes for most things in my life. I'd like to be at the movie theater early, I need to be at all concerts early, shows, whatever. If there's a specific time I need to be somewhere, I need to be there BEFORE I have to be there by a fair margin.
My appointment is at 11, which means I'm at the office by 10:35a and just chilling in the parking lot. I'm looking to maybe dust off a few more pages of the book I"m reading. I don't remember why, but I needed to get out of my car briefly and stand, so I did that. When I did, I did my little habit of checking my pockets periodically to make sure everything is there (wallet, keys, money clip, phone) and.... it's not. I dig inside my pocket to be sure and am hit with disappointment. I wasn't mistaken, something is missing. My money clip is gone. My money clip that typically has $50 in it just in case i need cash, my money clip that had a $100 gift card for a restaurant in it... my goddamn, motherfucking money clip that has FIFTY DOLLARS IN CASH THAT I CAN'T GET BACK.
I frantically search the car... it's not there. It's not under the seat, it's not in the little crack between the seat and console/door that sometimes loses stuff. It's not in my car. The only other place it could be is in the Coney Island. It probably slid out of my pocket when I grabbed my phone while I was in the booth. Maybe it dropped in the bathroom. But, it's there. There's no doubt in my mind. I call the restaurant on the extremely slim chance that someone found it and decided to turn it in.
The young girl on the other end of the line tells me nobody's turned anything like that in. I can almost hear it registering in her mind that there's a free $50 somewhere in her work area if she just finds it first. They do take my number down "just in case" it turns up. I'm not hopeful. But, at the same time (and this is a big change for me), I also am okay with this idea. Yeah, I acknowledge it sucks... but it's just money. It's not the end of the world. I can get more.
My day continues as planned. Appointment, head straight to work, come home, put on my pajamas and head to bed, all that jazz. No phone call all day. I'm still at peace with it. The thought has actually even crossed my mind that I am hopeful someone needful found it - someone who was $50 shy of rent, or maybe a parent that couldn't afford a birthday present for their kid, maybe someone facing a shutoff notice for their electricity... the possibilities are endless. Whatever though - it's gone.
Today rolls around. I get out of my PJs and into work duds. I work. I come home and get back into PJs immediately because that's just how I roll. I am thinking about heading out to a Redbox and maybe grabbing some shitty dinner. As I'm loading up my PJ pockets... there's something weird. My left hand pocket (which is typically reserved for my keys exclusively) has something in it. And, you guessed it! My money clip. No joke... and there's 8000% no way I didn't have it when I was at the restaurant and lost it. I slept in these PJs all night too and my money clip would be pokey kind of and wake me up. It also wasn't there when I put my keys in the pockets that morning as I ran out to my car to start it so it was warm.
For some reason, something like a mini-miracle happened. I was given good karma from the Universe. God decided I needed that $50 after all. Allah decided I am worthy of his many blessings. Whatever you wanna say made it happen... it did. It kinda tripped me out - but I can't help but think (in some weird type of confirmation bias) it's my reward for being so cool about it. I also kinda think it's like some sign that I'm on a good path and it's indicative of that. Or a reward again for making good choices.
I can't explain it. And, once again, I'm okay with that.
Yesterday I went out to breakfast by myself. It's one of my little treats I do for myself just because I'm awesome and I deserve shit like that. It's also tradition before I go to my therapy session. The nearest Coney Island for a gyro meat and feta cheese omelette, french fries instead of hash browns, and white toast. Coffee and water to drink.
If time allows, it's also an extension of my daily allotment of "me" time where I get to read, listen to new music I've been meaning to, maybe write a little bit, whatever. The rule is I can't do anything important during "me" time. Although, I could make a case for the importance of all those things. Anyway, I digress in getting to the true point of the story.
This particular morning, I had a lot of time. I got my breakfast, I read my book for about an hour, I drank a lot of coffee (bottomless refills!), and I was feeling quite pleased with myself before seeing my therapist. I had to drive straight to work after my appointment, so I was set for that with all my stuff I'd need for the day. I gather up all my things, hit the restroom, and head up to the counter to pay my bill and be on my way.
One thing some have noticed about me is I'm chronically early. Like, I'm the dude that's at work 30 minutes early just because I don't feel right if I'm not. This goes for most things in my life. I'd like to be at the movie theater early, I need to be at all concerts early, shows, whatever. If there's a specific time I need to be somewhere, I need to be there BEFORE I have to be there by a fair margin.
My appointment is at 11, which means I'm at the office by 10:35a and just chilling in the parking lot. I'm looking to maybe dust off a few more pages of the book I"m reading. I don't remember why, but I needed to get out of my car briefly and stand, so I did that. When I did, I did my little habit of checking my pockets periodically to make sure everything is there (wallet, keys, money clip, phone) and.... it's not. I dig inside my pocket to be sure and am hit with disappointment. I wasn't mistaken, something is missing. My money clip is gone. My money clip that typically has $50 in it just in case i need cash, my money clip that had a $100 gift card for a restaurant in it... my goddamn, motherfucking money clip that has FIFTY DOLLARS IN CASH THAT I CAN'T GET BACK.
I frantically search the car... it's not there. It's not under the seat, it's not in the little crack between the seat and console/door that sometimes loses stuff. It's not in my car. The only other place it could be is in the Coney Island. It probably slid out of my pocket when I grabbed my phone while I was in the booth. Maybe it dropped in the bathroom. But, it's there. There's no doubt in my mind. I call the restaurant on the extremely slim chance that someone found it and decided to turn it in.
The young girl on the other end of the line tells me nobody's turned anything like that in. I can almost hear it registering in her mind that there's a free $50 somewhere in her work area if she just finds it first. They do take my number down "just in case" it turns up. I'm not hopeful. But, at the same time (and this is a big change for me), I also am okay with this idea. Yeah, I acknowledge it sucks... but it's just money. It's not the end of the world. I can get more.
My day continues as planned. Appointment, head straight to work, come home, put on my pajamas and head to bed, all that jazz. No phone call all day. I'm still at peace with it. The thought has actually even crossed my mind that I am hopeful someone needful found it - someone who was $50 shy of rent, or maybe a parent that couldn't afford a birthday present for their kid, maybe someone facing a shutoff notice for their electricity... the possibilities are endless. Whatever though - it's gone.
Today rolls around. I get out of my PJs and into work duds. I work. I come home and get back into PJs immediately because that's just how I roll. I am thinking about heading out to a Redbox and maybe grabbing some shitty dinner. As I'm loading up my PJ pockets... there's something weird. My left hand pocket (which is typically reserved for my keys exclusively) has something in it. And, you guessed it! My money clip. No joke... and there's 8000% no way I didn't have it when I was at the restaurant and lost it. I slept in these PJs all night too and my money clip would be pokey kind of and wake me up. It also wasn't there when I put my keys in the pockets that morning as I ran out to my car to start it so it was warm.
For some reason, something like a mini-miracle happened. I was given good karma from the Universe. God decided I needed that $50 after all. Allah decided I am worthy of his many blessings. Whatever you wanna say made it happen... it did. It kinda tripped me out - but I can't help but think (in some weird type of confirmation bias) it's my reward for being so cool about it. I also kinda think it's like some sign that I'm on a good path and it's indicative of that. Or a reward again for making good choices.
I can't explain it. And, once again, I'm okay with that.
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
I. Just. Don't...
The other night I was driving home in some terribly shitty weather. We're talking icy roads, whiteout conditions and all that jazz. Our first real snow of the year and it was kind of dumping on us. I don't enjoy driving in snow as it is, so that didn't help any. My drive from work is, on a good day, maybe 30 minutes. Remember, I drive slow even when it's nice, I try not to be in a hurry unless necessary. On this night, it took me an hour and a half to get home. There were a couple moments when I was legitimately scared that something horrible might happen to me.
As I was driving, I kept thinking to myself about all the things we don't say to people for whatever reason we give ourselves. The people we don't tell how important they are to us. The people who don't tell how much we love. The people we don't tell how much we appreciate. The people that we live for - whether they know it or not.
I thought about other kinds of people too. People that we might have done wrong. People that we wish we could give apologies too but feel the proper time has passed. People we've ignored in their suffering. People we've turned out backs on for one reason or another. People that, for one reason or another, just aren't part of our lives.
I thought about these people and I thought about the things I would like to say to them. I thought about people that were in that category that aren't here any more to tell those things to. I thought about the possibility of me no longer being here to tell the ones left their importance and it all seemed very clear: I need to do this for these people whether they appreciate it or not. I need to do this for these people even if they don't take me seriously. I need to do this for me just as much as them because they deserve it and I don't want this burden.
As I was driving home and thinking these things it seemed like the most important thing in the world. I wanted to come home and reach out to everyone that I had thought of directly and immediately. I wanted to make phone calls, I wanted to send texts, I wanted to write e-mails, I wanted to send letters... but it was too late for all that and I was too tired. I needed to sleep.
So sleep I did. When I woke up the next day, everything was still on my mind. It stuck with me. But, a guy's gotta work and he doesn't have time to be calling around all day or writing messages. So to work I went and thought about it all day and again on my drive home (but this time less treacherous).
My drive in this morning was another scary one and, again, the thoughts persisted. I thought about it all the way in to work, I thought about it all day at work, and I thought about it on my (again, scary) drive home. Clearly, I'm still thinking about it.
So, whoever is reading this, I pose this question to you. Why, when I do sit down to even write a message, or make a phone call, do I stop myself? Why can't I do it? I wish I had an answer, but I don't. I. Just. Don't...
Thursday, January 7, 2016
The past couple months have been, to say the least, difficult. But, I'm not going to leave it at just saying the least. That's not the point of this blog.
A lot of changes have gone on. Some shitty, but mostly positive. I decided to do something about what has been a mostly secretly miserable existence that I've been living for the past 12 years or so and do something about it. Stop living in misery, stop bottling up feelings, stop hiding yourself away from what you're feeling, and stop hiding away from your true self. It sounds easy enough, but for someone who's been extremely careful with who he actually reveals his true self to, it's been a challenge. See, I want the real, true Adam to be visible to all... whether they like him or not.
I've never been a ray of sunshine. I never will be. But, there was a time when I was who I was and most people liked me. Then my dad's health started to deteriorate and the charade started, I guess. The game of hiding emotions began. Why? Because nobody likes someone who's constantly worrying, someone who's constantly on the verge of tears, who can't even focus on anything truly positive because he's worried he's going to lose his best friend and dad any minute.
Besides, emotion show weakness and nobody wants to appear to weak. Particularly if you're a dude.
All that emotion stayed bottled up and emotion is like anything... it goes bad after a while. It doesn't matter what it is. It gets rotten. It turns to poison. Yeah, I could keep it under control most of the time. But sometimes the facade would slip and that was never good. I wasn't being true to myself and because of that, I didn't like myself. When you don't like yourself you remember everything negative anyone has ever said about you and start to believe it. You replay it over and over in your mind and start to see everything through the tinted fog of disappointment. Not in a magical sense, but your attitude really does determine your reality. Because of this... I mostly only saw disappointment in things.
Then my dad died. I didn't know what to do. I'd never felt so lost in my life. I couldn't let anyone know though and the game continued. Because all I focused on was disappointment, negativity, and let down... that's all I saw and furthered my misery internally. After a while it just becomes "the norm" and you get numb to it all. Like working in a factory... you just do your thing, shut down, and go on autopilot. Sure, things will crop up here and there that change it up a bit... sometimes good, sometimes bad, but it always go back to the same routine. For me this routine of life turned into a case of apathy. Life was gray and there weren't different shades of it.
New car? Oh, I guess that's cool. Dog bit? That kinda sucks. Win the lottery? Eh, whatever. And so on.
Yeah, I cared about people. I cared about stuff. But after so many years of hiding it I didn't know how to express it. And, once again, the cycle continued. Meanwhile, all this poison is building up inside me. I was a prisoner in my own mind.
Somewhere though all this, I figured something out; alcohol. Booze gave me an excuse to let the poison out. Booze gave my an excuse to express that emotion that had been building up. Booze allowed me everything that had been built up and locked away to come out... the good, the bad, and the ugly.
I never made it a daily habit or anything, but once I got started it seemed next to impossible to stop until I was ready to turn in for the night. Alcohol allowed me to stop being selective with showing people what I wanted to show and let shit fly... but I wasn't in the driver's seat. Sometimes I'd be affable, charming, goofy, funny, whatever. Other times, I'd be a poison tip lawn dart in the neck. Crude, offensive, standoffish, and unlikable.
So that's been going on for what seems like most of my life and it caught up to me. I'm disgusted and ashamed of myself for it taking an event like it did to make me realize the error of my ways and my past behavior... but all you can do is learn from your mistakes, address the issues that have presented themselves, and hope for the best. I've been doing that since late October and will continue to seek ways to continue to stay on my path of excellence - one of which includes seeing a therapist and, in the meanwhile, giving up drinking for the time while I sort shit out in my own head.
The other part, you're reading. Or maybe nobody is and I'm just writing to myself. If I am, that's fine. Because I'm finding that writing is helpful and I've got a few ideas kicking around that need expressing, so I think I'll continue to do this and eventually get into less serious, heavy stuff. But, if I could ask anyone that reads this to take something away from this long rant, it'd be this: first and foremost, don't bottle shit up. Like I said earlier, it only gets rotten and turns to poison inside you. Poison that eventually leaks. Find an outlet, find people that you can talk to, don't be afraid to be yourself because you're probably pretty goddamn awesome - even though you might not realize it and someone might think you're way more awesome than you even thought possible. Secondly, if you need to talk to someone, if you need help sorting shit out in your head like I do, then do it, dude. There is no shame in asking for help, everybody needs it from time to time.
A lot of changes have gone on. Some shitty, but mostly positive. I decided to do something about what has been a mostly secretly miserable existence that I've been living for the past 12 years or so and do something about it. Stop living in misery, stop bottling up feelings, stop hiding yourself away from what you're feeling, and stop hiding away from your true self. It sounds easy enough, but for someone who's been extremely careful with who he actually reveals his true self to, it's been a challenge. See, I want the real, true Adam to be visible to all... whether they like him or not.
All that emotion stayed bottled up and emotion is like anything... it goes bad after a while. It doesn't matter what it is. It gets rotten. It turns to poison. Yeah, I could keep it under control most of the time. But sometimes the facade would slip and that was never good. I wasn't being true to myself and because of that, I didn't like myself. When you don't like yourself you remember everything negative anyone has ever said about you and start to believe it. You replay it over and over in your mind and start to see everything through the tinted fog of disappointment. Not in a magical sense, but your attitude really does determine your reality. Because of this... I mostly only saw disappointment in things.
Then my dad died. I didn't know what to do. I'd never felt so lost in my life. I couldn't let anyone know though and the game continued. Because all I focused on was disappointment, negativity, and let down... that's all I saw and furthered my misery internally. After a while it just becomes "the norm" and you get numb to it all. Like working in a factory... you just do your thing, shut down, and go on autopilot. Sure, things will crop up here and there that change it up a bit... sometimes good, sometimes bad, but it always go back to the same routine. For me this routine of life turned into a case of apathy. Life was gray and there weren't different shades of it.
Yeah, I cared about people. I cared about stuff. But after so many years of hiding it I didn't know how to express it. And, once again, the cycle continued. Meanwhile, all this poison is building up inside me. I was a prisoner in my own mind.
Somewhere though all this, I figured something out; alcohol. Booze gave me an excuse to let the poison out. Booze gave my an excuse to express that emotion that had been building up. Booze allowed me everything that had been built up and locked away to come out... the good, the bad, and the ugly.
So that's been going on for what seems like most of my life and it caught up to me. I'm disgusted and ashamed of myself for it taking an event like it did to make me realize the error of my ways and my past behavior... but all you can do is learn from your mistakes, address the issues that have presented themselves, and hope for the best. I've been doing that since late October and will continue to seek ways to continue to stay on my path of excellence - one of which includes seeing a therapist and, in the meanwhile, giving up drinking for the time while I sort shit out in my own head.
The other part, you're reading. Or maybe nobody is and I'm just writing to myself. If I am, that's fine. Because I'm finding that writing is helpful and I've got a few ideas kicking around that need expressing, so I think I'll continue to do this and eventually get into less serious, heavy stuff. But, if I could ask anyone that reads this to take something away from this long rant, it'd be this: first and foremost, don't bottle shit up. Like I said earlier, it only gets rotten and turns to poison inside you. Poison that eventually leaks. Find an outlet, find people that you can talk to, don't be afraid to be yourself because you're probably pretty goddamn awesome - even though you might not realize it and someone might think you're way more awesome than you even thought possible. Secondly, if you need to talk to someone, if you need help sorting shit out in your head like I do, then do it, dude. There is no shame in asking for help, everybody needs it from time to time.
Alright, folks, that's all I have for now. I promise you I'll be back at least weekly with something for you to ruminate on. Writing is part of my release, and I need to keep it going to keep the demons at bay...
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