I Have Daddy Issues.

THIS IS GOING TO BE REALLY REALLY LONG.

No one is perfect. I will be the first person to admit that fact. But I never asked for perfection, or anything even close to it. All I ever wanted was a dad. Not just any dad, but my dad. My Daddy. But things don't always work out the way you want them to. And people don't always live up to your expectations of them. And that's okay. But what we need to learn is when to hold on, and when to let go. So where is that line? Where does one say, "I'm done, I can't do this any more"?

DING!

For me, it was today. 

For a long time, (the past 20 years, actually) I've been trying to repair my relationship with my estranged father. 20 years ago, he and my mom got a divorce. A year or so after that, he moved across the country to be with his girlfriend (his high-school sweetheart) and her two kids (who I am still in close contact with, and who I love more than life itself). For the next ten years, things got really messy. I started flying by myself to go and see him once a month starting when I was six. It was hard being away from my dad, especially when I still didn't really understand why he left in the first place, or where I fit in with his new family. It became routine- flying down once a month to visit for two days or so, swapping holidays between my parents, spending six weeks of summer with my dad in the suffocating heat of Texas, and the school year in the frigid cold winters of Michigan. But I got older, and puberty hit, and I was pissed. I was pissed at the world. I didn't understand why things were the way they were, why my dad didn't just come and visit me, why my brother and sister got to spend so much time with my dad when I couldn't, why my dad left in the first place, why my parents didn't get along, why I was so angry all the time. Then the shit hit the fan, and I kind of lost it for a little while. And then I decided I didn't give a shit any more.

Weird. I could have sworn I was in there somewhere.

Things got really bad. My dad wasn't one for "talking". He was right, you were wrong, and you better fucking get used to it. I got in trouble when I was in middle and high school, just like any other kid. I was a jerk to my parents, broke the rules, smoked cigarettes, and was kind of an asshole. My mom was over protective (I'm her only child, and I really don't blame her- seriously. I was crazy.), and my step-dad was doing the best he could to raise me like I was his own. They saved my life. If it wasn't for them, I don't know where I would be right now. Under a bridge, maybe. But my dad? Where was he? In Texas, with his wife (who I love, and am still in contact with) and her kids. He would call, and yell, and scream, and scare the ever-loving shit out of me. He would say horrible things, things you wouldn't say to anyone, unless you were maybe in a bar fight. It was always worse when I was actually around him when he was mad. This guy is 6'4", and ex-biker, covered in tattoos, and weighs a good 230 lbs. He's scary as hell. And he has this way of destroying you with his words. It was never fun. So I started only visiting every other month, then every three months, then three times a year, until I was sixteen, and wrote him a letter telling him how I felt. That he was verbally and emotionally abusive, and that I didn't like it. That I didn't deserve it. 

Bad move.

His searing letter that I received in response was anything but what I expected. We didn't talk until a week before my 18th birthday. A text- "Hi Buggy, are you still alive? Love, Daddy" By now, he had divorced his wife and taken up a new one. He had moved to St. Louis to be with her. This had killed me. Why didn't he want to live near me? Why, Why, Why, Why?

WHY WON'T YOU JUST LISTEN!?

Okay, I know I'm not the only one in the world with daddy issues, but sometimes it's harder than the self-help books say it ever will be.

For the next few years, we carried on pretty well, I visited about once a year. We got along for the most part, just arguing about little things from time to time. We got in two more big fights, ones that tore me apart. It felt like my limbs were being stretched in every direction- and it killed me. I felt insane. I didn't know what was true and what wasn't.

So, after a few heartfelt emails to him about how I felt, and responses that really weren't what I wanted to hear, I let go. For the first time in my life, I stood up to my dad, and I realized that I had to let go.

I heard one time that "expectations are just premeditated resentments". Maybe that's true. Maybe I was wrong to expect anything from my dad, much less the fairy tale version of a father-daughter relationship I had in my head and wanted so badly.

But I believe that everyone- every single person- deserves the best that the world can give them. And I don't deserve what my father did and said. I deserve to be treated like the smart, beautiful, clever and special young woman that I am. So, I saw that line, and I crossed it. I let go.

I am really sad, and really angry, and really frustrated. I've never felt so many reallys in my life. But I'm going to be okay. I refuse to let myself have any other choice. I love my dad. But I love myself more. I have amazing support in my life- my family and my partner and (thank God) my therapist. I'll be okay.

This Is Not A Scary Thing.

It's not a secret that I've been going through a lot of changes. There are bad things, good things, and things that fall in both categories. Actually, I think all of them fall in the good/bad/ugly category.

In August, my uncle passed away. That was only four months ago, but it still feels like just yesterday.
In July, my father and I stopped speaking, for a multitude of reasons.
In April, my partner of two years and I split up, and even though it was for the best, it sucked. Hard.
On December first, I moved three hours south of where I was to go to big girl college. I'm going to be in school full-time, and will hopefully find a job sometime soon.
So, suffice it to say,

I've been at my new apartment for almost two weeks now, and I'm just now starting to get used to being on my own for the first time. I've always had a roommate (or five), so my room is usually my sanctuary. But now, I have this place to myself. It just all seems so BIG. I'm finally making myself sit in the living room instead of my cave.
My neighbors are pretty cool, except for they run up and down the stairs all night long doing God knows what. Other than that, they stole my girlfriend's bike one night because they were wasted and needed a ride downtown... but they returned it later the next day and apologized. Since Kelsi thought her bike was stolen, we got a new one for her, long story short- now I have a new bike!

It's cool if you're jealous. I would be too. And yes, that is Scully hiding back there.

I don't know why I haven't written in so long. That's a huge lie. Yes, I do. After my Uncle passed away, life stopped for me. Every time I thought about writing, I couldn't pick up a pen, type a word, nothing. I broke up with my girlfriend, Kelsi, I took three out of six weeks off of work, stopped laughing, stopped talking, stopped sleeping, slept too much, stayed in my room, cried at random intervals, and didn't make any effort to see any of my friends.
I was pretty much inconsolable. I still am at times. But it's getting better.
I promised myself that this wouldn't just be about my Uncle Terence, so I'm going to move on from that.

After he passed away, I kind of freaked out. I only had one focus: getting into school. And then I did. Then I had another focus: getting my financial aid. Then I got approved for $14,000 for Winter and Spring quarter. Then it was moving. And then I moved.
And here I am. Bored out of my mind.

This is what I do all day. Go ahead. Judge me.

Kelsi and I have gotten back together, and life is going really well. I start school January 7th, and I can't wait. I just can't help feeling really really really REALLY freaking scared sometimes. I mean, I left everyone and every thing I've known and made for myself for the past six years. Two amazing jobs, my best friends in the entire world, a town I knew like the back of my hand, and a community I know how to navigate.

I then find myself asking my brain some questions:

 Did I make the right decision?

 Am I just running from my problems?

 What are my real reasons for moving?

 Was this a good idea? 

WHAT ARE THE ANSWERS I'M FREAKING OUT

Yes. No. SCHOOL. YES.

Okay, okay. I get it. It's still scary.

I DON'T KNOW ANYONE IN THIS DAMN TOWN! That's also a lie. I know Kelsi, and three or four of her friends, her dad, and her grandma. A bunch of family live only 30 minutes away. So it's not like I'm stuck out in a cabin in the woods all by myself during a zombie apocalypse. But seriously. Compared to not being able to walk down the street in the 'Ham without someone hollering my name, I AM ALL ALONE! 

It's terrifying and amazing, nerve-wracking and exciting, boring and energizing. 

All I do for now is sew, knit, watch endless hours of Netflix, and try to write. This is my first attempt at actually sitting down and writing something since August, and it's not turning out as I hoped. 

I just can't wait for school to start, and to find a job, and to make some friends. 

In the meantime, I have Kelsi, and I have Scully. And I call my mom at least once, if not five, times a day. Good thing she loves me. 

Regardless of all of the things that have happened this year, I came out on the other side. That's the most important part. I'm alive, and doing well, and am starting a whole new chapter of my life. That's what matters. 

I Haven't The Vernacular.

Death is strange. People deal with it in different ways, depending on their culture, their upbringing, their background, their emotional state, their closeness with the person who passed. In some cultures, it is seen as unacceptable and disrespectful if one does not weep at a funeral. In a lot of Western cultures, showing that kind of emotion is frowned upon, even at a funeral.

The five stages of grief and mourning are as follows:

• Denial (This can't be...)
• Anger (This is so unfair...)
• Bargaining (I would do anything to bring them back...)
• Depression (I don't want to go on without them...)
• Acceptance

Not every one goes through all of these stages, and they are in no way cut and dry. Mourning is a process, and what takes some people years to get through, it may take another only a few months to be able to accept a passing, and move on.

The loss of a loved one is the furthest thing from easy that exists. It is probably one of the hardest things that any one person has to endure. And what sucks is that we all have to go through it, at one time or another.   Personally, I've had to endure my fair share of deaths. For some reason, every year someone close to me passes away. Last year, it was a friend of mine, and one of my grandpa's foster children that I had known since he was a baby. The year before that was my great-grandmother on my father's side.

This year, it was my Uncle Terence.

You've probably heard the saying "there aren't words to describe how I'm feeling right now" more than once in your life, but even that falls flat on my tongue. At 2:38 AM on Sunday, my mom called to tell me that Uncle T wasn't doing very well, but I wasn't able to take her call. I got back to her at 2:58, and he seemed to be doing a little better. Nonetheless, I had a bad feeling, and ended up staying awake until a little after six. Around 7:40 AM on Sunday, my mom called to tell me that my uncle had passed from complications regarding a pulmonary embolism, that his heart had stopped, and that they were going to pray for the next three hours, as per his request. 

I got off the phone, unable to listen to the tears choking up my mom's throat. I called my best friend and told her what had happened. Then I called my girlfriend, relayed the message to her, and then was silent for the next fifteen minutes, unable to think of anything else to say, let alone say anything at all. I told her to go back to sleep, and we hung up.

I was alone, unless you count my cat- who was very concerned as to why I was so upset, and had curled up next to me on the couch.

So I decided to take a bath. I think I might have gone into some weird shock-amnesia thing, because the next thing I knew, I was in the bath, but the water had gone cold and it was almost an hour later. And my legs were shaved. Weird. I crawled out, and got back on the couch, deciding to watch the rest of the season of Game Of Thrones. At some point I fell asleep. When I woke up, my phone was ringing, and it was Tyler Jo calling to make sure I was okay. I assured her I was.
I had had a dream about my uncle.

He came to me in a dream, after getting off the phone with mom yesterday. In my dream, he had passed, but cane back to talk to us. He knew it was time, and was happy and laughing. He was completely okay with passing, and was trying to console us. He told me I have to learn to fish, because I promised I would do that when he got better. He told me how much he loved me and was proud of me, and that I had to be strong. I know it was him saying goodbye. This had happened to me twice before- once after my Grandma Rose had died, and once when my friend Rachel had. He seemed so happy and calm. Everyone was there. I didn't hear anything that he said to anyone else, because I woke up.

When I woke up, I thought that had really happened. When I realized it hadn't, I was sad all over again. I couldn't speak. A friend of mine came over, and got me out of the house, and watched Shark Week. 

I am still in shock. I don't know how to feel, so I am just not feeling. I'm staying at my Auntie's house with my family, and spending time with them helps more than anything else ever could. My nieces and nephews are the light of all of our lives, and Bug's birthday was yesterday. She turned four. It was the first family get together without Papi- the day after he passed. 

This is far from easy, and far from over. The family service is tomorrow, and the general service is on Thursday. I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone. I think that when things calm down, I will be able to really process my feelings and emotions. That kind of scares me. 

I miss you, Uncle T, and I can't wait to see you soon.

Emotions, And Why I Hate Them.

Sometimes, I don’t know what to think. Or feel. Or Do. Since I’ve gotten sober, I have a lot of feeeeeeelings. Happiness, anger, sadness, rage, elation, depression, anxiety, frustration, confusion, fear… the list goes on and on. I don’t like these feelings. They are annoying, and get in the way of my every day life. I have things to do. I have two jobs. I am a sexual assault and domestic violence advocacy counselor with two paid internships. On top of that, I am also a waitress. I have a busy life. Don’t you understand that I CAN’T CRY OR BE UPSET RIGHT NOW, I AM AT WORK AND HAVE SHIT TO DO!

If I feel like it.

Okay. Calm down. I have to remind myself to let myself have feelings. That it is okay to cry. Because that is something that I don’t do. I haven't cried (really cried, like more than tearing up, more than one or two tears, like sobbing shaking curl up in a ball and hit things cried) in an exceptionally long time. Okay, I cried when D and I broke up, I’ll give you that. I cried for about a week straight. That kid made me cry a lot. But since around April 16^th, I haven’t been able to cry. This, I think, is unhealthy.

This is the dumbest thing I've ever read.

 I have also not allowed myself to get really angry. I used to get angry all the time. My anger encompassed my whole being. I would freak out on just about anyone, at any time, for anything. I hated everyone, and had no problem with letting you in on that secret. When I would drink or use, I looked for reasons to pick a fight. If I’m at a bar and a guy grabs my ass, I’ll cold cock him across the head. You yell at me from your car, I’ll scream obscenities your way and try and chase you down. I also might throw things at your car, and if I find it later, I might key it. If you looked at me funny, I would probably start yelling at you, saying something cute

like, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU LOOKING AT, ASSHOLE??” Yeah. I was that girl. 

Now, I don’t really get angry. I get small flashes of it, and then it goes away. I would chalk this up to serenity… except for I can feel it under my skin, boiling. I don’t know how to confront people any more. I don’t know what to do with my feelings of frustration or humiliation or resentment towards people. I just walk away from fights now, and beat myself up for it later. This is also unhealthy.

This is what my brain looks like. 

The one feeling that I am really good at is happiness. Well, it looks like I am, anyway. I am really good at my “customer service” persona- the one that I use with patrons at the restaurant I work at, or with my clients. This is because I don’t want to bother anyone. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I feel like if I unload on someone, they’re going to either A)think I’m a freak B)feel obligated to “help” me, when I don’t feel like I need help at all, just someone to listen, or C)get irritated with me. I don’t know why I feel like I am such a burden on people, but I do. I feel like I have such a sad story at this time in my life, and I don’t want to bring others down with me. So I suck it up, put on a smile, and continue with my day.

SMILE WITH YOUR WHOLE FACE.

 

So, I have come to the conclusion that I am a robot when it comes to my own feelings. Give me your problem, and I will either fix it, or get you through it. When faced with my own, I become a fish out of water. I don’t know how to talk if I’m not drunk or on something. I don’t know how to express myself, unless it’s through art- and then no one knows what I’m trying to say anyway. So. What should I do? Go to therapy. Talk to my sponsor. Talk to other women in the program. Talk to my girlfriend. Talk to SOMEONE. Maybe that will work.

Or maybe I will become the first BIONIC WOMAN!
 

I SHALL OVERCOME EMOTIONS!! FOREVER!!!

PS: Sorry this post isn't very funny, I'm having a hard time being funny lately. The next one will be better, promise.

Two to Four Weeks.

If you have seen me lately, and I seem to be acting strangely, or have talked about a family emergency, or have just not talked at all, here's what's up in a nutshell. Among other things.

Oh no, how did I get into this shell? Bugger!

Usually I can talk about the toughest things with some kind of humor or mirth, but this is one thing that I can’t. I’m only going to say this once, and I apologize for my profanity, but cancer fucking sucks. Cancer is the worst kind of hell. Really. Cancer takes everything from you without telling you and then sets up shop in your body, and begins eating anything and everything that it finds. It doesn’t pay rent or utilities. You or your loved ones end up paying tens of thousands of dollars trying to get rid of the bastard. If you’re one of the unlucky ones, you end up losing your hair, all of your weight, you turn grey, yellow, blue- the rainbow of sickness. Since the cancer is attacking every part of you that it can get its grubby little hands on, your body isn’t paying attention to other things trying to kill it, and even a common cold could end up killing you in less than a day.

I try and talk about this as matter-of-factly as I can. In all reality, cancer scares the shit out of me. My Uncle Terence was diagnosed with stage 4 terminal prostate cancer about three years ago. He was told he had 9-12 months to live, initially. Then it was 12-24, then a year, and now, they told us last week that he has 2-4 weeks. 

Probably the cutest picture depicting how much I hate cancer.

It’s hard for me to not get upset at every turn. I hear people make flippant comments, talking about how hard their lives are because of this or that silly thing. I hear “I hate my life” so often it makes me want to slap someone across the face.

At least they get to live, I think to myself. At least they haven’t been watching someone they love barely be able to move because of the pain. Someone who helped raise me, who taught me how to ski, who protected me from all twelve of my older cousins, accepted me into his home no matter what shape I was in, and who was there for me for my entire life, die in the most slow and painful way possible. At least they have a future. 

First World Problems, bitches.

My uncle is a pastor. His wife, my mom’s older sister Sherry, is also a pastor. Their love is the kind of love that people strive for all of their lives. My cousins Nadine, Eric, and Andrew are their kids. Bella, Ethan, and Anna are their grandkids. They have 11 nephews and 2 nieces, including me, with 6 grand-nieces and nephews- and all of this is only on my mom’s side. I’m trying to give you an idea of all of the people this is affecting- that this isn’t just one person getting cancer, but an entire community. There isn’t an hour that goes by while I am at work, at home, sleeping, eating, whatever, that my family doesn’t cross my mind. I have to repeatedly stop myself from going down the dark spiral of “Why him? Why us? Why do bad things happen to such good people? I don’t care if God has a plan, it’s obviously a stupid freaking plan, so he should probably figure that shit out and do some editing.” I have to not let myself get angry.

When my mom called to tell me last week that Uncle Terence’s doctors had told him that he might not make it long enough to go on our family trip back home to Hawai'i in September, I almost fell. Since then, it’s all I can think about. What happens next? We all knew this was coming, but prayed for a miracle. I don’t think I've ever prayed so hard in my life as I did for my uncle. But here we are, and it’s down to the wire. I’m not ashamed to admit, I’m scared. Scared for him, for me, for my auntie, my cousins. I just can’t imagine my life without him in it. Even as I’m writing this, I start to tear up just thinking about it. I am going down to visit them in Gig Harbor this Saturday, and I’m terrified that he won’t make it until then. I’m terrified that I won’t know what to say when I see him.

The most important people in my life are in this picture. Except Soliah. I don't know where he was. Oh, and my cat.

So much of this reads like a rant, but this is about as logical as my brain will get at this point. I have to remind myself to put my faith in my Higher Power, and that nothing I can do will change that plan-but it’s hard. It is so hard.

So I guess I’ll just keep doing what I’ve been doing- working, reading, sleeping, talking- and know that everything in the end will turn out the way it’s supposed to. Even if it’s not my way. 

I love you.

Let's Just Do This.

I just decided to read the other posts I had written (weird that I started this last year, then just stopped), and it kind of grossed me out. I don't even remember a lot of what I wrote, because I was usually fucked up when I wrote it (and that is why I stopped posting, duh). I know what I sound like when I'm like that, and how I like to talk- pretty much like I'm supersmartsassypants and know everything in the world. Which annoys me, and I'm sure everyone else as well.  So that's fun. And a little sad. And kind of disturbing. Oh well, we all start somewhere.

 Hi, I know everything and am so enlightened that I turned into a fruit. But really I'm just drunk and high and wheeeeeee!!

 It just amazes me to think of where I was last year (Drinking. All the time.) and compare it to where I am now (Working, reading, doing art, having fun, cooking, hanging out with my cat), it kind of makes me flinch. But I'm grateful for my journey, I wouldn't be who I am if I hadn't gone through all of that, I love who I am now, blahblahblah, all that shit. It's true, but I'm also not woo-woo enough to write it all out.

Your mom.

Since last year, I quit drinking. Not like, "Oh, I'm just going to quit for a while and then start again later when my life is together and I can control it because I'm in college and I need to focus on my studying and drinking is a bad idea look how responsible I'm being", but more like "Holy shit, I need to quit drinking because if I don't I'm going to end up back in jail or in treatment or dead and this is not even fun anymore where are all of my friends how did I get fired from three jobs in one year my relationship is going down the shitter I'm drinking around my family what the hell am I doing why do I suck so much at life".

I was usually drinking a six-pack a night, unless I went out. In which case I would drink gallons of tequila and vodka. It was a little out of control. I like to think that I was totally fine and in control, but I'm lying. In all reality, I was so miserable and unhappy with my life, and completely terrified. I had no idea what the hell I was doing, and was struggling just to get through each day. Which I am really really good at. I am the best at just scraping by on the skin of my teeth and coming out on the other side with a smile on my face. I think I just finally got sick of spending all of my time and energy either drinking, thinking about drinking, or talking about how I totally have my drinking under control, so quit worrying everyone!!

No really, I've said this before.

So, I quit last October. I quit for about seven months, then decided to have a few beers. Those were the dumbest beers ever. It really wasn't fun. I thought that it would make being around my friends easier (since we were at a bar, might as well drink?) but it actually just made me feel kind of stupid and really weird. So I quit again. Then I had three more beers the next week. That was also stupid. I had to have my best friend come and get me because I was so uncomfortable around people. (Obviously, my social anxiety is beyond the help of drugs and alcohol. I should figure that out. Next post, maybe. )

But my point is.. I don't have a point. Except for I fucking quit drinking, and it was the best decision of my life, and I can't imagine going back to drinking every night again. I wonder what my liver looks like? 

Look how sad he looks after he spilled his drink! 

Seriously though, I am so much happier sober. I hate it sometimes.. most of the time. But I know how much better off I am now than I was a year ago. So.. at least I have that.

This is what happens when..

This is what happens when you don't have internet, are going through a breakup, and are depressed. 

 Yep. Pretty much.

- You don't write.

- You cry too much, and then you don't cry at all.

- You don't talk. To anyone. You see how long you can go without speaking, and then are surprised by your own voice once you have to use it.

- You go to work, but act on autopilot, and try as hard as you can to pretend everything is fine.

- You sit in your bedroom for days on end, only leaving bed to pee, or microwave some more pizza bagels.

- You cut down on smoking, because that means leaving the house.

-You lose 15 lbs.

-You stare at your phone, willing for them to call, but hoping to God they never do.

-You ignore friends, make excuses, and spend A LOT of time alone. With your cat. And watch A LOT of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. With your cat. You pretty much do everything with your cat. Even she starts looking at you funny.

Mom. Srsly. Get the fuck out of bed.

 You think about a lot of things. You think about what you're doing with your life, and whether it's what you really want to be doing or not.

 You realize that even though your 2 year relationship with the person you once thought you were going to marry is over, your life isn't. You realize that you can, in fact, live without them. You also realize that you actually like being alone, which isn't something that you would ever think would happen. You find out who your real friends are- the ones who you haven't talked to in the past two years, but drop everything to be there for you, without you even asking. 

  Then you tackle the real problems. What the fuck are you doing with your life? Seriously. What have you been doing? Not dealing with your shit, I can tell you that. So what do you need to do to feel better?

QUIT FREAKING OUT, YOU NUTJOB.

 - GET OUT OF BED. Seriously. You kind of smell, your hair is a mess, and.. how long have you been wearing that underwear? Dude. Get out in the sun a little. But shower first.

 - Talk to someone. You're dealing with a lot of shit, A LOT OF SHIT. And you don't have do go through it alone. So stop trying to.

 - Eat something. Something besides Pizza Bagels, Hot Pockets, and Pringles. Something green and leafy. Maybe some protein? Definitely some juice.

 - Make a plan. Write it out. Have some idea of where you want to be in the next six months, then start doing it what you need to do to get there.

 - Read this blog: READ ME, I KNOW HOW TO FIX YOUR FEELINGS.

 - Sit down, and make yourself write. Make yourself do some crafts. Even if you don't like it, it helps you process the crazy.

 - Do all of this, every day. Because this is what makes it easier. Getting up, getting out, making art, eating, laughing, having fun. Let yourself have some freaking fun. Stop punishing yourself. Because this isn't your fault. You deserve to be happy, so fucking be happy already. DO IT.