white noise

Near the end of November of 2005, alongside writing my NaNo novel, I made a list of names. These were the people I considered either close to me in proximity or as friends and family, or I felt I might have harmed, judged, locked horns, or with whom I wanted to reinvest or strengthen my ties in.

I also went searching for wisdom and answers; something I haven’t done in a very long time. What was wrong with me? I’d crash-landed in a relationship I had no assurances would work, had next to nothing to my name, had been abandoned by my three closest relationships, and the only thing I knew for sure was that if I failed, the consequences of said failure looked mighty bleak. I could live with Yana … if she were divorced. She’s not, so chances were I’d end up in a shallow grave somewhere deep in the Nevada desert. I’m not very fond of her husband. He doesn’t treat her well.

My family wasn’t an option, either. Believe me, my parents might seem more normal these days, and I’m happy for their progress over the last couple of years, but if I had to live within a 200 mile radius of them, I’d eat a bullet. Black Tallon, even.

I’m proud of my sister’s efforts to get herself out of the drug scene, but her expectation is one that someone else should still foot the bill for her life … And not one of them — her, or my father and step-mother — understands that I ruined my health trying to take care of them. That, in of itself, still makes me crabby. (Yet, I still get those impulsive “Sissy to the rescue” moments. Jon has no problem helping to squash them.)

Chelsea was on my list too, but she didn’t make the cut this time. I’m happy to support her efforts, but from here on out, she’ll have to show more interest in me as a human being. The last time I spoke to her, she made me feel like a mere object, and I know that if I send any money now, she’ll only come back again and again seeking more. And wasting what she does get. It’s awful to think I may die with my sister believing I’m nothing more than a hateful troll when her life has been one of the greatest joys mine has ever known. But, that 16 year stretch between us makes me more of a parental figure than an older sister, and having been her guardian so much without the actual authority to back it up, it’s tough. I want to be my baby sister’s hero. I want to be SISSY! all over again, when love was unconditional, I didn’t have to be the bad guy and she was the innocent little girl not yet exposed to the malicious, mal-adjusted world to which my parents introduced her.

As Yana counsels, it’s something I can’t control. That’s why faith comes in. Somehow we have to have faith beyond our own noses to know these things will work themselves out. The outcome of a situation may not be what we want, hope, or pray for, but ultimately, we have to believe it works out for the best. Let go, have faith, move forward out of the darkness and pain.

Heal. Progress. Hope and pray.

And surround yourself with beautiful, happy people who can make you feel good about yourself, but more importantly about the world we live in. This is the lesson I learned from Paige in November and one which Brenda recently reinforced. Positive, good-natured people don’t reinforce negative traits within us. They speak with you on the same level. They open up and share themselves with you — not just to boast about their kids with an air that sets them above the rest, but also to share funny moments, triumphs and victories and hard lessons learned. Positive, thoughtful people don’t maliciously tear others down. They don’t attach themselves to you like life-sucking, malignant tumors, but nor do they hold you at bay, never engaging you on any level beyond the cerebral.

Brenda has shared experiences with me about others hurting her feelings, but she never tore any of those folks down or went out of her way to make them wrong. She simply told me how it made her feel, and said it wouldn’t change her. She might change how she responded to the offending parties, but there wasn’t anything for her to gain from dwelling on the incident. And she didn’t dwell. We talked about pickling and her garden instead. And every time I’ve left a conversation I’ve had with Brenda, I felt GOOD.

And it saddens me that I allowed others to tear her down, allowed them to call her clueless, among other things, because you know — she’s not. You’re my witness, your eyes. This shall not happen again in my presence. Ever. The Evil Breece has spoken. :)

It’s taken me almost 3 years to realize how little respect I’ve received from the people I considered friends. I kick myself a lot, because I didn’t listen to my own instincts and because the folks from my online gaming group do believe they’re better than me and they always have. Actions speak louder than words, you know? They think they’re smarter. They certainly think they’re more cultured and socially acceptable. I put them at the bottom of my list.

They didn’t make the cut.

In the beginning, it was clear that Jon was the only support I had. With all his secret meetings, many, many things are clearer to me now than were before. So, yes, he followed because he felt he needed to, but yep, we know where his true loyalties rest. I won’t kick myself quite yet for being a stupid, blind fool. As far as I’m concerned, for the last couple of days, we’ve been on that fine edge of no return and the compulsion to either call Yana and tell her to pick me up in Reno, or to just buy some random ticket to anywhere still screams like a banshee in my soul.

Repeat a thousand times with me, “this too shall pass.” He’s taken good care of me and he’s worked very hard. However, shame on me for allowing him to use my insecurities and vulnerabilities against me as he has. There may be a difference between Dissociative Identity Disorder and Dissociative Disorder, as illustrated by Dr. McVoy (thank you Crack-Head Dork Doctor who shouldn’t be practicing in California, but I suppose the Celexa was an easy fucking fix for you!), but he … hasn’t … met … dangerous …

Yet.

And she’s just itchin’ for a stupid male to hunt — that other part of my nature that I have busted my ass for so long to retrain and change. Caged up, locked inside of me, pacing the bars like some distraught inmate hedging for a fight. Is that the definition of “to thine own self be true?” No. And for what? To be manipulated by my own weaknesses by folks who claim to love me.

Yeah. Just fucking ducky. If there’s a crabby-ass resignation for “I Quit Society,” I’d like one. So far in the last three days, I’ve had to pull out my Courage to Heal books, convince myself this trek I decided to take back in November would well be worth the effort, regardless of what it might reveal about me. I made room to clear the poison and decay, but the unexpected surprises … well.

The one voice I know now that I need always listen for is my own. When my instincts tell me to jump, I’ll be asking, “how high?” When they say, “this is a bad seed,” I won’t be waiting around to find out if that assessment is correct, I’ll put faith in it and tuck my loppy tail and believe. If a person I’m around makes me feel bad, I’ll take that as my first clue. If I don’t feel I can respect someone, this will also be a sign to follow and run. Very far, very fast.

One of the interesting parts about the list of names I made isn’t just the people I wrote down, or the people I had to cross off, but also the people I haven’t heard from in a long time who weren’t on the list but suddenly either called me, or sent me an email. My name list grew by 5 names by … what? Divine intervention (?) without my input.

I’m sure some of those names on my list will probably never speak to me again (unless I make the effort to contact them), but we talked about whatever Bad Thing happened between us, that either I or they caused. At times I was pleasantly surprised to discover someone willing to accept an equal responsibility for a miserable outcome, and other times not. Those of us able to see things through the lens of the other person’s eyes or heart were able to say, “I didn’t see it that way before.” Walls came down. Communication improved. My dad is a good example. He’s still hard to communicate with due to the bi-polar, but I think he better understands how deeply he hurt me. He was sick the last time I talked with him and very crabby, so who knows for certain. :)

All in all, it has been a rough and rocky ride the last three months. I’ve grown. I’ve accomplished much. I still have more to do and the poison is not yet all gone. I hope it will be soon. I’m ready to move on and make even more improvements with my life. No sense dwelling, as Marni said, on people (and things — my addition) that really just don’t matter. The people who matter are those who invest time in us AND that we can invest ourselves in with good, positive things in order to help the world grow. Bury your bullshit in the backyard, it’s better for the flowers. Bury your love in the hearts of the people who give the world meaning. Work for your friendships, communicate, remember to have fun, be as gentle as you can except when you need to be firm, and share more cupcakes (preferably chocolate ones).

Jumpin off the Soapbox for now.