Finding The Pulse On The Trigger Point--Or--Hooray For PTSD!

So today I had a fantabulous flashback that came out of nowhere.  Really I don't understand how can my brain jump from fold box flap A into flap B, stack in alternating patterns, to being back in a frightening place, walking alone across a dark windy campus.  I was crying, more like sobbing.  I remember two friends coming across me trying to ask why I was so upset.  I couldn't answer; the words wouldn't come.

But the memory stopped there.  I wasn't going to allow myself to wander down those dark paths again.

I don't know what set me off.  There wasn't any music playing.  I wasn't uncomfortable with my surroundings.  So strange.  

I'm just proud of myself for becoming aware of what was going on in my head and I was able to short circuit that mess.  I don't give myself enough credit for being strong and amazing, but damnitall I am! 

And now once again, that it is nearing midnight, I should really contemplate going to bed.  I know I'm going to hate myself in the morning for staying up this late, but I had to get these words out.  But I had to watch Psych first. 

Just Do It

My head spins.

My demons, my insecurities, things I have been told before tell me that I am no good, that I can't write to save my life, that my job to provide for my son is a huge, fucking joke.

• I think I could love you, even though you didn't have a good education.
• You're not capable.
• We doubted that you'd bond with your son.
• When are you getting a real job? 
• You have readers in Kuwait? So what?

I doubt myself, I cringe when I think of writing.

Just do it, dammit!

You know you are better than this, you've come so far and you are still afloat.  Remember the tattoo you have? You might not know your plans but God does and so far He has dropped you. 

Write the damn book!

Stop doubting yourself! 

You are worth it, your life is wonderfully interesting, and your wonderful, wild imagination should be a playground for the world. 

You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

The Difference Between Wants and Needs Pt. 2

My darling Frister Kathy is engaged to be married.  Her man-to-be is so darling, I want to carry him around in a obscenely expensive purse like a toy poodle, much like (A Nite in)Paris Hilton is seen often doing.  Of couse, this can't really happen because he's almost 7 feet tall.  And I don't think he'd let me do that.  Plus, the most expensive purse I've ever bought cost me $30.   

This very joyous event has brought my wants in the department of ideal men to the forefront of my mind.  I mean, it's always hanging around in my subconscious, but now the ideals are pounding on the door.  Lest you think I am jealous of her, I can tell you that I am not.  She was the first person I called when I discovered that I was pregnant.  Her excitement almost cased her to drive off the road.  We've been through so many ups and downs.  One of the low points came when we had a HUGE blowup over the demise of my relationship with her friend; the next time we spoke was a year later and I thought she had come to stab me with a butterfly knife.*

So now that relationships/men/desires/needs, I figured I should hammer out a list.  Because the good Lord knows, I need a better winnowing process.

And damnitall, I NEED to write.  My brain has been mushy, my mental health checking it's coat at the door on and off, and my vocabulary is stilted, so if I set up another 30 day challeneg like my shrink had me do several months ago, I'll get back in the swing of things.

I (foolishly) signed up for NaNoWrMo, have the entire novel plot line written out, but have written 250 words.  My execution of said idea has fallen flat, not because the idea sucks, but because I am completely scared.  I know that the idea is great.  No one has written a story about this woman, from this approach, EVER.  It has the possibility to be something awesome, but it's my doubting voice, the only that mocks me which is holding me back.  I keep finding up new excuses to keep me from writing.  And I'm finally sick of it.

But, bringing this derailed train of thought back into the station, I'm going to start a running list of qualifications I am desiring in a potential mate.  Hell at this point, I'd be happy with dinner and coffee with a warm body, but since I am bound and determined not to go down wrong avenues again, I need to write a map for myself.

*Note: I had mono which enjoyed manifesting itself in hives.  When she walked into my dorm room unannounced, I was curled up (naked) under my extra-large-cheap-ass-king-sized-"feather"-comforter.  She was wearing her leather jacket and her don't-fuck-with-me face on.  There was snow on the ground and I distinctly remember thinking, how am I going to explain it to the Dean when I am seen running across campus in my Hanes Her Way cotton undies?   Obviously, she didn't stab me and the 250 student at school were spared the site of me sans clothes.

The Difference Between Wants and Needs

Several years ago I when I was still a wreck,* I believed that I NEEDED a man to complete my life.  I was a new mom, very single, very sad, very scared.  I felt rejected on so many levels.  The thing that hurt that most, that I have not gotten over yet, that I know is still hanging like a big, fucking albatross around my neck is the fact that the newsletter writer for my alma mater told me that my 'situation' wasn't something that others needed to know about.**  I hated myself so much.  Like Hester Pryne, I had proof positive of my sins, while the father hid in the shadows.  I felt that if I HAD a man to give some type of legitimacy to my child, than I would be a socially acceptable person again.

Fast forward to present day.  My son is turning 6 on Wednesday.  He's excelling in school where he thinks he's the big man on campus, is loved by his family, and couldn't be more adorably cute if I asked him to be. I have pictures to back that up:

 

I've come to understand over the past 2 years with a lot of help from a wonderful therapist, a handful of loving friends, and an amazing Band  to back me up, that I don't NEED a man to make my life complete.  I don't feel like a scarlet whore any longer.

I've come to a point where I WANT a man in my life.  I want to share my life with someone else.  I want someone to sleep next to me at night.  That person who can meet my eyes and know that the person I am talking to is a complete idiot.  I want someone who will love and respect me the way I know I deserve to be treated.

I'm lonely tonight.  I hate having these feelings that I can't do anything with.  I'm through needing someone.  I'm ready to want someone.



*I don't claim to have all my shit together, but I am a far more happier, SANER, grounded person now. My life isn't the shambles it once was.

**I finally sent an email to that asshole tonight.  He's finally going to get a piece of my mind.

About Benjamin

Since I'm working for myself, I am really nobody's bitch any more.  Except for when I am working with The Band.  Then Benjamin becomes the task master.  I haven't been beaten with the whip yet, but I just waiting for him to tell me that my editing could use some fine tuning.  According to him, I'm not allowed to double space my sentences anymore.   Whatever!  I do what I want. . . .at least here. . .and I'll use my ellipses whenever I damn well feel like it, Aunt Becky and BreakfastMeat.

So Benjamin has decided to join the blogsphere which he realizes is kinda late in the game.  After all it's not 2003 anymore.  Go check him out.  Tell him The Diatribest sent you and that you think he's hot.  Or not.  I don't know. All I can tell from his photos is that he is a skinny tow-head and I would probably crush him.

Peace and Chicken Grease,
Caro

  
The Soliloquy of the Antihero

A very long time ago, in the cold tundra of Minnesota, I was born. Kicking and screaming, I was brought into a world I didn’t understand, to be the antihero in my own life story.
Thirty years and a few crazy decisions later, not much has really changed. I’m a new transplant to the Chicago area, and took up writing and editing mostly as a side-effect of joining The Band. It turned out I wasn’t as bad as your average chimpanzee, and so I decided that writing was something I was going to start doing on a regular basis.
I love food, children, games and puzzles and have spent my whole life trying to figure out new ways to play with all of them (not at the same time) and that’s kept me amused most of the time.
If it’s crazy, I probably tried it. If you can make a buck at it, I probably did it for a living, and if it was fun, I probably tried it again. I can’t stand ellipses, bad use of semicolons or the phrase “The fact that” in a sentence.
Benjamin Searle, an important part of a nutritious breakfast.