With Desired Effects…

this weekend was legendary.  friday’s work was hard and annoying- mice turds, scummy tubs and christmas tree removal.  fears of last weekend’s blowout still ringing through my brain.  not one to be dissolved into misery, not anymore at least, i pasted a waxy smile to my face and reminded myself how short life is, and cautiously stepped into Friday Night.

when your partner of ten years takes mood altering medication, you never know what face you will see at the end of the day.  one weekend smiles.  next weekend you are homeless.  one weekend is hot and heavy, sex, sex, sex.  the next weekend you are face down on the floor, sobbing.  with the uncertainty of days of wine and song, or nights of hyperventilating sobs, weekends can be a scary place, and have lost most of the glittery dancing, cocktail clubbing,  Thank God It’s Friday-ing times i used to live for.  so it was with supreme eggshell-walking i planned on not planning out how my weekend would go and with trepidation i watched the clock.  i crafted.  i cleaned.  i failed at crochet again.  i wrote.  i read.  i texted.  i went to the gym.  i ate.  i filled time.  i was.  i sat.  i thought.  i worried.  i chewed my nails.  i picked my cuticles.  i texted.  i snacked.  i ate mindlessly.  i worried some more.  i panicked.  i flipped out.  i cancelled plans with friends.  i texted.  i pretended.  i faked that nothing was wrong.  i stared out the window until 2 AM when i saw his car pull up.  i froze.

clumpy snowy steel toed boots walked in.  boots came off.  wooly-socked little feet.  a “hey baby, how are you?” and a kiss.  i smiled, cautiously.  the weekend had officially begun.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/03/daily-prompt-copies/

Quandry


i am starting to have doubts about being a writer.
the other day i blogged about ideas that i had, that never got published because of my lack of confidence.
i know that nothing is original and every possible topic on every possible subject has been covered in every possible way- but it still messes with your self esteem as a writer. it makes you wonder why you write. it makes you doubt that you can ever be successful. i’ve had pep talks from friends and motivating chats with other authors, and ironically read blogs on that subject. they all said about the same thing; that there are different types of success. that you don’t need to be Stephen King or a Jk Rowland to be successful, that art is just as important, keeping your integrity and blah blah blah. none of that helped shoo away my doubts.

the idea was still knocking around my brain this morning as i was perusing Facebook and i saw one of those ecard-y type dealies with one a line from one of the memoirs i read at an open mic nite a few years ago. coincidence? possibly. probably. maybe. i dunno. but it was eye opening and even made me a little queasy.

it’s not as if i need millions of dollars, or to turn out a five book series to feel successful, i just am very afraid of producing something that looks as if it is copied or plagiarized. again, i’m not trying to reinvent the writin’ wheel, i just hate copycat-ism. i just really hate the idea of it looking like i’m jumping on the young adult or mommyporn bandwagons even if it just might be considered a ‘trend’.

i know that writers and artists have been struggling with this subject forever and i certainly won’t be the one to solve it, but it’s a thought i have ever single time i sit down to write.

in a society and world that blogging is more popular than ever and social media is as integral to most people’s day as breakfast, is one more blog necessary? how many more tweets or Twilight knockoffs before people don’t even pay attention anymore? what are your thoughts on this, kiddos?

My Name is Theresa. And I’m a Realist.

I realized something the other day when people were still throwing new year’s resolutions about, and i was steadfast in my resolution to not make any resolutions. i was sitting quietly in the car as we drove around Atlantic City listening to Christmas music. we were trying to get the last of the holiday spirit before it disappeared into the chaos of another three hundred-and-some days. i watched the blazing marquees blink and flash and i wondered what was in abandoned and broken down buildings. i watched the groups of casino-goers scuttle about and i saw lonely people trudging home from their late night jobs. i felt so small, like you do when you are disconnected from rushing crowds and noisy happenings. i wondered, as you do, what those people were celebrating, and felt lonely for not being a part of their fun. i was quiet and introspective, like you are when you miss your friends and wondering if they were missing you too.

there was talk about what we would do if we were to inherit a lot of money. my boyfriend and i were dreaming of owning a campground or a bed and breakfast, and building the house of our dreams and traveling. realistically unrealistic, but with the right circumstances, possibly attainable miles and miles in the future. we talked about the past, and things he used to do in his old neighborhood, and like i do, i listened, wondering what my childhood would have been like if i was in his shoes. talk of ‘the way it used to be’ was brief, if only because it’s just talk, and there’s no potential in dwelling on the past, so the conversation went back to buying a boat and a camper, specific kinds of dogs, special vacations, all excited with possibility. my life being what it is, however, full of so much missed opportunity, so much disappointment, i didn’t give myself the chance to get filled with dreams. or even hope. i’m a realist. and we realists know better. we live in the now. we only allow ourselves realistic thoughts. we don’t dream or make WISH BOOKS or say things like “someday i’d like to…”. we just can’t. we can talk about the future in the short term, on practical attainable goals like- “in six months after we pay off our credit cards-…”, or “after i lose ten pounds, i’d like to-…”, or “next week after i finish work for the week-…”. attainable. practical. realistic. i am a realist after all.

i wasted a lot of my life wondering about the ‘what if’s’, and crying over my problematic past. neglectful parents, correctable mistakes, broken promises. these are things i know. but these are also things that i can no longer do anything about. they are done. they are in the past. they are the past. thankfully.

the future? i want to believe, and dream and hope and wish. but i can’t allow that. i don’t want to say, “after i lose 100 pounds i’ll buy that bikini to wear on our caribbean cruise”– there is just SO MUCH WRONG with that. it’s almost laughable. i won’t say things like, “i would like to go back to school if-…” because, well, i just won’t.

i can however, let myself say, “after my car is paid off next summer, i’ll feel more relaxed” and “by next year, our credit cards will be paid off, and we’ll finally be able to breathe a little easier”. these are things i can say. these are things that will happen. these are things that i know (*knocks on wood*, barring some unforeseen disaster- that is NEVER out of the possibility). but MOSTLY, for the most part, BASICALLY, (probably) those are things i know.

now, having said all of that, i still WANT things to happen. like, winning the lottery, or getting a huge burst of creative energy and also a miracle publisher and get my books onto shelves. or losing 25 pounds. i can hope for a dream job for my boyfriend. i can dream that my son will find his way through life easier than i did. but will i wait for it? will i dream about these things? will i allow myself the luxury of HOPING for them? absolutely not. i’m a realist. and realists don’t do that.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/11/daily-prompt-forward/

Fat On the Outside

Talk about a time when i experienced being on the outside looking in?
that’s simple. every single time i go to the fucking gym. no joke. i’m not trying to be dramatic or cliche, either. it’s just that every time i take my fat to the gym, i become an outsider.

i go to a franchise gym where the slogan is that it’s a ‘JUDGEMENT FREE ZONE’- which is fine and dandy, but when i walk in, in my sweatpants, raggedy hoodie and non-designer sneakers, i get instantly judged, and might as well be put in a caged area for not being a natural born gym goer. to start, i am more than 100 pounds overweight, and although i don’t “LOOK” obese, by medical standards i am. interestingly, i am in better shape than a lot of my skinny friends, and actually can hold my own with a lot of exercise but i definitely don’t look good doing it. now, i know that no one really looks good sweating and getting all red in the face, but, most girls that i see at the gym wear more makeup than i did for my wedding. i’ve seen false eyelashes and glitter, even those glue on crystals– ON A TUESDAY NIGHT in winter. no, i’m not trying to compete, and NO, i’m not trying to pick up a date, i’m trying to drop a few tons, but i absolutely hate feeling like it’s Gym Class in high school- where the fat kids will ALWAYS be picked on, and never fit in.

people stare at me like they are worried that i’m going to have a heart attack, or pitied because my fat is flopping around. i know people will deny it, or ultimately say, “who cares? fuck em!” and all of that, but the truth is, it is a completely uncomfortable situation- from the moment i walk in, until i walk out. i am uncomfortable getting on machines and i am uncomfortable about getting off of them. i am nervous to use the weights and self conscious about using the other equipment. i rarely push myself, because i don’t like the looks i get; some that simply say, “gross” and “why are you bothering?’ and others are thinking “god, if i ever look like that, shoot me.”

and this doesn’t just happen at the gym, it’s just very obvious there. it happens everywhere. being ‘FIT’ or ‘IN SHAPE’ is as much a clique as being popular in high school. when i’m walking around the trails at the park, or roller skating, summers of softball, i feel excluded and not a part of what others are doing. Even the other day at the ski resort, i didn’t dare ski, because i hate not being able to fit in with people that are flexible and stronger, or even have better gear (i wore jeans, hoodie and some boots that i got from the thrift store that are in desperate need of another coating of waterproofing spray). i’m slower, less coordinated and not as resilient as everyone else, so it’s easier just sitting out and watching. it really sucks. the worst part is that my brain doesn’t understand that it can’t always do the same things that the thinner people, which makes things worse because i want to be out there skating and skiing, and even trying that scary cage-y bar lift-y machine.

i keep going to the gym and trying to be as active as i can, with the hope that i won’t be so big someday, won’t be so clumsy and ungainly and eventually won’t feel like i’m on the outside anymore. i know that there’ll always be the gym elite, the pretty ones, that wear expensive designer breast cancer-awareness pink sports bras, yoga pants that they bought from a speciality store online, and shoes made just for going to the gym that cost as much as my car. i’m not trying to compete, i’m really not, but, someday i would like to not feel excluded from something that most people take for granted.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/09/daily-prompt-outside-2/

Who Can It Be Now?

If i had the choice to be ANYONE in the world- living or dead?   *thinks*  I’m surprising even myself by saying that i’d choose being me- no matter what. and although my life has been one fucked up hotmess after the next, i still wouldn’t ever change being good ol’ *Miss Tee*, if for no other reason than i’m a tenacious motherfucker and i really would like to see how my epic tale ends.

however, having chosen myself, if i had ‘it’ to do all over, i would like to make the following changes-

  1. lose all of this weight.  or at least, have the knowledge and forethought as a younger version of me to NEVER have gained this mass of mess to begin with.
  2. not listen to my parents as much as i did.  being a kid/teen/young adult, i foolishly believed that my parents always were always most concerned with my well being.  i figured that since they were adults, and were responsible for me, that they knew best, and would never do anything that wasn’t for my ‘own good’.  but now, having been a parent for nineteen years and with some actual life experience, i see just how fucked up my parents were.  hindsight is truly 20/20, and my therapy sessions would double if i dwelled on all of the mistakes my parents dragged me through, not to mention most of it wasn’t even ‘best intentions’-type of stuff.  adults make mistakes. and parents are adults. parental word is NOT god.  i know this NOW.
  3. make better choices.  including but not limited to- not falling in love so quickly, learning to be on my own and more independent in general, and learning more LIFE SKILL-sy things like car maintenance and home repair.
  4. not get pressured into school right out of high school.  the biggest regret of my entire life was being forced into secondary education before i was ever ready.  i never had the choice to just float and make mistakes before i was thrust into the BIGPEOPLE WORLD, and over two decades later, i still feel like i am paying for that.  i wish i had the chance to experience life a lot more before being thrust into adulthood at age seventeen.  i learned how to live paycheck to paycheck, and how to live off of credit cards, only to have to get money from my credit cards to pay my credit card bills.  i learned how to live on one meal a day, mostly on ‘discarded’ sandwiches from the cafe where i worked.  i learned how to work two jobs until i was so exhausted that i skipped class- A LOT.  i had absolutely no social life which caused so much unhappiness and resulted in more bad choices and i cared very little about moving forward in life.  worst of all, this probably resulted in my agoraphobia, panic anxiety disorder and yes, a lot of my weight problems.  to top it off, i graduated very mediocrely, which obviously didn’t help me land any topnotch art jobs, except, at an art supply store, ironically called Top Notch.

i don’t like to live in the past and try not to dwell on all of the shit, but it’s hard to not get bogged down in blame or a big ol fat shame spiral when things are less than shiny- even more than twenty years later.

however, having said all of this,  i was lost in the moment as we were driving around Ocean City looking at Christmas lights the other night, and realized that i finally am living in THE PRESENT.  i no longer want to sit and try to make up for mistakes in the past, and i’m certainly not going to wait around until my life is ‘perfect’ before i start living.  it took forty years for me to get here, and with any luck, i’ll be around on earth at least forty more (*knocks on wood*), and i don’t want to waste any more time on the ‘what if’s’ or thinking i can’t do things UNTIL (*insert thing i’ll probably never get around to*).  at the bottom of it all, i’m not unhappy with who i am, i know that i still have an amazing lifetime ahead of me, and don’t want to miss a thing.

All You Can Eat Friend Buffet

Did you ever look at your facebook and see your friends always doing super fun things and wonder why you werent there to join in? does it seem like everyone is always having more fun than you? i realize NOT EVERYONE is having the time of their lives on a daily basis, but some, in fact are, and i am NEVER along for that ride.

if i dont plan something, or ask someone to do things, nothing happens. if i dont hold people’s hands and cruise direct, i wind up doing nothing. but somehow MAGICALLY people always seem to have 3000 things to do and my phone doesnt ever seem to ring.

if it happened just once in awhile, that wouldnt be such a big deal- but this is constant. and whats worse? these are always people that started off as “my friends” but through one of my parties or events, i have introduced them, and they fall instantly in FRIENDLOVE and then, ultimately i’m left at home on the couch, watching 6million photos of them riding unicorns come up on instagram. i gotta say that it sucks. a lot.

even worse is when my friends meet and they decide to date or hook up. that ALWAYS ends badly. but guess who gets stuck in the middle? ME. i end being their liason, advice giver, their confidant, and even a third wheel on dates- and then nothing. there i am, on a friday nite, by myself, watching their 45 tagged check ins pop up on facebook. and guess which asshole gets consulted when problems start to arise? THIS ASSHOLE. you better believe it. why? because i was THEIR FRIEND- and know them. unlike the person that jumped into dating them. and then, if/when they break up, this asshole here, is stuck in the middle of it.

do i sound bitter? fuck yeah i do. why? because i am. i HONESTLY do NOT have a problem introducing friends around- i dont! i’m happy when people meet and connect and become friends, i honestly am. what i CANNOT DEAL WITH- is that when these people connect, i ALWAYS end up a third wheel, like they have been the ones that were friends forever, and not us. and then ultimately, i end up alone on a friday nite, wondering where the hell my friends all went.

if this only happened once or twice, i wouldnt care. but it happens CONSTANTLY. i have become an ALL YOU CAN EAT FRIEND BUFFET. and people know it too. “oh hey! i’m off work this weekend- what are you doing?” conveniently i have stuff going on, because i usually do- IF I DONT- it’s COUCH CITY for me. most times i see that people fucking friend each other on facebook WHILE WE ARE STILL HANGING OUT at the damn event. lately, it seems that the whole THIRD WHEEL thing has even been cut out. i dont even get invited along to shows that they both coicidentally wanted to go to and make plans to be besties and go together within 2 hours of meeting.

do i still go out and have fun? sure i do. do i have my own “THIS SHIT IS HILARIOUS” pic moments on facebook, of course i do. i’m sure there are people that think every day of my life is eating tubes of cookie dough and no-handed shots and pinatas, and that’s why people hang out with me. i’m FUN. but my novelty ALWAYS seems to wear off. and the people that came along for THE *MISS TEE* CAVALCADE OF HILARITY before, are on their own merry go rounds now, together.

IT IS MADDENING. and NO. i am not being sensitive. NO. i am not just paranoid. THIS HAPPENS CONSTANTLY. it’s so bad now, that i dont even want to introduce people around, bc i feel like some FRIEND PIMP and i dont even get paid or bought a drink no mo. i feel invisible most times now, because i feel like people just want me around for the people that i bring.

no joking, i’m a super cool awesome fun person, and i assume that maybe my personality might be too big and intense for some people- but i tend to be JUST FINE for my friends UNTIL this other super cool person that has more in common with THAT FRIEND comes along, and then- it’s BYE BYE BYE to me.

i’m at the point where i cant even look at my fucking facebook on friday nites or monday mornings.

and every time my friend becomes friends with another one of my friends, they get distant, like they know i’m going to throw a fit, or not be “cool” with it… and at first i didnt care and i was honestly “cool” with it…. UNTIL>>>>> i started seeing these new besties intermingling THEIR FRIENDS… and i would think to myself- “self? have we met these people?” and usually we havent. THIS HAPPENS SO OFTEN you would think i’m exaggerating. it’s like people come into MY little social network and go shopping, but i NEVER am invited into THEIR group. it’s really eating me up.

so, here i sit, going through this strange phenomenon that has become a regular occurrence in my life with not just one but SEVERAL friends. and now i have to decide if i just delete my facebook and ignore it (which NEVER worked in the past), or do i become a hermit? do i invite myself along to their outings WHICH I OBVIOUSLY WAS NOT INVITED TO (and it wasnt just a matter of me being busy)? or do i just purge these people, put them on the same backburner that i seem to be on and move on?

why do people seem to be able to only interact with people that are in their immediate attention? why do peope have the ability to only be friends with, like, 2 people at a time? and most importantly where the hell is MY unicorn party?

side effects

Celexa.  Cymbalta.  Prozac.  Lexapro.
Paxil.  Ativan.  Seroquel. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm….. there you go.

Just a few things I need, indeed, to stay up
Interesting to think I can be fed my moods, or lack thereof, in a cup.

Wellbutrin.  Zoloft.  Zyprexia.  Valerian root tea.
All served up and ready to produce an even better me.

The celexa gave me lockjaw so bad that I thought I had died.
Cymbalta didn’t do anything so I sat around and cried.
Prozac made me feel funky and all jittery with the shakes.
Lexapro I don’t remember much, but the horrible stomach aches.

cute and sugary coated like that rhyming poetry shit- that’s just not me.
my quirky doctor wanted me to write out how I was feeling and that was the first bunch of crap that just popped into my brain.
and it made me want to barf.  it made me actually feel worse than before i sat down to write it.

but the other part, the part that i wrote and DIDN’T SHARE?  was so much worse. 
and you never want to do something that opens yourself up for judgement by your therapist,
or allow them to see the basketcase that you really are.