Rotten fish

I’m home. I should have stayed home last night but I didn’t.

So, the deal is this. I’ve been seeing someone the last few weeks but I’m always fragile about things I think could work. So, I don’t talk about them. For the purpose of this post, we’ll call him Victor.

The meet-cute:

I was taking a walk. I hardly ever do it. My agoraphobia gets the better of me and I hide inside. There’s a bar across the street from my apartments. I don’t go there a lot and never by myself. Loads of folks from work go there and I try not to get embroiled their drama. So… I’m walking past the bar to the store and I tripped. It’s what I do. One of the guys smoking outside the bar rushed over to help me up. First time that’s happened in a long while. I thanked him and kept walking to the store. I buy some beer and chips and head home. I could see the group heading inside. This fellow lingered and when I passed, asked if I needed help carrying my bag. I politely declined and tried to keep on walking. Then he calls after me, from the edge of the sidewalk. “I can’t keep walking with you because that’s creepy but I’d like to talk about your shirt.”

That’s where he got me. I can talk about my Always Keep Fighting shirt… just always. I told him I’d be back. I tried to be casual as I walked off and tried not to rush back but I congratulated myself on picking up on a social signal… even if it had been triggered by my tripping and a nod to my SPN-but-not-mental-health attire. When I returned, he wanted to go into the bar. I declined. I explained that I worked close by and my underlings were likely inside.

So, he smoked and I chatted about depression and anxiety and Supernatural and he listened and asked questions. He’s a year younger than me, from Brownsville and it was the first time he’d ever been to that bar. We exchanged numbers. That started a texting thing.

We got together once a week. He drove his friend to the bar and we’d go for a walk or go for some coffee. We made it past my awkwardness with intimacy and it seemed fine. We have a lot in common and most of our nerdiness is compatible. He understood when I didn’t want to have him meet my dad when Dad popped into town. Everything seemed to be going fine.

The beginning of the end:

Then came Halloween. We were supposed to go out. I wanted to introduce him to my friends but I haven’t really seen my friends much lately. Poor planning and lack of funds, mostly. Mind you, I still hadn’t mentioned him at all to anyone. ANYONE. Including people at work.

Victor was on edge. Wouldn’t talk about it. Needed some gas money for our outing. I gave him some. We hung out a bit, fooled around and I needed a mini-nap because my work hours make me horrible at late nights. I woke up, I got dressed and I waited. Then I waited. Then I texted. Then I waited. Then I gave up and changed and started drinking and watching The Guest, then Hocus Pocus, then Practical Magic. I had a marathon while telling myself I wasn’t waiting for a man to show up.

I went to work wrecked. Then found I was the only supervisor on duty. I was mightily pissed. I spent the next two days in a state of rage. Then Monday evening, I got a phone call. No apology either.

I’ve heard a lot of reasons why I’m not the person a man thought he was dating… this one was precious. My enthusiastic lovemaking is overwhelming. I had trouble wrapping my head around it.

I’m not a scratcher. I’m not a screamer. Positions are limited due to one of my legs not having full function. SO CONFUSED.

I floated into the bad place. Beyond anger. Beyond sadness. Despair is a strong word but the best one I can come up with.

So, Wednesday afternoon, I got a visitor. I agreed on an overnight visit. For the first time, we went to his place and I’m a bit dead inside but I’m always being told that I don’t give people chances so… I’m giving this guy one. To be terribly honest, I divide guys into catergories: guys I fuck and guys I date. If I’m okay jumping the sack right away, I don’t want that guy around. They’re generally dicks and the terms are clear. We fuck and we split. Never going back for seconds. The guys I date usually have to wait… A WHILE… before I’m comfortable jumping in the sack. Victor was a little bit of both.

So, I’m terrible at being in strange places overnight. I don’t sleep well. I rarely sleep well with a partner in the first place. Basically, we played house. Then we got to talking about shit. I was still, a bit, in a rage. the lower simmering kind. I laid out everything I could think of. I can’t have kids naturally, I have scary depressive episodes, I am prone to anxiety attacks, I like sex, I believe in God but not necessarily in Jesus and also do not attend church. I really wished I’d taken a picture of his face.

So, we had a talk. I busted out the laptop this morning and started writing in every moment we weren’t speaking. I got a lot of writing done but only because distress inspires me.

We learned a lot about each other and ourselves. Most importantly: We are wrong for each other. It’s totally okay that we’re wrong for each other. There are plenty of other people in the world.

I’ve learned that I give off Church-lady vibe. I’m totally judging you but not in the ways a Church-lady does. Most people seem to assume that I am a religious person, attend church regularly and that’s why I’m a kind person. The truth is that while I believe in God and am on the fence about Jesus… I absolutely want nothing to do with church-based religion. In the last decade I’ve only gone to church for weddings and funerals. My pet peeve is “Jesus loves you.” It’s not that I don’t believe Jesus loves me, it’s that people presume to know the mind and heart of a being that is utterly unknowable. For all we know, Jesus only kind of wants to be friends with. You know, how you are with that one woman from work. She’s your friend from work but is NOT your friend.

Victor learned that not all nice people believe in God. I gave him a list of Atheists who are wonderful people. I also gave him a list of God-fearing folk who were terrible people for contrast. He’s never going to forgive me for that.

I learned that some men are not aware of the biological reactions that women go through during sex. Victor, hopefully, learned that a woman who is enjoying herself, experiences a full gamut of physical reactions that she cannot control. Then i was blunt and stated that dry-fucking is terrifying and harmful. Victor’s not a monster, he’s just never fucked someone who enjoys it as much as I do.

Victor learned that nice women aren’t necessarily good cooks. I can fuck up rice. I definitely can fuck up gravy. Victor taught me how to make a good chicken broth rue.

Then a storm rolled in and my place is furthest from the bad stuff so I made him bring me home. I’m very tired. I wrote 3,763 words between talks and staring at the TV like an old married couple. Compatibility has so many layers. I know it couldn’t work if he’s got to have a church-going lady who can birth some babies.

On the way home, I listened to things that were so familiar, I have ceased cringing when I hear the skipping record.

“You’d make a great friend.”

“You’re more like one of the guys.”

“You should think about some different hobbies and go out more.”

“I wish you were more honest about yourself.”

The last one made me whip my head around. I had been waiting for it but it was the first time he’d said it out loud. “I should be more honest about addressing the assumptions you made about me in your head?”

The shade of red he turned was rather satisfying. Kay, I’m mean. I admit it. Freely.

“I don’t pretend to be a nice person. I’m nice until I’m not. I’m mean. I’m vicious. I’m a bitch. All valid facets of being a person and not a card-board cut out. If you want to meet a polite, church-going, lady… meet one at church. We met outside a bar. I was wearing a shirt that proclaimed not only my nerdiness but my social issues as I was on my way to buy beer to drink alone at home.”

I get it. I do. I am… unassuming. When people meet me, they don’t see me. When they do, they are intimidated. Maybe I do need more hobbies and more mingling but people in general suck. Girls are vicious. Boys are oblivious. When strangers do pay attention to me it’s usually to go off on me. Don’t know why. They just do. I don’t speak loudly and ignorantly in the wrong places. I’m fairly quiet and reserve my best jokes for those who will appreciate them. Something about me intrigues and angers people. I wish I knew what it was.

My buddy says I have swagger. I don’t know. My onboarding manager couldn’t put into words what I exude but something along the lines of confidence. She said it’s superattractive.

I don’t know. Victor will probably call once more. Maybe twice. We’ll talk. Then we’ll stop thinking about each other altogether. The rain finally hit my neighborhood. I just want to sleep but my mind is still going.

I always come back to “I just wish you were more honest about yourself.” It’s not the first time I’ve heard it. I’m pretty up front about myself. I don’t dish everything out straight off the bat but if I’m asked a question, I’ll answer it.

“Sure, technically I’m Mexican. It’s complicated. I’m more of a Texan.”

“It’s about mental health. Tons of people struggle with anxiety and depression. It’s kind of my thing.”

“I hate clubs. I don’t like being in crowds of people.”

“I’m not picky. I’ll eat wherever we go.”

Ways that I’m allegedly not honest? Technically I’m anywhere from 50-75% Apache. My father’s mother’s father is the only actual Mexican in my family tree. My father’s father’s grandfather is from Spain and his wife was half-French and half-something that spoke English. My father’s father’s mother is from the same place as all of my mother’s family./ I’m technically undiagnosed but given the nature of my last job’s insurance reportings I couldn’t get diagnosed and keep my job. I haven’t gotten around to it since then because my current job has switched insurance twice and it sucks so bad that I’m just white-knuckling until I can figure out what I can get covered./ There are things I don’t eat but it doesn’t mean I won’t. I’m fat. I’m not going to starve to death if I only order a little something off a mention where most of it is unappealing./ I’m a nerd, just not that kind of nerd. Not liking Dr. Who does not mean I’m not a nerd. I just nerd about other things.\

Well, I’m nigh on 2000 words for this post by itself. I’m just glad to be home and done with my latest drama. I’m joining a cloister as soon as I can find one. Big sea, right?

Nonsense and recommendations

I’m still alive. I’m in a relatively good mood. I blame all this cool air.

It’s raining! Every time I think it’s going to stop for good, it comes back. I’m very sorry that Mexico has a hurricane and that it’s lamely named Patricia but I am enjoying the spillover rain.

My uterus hates me but I’m so happy that we’re speaking again that I kind of don’t care. I’m drinking tea, taking Cramp Tabs (try them!) and have an excuse to make Banana bread. I cheated. It’s a mix but I don’t care. My house smells like bananas and I’m probably going to mix preserves with Neufchatel and enjoy the bread while drinking more tea, probably liberally doused with whiskey that I pour out of a Supernatural flask. And yes, it has to be out of the flask instead of the bottle because the flask fits in my hoodie and the bottle is in the cabinet.

I may also write. I’m feeling inspired but also ADD so… nothing has happened yet. Well, no writing except this post. I’ve had a shower, started some laundry, won a battle using a bleach pen and baked banana bread. Well, the first loaf. Forgot I was using my other bread pan for chicken pot pie so I have some cooling time before I can bake the other loaf.

So… My area has access to Amazon Prime and OH MY GOD. My life is getting so much better. I felt bad the first time I used it so I only used it for groceries (no fresh fruit or veggies, or unfrozen meats unfortunately) but yesterday, I used it to also get a dvd notebook and I started putting all my TV shows in it. Wow, the shelf room I have now. Highly recommend. You don’t have to apologize to the delivery woman for the rain but I did. It wasn’t raining when I ordered my peanut butter and sweet potato chips!!!!

Also, Lash. OMG. On My God. They deliver LIQUOR to your house. Also, beer, party snacks, cigarettes and get this… In-N-Out, Chik-Fil-A, and Wingstop. The menu is limited, mostly so the delivery guys can’t fuck it up but hells yeah. This is what I did after my dad left the other day. I ordered In-N-Out and booze. It was also hot when it got here. Highly recommend.

Also… It’s nearly Halloween. I have creeped myself out so many times in the last week with Creepy Pasta. Highly recommend. Thing is… my imagination is sometimes much creepier than the authors intended… and I don’t sleep for days. Candle Cove, though. Read it. Be mildly unnerved by it. Don’t go to the other dimensions like I did. It was far more sinister in my head.

Also. I didn’t know that this was a thing.

Please note… This is someone’s expansion on what is essentially a Disney song. Edgar Allan Poe had nothing to do with it. If he had, I’m sure the flowery poetry would be filled with more death and less magic. Just sayin’.

Also, I had no idea how long I needed this to happen.

I’m extremely upset with everyone who never told me that it happened five years ago. I’m not going to lie. I can listen to Meatloaf sing all day long.

Gasp! Meatloaf, Paul Rodgers and Bob Seger. Someone make this happen for me!

And away I go to my last loaf to bake.

Still here

The last month has been a trial of patience. I resigned myself to doing my job without hope of change in the way things should change. This meant I had to do what I could to make sure everything was going as it should though everyone was in my way.

I got mad. I got frustrated. I yelled. I screamed.

Nothing changed.

I got despondent. I got obstinate. I despaired.

Then I finally got people to listen.

I wasn’t passive-agressive though I wanted to be. I just got quiet and when asked, I was honest. Brutally. I might have been snarky but I was also factual.

Changes are yet to come but the road is clear and ready to be repaved.

This makes me a happier, if tired human being.

So tired, I can’t seem to find my pants to get a celebratory beer from down the literal street.

I have 105 minutes to get there if I still want it but. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just sit and rest.

Progress not achieved but shackles have been released.

Did I find me?

I feel good. I went home and I came back and that taxi ride home was horrendous but I survived it.

I worked the last three days with minimal drama. I did hate that everyone wanted to know how my “vacation” was. I could only shrug.

Going home is never the same. I love my family but we are so very different. Most of them were on their best behavior and I all but dared a few people to be their terrible selves. The only dig about my weight that my father made was when I hugged him in greeting… he couldn’t resist squeezing a love-handle. But he didn’t say anything and he didn’t make any jabs about any of my meals.

We watched the Rhonda Rousey fight and were glad we did so.

I went out with Miranda and some of the others after work. Not long just enough to detoxic from the week. Today is my Friday. I have the next day and a half off before I have to cover a shift for someone else.

SO… I’m hanging out with a Deep Ellum Double Brown Stout and The Guest. If you like stout beer, Double Brown Stout is a good one. If you like thrillers, The Guest is a good one. If you’re a fan of Dan Stevens, watch it. If you’re a fan of good-looking bad boys, watch it. If you’re a fan of half-naked men, just watch it. I can’t stop watching it. I love it. Also Annie’s Anthonio is my new haunting theme song. In the context of the movie, it’s incredibly creepy. So, I carry a bit of that thrill when I listen to it away from the movie.

I’m trying not to get caught up in the drama at work. It’s hard when people suck you into it.

I need a time capsule to capture these feel-goods so that when I’m not in this happy place, I can remember that it does in fact exist. I need some girl time with Laurel. We’ll make it happen soon enough.

Two more days

So, I’m getting on a plane on Friday. I don’t want to. I hate flying but I don’t have a car and I don’t have any other means that won’t take the entire weekend in transit.

We’re celebrating my father’s birthday… an entire month early. I don’t know why. I wasn’t given much choice. I could have refused, I guess but then that makes me the petty one. I had to fight for my flight time and I have to have a stupid layover on the way back.

I stopped sleeping the other night. I had to get myself back on track. I have to eat. I have to sleep and I have to stop thinking that every bit of change is the end of the world.

I probably won’t get to indulge in my hobbies this year. I’m not going to have a car this year. I’m not going to get roped into the family drama. I moved across an entire state for a reason. That place is not my home. It was never my home and I don’t think they ever understood that.

I love my family but… I never feel myself around them. It hurts me and I think my sisters can feel it. My brother is never sure what I’m about and neither does his wife. My brother-in-law wants to bring me home but knows it would hurt me more than help me. My father… wants me married and with children and I haven’t the strength to break his heart so I just don’t talk about it.

I have a ride to the airport. I have means to get home after the trip. That part is set. It’s the trip. I don’t know what we’re doing and what we’re expected to do and I have pack tomorrow night. Most of the laundry is done.

I want to enjoy the time with my nieces and nephews but I can’t really explain to them why I’m not around except that I live far away. My job is far away.

Part of what brought me here was an opportunity to work where the color of my skin and the tongues I do not speak do not affect my prospects. Sure, you can say that plenty of people in that area don’t speak Spanish and are not required to at their jobs. You can say that plenty of people who share my pigment color have good jobs. The cross-section is different. No one will say it outright but when you look like a Mexican and you don’t talk like a Mexican and live in a border city, life is rough. Strangers will try to shame you. You won’t be “the right fit for this position” even if you are over-qualified.

My attempts to learn the language have been met with frustration and despair. I learned Russian basics faster than I have learned Spanish ones.

There’s also my nerdiness. I have contacts at work where I can plug in and express some of that. At home, I can’t. I can have my interests but I can’t share them. The circles are small and cliquey and if they didn’t know you from kindergarten, they don’t need you. I only have two friends from middle school that I’m in intermittent contact with. I spent 10 years in that city and the fond memories are so few… I can’t even see them.

What I don’t want is a fight about my life. I don’t want to stand accused of being me. My plan is to walk out.

Simply walk out if it comes to it.

I’ve never been good in a fight at defending myself. I will fight for others. I will fight for my life. I will not fight for just me.

Anymore, I just don’t have the strength for it.

I’ve grown accustomed to people scoffing at my clothes, my music and my interests and blowing past it. I don’t do the same. I don’t like everything but I never go out of my way to tell someone that they suck, or their music sucks or the print on their shirt sucks.

Every time I go home, I’m just mentally bombarded with all that’s wrong that I can’t find what’s right. I don’t want to sink into despair when I get back. The extra long flight home is already causing the dread to build where I have 3 hours instead of 1 to be in a can with people and not hyperventilate. It’s actually why I prefer driving home. I can pull off and have my panic attack and then move on with my life. You can’t do that in an airplane without freaking people out.

I’ll bring my music for the wait to board and for the lay over but I’ve never been able to listen to my music on a plane. They always make me shut off my mp3 player. They always make me put away my Nook. I can bring a paperback, I suppose. It doesn’t shut out the noise of the world.

Hell, these days. I wear headphones for the 8 minute walk to work. It freaks me out when I walk home in the silence of the day.

So, I’m going to keep breathing.

I’m going to keep my calm and I hope to God I’ll be able to endure the flight home in relative peace I don’t have to show up at work Monday exhausted because I had a panic attack and couldn’t sleep.

The Balance

Not sure I’m actually balanced but I’m on an even enough keel that I’m enjoying myself in general.

Work is work. I had to dispatch the entire day instead of supervise but it went quickly and I wasn’t so exhausted when I got home that I needed to take a nap. Bad news; I’ve gained 40 pounds since I started this job. Good news: I’ve lost 8 pounds of that in the last week simply by sleeping.

I’m trying to stay even so that trend continues. I’ll sleep when I’m sleepy and eat when I’m hungry and go from there. I need to make room for a place to do some… yoga-lite. I can’t balance correctly for actual yoga but some room for some stretches would be good. It would work out the kinks and get me going.

I find myself fixated on people for odd reasons. My protege at work is getting himself over his head with the office tart and he’s been warned so I’m just backing off and letting him find out for himself what she’s about. I despise the office romance. I’ve banned them for myself… in spite of what is sometimes said about me and one of my former coworkers, that’s not a line I’ve ever crossed at this job.

I’m feeling ready to start dating again but I don’t want to go about it the way I have been. Random hookups and drinking with my fringe friends. I absolutely need to stop drinking with the management team at work. That’s just too much.

I feel I’ve come to terms with myself. I am, in fact, a morbidly obese, barren, neurotic and I kind of love myself this way. I could be healthier. I could love myself more. I could do and be a lot of things. So could everyone else.

I miss my friends. I see them rarely. I need to do a deep clean of the apartment this week. I’m going out of town for a weekend and I would hate to come back to my usual filthy existence. I should really stop living as if I’m in a frat house. Job 1 was getting rid of the spiders and I think I’ve beat the suckers.

I’ve been bolstered by the communities online… nearly as well as I was 15 years ago when I still lived at home. I don’t have the direct support I used to… I burned those bridges in a manic episode some 8 years ago. Still… The Bloggess is going through a time and I feel for her. I circled the blackhole earlier this here and it was hell on earth. I hope I never go that deep again. Jared Padelecki and Always Keep Fighting (Third round!) in conjunction with To Write Love On Her Arms has kept me from the brink. Just to know there’s that kind of power and response out there. I bought a couple of shirts around my birthday and wearing them to work and having to explain them gives me this… sort of power over myself. To be strong while I explain. To be calm. To not be afraid that today is the day that I have the panic attack in front of everyone. Just to educate maybe one person at a time about mental health.

I’m looking for all my old joys. Reading fluffy novels at a goodly pace, watching my shows, going back and watching old shows, dabbling in writing when I’m not otherwise engaged, listening to music. Singing. I haven’t belted in years and I’m working myself back up to it. I’m so critical of my own voice that I never learned to love it and my range. I’m starting to really like what my voice does… even if I’m the only one who hears it. (To be honest, I could have a mic and amplifiers and I still would be the only one who could hear me)

I wish it weren’t so hot so I could explore the neighborhood. I’m less afraid of falling than I used to be. I’ve embraced my gait fully. I can tell, by my walk, how much pain I’m in. I don’t feel the pain most of the time but if I’ve got a swing in my hips, my back is good. If I walk like an uptight robot, I’m in for a rough day.

I’ve even been thinking of hitting on this guy I get a glimpse of once a day but I’m a chickenshit and that will probably never happen. I would normally be thinking that I’d cross paths, mumble something incoherent and have to leave the state in my mortification. I don’t feel like that. Just find myself reading into everything. Like, why does he sit in his car until after I pass when he has enough time to drive off before I get to his lane. I do walk very slow these days. Does it mean anything? I don’t know. Probably not. Possibly not. Anyway.

Watching the Hillywood Show Supernatural Parody constantly is helping my moods. I don’t think I’ve even heard the Taylor Swift original but I do love this Deanmon.

So, lessons:

Usual me = 

Earlier this year me = 

Me, this month = 

OR = 

In any case, here’s some music: