The Unbearable Write-ness of My Being

Sometimes I think that I haven’t enough time to think and other times I feel like I’m thinking too much. It is quite the anomaly. Lately I’ve been feeling like my mind is on the brink of extinction, or perhaps at least has become an official entry on the endangered species list.
I see all these old friends, new friends, ex-friends, best friends, acquaintances and friends of friends of friends developing their lives, staking claims, and moving up and on throughout the days, weeks and months and every now and then I wonder if I’m missing something or if something is perhaps missing me. I justify it by saying that, “The times they are a changin’,” but it still gives me pause.

People have been giving me advice or at least encouragement recently to add to the confusion as well. Others have been asking what I want out of life, the places and people; wanting to know my expectations. I haven’t any anymore. The thing is I can write about my every thought, stress, worry, desire and frustration but the best way to describe my life is that you have to understand that you just can’t understand. That basic principle is the best way to love me, which is how my husband does it! Ha!

One of the greatest things about the human race is our ability to tell stories. One of the amazing things about America is that these stories become over-dramatized, cinematic and take on forms of their own. My best friend Else said it best when she said there are three sides to every story: what the first party says, what the opposing party says and what actually happened. If you can’t hear or understand both sides, than how can you be expected to take in what actually happened?

My mind has been spinning with “would haves,” “could haves,” “should haves” and “maybes” but que sera, sera, what will be, will be, people! I could sit here and tell you my life story, all the “you think you know but you have no idea,” details and all the stuff that no one should know. My secrets are what keep me unique and interesting to myself. If everyone knew every single thing about me I may become boring! How scary!

I can confess to you that in my almost twenty six years on this earth I have been through a lot of therapy and firmly believe I will probably need more! Ha! After battling with depression and being looked down upon, scrutinized and chastised by many for seeking help, and yet praised by a strong and select few, people with similar issues come out of their shell. I seriously fought against every idea that I may need to be put on some kind of “fix it” pill but accepted the possibility it may come to that.

Out of the woodwork came all these friends and family members who admitted they were on anti-depressants. These were people I thought had it all together and weathered the storm without even a raincoat. To find out they needed help gave me the push I needed to actually work through it all. I have no regrets about taking the time to heal myself. Unbeknownst to anyone but my husband, I was on a very dangerous, mentally destructive path a few years ago.
As I hit the forks in the therapy road they seemed to be littered with more and more speed bumps and potholes but one thing was for sure: after years of being afraid to feel what I wanted to and constantly making stupid decisions to derail myself from the major choices necessary I chose me and I chose “we.”

If you read my “Men-y Mistakes” entry you know that I almost let my then boyfriend, now husband, slip away and if we hadn’t hit the counseling trail and navigated it together, we could have never ended up as in love as we are today. When I was drowning he gave me some water wings and let me wade my way back to safety while he made us a sandcastle palace on the shore. (This is a good point to snicker and think, “what!?”)

As people have been suggesting things to me lately I’ve had to put them into advice piles in my mind marked “to be considered,” “not gonna happen,” and “oh, definitely!” With New Year’s resolutions running rampant on Facebook statuses and general conversations I’ve stewed over a lot and I’ve come to this conclusion: I have to believe that everything happens for a reason, whether we like it or not. The world moves with or without you but I know it will let you know when it means for you to join in.

We all make mistakes and shit happens but I think every single human deserves his or her happiness, whatever that happiness may mean. I have days where I want to find that company from “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” and have certain memories erased and re-write the context of situations but that’s just not how it works. I refuse to live in regret. My life is filled with about a half dozen fat elephants in the room as I sit; it really just depends on whom I sit with.

Perhaps I should just give into my silly ambitious dreams and be the next David Sedaris and write books about the random occurrences and fucked up situations I’ve encountered throughout my life to make readers like me feel an ounce of normalcy. A great man whom I had the pleasure of having as a support in my life for an important period of time, Scott Coupe, told me that normal is what you know. What I know is that even in the years of therapy to come there are some wounds that should just be allowed to heal naturally. You can’t save a person who doesn’t want to be saved and you can’t make a person change, get help, or do anything they don’t want to do.

In this country of ours we pump people with pills while the hippies advertise holistic and spiritual healing. In between there are the freaks like me writing blogs about letting things go!
It’s hard to let go of the rope you are hanging by when there is a knot tied at the end with a person sitting in your way asking, “Are you sure about this, I mean that’s your decision?” I pride myself on my bravery to hop off and respond, “Yeah, that’s my decision, and if it turns into a disaster at least it’s my disaster and no one else’s!” I will tell you it’s hard not to smack the person who’s in your way, in one manner or another, on the way down though, (yes you should laugh again please.)

Lost yet? You should have read the title: “The Unbearable Write-ness of my Being!” Come on now, if I can’t rant on a blog, what’s the point? Besides I’m unraveling some good stuff here!

Back to story-telling, my crazy mind and others advice rounds to the idea of family. One of my biggest struggles to date is the “idea” of family. I closed so many doors when I was thirteen struggling with the definition of trust: there are people you can admit your insanity to and people you cannot. By age 18, I thought I was a pro at the truth thing, by age 19, I thought I should adopt the freewheelin’ philosophy of being open and honest, which brought in a whole lot of support but by 26 I’ve now reevaluated all those beliefs into a combination of two theories: keep your friends close and your enemies closer, and there is such a thing as getting too close and sharing too much…now to master the balance between it all!

Friendship is a strange thing. I’ve learned that when you live like a gypsy, as my best friend, Angela likes to call me, you find out first hand who your true friends are and which relationships will stand the test of time. Family is a whole different story. One of my favorite quotes growing up that I found is, “Friends are the family you chose for yourself,” but there is something to be said about those in your bloodline and immediate family that I’ve recently discovered. Blood is much thicker than water and no matter what happens in your life, when you are tied to someone genetically, whether they like it or not, they will always be a part of your world.

It’s risky to choose another family over your own, or to expand your ideals of that family because bonds that are “water-based” dry up quicker than you think. Finding support systems outside of your relatives is important but when you share too much and the intensity is high, things can crumble before you. This I’ve experienced, and once that fragile glass hits the hardwood floor, no amount of gorilla glue will put it back together as it once was.

I may have completely lost it or at least lost the attention of my reader but through this entire thing I have come to an awakening. I own my fucked-up-ness and I don’t think a lot of people can do that. I flaunt my flaws to make them unique and appreciated. I live my life one day at a time because in my experience, it’s all you can do. My husband laughs at me for somehow still being a planner as I hold that philosophy close to me but that’s just another facet of my fucked-up-ness. I let my freak flag fly. The world can take me as I am or move on without me but it will come grab me when it’s ready to appreciate the unbearable likeness, write-ness, wrongness and insanity that are my being…my being me!