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So much to say, So little to write

I hate creating titles. They need to be catchy, but I hate cheesy, cutesy, attention-seeking titles. Blah.

I have so much in my mind, and such a desire to sort out my thoughts and communicate what is important to me.

But where to start?

Full of intellectual and creative pursuits. Privileged and ambitious web developer. Deep concern for truth and justice. Far too experienced with the dark, hopeless world of mental illness and substance abuse. A hatred yet loving understanding for fundamentalism and the world of Trump. Struggles with codependency and narcissism. Divorce and loneliness. Asexuality and a confused and abused sexual history. Overnight single parent of an angry, destructive, traumatized 5 year old for an unknown length of time. 

My strongest driving force is the desire to listen, understand, and find common ground. Everyone is valuable. People love to be on the receiving end of this, but what am I supposed to do when no one desires to understand me and my struggles? What am I supposed to do when no one truly values me?

Life is lonely and tough. I am lonely and tough. I’m sick of learning how tough I am. And I’m sick of ranting about it. But I fear that’s all I will find energy to do. And no one will want to hear about it.

Oh, and I’m intensely snarky and full of dark comedy. Wanna get to know me?

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Why Bother Writing? When hope gives up.

I wrote this in April 2018. Looking back at some old posts I’ve written, they now have incredible meaning with the turn of events last June. This one especially. 

I used to write with optimism. I was not optimistic, but when I began to write, there was hope of finding an answer to my troubles. Writing helped me work through my thoughts and reach a conclusion. Writing helped me understand myself. I used to write to find peace and understanding.

Now when I write, there is nothing left to find. What I thought I learned in the past is gone. Now there is nothing. I don’t want to discover the depths of my depression. Or worse, how shallow my worries really are. I don’t want to discover how bad I have become.

Now I am writing, hoping to reveal some deep depressing insight that will win applause. Fuck me. I think I’m so fucking smart, so fucking deep, so fucking insightful. I will write with my fucking pen name and the fucking web will be so impressed with little ole fucking me.

What happened to me? Is this who I have always truly been? Who am I really? A determined child who held my own, with an overactive conscience and a desire for perfection. Longing for a best friend. My own special best friend. Doubtful of my religious upbringing, and isolated in my doubt. Depressed, angry. But then I discovered love, and hope. These are not possessions of religion — they are available to humanity as a whole.

Married, hopeful. Committed, driven, determined to reach perfect balance. Uh oh, codependent, isolated, stressed, ill, angry. 9 years leading to a divorce.

A nephew, a new life and a new hope. No. Mental illness left and right. Alcoholism. Narcissism. Lashing out. Anger. Paranoia. A sweet 5 year old who can barely speak. I am here, alone, with a home, with money, with time, but I can’t reach him. There is a toxic wall keeping me from him. The family I grew up with is unrecognizable. And yet here we all are, still. We’re here. Who are we? Why are we still alive?

A boyfriend. A new future? I don’t know anymore. I don’t want to know anymore. I used to look forward to children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. Now, I am alone. And I see…..shit. Hopeless futures. Parents with a hopelessly tangled mess of a marriage. Who knows how much longer they will survive — not in the marriage, but in life. Brother lost to mental illness. Recovering, for now. Until he is lost to another episode, or to physical illness. Never to reach the potential of who he was supposed to be. Who is he? The meticulous, annoying, clean-cut brother I grew up with? Gone, and dirty, pathetic, alone. What the fuck.

The world just sucks. The world is unfair. We are bombarded by this every day now, with women’s movements, and black lives matter, and the Trump era. Mental illness. Addiction. What the fuck. Do I even have a right to complain? I guess so. But I am so self absorbed aren’t I. But what else should I be absorbed in, my alcoholic mother, my bipolar brother, my depressed boyfriend, my toddler nephew who can’t talk and has a BPD mother who won’t care for him and won’t let anyone help?

Balance, that is the goal. But balance is so fragile. And anyone and anything can tip you over, just like that. It is so exhausting, and for what? Spend your life seeking balance, and watch it fail.

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A strange grocery store encounter

A post from June 2018

I went to the grocery store after work today. In the parking lot, before I walked in the door, a man shouts out,

“Excuse me, miss?”

I stop, turn, “Yeah?”

“Do you work at the university?”

I shake my head, “No.”

“Oh, I tell you, you look just like the lady at my physical therapy!”

“Oh, well, no, it’s not me.”

“Yeah, wow, well she is so great, I got help for my knee, and I’ve had the best conversations with her! Well what do you do?”

This man seems kind. Maybe 20 years older than me. But why is he trying to strike up a conversation with me? He is black…what if he was white, would I still be uncomfortable?

“Web development.”

“Oh yeah? Where at?”

I don’t want to tell a stranger where I work. But what if he’s just being friendly, and I am rude in return? And even worse, what if he thinks I’m rude towards him just because he’s black?

“EduTech” I answer. I gave the name of my company’s parent company, which would make it harder to pinpoint where I actually work in my town.

“Ah, awesome! What do you guys do over there?”

I’m standing in the middle of the parking lot, I’m trying to go grocery shopping, and I don’t know this guy. What legitimate reason would he have to question me like this in the parking lot? Shouldn’t I be uncomfortable?

“We make educational websites for kids to use in schools.”

“Oh really? Ah, well, do you do any work for your own clients?”

Maybe he’s just making conversation. Maybe I should ask him what he does. NO, WHAT AM I THINKING, DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM!

“No, I don’t.”

“No, not at all?”

Is he trying to get me to work alone with him somewhere?

“No. I got started working with my own clients, but it was too stressful, so I work for a company now.”

“Ah, well I made a website, using Wix, no not Wix… what is it….”

“Wordpress?”

“Yeah, Wordpress! And I lost it all! I added widgets you know, to customize it, but I lost it all!”

Did he even talk to someone who looked like me at the university? Did he make it up? Is his politeness just a way to get people to lower their guard and give him personal information?

“Yeah, you gotta keep a backup!”

“Yeah, oh man! Well, so do you do any consulting? I need help with my website!”

This is starting to creep me out! But I am very introverted. I need to be more open and receptive, and I have been considering taking up freelance work again, and Wordpress is right up my alley. What if he’s a nice guy? A nice guy who would be more than willing to recommend my work to other local people he knows?

“Well, I can give you my email..”

Perfect, email. Even if he’s a creep, no harm in giving out my email. And then he’ll leave me alone and this conversation can end.

“Yeah, then if I have trouble I can reach out. Just tell it to me, I’ll remember.”

I don’t want to give him my email, what am I thinking! Ah whatever…

“UdiPenn321…”

FUCK!! My email is my name! I just gave him my first and last name!

“All right, take care…”

WHAT DID I JUST DO! He knows my name, and he knows where I work! What else can he find out, can he find out where I live? What if knows which car I drive? Is he going to follow me? I live alone! Why am I so stupid! Why do I hand out information like that! I was uncomfortable the whole time, but I gave him my email, my name, and told him where I work, just like that, what is wrong with me!

This reminds me of a few years ago when I was still married and a similar incident happened. My husband reacted as he often did, with a condescending shout, lecturing me about not talking to strangers. “You can’t trust everyone! You can’t be nice to everyone! Not everyone is like me! You are good, I like that about you, but not everyone is good!”

Oh really? How many times have you encountered a seemingly friendly person on the street, and ignored and rejected them? How many times have you been caught off guard by this type of questioning for worries that you might be assaulted later?

HOW IS THIS MY FAULT!?

Oh, what’s that? It’s different because you’re a man? Oh, I see, men never get fooled by a sweet-talking woman, so you can be friendly to anyone you like. Men never get conned by other men, at least not you, you would immediately know if you were being conned, so you can talk to whoever you want. It’s just stupid women like me, sweet-eyed, and with child-like innocence. We just don’t know who to trust. That’s why we need men to protect us.

Fuck you.

Yet bitter as I am against my past marriage, I wish I had a partner to come home to. If I had someone to come home to, my parking lot interaction would have been a funny story to tell. But living alone, I am scared, and embarrassed, and angry.

It’s not that big of a deal, I guess. But I’m locking my bedroom door tonight.

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Spilled Milk: Memories of My Brother

I wrote this in May 2018. This post has hit home and reflected more truth in the last year than I even could have imagined.

Lunchtime

One of my earliest memories is a silly one. I remember sitting in the highchair eating lunch. My brother, a couple of years older than me, was big enough to sit at the table.

“Udi! Throw your food on the floor!” he told me.

“No, I’ll get in trouble!”

But he insisted, “I did it all the time! Mom doesn’t mind! I promise! It’s fun!”

After much back and forth…smash!… “Udi! What did you do!”

Uh oh, mom was mad. My brother said she wouldn’t get mad! Why did I listen!

I always wondered if this silly memory was a real because I must have been so young. But recently, my mom recalled how my brother used to throw his food on the floor and it drove her crazy. He did it all the time, she said. So I asked her, did she get mad at him? Did she punish him?

“No! He was so stubborn, so difficult, I just gave up!”

So he was telling the truth after all, that stinker! He threw his food on the floor all the time, and mom didn’t seem to mind.

Potty Training Pride

I remember when my brother was potty training. He had a training potty in his room. I heard my mom talking to her friend, trying to figure out how to get him to start using the potty!

“I can do this!” I thought. “I can use the potty!”

So I did it! I went in his room and used his potty. Mom was so excited! She called her friend to tell her the good news, my brother finally used his potty! I don’t think I told anyone what I had done. But I’m pretty sure I was proud. I wonder what my brother thought…

“Just ignore him!”

It often felt like my brothers goal in life was to get a reaction out of me. For as long as I can remember, he was driving me nuts, always finding a way to push me to my limit. Pull my hair a little, then a little harder, then a little harder, and harder,

“Does it hurt yet? Does it hurt yet? How about now? How about now?”

Until finally,

“Mooooooommmm!!!!!! He’s bugging me again!!!”

And mom’s response?

“Ignore him! He’s just trying to get a reaction!”

Oh, how angry it makes me feel to remember the unjust reaction I got countless times. How ANGRY he made me, every day, all the time! Why did he live to make me mad!

There was a time in middle school when I told a cousin that I wouldn’t miss him if he died. It wasn’t that I wanted him to die, but I just wouldn’t care, because he was nothing to me except a person who lived to upset me. He loved me though. And I would realize how much I loved him later in life, when he became only a shadow of his former self — lost in his struggle against bipolar disorder — and had a son.

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I’m a strong, independent woman who was 7 years married to a manipulative, sexist man.

Battling codependency, fundamentalism, and prejudices to face the truth of my reality

This is a post I wrote In June of 2018, about a month before my life was turned upside-down (or maybe right-side up) when I became my nephew’s guardian 

I have always been known as strong-willed, independent, not afraid to speak my mind. My mom has always commented on my “strong personality” and my ability to assert myself. She tells me how when I was just a few years old, my grandpa said I would be able to “hold my own” because of my determination.

So how did I end up here?

My Ex

Once, before I was married, my ex came with me to the drug store. I have a bad habit of sarcasm and playful but annoying slaps and pinches. I can’t remember what happened, but he said something I didn’t like, so I gave my signature harmless yet annoying and somewhat disrespectful snarky attitude and slap on the arm before getting out of the car.

Walking into the store, I was shocked as he walked up behind me, grabbed my hair right at the base of my skull, and aggressively whispered in my ear, “Don’t you ever do that again.”

I didn’t speak with him until we got home. Once there, I told him what was on my mind. I was furious. If I made him mad I was sorry, and he had every right to tell me that, but how could he ever grab me like that. What was he thinking. How dare he. He replied that he had been very stressed, he wasn’t reacting normal, but I shouldn’t push him while he’s on edge like this.

I figured it’s true, he was in a stressful situation, and my snarky attitude could push people’s buttons, and I knew he would never really hurt me, so angry as I was, I made mental note of the incident, but moved on.

He once told me about his past experiences working out at the gym. He didn’t think it was a good idea for men and women to work out at the gym together, because women wiggle back and forth on the exercise machines, and when men are working out, they just want to fuck anything that walks by. Chuckling because he thought his commentary was funny, he explained how during the weeks that he worked out regularly, he would be walking on the streets, wanting to fuck the old woman to the left, the hooker to the right, the mom straight ahead. Everything was fuckable. Of course he never acted on these impulses because he was better than most men, but he understood the temptations that men face.

I was disgusted at his commentary, and did not find it funny at all. I am a girl who never wants to be looked upon as an object. I intentionally cover up my skin and style myself plainly to make it easier to see me as a person, and harder to see me as an object. I do this because I was always taught the same idea that he was confirming: men are physical creatures, and they can deny their natural tendencies, and good men will understand that their physical desires are shallow, but like it or not, it is a part of being a man. He appreciated me because I was intelligent, independent, and did not want to be an object. He had urges that made me uncomfortable, but my discomfort was my own insecurity.

So, I made a mental note, but moved on.

After we were married, he said he understood why men beat their wives. He explained, laughing because he thought his commentary was funny, that women’s voices can be so annoying when they nag and complain in high-pitch that it could push anyone to violence. He said this to me, and on a separate occasion, said the same thing to my female cousin. It didn’t apply to him, of course. He could control his temper, he was one of the good guys. But women’s voices are so annoying, they should be more careful when they nag, because a man with less self control just can’t help himself!

This was not funny. How could he joke? But I knew he would never hit me. So whatever twisted joke he was making, I shouldn’t read too much into it. I made a mental note, and moved on.

While reading or watching tv, I often found myself defending my choices, and eventually hiding whatever I was reading, or watching, or listening to. My ex would glance at the cover, or read one sentence, and launch into a lecture,

“You can’t trust everything you read or hear! People can sound smart, but paint false pictures of reality! I know you are smart too, but don’t waste your time reading things like this!”

These books I read? The one that stands out the most, because it was the first time this happened, was a large hardcover book titled “GOD.” It was an encyclopedia-style book on the world’s religions.

He took one look at the cover, and launched into his lecture. I pushed back, saying he knew nothing of the book, and nothing of my thoughts in reading the book, and no reason to think he was a better judge of the books content than I was. So he looked up the page about Islam, read one sentence, and his lecture continued, about how this book was spreading false information about Islam. I grabbed the book from him, and in fact, whatever he was ranting about was false — I continued reading and pointed out that the book said exactly what he was telling me. He should have finished reading it before launching into an attack.

He did not apologize. He just rationalized his behavior, and stopped arguing with me about the book.

This came up many times after. I enjoyed watching “The View” but would avoid it to avoid his judgment. Towards the end of our marriage, I watched the series “Girls” in secret. Of course, watching “Breaking Bad” or “Game of Thrones” was perfectly justified because he liked it, and men were usually the dirty ones in those series. I guess men are allowed bad behavior, but if women are exposed to other women behaving badly, our fragile minds will be poisoned.

After I separated from him, he began reaching out to my dad. I always had a good relationship with my dad, although while I was married we were much more distant because of the constant tension between my dad and my husband. But my dad being a man, and me being a women, apparently my ex thought my dad was the key to changing my mind. He told my dad details about our marriage, and tried to relate about the problems “us men have to deal with.” My ex told my dad that he “broke his one rule” by “letting his woman go out into the world.” Apparently the exposure I received while going to work and playing sports was too much for me to handle. And without him there to control the flow of information, I got it in my little ole head that I needed to get divorced.

I know this because my dad showed me the messages my ex kept sending him. He didn’t understand why my ex thought he could change my mind. I don’t know how my dad replied to him, but what my dad told me is “You make your own decisions! And the reason we’re close is because I respect that — if I tried to tell you what to do you would only stop listening! I don’t know what he’s thinking!”

My dad was right. He knew me well. Apparently my ex didn’t know me at all.

A few weeks after telling him I wanted to divorce, he asked me, “Is it because I didn’t fuck you enough?”

I was stunned. What was going on in his head? Who had I been married to?

“Fine, let me rephrase, is it because I didn’t ‘make love’ enough?”

What the hell…….. since when was sex something he decided to do to me? We didn’t do it anymore because I didn’t want him to touch me. And when we did do it, wasn’t it something we did together? Since when was it hisdecision and his act?

After we divorced, we still met up a couple time. Once, he sent me a text asking me to meet him. He had some things he wanted to say, and then he would leave me alone. So I met him, and we took a walk. He told me about how after we separated he had given up on women. He was going to just use them physically, and not take them seriously anymore. But he had met a girl who changed his mind. Her personality was so good, and he was going to give women a chance again.

I was disgusted. Does he think this is going to make me jealous? I can’t believe I am hearing this. I never deceived him, never betrayed him. I stood by his side while he let me down time and time again. And finally I had had enough and divorced him, and somehow this caused him to lose faith in women, so that no option was left but to use them for sex. But now he met a girl with a good personality, and this was supposed to make me jealous? I had no words… I went home that night disgusted that I had ever let this man touch me.

After we got divorced, I decided to try online dating. I discovered that dating websites had been blocked. While we were married, my husband had put up a firewall to prevent me from accessing dating websites. What the fuck….

Seriously, how had I been so blind?

What happened? Am I not the independent, free-thinking, strong-willed person I was always told that I was? Am I not the person I believed that I was? Am I just a codependent pushover with a superiority complex that blinded me to my pathetic reality?

Taking a look at my upbringing, maybe there are some answers:

My Fundamentalist upbringing

My entire extended family on both sides are Christian fundamentalists. I went to church twice a week, and also attended Christian school. I was surrounded. But ever since I was old enough to start questioning, my doubts began, and only worsened as I got older, forcing me into a fog of isolation.

I had quite a few fights with my mom about it. If I questioned something like the age of the earth, or whether Hell was a real place or more of a metaphor, she would argue back, fearing for my soul. If I brought these questions up to my peers, I was met with defensiveness and judgment. If I brought it up to my teachers, I was met with condescension and prayer.

When my questions went even deeper, when I started wondering if the Bible was really from God, or whether God was even real, I learned to keep these thoughts to myself, and fight the battle alone, in my head.

What I was taught about boys

To this day, whenever I express a problem I’m having with someone of the opposite sex, my mom says something to the effect of:

“Oh, that’s men for you.” or “Oh, that’s what it’s like to be a woman.”

“I know you don’t like to hear it, but there are basic differences between men and women.”

“Sex and love are physical for a man. It’s emotional for a woman.”

“Women have to respect men. Men are our leaders. Men have to love us and protect us, but we have to respect them.”

What I was taught about sex, and romance

At school, a memory that sunk in more than anything else was when the guidance counselor and youth pastor of our school gave sermons expressing that,

“Boys think about sex every 12 seconds. I get it, you want it, and I’m not saying it’s not good. Oh man, [disgusting grunt], it’s good! But you have to wait for it! And girls, it’s your responsibility not to tempt them.”

He once told of a young girl in a past youth group he led, probably the most beautiful young girl he had ever seen, who rebelled against his teachings of purity, saying,

“I’m attractive, so what am I supposed to do about it, wear a tent?”

To which his wife replied, “Yes, if that’s what it takes.”

I remember thinking that sounded exactly like what Muslim women do, and yet these Christians looked down on Islam, and look at Muslim women as oppressed. Something didn’t add up here. But I was horrified and disgusted.

The youth pastor at my church gave a similar sermon, encouraging celebacy. Again, he related to the boys,

“I’m not saying it’s not good! I get it, it’s hard to wait! I made a mistake and didn’t wait. I’m lucky I didn’t get my girlfriend pregnant or catch an STD. But I can tell you from experience, it’s much better to wait!”

Sex was always taught as a one-way street. It was something that the boys wanted, and the girls… well I guess the girls somehow didn’t want it, and if they expressed any desire, they were just temptresses preying on the physical needs of men.

“Don’t show your midriff, it can give boys an erection!”

Well trust me, I was scarred. I shared no midriff. No chest. No curves. No makeup. No thank you. If boys were going to think about sex every 12 seconds, I didn’t want those thoughts directed towards me. I wasn’t going to be anybody’s sex object.

So what happened?

After high school, isolated, depressed, confused, scared… I met a guy. A Muslim. We talked openly about religion, politics, history, and our ideas of the world. We understood each other. For the first time, I was able to talk about all of these things with someone who not only received what I was saying, but encouraged it, and appreciated it.

Prejudices against Muslims were rampant in America, just a few years after 9/11, in the midst of the War against Terrorism. I hated being judged for my ideas, and I hated seeing others judged. I was not going to make the same mistake. I had such a strong desire to connect, and a fear of being judgmental.

I didn’t believe in any of the religion I was raised in, and I had found nothing to replace it. I was terrified that I might never figure it out. The only thing I had any faith in was love and understanding. I had discovered this a few years before, when my teenage angst turned into love, understanding, and peace towards my classmates and teachers. I learned to understand other points of view without expecting understanding for my own. I was codependent, but I didn’t know what this meant. I thought I was just being a good person, and learning to coexist and make the world a better place.

When unhealthy patterns started to appear in my relationship, I thought they were distractions from the foundation we had, which was our love. We didn’t love based on shallow attractions, we loved each other based on our ideals. Whatever threatened to get in the way, I just needed to focus on that, and it would pay off in the end.

I was a fool. A codependent fool.

Where am I now?

I can understand how I fell into the trap that I fell in to. But I am still disgusted with myself. And all of the personal strength and positive attitude I had developed over my years of isolation and difficult marriage have been thrown out the window.

I am lost.

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Feeling Alone - kicking things off with a pathetic rant

Raised in a conservative evangelical bubble that I secretly struggled to believe in. Aside from that, very loving and supportive upbringing, I thought. Some difficult friendships and struggles with religion left me pretty lost.

Finally broke out into the world, met someone, started finding myself, got married. Most of my 20s wasted on what was eventually understood to be a codependent/narcissistic cycle, myself being the codependent who continued to believe that my husband would break through and start doing something, anything, to contribute to our lives together. 

Brother went crazy with bipolar. Cracking under family pressures due to my brother’s illness, mom’s closet alcoholism became impossible for her to hide. Brother had a baby. Painful conversations and fights with my mom about the situation. 

I finally got divorced, and found myself with no real friends, and no healthy family ties. Mom continued to spiral, dad couldn’t stand her any more, but doesn’t believe in divorce. Brother continued to spiral as well, in and out of the hospital. 

Mom continued to hurt me so deeply until I finally shut down and quit engaging, always about topics relating to my dad or my brother. 

My brother lost custody of his baby, rightly so as his mental state was as unstable as possible. But his ex was not much better. I loved my nephew so deeply but did not get to see him much. 

I got ready to start a journey to establish a healthy network of support, and deal with issues from my family, past friendships, and failed marriage, and move forward with creative and intellectual pursuits. Then I got a call that the police had removed my 5 year old nephew from his home. He came to live with me. I am his guardian. I have spent the last year learning everything I can about trauma, early childhood, foster care, behavioral issues, and failing to untangle the mess that is his mom’s side of the family. 

I have been hurt so much by my mother in this situation that I can’t feel it anymore, or distinguish between good experiences and bad. I am suspicious and numb. Of everything and everyone. 

I love my nephew, we have a strong bond, and his progress is amazing. But I don’t actually feel anything. If I feel, I will crumble, because the one relationship I have day in and day out and have poured every bit of mental and physical energy towards as well as all of my cumulative life lessons learned is also the most exhausting and difficult journey I have had, and one that could very well end in separation. 

I cannot believe my life now consists of an alcoholic narcissistic mother, a bipolar shadow of my brother, a narcissistic ex who I had to cut ties with, past friendships that vanished into air, an all-consuming guardianship for my nephew of an unknown length of time, and his bipolar/borderline substance-abusing angry paranoid mother, who as it turns out, seems a victim herself of a mother possibly far worse than herself who set her up for failure. It just goes on and on, everywhere I turn. Mental illness, substance abuse, sexual abuse, verbal abuse, anxiety, depression, poverty, narcissism, manipulation, unhappiness... 

I don’t know who to believe in or who to cut out. When to show understanding or when to shut down. I have learned that I am stronger than I thought. My desire to do what is right and just is all I have left, and I am proud to find that that is what I hold on to no matter what. But in striving to do what is right among so much that is wrong, without any true connection to anyone, my heart has turned to stone.