Grief-stricken

I asked my brother-in-law to take this picture of my sister's hand on mine on July 4, 2009, just hours before she passed. Her scent lingered on my hand for an entire day after this...

I was was watching a show today on the History Channel about the Kennedys. It is said that Bobby never got over his brother, John's death. I get that. I understand, because I feel it, too.

It's been a year, 7 months, and 16 days since Daniella left. The void is unbearable sometimes - - often. I don't let myself cry often, but the tears are there, waiting to erupt at any moment. A song could trigger the tears, or it could be looking at her picture as I sit here. She's got the most beautiful smile that I will never see again. I have Papa Bear on a shelf right by me. Sometimes I hold him and he still smells like her after all this time, and I find myself hugging him close as if it were my sister. I touch the fabric of his suit and think that her microscopic atoms still linger and that is the closest I could get to her anymore.

There was a period in my life that I did not cry. I could go for 10-12 months without crying and then all my stress, disappointments, and heartaches would pile up and I would allow myself to cry just once, as long as I needed to. Now, I can't really stop them. I find myself crying when I see something cheerful on TV. Cheerful, not sad. The sad stuff - songs, commercials, movies, anything - are a given.

This is a period of my life that I cry without warning. I cry because I am angry. I may go days or weeks filled with rage. Perhaps the rage stems from immediate events, but I think because I am so engulfed in my grief, and my natural response to sadness is to get angry. I am more comfortable with anger than sadness. If I cry, I look and feel weak. If I get angry, I am fierce, no one will come near me, and therefore I will have no reason to be sad again. It physically hurts to cry. My throat tightens, my head fills with pressure, and my heart hurts.

Looking back, Mom's reaction to tears was "I'll give you something to cry about." Yeah, to many it's funny, but I was being conditioned to repress. Dad was pretty much the same, except he got angry if we showed any anger. That resulted in horrible yelling that sometimes turned into a few smacks. No, I am not angry at my parents. Kids don't come with instructions and God knows I would probably have succomed to beating my kid if I'd had one, than to impose some rational punishment. I am looking back and tracing my loathing of tears, and how anger and rage seem to empower me.

Is my current state of rage directed at someone or an event, or is my grief so intense right now that I am enraged as a means of self-preservation?

Wistful

It's been cold and rainy the past few days and nights, which generally gives me the blues. I can't seem to find the right thing to get me out of it, either. Back in the day, I got dolled up, put on my coat and went out dancing.

I hate not being able to do that anymore. Hate it.

Now, I am not one to sulk and feel sorry for myself. In fact, my emotional lows generally result in me taking action of some kind. But if I am able to do what I love to do and do well, how do I take positive action, when action in itself is my issue?

I was watching a dance competition on one of the spanish stations today, and was critical of the women dancing Salsa. I never learned or attempted to learn how to be lifted over a guy's head or how to lean all the way back to floor level with my partner only holding onto the back of my neck (imagine the Limbo), but I knew how to "style", like "threading the needle" which simply is raising your arm up after being turned, or doing flutter steps when doing the Cha Cha. The best thing was knowing I had the ass for Salsa dancing. I didn't move my shoulders around, because Salsa is not about that unless there is a particular move you're doing, but it's all about the hips moving side to side, sticking  your butt out when you step back, arching the back when your partner moves you forward, moving the hips in a circular motion, bending your right leg to slightly lift your heel before bringing the other leg forward. Salsa and merengue are very erotic and provacative dances. I glared submissively at my partner (if I found him attractive) and once in a while I danced Merengue with that a sexy man who knew how to put his knee between my leg and move his pelvis against my hip and I could feel his "enthusiasm". I liked when my partner would turn me halfway and his arms would wrap around my upper abdomen and he leaned me back against him, or at the end of the song, he would dip me back and give me an upward twirl back up to my feet. Dancing was the safest sex of all!

It's very bittersweet for me to listen to Salsa, or any Tropical music because the music reminds my body what it's supposed to do. I hope I am not in denial, but when I listen to Salsa the passion of the music makes me cry because I can't wait to dance again. I cry because I can't just stand up and do it, and I refuse to accept that I won't be able to ever again.

Endings

After speaking to my counselor, I started thinking about JT and my previous post. I had told her about my rage and how I wanted to just end the friendship. She told me, "Why? It seems he cares for you, and I don't think he tried to hurt you, he just doesn't know any other way."

I thought about this all the way home and discovered something ugly about myself. I am selfish, self-centered, and made this whole thing about ME. Not once did I think about how my giving up on him must have hurt, not to mention my scathing words when I was angry. Looking back, I have always waited for others to fail me in what they promise or vow to me, and I think I may subconsciously do or say things to sabotage my relationships.

I can only think that the roots of my "failure guaranteed" mentality stems from this: In 6th Grade I asked my Dad if I could join Band and play the clarinet. His response was, "I'm going to get you that clarinet, but stick with it. I don't want to put this money into it, and then you end up quitting." I got the clarinet, but I only played that year.

I've always wondered and have asked myself, exactly how much can an eleven year-old try to do and quit to have received that response? It has always been in the back of my mind. As a forty year old woman, however, I can list numerous goals left unaccomplished.

So I apologized to JT for all the mean things I said, for my selfishness, and even for the things that I failed on as well. It's a two-way street, afterall. I don't know what the future holds, but I do know that I am not going to wait on him and hope we end up together. I love JT, and I want him in my life as my friend. More than anything, I hope and pray his circumstances improve. I know he's trying, and I will remain by his side and encourage him.

As if coming to terms that something I wanted had to end, someone it had ended with already abruptly came in from left field - and it was most unwelcomed.

"Eric" (not his real name) and I met in 2009 and dated very briefly - about four months. I really liked him a lot, but quite frankly was horribly confused by his words. It seemed he wanted more, but would pull back and remind me we were friends. Ultimately, just when we were getting closer, a failed intimate encounter put everything to a screeching halt. No, I wasn't a bitch about it. Gravity was his enemy and when I tried to smooth it over the next day by telling him that I liked just being with him, he lashed out and told me I had invaded his space for the night, he had been unable to sleep, and was very uncomfortable. Ouch!  I didn't talk to him after that.

Fast forward four months. I got an email from "Eric" and we talked on the phone for a few minutes. Over the next few weeks, we were able to get past what had gone down (no pun intended) and work on our friendship again. At first, everything was really good. I was able to talk to him and he was a source of comfort when I had breakdowns over my sister. We talked politics, about our families, and we prayed together. He went with me to see my Neurologist and he helped me with various things I needed to do, or places I needed to go. He was there when I was involved in the accident I was in that I describe in my post entitled, "Zemblanity".

Yes, I was in love with him, or so I thought. Looking back, I believe I had mistaken my gratitude for love.

It again came to an abrupt end very shortly after JT had contacted me, but the two were unrelated. My circumstances had changed completely in the previous months, and I became bored with my life. Even times with Eric seemed to always be the same. He liked going out in the evenings, and we only went to about four different places. Having gone through a bad marriage and divorce years ago, he was emotionally scarred and seemed to have fears that I just didn't get. His thoughts seemed unconventional. For example, he constantly hounded me about not wearing lotions and perfumes in order to avoid toxins from entering my pores. He removed a single strand of small seashells hanging from my rear view mirror because it would "obstruct" my view. We never went down to San Diego because he feared the hazard of driving on the freeway. He was excruciatingly fearful and his safety precautions were borderline paranoia.

By this time we'd been dating for about 7 months and it seemed like things were well. Deep down, however, I was bored, but pushed it aside and blamed myself for it. I WAS SETTLING. Well, one night as he's driving me home, he tells me the story of a song (hell if I can remember the title or artist) about a man who needs to tell a woman that he's been dating that he sees no future for them. Blah, blah, blah. It wasn't hard to put together. I asked him if he felt that way, why he'd bothered to say "I love you to me". His response was that he loves all his friends. I don't think he was quite expecting so much dialogue about it, and what the jist of the conversation was that he had become "disenchanted" with me, bored (that made two of us), and he did not want to enter a relationship, as it would take his time from his parents, kids, (ALL of whom were out of state) and future grandchildren.

But - - he thought we should remain intimate!! Are you fucking kidding me?? I think I saw him about four more times and I made it very clear the intimacy was over. The very last time I saw him, he essentially verbally castrated himself, telling me he did not have a need for sex. That was the last straw. Not only was I no longer moved to indulge in carnal activity with him, I felt some disgust at his words.

My assessment of him is that he has a Savior Complex, trying to fix others and refusing to see what is wrong with him, which leads me to Narcissism, as he does not acknowledge any wrong that he says or does. He is a kind man, but beneath that is someone who has been damaged to the point of being emotionally unavailable. Damaged to the point that he has psychologically castrated himself.

Back to the recent contact I received from "Eric". He had read my last post about JT and made some assumptions and condescending remarks. Reading his email, it was very obvious he was attempting to incite a reaction. I responded with sharp words telling Eric that he'd made assumptions based only on scraps of information I gave on my blog. I gave him my assessment of him, and told him that while I cannot stop him from reading my blog, he is not to contact me any further. His response? He was trying to joke with me and I had responded negatively. No apology, of course. Narcissistic, judgmental, passive agressive, and out of my life.

Does my previous post look like something to joke about? If we have not communicated with one another in eight months, isn't it clear we're not friends?
If you're reading this, "Eric", for clarification, we are no longer friends.

Goodnight. Medusa out!

JT

I am going through some rage right now. A lot of negative feelings that Holly Golightly in "Breakfast at Tiffany's" referred to as the Mean Reds, with a twist of anger. I call it Mean Magenta. I am angry, sad, scared. When I feel this way, I go into a rage. How do I deal with that rage? Medusa appears. She has a sharp tongue and is capable of destruction with words.

Someone I met years ago came back into my life in May 2010. We talked daily, and I fell in love with him. He is a gentleman, is sensitive to others' feelings. He is kind, unselfish, intelligent, and has had some great experiences that I like to listen to. However, I ignored all the warning signs. I thought my love would help him.

I was so wrong. He told me he loved me, wants to marry me, be with me wherever that may be. He even offered to help me relocate to be near my parents. What he did not tell me is that he doesn't have a clue how to do it. He doesn't have the resources, and his health will not permit it. I've tried to encourage him, but he continues to drink. Yes, it's only on the weekends when he works at the club, but he drinks enough for his speech to slur. I have insisted he stop,and he has - twice. However, instead of saying I'm sorry, now he tells me it wouldn't be like that if he was with me. He chose a career of a "professional partier" essentially, and it has taken a huge toll on his health and finances.

I paid for his airfare to visit me, as a loan. I have received one $25 payment in 3 months, and only because I kept insisting on a payment. It looks like I will have to continue to ask for payments, but I am considering writing it off - and him. I know he has had some rough times, but couldn't he send a $5 - - WITHOUT ME HAVING TO ASK? The week that was here was wonderful, but now, I feel ripped off. The memories aren't so great anymore.

If he doesn't even TRY to pay me back, why would I want to live with him, much less marry him?

I'm tired of the apologies after he gets drunk. I am disgusted knowing he's been drinking. I don't know how someone can decide to give up on himself and then expect a woman to have the faith in him that he doesn't have for himself. You have to love yourself first before you can love another.

I love you, but the disappointment, disillusion, and disgust has turned to rage. I feel like Medusa when I think of you, and sometimes when I talk to you.