Why I hate this with all my heart:

                                      

First: Kudos to the person who made the text look like a tree. That's clever. It is also the only nice thing I have to say about this particular arrangement of words. And now to business.

I've been a leader of young women and young men in some church capacity for most of my adult life. And I hate these things. They're everywhere. Someone has a creative idea which is supposed to let our youth know they're to keep themselves pristine or whatever--and it conveys messages I'm certain the author of the idea never intended. So today, because this "tree" makes me feel incredibly grouchy, I'm debunking some of those messages.

1. Girls aren't like apples. They're people. They have thoughts and intelligence and ideas and talents and potential and beauty, and the concept that they're simply sitting on a tree waiting to be consumed by boys makes me want to scream a tiny bit. It's a stupid comparison which demeans all that young women are and can become.

2. "The best ones are at the top of the tree..."  Since when have we started sending the message that some people are better than others? I have been taught that God is no respecter of persons, that all are alike in his sight. I've read this in the scriptures, as well. I've never read anything in the scriptures about really great girl-apples hanging at the top of a tree.

3. What does this say about the majority of boys? They like rotten apples? Or, if we follow the metaphor, they simply exist so that they can take advantage of "easy" girls. This is an unfair and rather nasty stereotype rearing its ugly head. In truth, classifying young men and women according to their sexual appetites is a huge disservice. As teens, they go through so many physical and emotional changes that even they aren't sure who or what they are.

4. "They just have to wait for the right boy to come along..." Okay, Sam...deep breath.....  I cannot even begin to express how much I hate this statement. To any girl who might stumble across my words today: Don't you dare wait for "the right boy!" Get out there and live! Dance, sing, get several degrees, travel the world, adopt orphans, run for public office, buy a house, teach others, write books and poetry, run marathons, enter bodybuilding contests, be a part of Doctors Without Borders or Habitat for Humanity! Do whatever you want, but DON'T WAIT FOR ANYONE! You have one beautiful life. Figure out who you are and celebrate that. I promise, if you do what I've said, regardless of whether or not you meet and marry someone, you'll have fewer regrets and your life will be amazing. Also, people who explore and expand their potential tend to attract other people. There's a good chance that while you're becoming wonderful, you'll encounter someone just as amazing as you are and the two of you will decide to spend the rest of your existence together. But don't wait. You are not an apple.

This nasty-cutesy tree has been posted repeatedly on Facebook for more than a year. It's always accompanied words similar to this: "If you're a parent of a young woman, you need to read this!" I agree. Read it, retch a bit, then tell your daughters (and sons) all the reasons things like this detract from who they really are, why such things should never be spread (like diseases), and then let them know in real words what point the stupid tree should be trying to convey:

"All young women are wonderful in the sight of God. All young men are, as well. It's great if they make it to adulthood without contracting STDs or having teen pregnancies or just engaging in sexual behaviors which are demeaning to their partners and undermine their own self-esteem. But if they don't, they can recover. The Atonement is for all people and it brings us all to the same level in God's sight. And no one is going to finish this life without making regrettable mistakes and hurting other people unless they die within their first 12 months. Try your best to treat yourself and others with respect. Learn self-control and remember that one day you'll be old and sex will only be on your mind 95% of the time. And if you want to climb trees, don't do it because you're trying to find a mate. Do it because it's fun."

To any who saw the tree and loved it, I recommend you watch Johnny Lingo. I'm guessing people of your intelligence will miss all the misogynistic undercurrents, and love it, as well.

"If you judge people, you will have no time to love them." ~ Mother Theresa

Both of my grandfathers died of Alzheimer's disease. I know. This could possibly mean that 40 years from now I'll be making the same new friends repeatedly. However, there are worse things, and I refuse to worry about it because at that point in my life it will be more a of a bother to people with sound minds than it will be to me. I won't even know.

I bring this up because at one point, when my paternal grandfather was becoming more and more difficult for my grandmother to care for, my father was very upset because Grandpa always seemed hungry and Grandma cooked tiny meals and wouldn't provide snacks for my grandfather. There were some judgmental words said, and some hard feelings, and Grandma ended up in angry tears.

I wish I had known then what I know now. I wish my father had the knowledge then that he has gained as he cares for my mother who is slowly losing her mind. There are some things I have learned as I have cared for Tabitha through her crisis moments, with the added complication of my physical health problems, which have given me insight to the life my grandmother led at that time.

Two months ago getting up in the morning was difficult. Choosing what to wear was an effort. Going to work seemed impossible. Add to that the stress of grocery shopping, planning and preparing meals, and my days became disastrous. I was filled with nonstop panic, depressed, and my energy seemed nonexistant. Had I not had convenience foods, a husband, and willing teens to help me with mealtimes, I'm not sure those would have happened at all.

I think of my sweet grandmother. She was in her late 70s, her physical health was not good, and she was living with a spouse who would continue to deteriorate daily. At the time of the skimpy meals, grandpa had to be locked in the house because if he was able to escape, he would try to drive the farm equipment. A wall of the garage had already needed replacement due to his belief in his driving skills. Grandpa had also forgotten how to find the bathroom inside the house, so when he needed to void, he found a corner of whatever room he was in, dropped his drawers, and soiled the carpet. Poor Grandma spent her days wondering what she would have to clean up next, hiding any implement with which my grandfather might cause harm to himself or his surroundings, and weeping with depression as she recognized the ultimate outcome of the situation was the death of her husband who was also her best friend.

I think of the exhaustion I felt when I tried to make meals for my family over the past year. I remember wishing occasionally that the food would just magically appear and I wouldn't have to think about it. I remember it marking the pinnacle of my frustration and stress. I cannot imagine how Grandma felt as she tried to babysit an adult with a toddler mind, while struggling to put together meals. And she was nowhere near my age. She was very, very tired.

I wish I had known. I wish, when my father had told me of his anger and surprise, when he wondered if my grandmother was trying to starve Grandpa to death, when he thought maybe something was wrong with her mind, as well, that I could have told him that emotional exhaustion is invisible but so much more difficult to deal with than physical exhaustion. I wish I had been able to describe how it makes one feel ill, immobile, and desperate--how it is permeated with irrational thoughts and intense sadness. I wish I had lived close enough to help my grandmother through an incredibly difficult time.

Today things are different for me--better. Tabitha is doing well and getting needed help. And while I don't know if we'll ever recover from the financial disaster of hospital visits denied by our insurance company and loss of my job as my performance slipped lower due to Tabitha's increased  needs and my waning physical health, still, things are better. I feel better. Dinner is no longer a horrible chore. It has become, once again, bonding time as I prepare a meal with Darrin and Adam (and DJ, when he visits).

I'm not sure things ever got better for my grandma. Even after Grandpa was placed in a care center where he passed away after a month, Grandma lived nearly eight more years in sadness and depression. She missed Grandpa. She had a hip replacement which did not heal correctly and lived in chronic pain. She no longer wished to live. I think, sometimes, she felt that way because no one understood. We didn't understand the emotional pain she had been through and we had no way to attend to her invisible needs.

Today is a beautiful day. We're having abundant sunshine with a cool breeze and the day will be comfortably warm. The flowers which mysteriously appeared in my garden continue to bloom abundantly. Fuzzy bees and white butterflies enjoy the flowers even more than I do. Pale golden leaves announce that autumn is just around the corner and the sky is a thousand shades of blue.

My hope on this very lovely day, is that I can bring happiness to someone who might not feel well--emotionally or physically. I want to remember that no matter how a situation might appear, I don't see the invisible parts causing pain or distress. I want to remember that there are many things I don't understand and instead of judgment, I hope the people I encounter today find only love from me. I think my grandma would like that.

"One should never say things cannot get worse because Life will find exponential ways to disprove that statement." -- me

I could list the things that have beaten me down during the past fourteen months, but I think today I will not. Instead I will simply be glad that I'm here once again, writing in this blog.

The title of this blog was written ironically. It emerged from a previous blog in which I finally learned to write honestly about my past, and given some of my experiences, it seemed odd that someone like me could believe my life--my world--is beautiful. In fact, some commentors mentioned the fact that most who experience a past like mine do not emerge as I have, seemingly unscathed. I have no way to refute that, nor do I know why I have done so. Although, regardless of what "seems" to be true, I am not unscathed. Daily I live with the aftermath of my past. It makes little difference whether that aftermath is detectable by others.

But I have always tried to find joy no matter what sorrow has entered my life. I believe the two can exist simultaneously. And I have tried to lift the people I love even when rising above my own difficulties seemed impossible--because it costs me nothing to share a smile or a word of love or encouragement. I don't know that I've been as successful in the past few months. My life has been chaotic and filled with stress and sadness--but I have tried.

There has been so much chaos that some of the things I do every year to strengthen myself and keep me grounded have gone by the wayside. This year my front garden did not get planted. I know I'm not a gardener, but I buy plants and put them in the ground and if they live, that's my garden. The plants are usually tomatoes and herbs surrounded by various flowers and three varieties of mint. There is no plan--I am not a landscape artist. I just buy the plants I think are pretty and put the tallest ones in the back. I end up with a jumble of color, lovely tomatoes, and herbs that last until late October.

This year I could not do it. My strength was gone. My beautiful friend, Brozy, sent me home with about a thousand baby plants. Three of them made it to the garden plot and I waited until it was too late for them to bear tomatoes. They had become spindly and unhealthy. I felt guilt every time I looked at the plants Brozy gave me. Probably the three I planted were simply to assuage that guilt.

I thought about buying some colorful flowers, but the thought of digging holes for them made me nauseated. I I did nothing. I hated the barren plot. I began watering it to keep the three tomato plants alive.

I have mint along the back wall of my plot. I don't know why it remains there, as mint has a tendency to spread, but it seems to like the warmth of the wall behind it and it stays put. In July, tiny sprigs of a different variety of mint appear. This mint has is slender, rarely grows taller than three inches, and has small, dark yellow blossoms. It fills in between all the flowers, herbs, and tomatoes and looks lovely.

I waited for that second mint to come. I thought, at least I'd have some flowers from that source from July through September. In mid-July, I saw the first of it begin.

By the first week of August I was puzzled. The mint was becoming much taller than usual and its normal skeletal leaves were lush and plentiful. I decided maybe that's how it looks when not impeded by other plants, and allowed it to flourish. A few days later I saw buds. These were not the tiny yellow flowers to which I was accustomed. I pinched the leaves of the plant just to make sure I could smell mint--and I couldn't.

I watched for a few days, then one of the buds bloomed into a large purple flower. It looks like a daisy. I have no idea what it is, nor where it came from, but the plants are rapidly filling my flower bed and next week the garden plot will be filled with the lovely blooms.

I blame The Big Guy. I suppose to many people it would just mean that some stray seeds volunteered in a barren flower garden. Maybe the flowers are weeds most people would pull out and throw away. But for me, they're a tiny miracle, a spot of color, perhaps even a tender mercy because The Big Guy knows how much I love flowers--so he gave me some.

It's a silly explanation, I know. I also know that today--and perhaps tomorrow--and maybe the next day--I need to believe in it. And my belief does not decrease the loveliness nor nullify the existence of this year's flower garden. The flowers were not my choice, but they're beautiful--which sort of describes my life right now.

"You should laugh every day." ~Jim Valvano

I don't get songs stuck in my head. I used to try because my friends would tell me about the phenomenon and I wanted to see what it was like. I could never do it. I really don't understand how it works. Darrin tells me that usually it involves not the complete song, but a catchy snippet that keeps repeating. I know when it's happening to Darrin because he shares whatever is stuck in his head...over...and...over...again...

I do get words or phrases that pop into my head randomly. Darrin says that's not the same thing because they don't repeat and I can stop thinking about them if I want to, but sometimes when I'm really, really tired, a word gets into my head that makes me laugh and then I can't stop thinking about it.

Last night when Darrin came to bed I was lying under the covers giggling helplessly. I tried to stop thinking about the word. I knew Darrin was tired and wanted to sleep. I kept giggling anyway. Darrin was unhappy. He was more unhappy when he asked what was funny and I choked out, "Lunch meat," then dissolved into giggles once again.

Darrin sighed, kissed me good night, and turned off the light. I have no idea how long I laughed. I've heard of crying oneself to sleep. Last night I giggled myself to sleep. And just in case you were wondering, nitrate and sodium laden meat of questionable origin is hilarious.

"Today will never happen again." ~Og Mandino

It's August second. Unless one was born on the second, probably it's just another summer day. For me, however, this date has become an anniversary I will quietly observe for the rest of my life. It marks the first day after my last flashback. I have now been flashback free for two years.

Two years is not a long time. However, if one has been reliving through flashbacks the horrors of rape and abuse for many years, two years feels like an incredible gift.

So to celebrate, I walked on the ridge near my home. I noticed a family of hawks circling. I watched one of those birds harvest a tiny rabbit from the prairie grass. I listened as the cry of the rabbit was drowned out by the scream of the hawk. Wildflowers have sprung up as they normally do in the spring. Our seasons have been confused by the smoke and forest fires of June and early July. Rain has come in abundance and although it is late summer now, everything is green. The flowers that in past years go to seed by August, are just budding out and spreading across the grassy ridge. Even my favorite blue flax, gone always by mid-July, blooms in intermittent patches.

I noticed the white clouds weaving lacy patterns over our vividly blue sky and felt the soft breeze on my skin and I breathed a tiny prayer of thanks to whatever deity cared to listen.

My life has been incredibly difficult in the past couple of years. I'm facing terrifying decisions I do not wish to make. I live in stress and panic daily. There are days when I believe I am losing my mind.

But today is August second and I have had no flashbacks for two years. Today I took a break from everything that causes me stress for just an hour. Today I remembered how hard I worked to get to the point where I was no longer bothered by flashbacks. Today I believed in myself for just a moment.

So I wish everyone who stumbles across this post a very happy second day of August. I hope, you, too, will take a moment to remember some small triumph. I hope you'll look around and notice the things about your life that bring you joy. I hope you'll hug someone, and dance just a little bit, and hum a few bars of your favorite song.

And if you have my number and a minute of time, please feel free to call me and wish me a happy anniversary. After all, this is a very important day.

Adam

Adam spent yesterday in Denver. For the past four years he has planned annual expeditions in July which included a day at an amusement park, dinner at a fun restaurant, and a movie at the IMAX theater. Each year we've taken a large number of friends and family with us and enjoyed Adam's funfest.

This year, because of my recent hip surgery, I opted out of the trip. DJ was unable to arrange his work schedule to accommodate the time off, and most of Adam's friends said they'd like to do dinner and the movie, but the amusement park wasn't something they were excited about. In the end, only one friend chose to participate in the entire day's activities and the rest made plans to meet Adam and Friend at the restaurant that evening.

Adam decided that he and Friend needed VIP passes at the amusement park which would allow them to go to the front of the line of any ride. He's wanted to buy the passes every year but has never been able to come up with the necessary extra money. So the passes were purchased and Adam could barely sleep the night before due to insane anticipation of the upcoming day of fun.

Yesterday, I drove Adam to Friend's house at 6:45 a.m. (Friend was driving). I told him it was silly to leave so early because they would arrive at the amusement park before it opened. He said they'd go get breakfast if that happened. I shrugged and said good-bye, asking him to please check in with me periodically so I would know he wasn't dead.

At 10:34 a.m. I received my first phone call:

Adam: Hi, Mom. I'm just checking in. 
me: I appreciate that. How are things going?
Adam: Fine. 
me: Fine?
Adam: Well, yeah.
me: You don't sound very excited. Is something wrong?
Adam: You know how we bought those VIP passes?
me: Yes.
Adam: Well, we thought it would be great because we'd get to ride lots of rides and have no wait, but it's not.
me: It's not great?
Adam: No.
me: Why not?
Adam: We feel bad. We keep cutting in front of people who have been standing in line for a long time. It's not fun.
me: You know, even if you have the passes, you don't have to cut. You could wait your turn, too.
Adam: But we paid for them!
me: Adam, you're weird.
Adam: I know. I'll check in with you later.
me: Okay. Bye.


About six hours later, I received a second call:

Adam: Hi, Mom. I'm just checking in again.
me: How are things going?
Adam: Well, around 12:30 we realized we'd ridden every ride we wanted to about three times, so we decided to leave.
me: Adam, you said you weren't going to drive around while you were there. You have Friend's parents' new car.
Adam: We didn't drive. We just walked around downtown. And we found the best hamburger restaurant. And it's a lot more fun than the amusement park, so I think we're just going to walk around some more and when it's time, we'll meet up with everyone else for dinner. 
me: Okay--but you're still weird.
Adam: I know. 
me: Check in with us when you head for home?
Adam: I will.


So Adam ended up having a marvelous time just walking around Denver with his friend and disregarding the large amount of money they both spent on amusement park passes. I would like to say I'm surprised, but I'm not. I like him a lot, but he really is a weird kid.

"The difference between friendship and love is how much you can hurt each other." ~Ashleigh Brilliant

I have been blogging for years--and this post will be very long.

Anyone who has had the stamina to read the bulk of what I've written deserves an award of some sort--I have a feeling the award would be nothing highly sought and if tangible, no doubt it would be disposed of rather quickly or hidden shamefully in some tiny cranny found in the dark recess of a metropolitan sewage system. Regardless, the prize should be awarded because that kind of readership is remarkable. I have written innumerable posts on more than one blog nearly every day for several years.

I mention this because many of my posts have addressed the topic of human relationships and in the process, it has become very clear that I am not a proponent of friendship. I've stated my views more than once but for the sake of brevity, I will summarize my dislike of the concept:

I believe friendship is a sham relationship which lends credence to the idea that some relationships are disposable--and easily revived on a whim. It allows us to "get to know" people with the understanding that should life circumstances become too busy, the friend will be eliminated for simplicity's sake. Also, should another, more interesting person come along, the current friendship can be allowed to dissipate and disappear for the purpose of climbing a social ladder, or simply for better entertainment. Friends are allowed to be comforters, comrades, and confidantes until such time as one or the other of the previously stated situations arises, at which point they go their separate ways assured that this is acceptable social behavior. Should one of the friends feel hurt by the subsequent absence of their former friend, they're considered clingy, controlling, or a social embarrassment. Clearly they misunderstand the rules of friendship and don't play the game very well. They are to be avoided.

While my assessment of the friend relationship might seem cynical, it is, nonetheless, accurate. I do not buy into the maudlin acclamation that there are some people who can leave one's life for extended periods of time and when they return, the relationship remains intact--"it's as if no time has passed." That's untrue--because time has passed. Many important, poignant moments have taken place and that friend who just reentered the scene has missed them all. And so the two friends will have lunch, cram as much personal history as possible into ninety minutes, and then depart, satisfied that the friend relationship is once again thriving. They might telephone a few times over the next year until once again, decades of absence reign over the relationship.

And that is true friendship.

A couple of years ago I had this conversation with Therapist:

Therapist: It sounds to me like a control issue.
Sam: It's not.
Therapist: Well, here's how it looks to me: You find someone you care about deeply and you want to keep them.
Sam: Yes.
Therapist: That's kind of controlling. 
Sam: I'll have to take your word for it. I don't control them. 
Therapist: No, but you become very anxious because you want to. You're afraid of being vulnerable to them. You're certain they'll leave you at some point because that's what you believe friends do.
Sam: Maybe.
Therapist: And so you make believe that the relationships you have with very close friends are something more than friendship.
Sam: I make believe?
Therapist: I think so. If it's not friendship, what is it?
Sam: I don't know. Familial?
Therapist: Sam, you can't choose the people you want in your family.
Sam: Why?
Therapist: Because, first of all, those people have their own families. You're not a part of that unit, and they're not a part of your family unit.
Sam: Okay.
Therapist: So, if not familial, then what?
Sam: I don't know.
Therapist: You can't keep people, Sam. 
Sam: What if they want me to?
Therapist: As a general rule, people don't like being collected.
Sam: So you're telling me that I'm stuck with the family I have--such as it is. I need to make peace with people who rarely contact me, have no interest in my life, and want me around because someone may need to take care of our parents one day?
Therapist: Is that your judgment of how you fit in your family?
Sam: Yes.
Therapist: Well, it makes perfect sense that you would search outside that unit for people who can be a part of your life. Unfortunately, that's not how it works. 
Sam: I know.
Therapist: At some point it might be a good idea to accept that friendships are a vital and important part of life, that forming healthy ones can be rewarding and joyful, and that you've been blessed with some very special friends.
Sam: Who will leave me.
Therapist: At some point their presence in your life may become less frequent, yes.
Sam: Less frequent means they've left.
Therapist: Sam, it's not an all or nothing situation. If they're absent for awhile, they'll be back when they can accommodate social situations with you. You're not forgotten. I'm not sure it's possible to forget about you.
Sam: That's ridiculous. 
Therapist: Which part?
Sam: Anyone is forgettable.
Therapist: I would say that most people do not forget the ones with whom they've had deep, meaningful friendships.
Sam: That's not true. They get busy or bored or whatever, and they forget. They might remember later, but there were still moments when they forgot.
Therapist: That bothers you.
Sam: I think so. I think I would rather never know people than become so boring that they don't think about me anymore. 
Therapist: Why have you spent so much time in the past few years trying to develop healthy friendships?
Sam: I thought I could do it. I thought I could learn the rules, play the game, and let whatever happened, happen. I thought I'd figure it out. 
Therapist: And now?
Sam: I don't want to figure it out. I fell in love with people. I let them know who I really am. I shared some of my life with them. I allowed them to see parts of me that I've hidden for a very long time. I want them to stay. 
Therapist: Sam, a leave of absence doesn't mean they've gone forever.
Sam: I know. Don't you see? I know! My head gets all of this. It understands and it's completely willing to play the friendship game, regardless of what happens. But my heart isn't. It hates every part of this. It's not happy to fall in love with someone who probably doesn't love as deeply, who views me as disposable or convenient, or, worse, thinks I'm some amazing person to look up to--because I'm not, you know, and I've never pretended to be anything more than I am.
Therapist: What do you want, Sam?
Sam: I want them to be in my life forever.
Therapist: And you know they can't?
Sam: Yes.
Therapist: Someday, I believe you'll get to the point where you'll understand that absence does not constitute a lessening of love or affection. It simply means that someone's life became differently shaped and could no longer accommodate frequent contact with you. And you'll be patient, because that's sort of how you work, and you'll allow them to decide if frequency of contact will occur again. 
Sam: I do that now.
Therapist: Yes, but the difference is, when this happens it won't hurt so much.

I didn't record this conversation when it occurred because I was embarrassed by it. I didn't like the intimation that I was controlling, and I was keenly aware that I wanted more from people than they were willing to give. I was also rather proud of myself for being aware of those feelings but always being able to manage them. I was not prone to manipulation nor coercion in any of my relationships and those certainly had opportunity to present themselves. I have been guilty on occasion, however, of asking certain of my friends for reassurance that they would remain in my life. Someday I will ask their forgiveness. I'm not ready to do that yet.

The conversation is now appearing because I believe I'm at a point in my life where, while I don't understand how people bond and let go on a regular basis, I do accept it. I don't know that I will ever practice the custom as it commonly occurs, and probably I will always try to "collect" the people I love and I'll want them to stay in my life and I might even feel (if they do stay) that they are my family; but I will never verbalize those things, nor will I impose my desires upon them. Regardless of whatever emotional deficits with which I may struggle, I am deeply cognizant of the need to maintain healthy boundaries and balance in any relationship and I wish for those I love to feel safe in relationships with me.

And so today I will begin to have friends. I will embrace the term and use it. I will not be offended nor feel slighted when someone I love refers to me as "friend." One of those loved ones has told me on more than one occasion that I am one of the best friends he has ever had--and he has said that in spite of the fact that presently our life goals and beliefs are different. I choose to believe he made that statement because he knows I don't walk out on relationships that become difficult, I support his right to make decisions for himself, and even if I disagree with the outcome of such decisions I still wish to talk with him and spend time with him. I should feel happy that he believes I am one of his good friends.

Another loved one has referred to me as his best friend on occasion and, when introducing me, once said we are "the best of friends." I believe my response to that was, "Only if I say so." It was churlish, and my way of saying, "You, of all people, understand how deeply I despise that word, and I'm unhappy that you used it in reference to me." And given that I have provided no alternate descriptor, it was out of line for me to object. Because I love him, as well, and have always offered that love without reservation, I should feel honored that he would introduce me in such a way. There is no reason for me to take offense.

There are others who consider me a friend. It's time for me to assume the role they have assigned me.

Therefore, to all my friends, I ask your forgiveness for my boorishness in reference to the laudable institution of friendship. I will stop trying to reshape our friendship into some sort of relationship which has no name. I'll not refer to us during therapy sessions, as "familial." I won't ask you to please stay in my life forever, and I'll no longer balk or remind you that I don't like the F-word and would prefer that it not be used to describe me.

Fake it till you make it, right? I can do this.

"The real difficulty is to overcome how you think about yourself." ~Maya Angelou

I have not written here for nearly a month because my life has been a bit on the unmanageable side. I don't want to talk about it here, however, I mention it because of an odd development in my dreamworld.

About three weeks ago I began having dreams in which there are two of me conversing with one another. I am not one or the other, nor do I shift between them. I am simply both of them simultaneously and while I cannot explain this, it's a dream and I don't have to.

The conversations had by the Samantha duo are usually unsettling and awkward. They reveal truths about myself that I do not wish to address--usually uncomfortable ones that I believe any person would wish to ignore, and so my usual response the the dreams is to pretend they did not happen.

In reference to my current life situation, I will say briefly that I've felt a bit abandoned by some of my loved ones. That feeling is probably unwarranted which does not alleviate it's depth nor frequency. In addition deep loneliness and sadness are my constant companions accompanied by ceaseless nausea and distressing episodes of panic. Needless to say, I'm delightful right now.

However, I believe it is because I'm currently in this emotional state that the dreams have been occurring. And now that I have provided myself with a satisfactory explanation, I will move to the main point of this post which is: Last Night's Dream Conversation.

Sam1: I know you believe that love is important and that even if people don't love you back, it's okay for you to love them anyway, but that's not true.


Sam2: Yes, it is. I believe anyone who is loved by me should consider it an honor.


Sam1: You just say that to justify random loving of people who probably would be insulted if they knew you loved them.


Sam2: That's silly. I tell people I love them. They know.


Sam1: They don't know how you love them, though.


Sam2: I don't even know what that means.


Sam1: It means you love wrong.


I suppose the reason this dream conversation is stuck in my head today is because I've never before thought about the rightness or wrongness of loving people. I remember making a conscious decision to allow love to happen. I believe I was sixteen. I was tired of being in pain about my home life, mistreatment by my mother, and abuse from my cousin--but mostly I was tired of hurting because I was alone.

I remember thinking about bitterness--how it just made me feel worse--and I thought of when I felt free of the pain and negative emotions stemming from years of abuse. I thought of the way my heart nearly exploded with love when each tiny baby sibling entered our home--how I loved to hold them--how I sang and read stories to them. I thought of how I fell deeply in love with my teacher when I was the only child in my Primary class and she took me to the woods behind her home and we sat next to a stream eating popcorn and talking about God. I remembered various people of different ages who made me feel that I could live through one more day because I mattered for just a minute--and I loved them with my whole soul.

I decided that loving was what I could do, and I did it very well. It didn't matter that my body had been beaten and raped, or that the words I heard daily filled me with rage and pain, or that I was unwanted or used up. I could love people and they might never know but I would not feel as sad or hurt as much--and that was very important.

But I never thought about whether it was wrong to love someone. I suppose it's wrong to love someone who belongs to another, but I've never really considered that love--rather, desire or attraction and I've always believed it was based in selfishness. I suppose my love for others was based in selfishness, though. I didn't really do it for anyone except myself--but it was more a process of allowing love to happen rather than making a conscious effort to love someone.

AtP once told me when he spent time with me he felt he was the only one in that moment who was important to me. I would say that he was right. When I'm spending time with people I love, they are the only ones important to me in those moments. It's not like I've forgotten everyone else, it's just that I know the time will end at some point and I want to cherish every minute I have with that person. Maybe that's the part that's wrong. Maybe it's unhealthy in some way or obsessive.

I've tried to avoid unhealthy and obsessive. I give people breaks from me. I celebrate and support their relationships with other people. When I visit, I try to spend no more than three days at a time with any person. I did that when I went to Seattle a couple of years ago. I spent a few days with Tolkien Boy, then visited a few days with Josh and Lolly and family, and then spent one more day with TB before going home. I'm aware that being with me nonstop can be wearing. AtP reminded me of that when we spent about four days together a few years ago. When I left, AtP told me he would miss me, but it would be good to finally get some rest.

I don't know that I believe the first Samantha. I know I love with abandon and sometimes without forethought. I know my love is often not reciprocated which really doesn't cause me a great deal of concern unless it's in conjunction with someone who is close to me--which I believe is normal. But the fact that I had the dream at all tells me that there is a part of me which still believes love from me is unacceptable or undesirable in some way. I don't like that.

I also don't like the fact that when I finally sleep (which is rare right now), I'm troubled by dreams in which I argue with myself. Perhaps I, too, need a break from me.

A few of my favorite things...

NOT!!!

On my trip to a public bathroom this afternoon, I experienced the following:
1. A drain grate edged with mysterious green, the source of which I refuse to contemplate.
2. Paper toilet seat covers which shredded as they were removed from the dispenser--completely ineffective.
3. An automatic toilet which flushed before I sat down.
4. Nail clippings on the floor of the adjacent stall (toe? finger? who knows?).
5. An automatic toilet which flushed while I was sitting.
6. A cute toddler's face peering at me beneath the door of the stall (while Mom whispered, "Stop that!").
7. An enthusiastic automatic toilet which spewed while flushing, after I stopped sitting.
8. Empty paper towel dispensers and overflowing trash cans (yay for wiping hands on pants).
9. An older couple in their 60s sitting at a table near the restroom, making googoo eyes at each other while the man slid his hand up inside of the woman's thigh.

Probably there's a tenth one, but at that point my eyeballs could stand no more and I just stopped looking and made a beeline for the exit.

It could have been worse. I might have accidentally dropped my phone in the toilet, or lost my shoe while walking near the green grate or not had pants on which to wipe my hands. Or I might have been the older lady having her thigh felt up...that would definitely have been worse...

I need to stay away from public restrooms for awhile.

Cricket

No. Not the game nor the insect.

This morning I was awakened at 4:45 a.m. when Tabitha's beast bounded across my bed.

Darrin and I have been taking turns feeding Cricket the Sugarglider while Tabitha has been at girls camp. Someone fed her last night and forgot to close the door of her cage.

That would be me.

Cricket (nocturnal creature that she is) had gotten lonely and decided it was time to play. I grabbed one of the bags she likes to sleep in and followed her as she scampered out of my room and into the family room, leapt onto the back of the couch and sat there with her tail in the air, waiting for me to chase her. I looked at her for moment, then, knowing full well I would probably have to find her if I left, I went to the bathroom. Some things cannot wait even for Sugarglider captures.

When I returned to the family room, Cricket was in the same place, still waiting for me. She ran back and forth across the back of the couch several times, pausing briefly to put her head teasingly into the bag, then jumping out when I was certain I had her. I said, "This isn't funny! Get into the bag now!"

Cricket decided that was her cue to run up the stairs. I followed her, thinking to myself, "Please just get in  your cage." To my surprise, I found her perched on top of the cage when I got to the top of the stairs. She jumped onto the arm of a nearby chair as I approached. I opened the top of the cage (it's about four feet tall). Cricket jumped to the edge and sat there, staring at me. I'd had enough of our game, so I shoved her over the side and closed the lid. I saw the little beast running purposefully down the side of the cage and remembered, just in time, that I still hadn't closed the side door of the cage. Cricket and I got to it at the same time. I poked her into the cage and quickly shut the door.

Then I surveyed the damage.

Cricket had opted not to eat the food we left for her before going to bed, and instead had sampled every peach, plum, and apple in my fruit basket. The plastic bag covering a loaf of bread on my kitchen cabinet had a hole chewed in the corner and Cricket had burrowed through four slices of bread before losing interest. A nearby cube of butter was no longer a cube.

I sighed. I am not meant to be a pet owner. Cricket is cute and a lot of fun, but I will not miss her when she leaves my home with her mistress in a couple of years.

I left the mess and went to the gym. It's not like it's going anywhere. Besides, I was hoping if I ignored it, Darrin might take a stab at cleaning it up before he went to work (yeah...I knew he wouldn't, but delusional thoughts are strong at 5:00 a.m.).

I have a technicolor dream...

It's time for me to write this post. It's been kicking around in my head for years and some people have already heard from me portions of what I have to say today.

I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints. I have personal reasons for my membership in this church which are relevant only to me. I do not share them.

I had a young friend who, when he studied and researched and thought for a long time, decided that not only is God a fabrication of man, all churches are evil. When he set out his ideas for me, he believed I would join him in his quest to free mankind from the God myth. I didn't. At that point, all his care and respect for me began to dissipate. If I was unable to agree with his beliefs, I was deluded and brainwashed and by my association with the religion of my choice, bigoted.

For awhile I was hurt by what I deemed his close mindedness. Then I realized I was hurt because I wanted him to agree with my philosophical views which are thus: I have always believed that differing viewpoints are valuable, that people should not always agree but should share their ideas and thoughts regardless of whether or not those are popular. I think it's important to allow others to think and speak for themselves even when what is thought or said disagrees wildly with what I might believe.

So I stopped being hurt and I hoped that one day my friend might grow enough to make room for me in his heart again. It will probably never happen, but he is a good person and I would like to believe that with time he will see that the world is not and has never been black and white, but instead ripples with colors of every hue, and sometimes the colors blend beautifully or appear in sharp contrast. And there are definitely spots of black and washes of white, but those with eyes to see and ears to hear will find in their world a depth and breadth absent in the one devoid of color, because they will understand there are things they don't understand, answerless questions, and a multitude of choices and beliefs that conflict and contrast...and that's okay.

Do I believe that in my religion I have found the truth?

Yes.

But I also claim that belief for myself alone. I do not expect nor entice others to believe something simply because I am certain it's correct. I encourage them to think, to study, to search their hearts, and decide for themselves.

I am recording all this because of a recent conversation with a friend I love dearly. She's been in my life sporadically for nearly 17 years. She is not well-educated. She is more comfortable working in her chicken coop than at an executive meeting. She prefers life to be simple and pure and uncomplicated. I adore her.

She asked me how I reconcile my religious beliefs with "the gay agenda." I laughed and asked what she meant. She said, "How do I love people I know are gay without betraying my God and my religious convictions?"

I said, "How is that possible? Why would loving a gay person ever offend God or present a situation where you felt your religion was compromised?"

She thought for a moment, then expressed anxiety about setting a good example for her children. I asked again, "How could inviting someone you love to visit you in your home be a bad example for your children?"

She thought maybe it would look as if she was condoning homosexual behavior. I said, "Why does it matter if you condone or condemn it? And who are you afraid will notice whether or not you are judging the lives of others?"

She said, "Okay, I understand what you're saying. I'm not trying be judgmental. I've just never really thought about this before. I need you to help me understand."

This is why I love her. She has been brought up in a closed-minded, judgmental, gossipy environment where the entire community knows the details of each person's life right down to the brand of toilet paper used in every home. But she recognizes the danger of allowing herself to conform to traditions and common beliefs. She wants to grow beyond her roots. She wishes to see new ideas. She invites color to invade the boundaries of the black and white beliefs instilled in her as a child, teen, and adult.

So for the first time in my life, I shared my thoughts on the matter we were discussing. Normally, I would say, "Maybe you need to just spend some time thinking, praying a bit, and getting to know the people we're talking about. Once you've spent time with people who are gay, you'll understand better how you wish to include them, or not, in  your life." But this time, because I love her and I know she will not belittle my beliefs even if she disagrees with them, I spoke some of the thoughts of my heart.

I did not disclose my sexuality. She's not ready to deal with that yet. She needs time to sort through her preconceived notions, separate truth from rumor, and decide what is important to her before I muddy the waters by telling her that I experience the feelings she's been taught are sinful. This was what I shared with her (most of this was in response to her subsequent questions or comments and not a one-sided lecture):

1. Members or former members of the church who are gay do not need other people to tell them how to live their lives. Most have grown up learning the gospel and have gone through a period of time when they studied it intently in order to grow closer to the Lord or to make a decision about its truthfulness. Some have spent what amounts to weeks, months, even years, on their knees begging God to make them heterosexual. They don't need rhetoric about their choices thrown in their faces. They need human beings who are willing to accept that they have the right to decide what is best for their own lives. They know what active members of the church believe. We do not have to tell them.

2. There is no need to "condone" or "condemn." The only time I would ever speak out in judgment about a loved one's life decisions is if I could see that a relationship was abusive in some way--and even then, I would not place myself inside that relationship. I would mention what I saw as tactfully and sensitively as I know how, then refer the person to a professional who could help. In all other cases, I believe it's important to remember that if we believe gospel principles, we understand that agency is a gift from a God who trusts us to use it to govern our own lives--not the lives of other people. In my opinion, it is a greater sin to try to coerce or control another person's beliefs or behavior, than any other thing one might choose to call a sin.

3. Those who choose to exclude people from their lives based on sexual preference, are missing out on experiences and relationships which would, without doubt, enrich their lives and increase joy. One cannot discriminate against any group of people and call it a god-dictate. Christ has clearly taught otherwise. It seems to me to be bizarre and unhealthy to first think of how a person has sex before deciding if he or she is allowed to eat dinner with us.

4. I have no answers. I don't know if there are any clear-cut answers. But I don't need them. All I know is that there are many, many people on this earth and we have a commandment to love them--and I can do that. It's not always easy--but that has nothing to do with sexual preference and everything to do with being human and having disagreements that must be resolved and wrongs that must be forgiven. I am deeply saddened that men and women in our midst have felt that life is too difficult or too lonely, and have ended their lives because no one was there to hug them, to tell them they were worthwhile and beautiful, to allow them a voice to speak for themselves.

5. Other people's life choices have no reflection on us. Anyone who judges us for loving others, based on their own bigoted beliefs, is wrong. I will never back down from that statement, nor will I bow to the social dictates of a religious myth which says if I associate with gay people I'm condoning a lifestyle I should condemn. If that is what they believe, so be it. I'm unashamed to say that I would never wish a religious group to ostracize me because of the person with whom I chose to spend my life, and I will never allow my religious beliefs to become so twisted that I feel I must do that to the people I care about. And for those of my loved ones who have ultimately chosen to believe and live differently from me--I have the greatest respect for your journey, and I'm deeply honored that you would allow me to continue with you even when  our philosophies do not agree. And always, I admire you for thinking for yourself, understanding there would be a cost to taking that step, but having the courage and conviction to take it anyway.

6. When I meet Christ, I want to tell him how very much I love his children, how I kept his commandments to the best of my ability, how my world has been colored by the beauty of each unique soul who has touched my heart and shaped my life. I want to express how grateful I am to Him for allowing me to live in a world filled with diversity of opinions and beliefs and people--how that has forced me to grow and think and learn, but mostly how it has filled me with an appreciation for others. I want to thank Him for not giving us all the answers, but allowing us to think for ourselves and develop the ability to reason and make decisions. I want to acknowledge that I've made mistakes, sometimes huge ones, and let Him know that I'm very glad for the opportunity to do so, and to take His hand as I try to recover from my folly.

When I left my friend, she hugged me. She said, "I don't know yet what to think about all this. Thank you, though, for challenging my belief system a little bit. There is so much more to this than what I've been told. Maybe I worry too much about what I'm doing on the outside and it's a lot more important to change on the inside."

On that we can agree.

Smoke

It's everywhere. There are moments when I feel I can barely breathe. Someday the rain will come and the fires will ease and I will inhale clean air once more. I don't know when that will happen. I hope it's soon.

I told Darrin I was looking forward to last weekend. My sister got married. For the first time in about four years, my entire family was together. Most of the in-laws made it. There were more than thirty of us gathered together.

I said I was ready to rejoin my family--to be a part of them. I felt my demons had been laid to rest and it was time for me to strengthen relationships.

And at first if felt nice. I was glad to be with my sisters and brothers and their families. They were happy to see me. But soon, very soon, I was invisible. I found myself avoiding the clusters of people, cutting short any attempted conversations someone might start with me. I sat in quiet corners, watching.

It felt as though the smoke from the forest fires had permeated my soul, creating a hazy screen between my family members and me. Darrin disappeared into the fray--he loves my family. DJ and Adam found their cousins and started a game of some sort. Tabitha went for walks with various girl cousins and played with my younger nieces and nephews.

There are good people in my family. I don't know why I don't fit.

There was a lot of noise. I don't like that, and maybe it's why I retreated.

I think, though, there is still some resentment floating about inside me. It seems unfair that all my sisters are tall and blond and beautiful--I'm not. It seems unfair that I'm not a part of their circle unless I'm entertaining. I listened as they traded stories and life details with one another. I was not asked about my life. It seems unfair that there is no interest nor concern about me. It's not that I need to talk; rather, I just would like to know there was someone in my family who wonders about me occasionally.

I know. All that stuff in the above paragraph is self-centered. But I think everyone has moments like that. People have often told me how lucky I am to have such a large, family circle. I don't feel lucky. I feel lonely. And part of me believes they're all missing out, because I'm an okay person and they don't know me. They don't want to know me.

I guess I hoped that after all these years of therapy, one of two things would happen:
1. I would learn how to become someone of worth and interest to my siblings and parents
or
2. I would learn how to stop caring that I don't really matter to them.

Neither happened. No one questions why I don't often attend reunions. No one really notices when I'm there. I don't want a parade, but it would be nice to talk quietly with someone, to find out what's happening in their world and let them know the things that go on in mine.

My oldest sister left the family gathering first. As she walked by me she stopped and said, "Oh! We didn't get to talk much. You should call me!" And then she left.

We didn't get to talk much.

For three days I attempted to talk with her. She did not wish to be engaged by me.

I should call her...

But the phone works both ways. Perhaps she could call me?

I decided I'd had enough. I gathered Darrin and the kids and said we needed to leave. I hugged each sibling, in-law, niece, nephew...

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it's not yet time for me to have family relationships. Maybe I don't know how. Maybe I'm just someone who functions better in a work environment. Maybe I want too much from my family. Maybe I really am the black sheep and I won't ever fit in. Maybe it's time for me to find a hobby or something.

I do not understand why I fail at family stuff.

In Defense of Being a Bitch

I've been waiting to post this until the furor over Josh Weed's post has died down a bit. And for those who have followed my blog for awhile, Josh is "Jason." I tell you this just because there's a slight chance I might revert to the former pseudonym and this revelation might help avoid confusion.

When Josh and Lolly published their "coming out" post, I spent a short time reading comments, most of which were supportive, loving, and favorable. However, one comment had me raising my hackles. The commentor did not identify himself, but insisted he knew Josh, personally. I find this cowardly. Granted, I was using my pseudonym, but Josh knows who I am, so anything I said would track back to me. Anonymous the Jerk did that thing where he can say what he wants because, well, he's anonymous. I hate it when people do that.

Beyond that, however, was the essence of what Anonymous the Jerk said:

1. I could have easily ended up gay myself, but I chose differently.


Um...yeah...like it's something you can choose. And if you could choose, in a world full of heterosexually slanted individuals, why would someone choose to limit their sexual interest to 10% of the population (the estimated percent of homosexuals)?


2.  I don't believe anyone can know by 11, 12, or even 16 that they are gay... (i.e. they are not really gay but because of teasing, bullying, enticing, or other external reinforcement they become gay)...


Sigh...okay, I'll grant you your belief while completely believing myself that it's WRONG (if I grant yours, you must grant mine), but really, even if that's what you believe, it doesn't make it fact, nor does it make it universal if it's applicable to even one person (yourself). I'm pretty sure that by the time kids are 12, they know which gender makes their hearts palpitate, their mouths dry out and their feet sweat. And while it's a confusing and stressful time of life, most kids are NOT confused about this particular part of being a teen.


3. Some of the most powerful words in the English language are "I am". It is how God used to describe himself to Moses. (Ex 3:14) When a Gay man (or woman) "comes out" and says, "I am" "Gay" it has a certain finality to it. The problem is God did not send us to a destination, but on a journey. You are challenging my belief in that by "accepting who you are" and that you cannot change.

I don't necessarily agree with the "powerful words" statement. While I know the power of words, I also know that this is something one can choose. One can buy into the semantics and implied meanings, or one can say, "They're words. I'll use the ones that suit my purpose for now. Should that purpose change in the future, I'll use different ones, but I refuse to be bullied or intimidated by people who believe they know who I am better than I know myself." Acceptance of self never implies an inability to change. In fact, it's a springboard which allows us to better explore the depth and breadth of our souls and decide where we wish to go from there. Right now Josh sees no problem with being gay. In his mind and vocabulary, that word simply describes the natural tendencies and desires of his persona. He is also promised to Lolly and he chooses (see--this is where choice enters in) to honor those promises and covenants because he's happy in that situation. The gay part of his life has been acknowledged (and continues to be acknowledged by both partners), and it's not a point of shame or contention. I don't know why this bothers you beyond the point where you refuse to understand that other people can think and believe differently from you.

4. There have been men that change their sexual orientation. There's no question that some men have changed to BECOME gay. If that is true then gay men can CHOOSE to become straight. There are many stories on peoplecanchange.com and evergreeninternational.org that reinforce that.


Actually, no. There aren't that many. And I love Rich Wyler who was the founder of People Can Change. The truth is, people change constantly. Rich knows this. And the changes he talks about are those that will allow men to not feel bound by their sexuality, or the change of heart that bring us unto Christ (which really has nothing to do with those to whom one is attracted). There are some who profess to have made a sexuality change. I don't disbelieve their stories. But more often than not, men find ways to make peace between their sexuality and their belief systems--and that is an incredibly healthy change, even if it means leaving the belief system behind. From my standpoint, your logic is flawed from the beginning because I have yet to find one person who admits to choosing to BECOME gay. Unless that point is supported, the following attestations are false.

5.  I find it difficult to believe that a man such as yourself finds no arousal from your beautiful, and very sexy, wife, Laurel. It is unimaginable to me that if she were to wear a something skimpy and try to seduce you that you would simply go, "eh!". If that is true then I truly do feel sorry her because women need to feel sexual and wanted. I've been married over 20 years and still find my wife attractive, sexually stimulating, and lusting after her. It's such an important part of our marriage.


I'm still trying to get beyond the "ick!" factor of this statement. The fact that you would refer to another man's wife as "beautiful, and very sexy" when you should be looking only at your own wife, sort of sickens me (and other commentors as is seen by this comment: "How can you question his ability to be "turned on" by his wife? For one, inappropriate question. Was it not made clear by him stating he has an active sex life and 3 children? Not only that, but he made a WONDERFUL statement above about how attraction is not only in looks and lust. Attraction is through love and understanding and common goals (he says it much more beautifully and elegantly above, I recommend a re-read)."). Quite honestly, I think lust is different from desire or attraction and I feel very sorry for your wife not just for the former comment you made about another man's wife, but also for the way you cheapen your relationship with her by your nasty lust. Your judgement of Josh's marriage relationship has no relevance and it is, quite frankly, none of your business. Should you wish for more information, you would need to identify yourself and form a trust between yourself and Josh before you ask prying questions about the intimacy he shares with his wife. I'm not sure such trust is possible for one who comments in such a cowardly way on Josh's blog, but stranger things have happened.


6. To be honest, I wish you wouldn't have shared this part of you, that you wouldn't have "come out". I guess I feel that I just didn't need to know that about you. It's one thing to tell your story anonymously and say, "I am straight but I struggle with homosexual attraction." It is another to say "I am gay". "I am" is such a powerful way of defining yourself. It does lead to prejudice and intolerance, and I can only pray that when we say hi to each other that I can look beyond it.

Yeah...way to make this all about you. Nice. When you pull your head out, I suggest getting over yourself, remembering that the only thing that's changed is that you judged someone who, by your own words, you've "had nothing but love and respect for you since I've known you, and many times found myself wishing I could be more like you." Still, it's not too late. You believe you can CHOOSE to be gay, so if you do that, you'll be more like Josh! Yay!

In my normal, in-your-face-because-I'm-sure-you're-wrong way, I replied to Anonymous the Jerk:

SamanthaJune 8, 2012 8:36 AM
Psshh...really??? It's a word, and Josh has every right to describe himself as he sees fit. My goodness, even the "Little Pioneer Children" got to call themselves, "merry, and happy, and gay..."


The bottom line here is that you missed the point, which is that this is Josh's blog and he gets to say whatever he wants to here, and while you're welcome to comment, what you've said hinges on semantics and comes off as churlish and judgmental. 


That being said, I bow to Josh's words: "It's okay that you feel that way." Because he's right. Allowing other peoples viewpoints and feelings opens the door to validating the views and honesty stated on this blog. But I still believe it's unfortunate to get hung up on how something is said, rather than hearing the meaning of the message.

I know. I'm offensive. I have no defense. Nor am I willing to take back my words even though Anonymous the Jerk tried to make believe he didn't understand my point, and who proved he could be just as nasty at me as he was at Josh. I took the bait and responded:

SamanthaJune 8, 2012 10:18 AM
Alder is correct: "...the trouble come[s] when we try to tell another person that their experience was skewed and try to give them an alternative explanation that fits in with our own."


Clearly you, Anonymous, have difficulty allowing Josh to use his words and to define them within his own experience. He's not a straight person who "struggles with homosexuality" (and he not only has the personal, but the educational and professional background to validate his claims)--he's Josh, and he says he's gay. Who are you to tell him otherwise? It's fine for you to describe yourself as you see fit. It's silly for you to say others must do so within your parameters.


As for questioning Josh's ability to be attracted to his wife sexually, I believe he answered it at great length as it applies to him. Simply because it doesn't belong in your one-size-fits-all definition, does not mean it's invalid.


This made him mad. Clearly, he's not used to being opposed.

Anonymous the JerkJune 8, 2012 11:00 AM

Sorry, Samantha, but you are "clearly" putting your bias and bigotry into what I am saying. I did not say he was a straight person with SSA. I wish he would have. I SAID there is a finality to saying, "I am gay". It means that he's accepted it, can't or won't or doesn't want to change, and he is now letting the world know about it. That is disappointing to me.

I personally know Josh, do you? I am disappointed that he "came out" at all. I didn't want to know that about him. I'm not proud of him for it. I have little tolerance for anyone that doesn't want to change or improve their lives (has nothing to do with being gay as it affects welfare-aholics, alcoholics, dead-beat dads, etc.) It's the ATTITUDE I have a problem with. Sure, IT'S MY PROBLEM, you are right.

I read his post three times and he did NOT answer, at any length, if he is "turned-on" at all by his wife, Laurel. If he is, then by the 0-100% SSA scale Alder brought up, he is not gay. It IS a valid question.

Now get off your high-horse.

Yes. I added "the Jerk" to his commentor identifier. I also loved this comment:

C Rowan HawthornJune 8, 2012 1:15 PM

Alder: "Please don't try to tell josh he has not understood himself. " YES! THIS!

Samantha: "It's fine for you to describe yourself as you see fit. It's silly for you to say others must do so within your parameters." AND THIS! <3

 Naturally, I loved it because it validated my former comment, but mostly I loved it because it was written by a person who has a name and uses it. And of course, I couldn't let it end there: 

SamanthaJune 8, 2012 1:04 PM

Nah, I think I'll stay up here and leave you to muck around in all the crap you're spewing. If you do know Josh, you're living proof of the saying, "With friends like you, who needs enemies?"

I've known this man and his family for more than seven years, spent time in their home, and I know from personal experience exactly where he's coming from when he describes what it's like to be gay, LDS, and married. Honestly, he describes his sex life in detail, but it's really none of your business whether or not he decides to say more about how he's affected by his wife, physically.

Whew--so very glad Christ will judge the hearts of men and your small-minded, bigoted judgments will belong only to you.

To which he replied: 

Anonymous the JerkJune 8, 2012 2:08 PM

Samantha - you are a bitch. Nothing more to be said.

Now, I'm not arguing that last statement. I wasn't nice, for sure. But the truth is, I'm not a bitch, but if you say stupid things and I feel like expending the energy, I'll call you on it. People don't like that--especially ones who are very certain they're in the right. No one likes their dearest beliefs questioned. No one likes to be thrown into the grey area when they're certain they've made everything in life black and white. And when they get tired of being challenged, the more juvenile ones call names.

Probably Josh and Lolly would be unhappy that I was nasty to their blog reader. Normally I would feel badly for offending them, but right now, I'm just sad they know Anonymous the Jerk. They deserve better friends. And there's a good chance that, should I encounter a similar situation, I'll be called a bitch again because being quiet when people are spouting crappy rhetoric that has no basis in fact and is meant to cause pain, does not come easily to me.

Final note: I have no idea if more was said. Once the name-calling card is played I lose all interest in continuing communication. Name-calling says you're no longer (if you ever were) using your brain, you're feeling desperate to cause harm, and you're not intelligent enough to consider a viewpoint beyond your own--in which case, further communication is pointless.

I'm not offended that I was called a bitch. I defend my right to be one when the occasion calls for it. Chances are, it will happen again and I probably will never apologize.

I think (and I'm saying this cautiously) things are on an upswing.

Thursday marked the first day in nearly a year when I felt like myself. I woke at 5 a.m. (normal waking time for me), went to the gym where I did my therapy exercises and ran about 4 miles on the elliptical (still having difficulty with impact running but I'm adding more and more resistance on the elliptical), then I came home and spent the morning finishing a formal gown and altering dress pants for Tabitha, who was selected as a Girls State delegate which requires a new wardrobe (they're only allowed to wear formal and business attire during the time they're attending the 8-day seminar).

At noon I went to work for a couple of hours, then to a doctor appointment, then back to work until 4:00 p.m., when I went grocery shopping, went home, and made dinner (which was spectacular: lemon/herb baked salmon, butternut squash risotto with pine nuts and fresh sage, and spinach/mango/rasperry salad). After dinner I took a three-mile walk, then went home and worked until 11:00, at which point I decided bed was in order. And I didn't get tired.

That's the Sam I'm used to.

Yesterday was equally filled with energy and activity. I skipped the gym and instead spent two hours walking up and down steep, rocky, rutted dirt hills. It's time for my hip to learn how to do that again. Today I awoke to incredible soreness (to be expected), but was still able to do my physical therapy and I ran five and a half miles. I think next week I'll increase my impact running time and see what happens.

And I'm better, finally. No more pneumonia. I would like to never have that again.

I realized this morning that I've been battling poor health for nearly a year now. It has definitely taken its toll on my ability to manage emotions and PTSD symptoms effectively, and I've been exhausted for months. I've not been doing my best work in any of my jobs and I'm fairly certain my parenting skills haven't been stellar either. In an effort to stay on top of things, I allowed some drugs to be prescribed for me that were to help with nightmares and depression. What I ended up with was more depression, severely low blood pressure, insomnia, fatigue, vertigo, and digestive problems (read: vomiting blood). We (doctor and I) nixed the drug therapy after about 10 days of fighting side-effects. While I understand that there are myriad of other drug possibilities and I may have simply stumbled onto the few that would cause me difficulty, I'm not excited about continuing the crap shoot.

So I'm back to my original daily routine: meditate, get morning sunshine, intense physical activity paired with moderate exercise later in the day, good nutrition (still working on remembering to eat--it's a problem), and 4-6 hours of sleep. I'm working again on trying to manage my dreams. It takes a great deal of concentration and energy and sometimes I'm too tired. When I began doing this I chose a partner to work with me which was incredibly helpful, but for reasons of my own, I'm not doing that this time around which makes the process much more difficult.

Welcome to my life.

In the midst of all the poor health issues, many of the therapy issues I was working on lost ground--lots of it. I had lunch with a friend yesterday; one I have not seen for more than a year. She told me she had heard rumors that I'd been ill, so I told her, as briefly as possible, about my year. She said, "I had no idea you've been so sick--that you've had injuries and surgeries and everything in-between. I'm so sorry I didn't know." I said, "Why would you? You have to care for your family and you're very busy. It's okay that you didn't know. Few people do unless they see or talk with me frequently, or they're my students or business associates. I've been in hibernation for awhile, trying to get better."

I realized when I said those words that I hadn't even known I was doing it. I don't remember the last time I did something I enjoy--or if I did, the enjoyment factor for me was very low. I've gone to lunch with people, but I've had to schedule it and I haven't really wanted to go at all. I've been playing the game of life and wondering why for quite awhile.

I also realized that the people who really care about me know what's happening in my life. There are a few friends and family members who have checked in with me regularly, making sure I'm okay, asking if they could help. Always, I've said no. Don't help me. I'm fine. You have more important things to do.

But I wasn't fine--not at all. I'm not sure there's been a time when I cried so much or so often. There were days when getting out of bed felt beyond my ability, days when I yearned for the sun to set simply because it meant that I'd made it through another 24 hours, nights when I woke drenched in sweat because of nightmares or pain, and always the dread that this was it--this was my life--and it was never going to get better.

I tried, though. I made certain to watch the sun rise and remember that there was a time when I thought that was a beautiful, amazing event. I forced myself to notice the leaves turning in the fall, the snow when the sun made it sparkle, and my crazy pansies which try to bloom even when the temperature is below zero. And when I got so tired that trying felt it was an enormous effort, I cried a little bit and tried some more.

There were nights when my prayers to the Big Guy went like this: "I know I'm supposed to start by telling you how grateful I am--and I am--but I'm also tired beyond coping. I'm trying to do the things I know are right. I'm trying to choose joy every day. I'm trying to get better. Will you help me? And I know I'm supposed to pray for all the people who are going through things much worse than what I am, but I'm really tired--so pretend I just did that, okay? You know them better than I do anyway. Thanks."

Yeah, I know, I'm lame and probably the Big Guy stopped listening after a couple of weeks of such prayers, but it was the best I could do at the time. I'll have a talk with him about it in a little while, when I'm feeling more settled.

In the meantime, my house has become an absolute disaster. I see laundry-folding, vacuuming, dusting, and mopping on my agenda for this day, along with some online work. But first--stretching and a shower. I need to wash off those five miles I ran a few minutes ago.

My mother was obsessed with scrapbooking before it was a fad. She would spend hours making cut-outs and finding cute stickers. Used wrapping paper and greeting cards became paper art within the scrapbooks. Childhood anecdotes and important moments were recorded on the pages in my mother's perfect penmanship. And when it became known that much of the paper products and glues she had used were filled with acids and other nasties that would destroy photographs, she began each book again.

Mine is different from my siblings. There are fewer pictures. Many of the initial anecdotes describe how I, as an 18-month-old and toddler, was very interested in cameras and the end result of my interest was that I opened the camera repeatedly and exposed the film, destroying all the pictures. I remember reading those stories when I was older and asking my mother, "Why didn't you just put the camera where I couldn't reach it?" She would reply, "Sam, there wasn't a place where you couldn't climb. If you wanted something, you found it."

Hmmm....I sound a bit like my Adam.

Tabitha has recently become obsessed with my scrapbook. She looks for a long time at each surviving picture, reads the stories, looks at the Valentines and birthday cards, and traces each saved, childish drawing with her finger. When I asked her why my scrapbook is of such interest to her, she asked, "Mom, how could anyone not love you? I don't understand."

I think my mom loved me. She just didn't really want me, preferring instead, my blond, blue-eyed sisters. You can love someone without wanting them, I think.

I explained to Tabitha about bonding. I told her how my mother suffered debilitating postpartum depression in a time when it was taboo to speak of it. I talked about the miscarriage which occurred when I was less than a year old, in a time when the remedy for miscarriage was to get pregnant again as soon as possible.

Tabitha said, "I still don't understand. You were beautiful. I would have loved you--bonded with you."

And that's true. Tabitha bonds with every baby she meets. She's been a tiny mother since Adam provided her first Batman action figure when she was nine months old. She rocked and fed her Batman and even gave him a tiny black diaper--just in case. The mothering moved to nearly every possible toy she could find--stuffed animals, baby dolls, even a very large Frankenstein monster which she stole from her brothers (this was a two-fer, because the toy had a hollow head intended to store plastic tools--Tabitha ousted the tools and stored snacks in the head instead).

There's no question--Tabitha would have loved the baby Samantha with all her heart. I know this. It's just a part of who she is. It's not, however, a part of who my mother is. The part that mystifies Tabitha is why my mother bonded with most of her children, but not me.

I tried once again to explain, then gave up. Tabitha cannot understand. I told her that was okay--it's sort of incomprehensible. She said, "And now you won't ever have a mom who loves you like she should because Grandma's brain is dying."

This is true.

So I said, "You know, Tabitha, there were a lot of things that happened that shouldn't have. But there were also things that happened that were good--things that many children don't receive." And I listed them for her:
1. My mother read to me. This is a gift for which I will be grateful every day of my life. There are children whose parents don't read at all. They (both parents and children) miss out on a great deal.
2. My mother taught me basic life and homemaking skills. Tabitha perceives me as being extremely capable when it comes to keeping a home and taking care of a family. Those skills came from my mother.
3. My mother taught me appreciation for art, music, literature, and dance.
4. My mother loved beauty, and she, herself, has always been beautiful.

Tabitha said, "You love your mom."
I said, "Yes. I do."
Tabitha said, "Grandma is very lucky to have a daughter like you."
I said, "You know, Tabitha, I've never really thought about that."
Tabitha said, "I think you need to think about it."

Perhaps my daughter is right.

The Eye of the Beholder

There was a time in my life when I wore a ribbon in my hair every single day. I believe I had about 30 ribbons of different colors.

This habit began shortly after I left home when I was seventeen. I took a job in Teton National Park. Naturally, because it was a resort in the middle of nowhere, employees lived in onsite dorms which came with a meal ticket attached. Our room and board were deducted from our monthly pay which meant we ended up making next to nothing, but when one has no other bills or obligations, and has just escaped from what felt like a living hell, the resulting independence and freedom is well worth the tiny monthly stipend remaining after one's meals (which I rarely ate) and room are subtracted from the paycheck.

The dorm arrangement in which I lived amounted to a huge warehouse-like basement with cement floors and sort-of walls creating the illusion of rooms, which went up about seven feet and then stopped. Some of the "rooms" had two bunk beds, some had rows of twelve or more. There were no doors and we could kneel on the top bunks and peek over at the occupants of the other rooms for chitchat whenever we wished. Viewed from above, I'm certain it looked like a crazy maze filled with walls papered with movie posters and pictures of home, and girls in various states of undress running about the passageways during the day, and sleeping or whispering at night. I loved it.

A couple of days after I had arrived, I was in the community bathroom trying to tame the curls I was blessed with--and I was frustrated. I heard my mother's voice saying unkind things about my unruly hair as she walked about without one strand of her own out of place. I wondered why none of my sisters had hair like mine. And then a perfectly beautiful stranger appeared beside me. She watched for a moment as I struggled with my hair, then said, "You have the most gorgeous curls. I would die for hair like that."

I paused and looked at her. She was probably 21 years old. She was tall and blonde and blue-eyed. There were tiny, light-colored freckles on her perfectly straight nose. I thought about falling in love with her, then decided that would be a very bad idea. Being in love with a straight girl for an entire summer did not sound fun at all.

I said, "I hate it. Everyone in my family has straight hair. It goes exactly where they want it to. Mine's like a pile of snakes."

She laughed, "Have you noticed the color? You have dark brown with streaks of lighter brown and red. Mine's just plain blond and it's always straight."

I sighed, "I don't know what to do with it. I have to be at work in 30 minutes."

She told me her name and asked if I'd let her help me, adding that she'd been wanting to play with my hair since she saw me check in a few days before. I shrugged and told her to have fun.

My new friend wet down the hair that had become a mane. She introduced me to hair products which encourage curl, not frizz, gently detangled the curls, then produced a thin red ribbon which she used as a headband, and tied a small bow on the side of my head. While she messed with my hair, she told me she was going to be a beautician, how she planned to go to some beauty school in the fall because she had received her associate degree, but didn't want to go to a university. She told me about her family and said I reminded her of her little sister, whom she missed a great deal.

Then she turned me toward the mirror and said, "See--you look so pretty!"

I don't know if I did or not. I took her word for it. I floated around all day, just being pretty because she said I was. That night I returned her ribbon to her. She took it from me and told me to follow her. We went to her room where she opened a box on her dresser, pulled out five more ribbons of different colors and handed them to me, instructing me to keep using them.

And I did. For a long time I used those ribbons, added some of my own, and remembered each time I tied the bow that a very beautiful young woman had once told me I was pretty.

Today I use a flat iron to tame my curls and I don't use a hair ribbon anymore. But I have one in my top drawer beneath my folded socks. It's red and not very new--a gift from a stranger I will not forget.

Thinking

Therapist talked with me about some things that are happening inside me which he believes will not be helpful. Then we discussed different strategies to circumvent the processes and try build the healthy habits and persona I've established. At the time I believed acting on those strategies would be a good idea. Today I no longer think so.

As I've worked on the assignments I've been feeling increasingly stressed. Granted, there are a number of things contributing to that which are beyond my control, but what I'm talking about is different. With each assignment I am left with the absolute certainty that I am "wrong." That everything about me is "wrong." That there is nothing about me redeeming or right or desirable or beautiful.

Even more, I'm feeling increasingly alone and isolated even when interacting with people. It feels as though we are not connecting. Please notice the italics. This does not feel solely as if it belongs to me. It feels as though I'm trying with all my might to feel some sort of camaraderie or affection or softness, but I'm blocked by the other person. What I want is definitely not what they want. Everything we discuss feels clinical and detached. I feel judged and analyzed--as though I'm an interesting specimen to be dissected and discarded.

Then, of course, because I've been trained to do so, I enter the cycle of wondering why it feels that way. Perhaps I'm not giving people enough breaks from me. Maybe I imagined there was genuine feeling from that person when there was not. Perhaps my perception that I'm friendly and delightful and sincere and real, is flawed and I'm just not that interesting.

But I refuse to believe this. I'm alone quite often and I'm never bored with my own company. I think interesting thoughts, see beautiful sights, and laugh often. I'm not ungainly or awkward. I don't have bad breath. I shower daily.

Besides, today at the gym a man asked me if I wanted to go get coffee after my workout--and at that point I was unshowered and sweaty (but my teeth were brushed). And since my gym partner reports to me that the man who invited me was "wowcute," I am left believing that there is something appealing about me. Darrin says this is true and, "Thank you for coming home instead of going out to coffee, as I don't think I would like that very much."

Maybe I'm trying too hard to be something I'm not. Maybe whatever processes identified by Therapist are a part of my integral makeup. Maybe there's nothing scary or bad or wrong about them at all. Maybe Therapist is the one who's wrong.

I don't know. But I do know I'm tired of being wrong, of having something wrong with me, of always doing or saying the wrong thing.

So today I think I'll spend the day with me. Maybe tomorrow I'll do the same. And maybe the next day, too.   Because I've been trying and trying to figure out how I fit in the lives of other people--something they don't even know themselves--and the truth is, I don't. Maybe no one really does. Perhaps that's why we float from friend to friend, and divorce is common, and families grow apart.

Regardless, the time has come for me to stop spending so much time "fixing" me. There are many things I'm not good at, but there are also things I do well. I might not be good at relationships, but I think I'm very good at the friendship cycle. And while I'm not the parent of the year, I spend lots of time with my kids and I believe they know I love them. And I'm still married after quite a few years. That's something.

There is so much about me that is healthy and good and right. I don't have the time or the patience to wait for anyone else to notice that. Today I have to just enjoy being me.