Starting Over--A Fresh Start--A Clean Slate

Because most of these posts are old academic writigs, and I haven't been in college for several years now--although I'd give my right eye (it's the weaker of the two) to go back--I decided to create a new blog and actually make a good-faith effort to post regularly. The new blog is called The Mood I'm In. I will post whatever madness or cockamamie scheme is coursing through my brain and body on that given day. 

Now, that's not to say that I won't still post anything here, because I just might. I'm kind of sneaky and unpredictable like that.

Love Me or Leave Me

I recently wrote an editorial based on a recent work event for my department’s statewide newsletter. Because she’s part of the story, I shared the editorial with my boss. When I left the office tonight, she hadn’t had a chance to read it, but she said, “I can’t believe that you are okay sharing this with all 20,000 of our employees.”

“Really? Have you not figured out that I don’t give sh*t what people think of me?” I asked as I walked out the door.

It got me thinking—I mean more than I usually do, although I’ve been working to try to “tuck and roll” more and not analyze life as much as I used to. It’s actually kind of ironic. We are encouraged to pursue education, and if you want to get a good grade in school, you are told to think critically. What they don’t tell you is that unless it’s for school or maybe work, you gotta leave that shit in the office or classroom, because over thinking life and thinking too critically about personal relationships will either drive you crazy, drive the people around you crazy, and too often—drive people apart.

In addition to friends, mentors, and my therapists (professional and personal), I have to give Father Time much credit for my relaxed attitude. There’s something beautiful about wrinkles, sagging skin, gray hair, and bad vision that make you just not give a rat’s ass what people think—or you care a whole hell of a lot less than you did when you were younger. I think while you get much more patient in life, you also have a lot less tolerance for B.S. You finally start to learn and believe in your worth. You start to realize that you are too valuable to let people toy with you or waste your time with games and drama. At least I know that’s true for me. If you can’t bring something positive and valuable to my life, then I don’t have time for you.

Before you start thinking I’m shallow and judgmental and you get your britches knotted up, relax. Positive and valuable are subjective, and I’ve had some of my best conversations and received some priceless information from homeless people. So when I say that people have to bring something positive and valuable to my life, I don’t mean that they always have to be sunshiny bright and have lots of bling. And, I try to be the same in others’ lives—positive and valuable, and I also try to be sunshiny, but I’m human, and some days I might be not-so-sunny. But, the only bling they’ll ever get from me is gonna be in the form of some sparkly, glittery handcrafted gift that has little or no monetary value, but is rich in love and time.

So, back to my boss’s comment…

Why would I care that 20,000 people know I swallowed my tooth and that it’s still making its journey through my body. Well, I don’t know for certain that it’s still making its trek, but based on time (it’s only been one day) and that I haven’t felt anything “biting me in the ass,” I’m assuming (yeah, that’s a pun) it’s still making its way through the labyrinth of my colon.

I have no shame in saying that I am the product of rape. I’m a survivor of child sexual abuse, and I was also raped in high school. I’ve cared for dying loved ones, and I am pedigree crazy, meaning I have been officially diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and those are just the highest level events in my life. I’m not trying to throw a dead kitty on anyone’s porch. Everyone has their hand that life dealt them, and that’s been mine. But guess what? Despite all of that, I like who I am. No. I take that back. I love who I am. Do I still have issues that creep up now and then? You betcha! But, I will always courageously face them and refuse to be defeated or defined by them. I challenge you to find someone who doesn’t have challenges creep up every now and then. I dare you to find someone who has never dealt with any painful events, and I challenge you again to look inside those groups and find someone who has absolutely no scars. Oh, I’m not saying those people don’t exist, but you sure aren’t going to find many of them.

I’ve worked hard to get where I am, and the truth is, I like who I am—enough so that I love to spend time alone, because I enjoy my own company that much. Sure, I love hanging out with the people I care about, but I care about me too. Think it sounds arrogant? It’s not. It’s just that I know my worth, and if more people felt they were worthy of being treated well, and that they deserved to live a happy, peaceful and loving life, the world would probably be a hell of a lot nicer place to live in.

I don’t hate my biological father. I’ve never known him, and I have no desire to know him. Do I think it was horrible that he raped my mother? Absolutely, but then again, if that horrific incident hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t be here, and if I wasn’t here, then I would never have been able to meet all the wonderful people who have come into my life, and I certainly wouldn’t have been blessed with my amazing son, who has been the highlight of my life.

I don’t hate my grandfather for molesting me, and I don’t hate him for abusing my mother. I think what he did was horrible, but guess what? I forgive him. I’ve seen his photographs from World War II, and I’m sure he was a very, very sick man. I can’t hate someone who is sick, and even if he wasn’t sick, hating him only gives him power over my happiness. I’m not gonna do it. I’m not gonna let him—or anyone else who tries to break me—win by taking my spirit from me.

I don’t even hate the men who raped me that March night in 1985, just weeks before I turned 18. It was a very painful night for me, and at the time, I wanted to die. But guess what? My mother’s response that night made me forgive much of her dysfunctional parenting all those years before. And when I was able to forgive her, I was able to begin to heal.

I don’t hate any of the men who broke my heart or betrayed me. It is from those relationships that I learned the most about myself and did the most growing. And, I know that in every relationship—whether familial, platonic, or romantic—I have a role. I’ve yet to find one of those relationships where I was perfect and couldn’t have done something more or something better or reacted differently.

Caring for and watching the people closest to me die taught me the importance of life, and the importance of staying present in the moment with the ones you love and the importance of letting them know how much you love them.

And, for more than a year now, I’ve been living with bipolar disorder completely medication free—and that’s with my doctors’ blessings. In fact, my doctor is the one who first approached me about getting off medication, because he thought I was a good candidate. Why? Because I worked hard to learn all I could about the disorder. It was scary to re-learn how to live life like a “normal” person, which if you ask me, some of the most “normal” people are some of the most screwed up—they’re just in denial about it. Part of learning to live successfully with bipolar means that I have to take care of myself. I have to not only give myself permission to take care of myself , but I have to make me my top priority—before anyone else and before my job. I am only as good as I am healthy. I owe that to myself, and I owe it to the people who love me and who’ve always been there for me.

That’s another thing. I have a large circle of loyal and devoted friends who love me and I love them. Some of those friendships span nearly 40 years. Just as they say that our children are a reflection of who we are, and that you can tell a lot about a person by the company she keeps, well, I figure that even with all my flaws, I must be one hell of a person, because I have an amazing child, and I have an incredible group of friends. If I was that crazy, that screwed up, or that much of a bitch, I wouldn’t be surrounded by that that many people and that much love.

Speaking of love, isn’t it sad that we are a culture that is afraid of love? When people hear the word love, they might find it comforting like a warm blanket wrapped around them on a chilly night, or they might become afraid that someone is trying to possess them or change them. Why? Why can’t we just learn to stay present in the moment? Why can’t we just be happy that in that moment, someone is letting us know that they care very much for us and that we are an important part of their life?

Why do I say these things? Because I’ve experienced them all—at all levels. The pain, the fear, the ager, and worked through them to find a place of peace, love, contentment, and happiness—and that comes from within—not based on what a handful of readers are going think about me and my missing tooth. In fact, if I’ve learned anything in my nearly 45 years of life, it’s that people actually appreciate when people share their “vulnerabilities.” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve shared one of my stories and had someone pull me aside, email me later, call me, or in some way confide in me and say, “I’ve never told anyone this, but that’s happened to me too.”

So that is me, in all my proud, toofless glory. Love me or leave me, but either way, I’m not gonna hide who I am or change for anyone but me.