Reflection from October 30th, 2011 @ Age 30
RE: THE MISUNDERSTANDINGS SURROUNDING “MENTALLY-ILL” PEOPLE & THEIR RELATIONSHIPS WITH EVEN JUST CLOSE FAMILY MEMBERS AND FRIENDS.
I feel uncomfortable right now, but okay; not so bad, at the same time. I texted Stella a little yesterday and she replied a few times but then just stopped responding, and then I called her today and she didn’t pick up. And I had called her a couple times a couple weeks back and she never returned those phone calls. So I don’t know, it bothers me—but at the same time I don’t care as much as I feel like maybe I should, given the chance that she, like anyone else, could die tomorrow and then boy, wouldn’t I feel like the biggest asshole that I didn’t talk to one of my best friends more often because of petty little matters that in fact, do not matter all that much in the first place? But then again, how am I supposed to talk to her if she never responds? I don’t know. I don’t really care to ponder it either. I still think she’s being a bitch, but what do I know? How would I know if she is no longer the Stella I once knew when I hardly ever talk to her as it is? Maybe what she seems to be is really only what it seems, and not what it is? I just wouldn’t know, because I don’t know her at all anymore. I don’t know who she is, and she’s too goddamn proud to let anyone in to see because by god, she can do everything on her own! She doesn’t need anyone’s help with anything. She is totally 100% self-sufficient. Now, why the hell that matters, I don’t know. But it sure seems to make a significant difference to her, so I guess that would be why.
Anyway, moving on, today is my first day without birth control! It’s pretty exciting but I think mostly I’m a little concerned about how I’m going to handle the evolving situation if nothing actually happens. It just seems like it would be heartbreaking, although even that seems a little ridiculous when I’m going into this knowing full well that there is only 2% chance, at best, that Cooper and I can make a baby the standard method. I’m assuming, due to same, that we are going to have to do reproductive therapy—but there’s still some part of me, that stupid little fire inside of me, that won’t go out, and won’t stop believing that it’s at the very least possible that I might still get pregnant in any case. I don’t know. I guess that’s it; that’s where I’m at. We have a new name picked out for our baby girl…I can’t really tell you as I don’t want to leave a trail of clues in case it takes forever, but all the same lord have mercy and please don’t let the name be taken before that time comes, whenever it may be.
Cooper and I went to the art museum today. It was pretty fun, it was sunny out and cool but not cold, and the sun felt good and warm and it was just a nice day to be out and about with my husband! It was lovely actually. We went and had pizza at this place on OSU’s campus, and I checked in on Facebook, and the place said so and so “New York Style Pizza,” and then Gabrielle commented on my post saying, “if you want real pizza, you should come visit me sometime in NYC.” Anyways, then we went to the art museum and, having forgotten to take my ADD medication prior, I was essentially skimming right through the building one painting, etc. at a time. Cooper got mad because I wasn’t walking around and standing in front of each painting for at least five minutes at a time—but I just didn’t feel like standing around is all, part of the reason being, even, that I wore heels specifically so that I could wear my flare AG jeans that Cooper likes so much (better than my skinny jeans).
So anyways, we finally left which made me so relieved, and Cooper was all pissed at me because he wanted to look at the paintings together and have intelligent conversation about them and I was all, “I was there with you looking at them, and you yourself never even tried to initiate an intelligent conversation!” And then he was all, “well, you clearly weren’t interested because you weren’t even looking at the art, you were just sitting down on the chairs in every room we went into,” which made me angry because in every room we went into, I had looked at every piece of art that was in there. And I told him that’s simply not true because I was bored to tears, didn’t feel like standing around and staring at the wall, and would have gladly welcomed some intelligent conversation about the artwork to make the time pass by a little more quickly. So that was that.
So then we left and he was mad and wanted to just go home, but we were supposed to stop at Garden Ridge to look at the Christmas decorations, and so finally I talked him into going and we had a really fun time. We bought lights for our Christmas tree, lights for the deck, some new ornaments and a few other things and it was so much fun that when I got home I opened up the trunk in the living room and pulled all our other Christmas decorations out too. We don’t have that many—but I was telling Cooper that it was so very fun because it is the first year that I actually have my own home to decorate, with my own family with whom to do so. So anyways, it was kind of special, for me, at the very least.
But anyways, back to babies, I don’t know that there’s any way that I could actually get pregnant just by going off birth control at this point—but ohh how so very much do I hope it is possible all the same! I almost don’t know what I will even do if it turns out that it’s not. It’s weird because I think I would just be devastated if that were the case—but at the same time I don’t feel like that is going to be the case. I don’t feel like I am going to be devastated. As far as what that means specifically, I do not know. But I just have a feeling I am not going to be devastated. And really, that’s all the more I can tell you at this point in time.
What else? It’s challenging because I often can’t remember what I’ve already written about, or where I left off previously in a story, or that sort of thing—which makes it kind of difficult to know where to keep going, or how to continue the story, or some such other and what have you, but enough about that.
I can’t really think of what else to write about. So I posted a really cool picture today then, on Facebook, of this Cleveland Browns rocking horse ornament with a Santa sitting on top, and said something stupid like “it’s almost November, which is practically December, which means it is just about Christmas!” And Gabrielle wrote back to that too, and said “maybe I should get an ornament of a real team for you,” and Cooper wrote back to her to “take it easy” with a smiley face. So that kind of irritated me—mostly I think, because I feel like everything I post on Facebook is stupid anyway, and for Gabby to make fun of it, kind of rubs it in.
I don’t know why I get to feeling that way; it’s so funny that I even would, after all these years! But I do, and that is that—so I’m trying, still, to learn to be okay with it. And it will come, I am sure of it. It’s just that I am not there quite yet—and as you have heard for awhile now, it’s not the easiest journey to have taken.
It’s such a strange thing, really, given the fact that the one thing that would make it go away i.e. to be like everyone else, is the one thing I would never actually want to be. How boring that would be! And how not me it would be! And so as much as I hate dealing with the discomfort, I suppose in some ridiculous, perhaps ironic sense, in any case, I wouldn’t wish it away at the very same time for the world. I don’t want to be like everyone else—I want to be me. Whoever it is that I may be, that is who I want to be. It sounds so silly, almost stupid really, but it’s true. It’s what I want. And so there I go, one step forward, one step at a time.
Anastasia posted pictures of her daughter playing in the leaves; never responded to my congratulations post. Honestly, what a bitch. I suppose she’s saying the same thing about me, except I’m sure that she is not, because I’m sure she’s acting all high and mighty like—I have a huge house and a husband and a kid and a baby in the oven and my ohh-so-important banker job and my life is just so very important that I don’t have one spare moment to even waste thinking about you. What a bitch. I believe with every fiber that she thinks along those lines. She hides all the messy under the rug—sweeps it right under there and doesn’t look twice. It’s funny how she does all that, just so she can have exactly what it is that would make my discomfort go away! Maybe she too feels uncomfortable, because she too, is, how shall we say, weird?
Well in any case, it’s really quite humorous. We are both the same, in some fundamental way, because we are different from the rest. And I really do believe that she, just as I, feels the discomfort that it brings. But we are different in how we handle it. To be honest, I’m not sure that either road is necessarily “easier” than another. But she chooses to fit herself into the mold of what is “normal”. I choose the opposite—to stay outside of their mold, to just keep walking, to keep searching, until I can find a place in this world where I actually can be myself. The place where I can be good and evil, pretty and ugly, soft and hard, all at once. I want it all—not just what they have. I don’t want to be one-sided, and one-dimensional like they are. I want it all—I want all of me.
But who knows, maybe I am wrong. Maybe I am just twisting this all around in my twisted little brain to make myself feel better, or whatever else may be the case. But I don’t think so. I just do not think so. I mean, I’m pretty damn sure of what I am seeing over here. I guess we’ll find out—but I’m telling you, I’m pretty damn sure that I am seeing what I am seeing. The only issue, then, is whether anyone else can see it too—and that we will see, all in good time.
So there you have it, I am 30 years and four months old, and I have been writing for almost an hour, and today is my first day in more than a decade without birth control, etc. etc.
Not too much else going on here today!
Just talked to Stella. I do want to make clear, I love her—which is why it hurts all the more when she does something that causes me pain, which is why I act and sound and almost half believe sometimes that I hate her. But I don’t hate her, quite to the contrary. It’s just difficult to love someone who always feels compelled to make it clearly known that they do not need you in any way, shape or form. Everybody wants to feel needed, not just by their parents or spouse or children, but by friends as well.
Anyway, I told her about my going off birth control—she’s the first one I told, and she said “that’s exciting and I’m so happy for you,” but then she said “I wish you the very best,” which, I don’t know. I think maybe I’m being too sensitive? It just sounds like something someone would say who is planning on not being around much longer, or who doesn’t really care or isn’t interested or whatever, something along those lines. I don’t know, it was weird, and I wish I hadn’t told her to be honest.
I don’t know, it’s just weird. I can definitely understand that some people just have more things going on in their life than I do (I guess?)—actually, I’m not even sure what that means. I just feel like Stella and Gabrielle have schedules that don’t include room for me in them. But I could also see very much so, how they might feel the same way about me. We’re just so distant, it makes me sad—but in another sense, I don’t feel as sad about it as I feel I probably should? I don’t even know, see—I don’t even know how I am supposed to feel about it. But I guess, who cares what I’m supposed to be doing?
I’m doing fine—I’m not hurting anyone, I am moving forward, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been before in my entire life. I am putting good out into the world and trying to find ways to deal with my “bad”, or “ugly”, or “evil”—whatever you want to call it—that are constructive, and that cause less harm to others and produce less negative energy than would otherwise be the case. I am trying to neutralize the “bad”—break it down, learn about it, learn from it, and then put it back together and push it out as something new. Well, something new that is essentially the old, but also, different. Or, namely, the new result is made of the same old ingredients—except that new ingredients have been added to the mix, having been done in a manner so novel that it sucks the good right out from within the evil, and if nothing more, neutralizes the negative effects of the evil thereby.
I don’t know—I’m about done here, and I don’t even remember where I was going with this really. I guess the bottom line is that I am sad that I am no longer close with Stella and Gabrielle. But at the same time, it’s not the end of the world either; there are still ways to grow closer again—and I know I have done harm, but perhaps some of that, even still, can be healed. Really, there are a million other options that still hang in the balance as well, seeing as though we are all still very much so alive. Which reminds me, I was thinking today—I may write a letter to Cash.
I don’t know what I will say, and of course, I will be writing with full knowledge that chances are most likely Cash will never actually even read it. But I think I will go ahead and write it in any case. Why not? At the very least, it will be a good exercise for me in keeping my heart open to those who I love—even when they have hurt me. And at best, as far as I can imagine at this point, it will somehow bring Cash and I back, closer together. I can’t really see how the latter could be the case right now—but I do not believe that it is not possible either. Where there is a will, there is a way, no?
Yes. There is a way. There is a way, and I will find it.
I just wish that, in the meantime, I had not told Stella about the birth control thing and “liked” the stupid Facebook photo of Anastasia and her daughter. But even then—I am trying. And really, for what more could I ask?