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From the monthly archives:
June 2010
He has this familiar smell. A smell that been the same for the twenty years i have known him. It is coffee and nicotine and Old Spice. Masculine and sexy and a little bit bad.
But there is nothing about him that is bad. He has this kind soul hidden in the shell of a big guy with a big mouth. Words spew from him in rapid progressions from tender to dirty, reflection and introspection to crass jokes.
He genuinely cares for people. Cares about their health, their wellness. It used to bug me. It bothered me when he would feel sorry for someone who was not well because i wanted him to feel that for me. I kind of missed the point there. He cared for everyone, he cared for me.
It's funny to realize a clich
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There is one thing i am very good at. I'm good at doing all the wrong things to try and ease my broken brain. It's not broken, it's just not right. The doctors tell me i'm bi-polar, sometimes they tell me i'm just depressed, or just anxious. Sometimes they tell me i'm just fine. Sometimes they look at me with great concern, or perhaps relief.
I'm not very good at taking care of my head. I try and i often fail. That became apparent over the winter. I was doing fine, but not really. I was coping. Coping by self-medicating or staying up all night. Keeping myself occupied with books or music or boys. Avoiding the loud rush that was getting louder in my head.
Sure i took my Holy Basil and my vitamins. That was about it. Days on end without food or sleep. Unhealthy. All around. Mind, body and soul – all a little bit broken.
And then my grandpa committed suicide. It sparked a fever in me. I wanted to make it right. Make me right. To not be this broken little person any longer.
I peeled away the layers. Looked at all the festering little sores and decided to fix as much as possible.
I removed some people from my life and added one important new one. I asked my ex-husband to give me one more chance. To give me the chance to change, to open up, to be a better person. I came to him completely open. Free from secrets and lies. Letting myself be the me i used to be. Or maybe the me i was meant to be. It may not work out, but i'm pretty sure it will. And it feels really good right now. It feels good to laugh and cry, to be held, to be loved.
I was gifted some running shoes. I have been running and running and running. Perhaps another way of self-medicating, or being obsessive. I don't know. All i know is when i run, my mind opens up, The rushing stops. My heart races, my chest heaves and my body burns. I feel alive, i feel on fire. I feel like i could run forever. Like if i keep going i am eventually going to find me, or perhaps leave all the bad bits behind me. A trail of worry and anxiety falling in my tracks.
I am trying something new. I am trying to be healthy. To be good and kind. To be generous and loving. To be greedy with myself. To give myself energy and time and freedom. Freedom doesn't mean being alone, i used to think that. Freedom means making life happen.
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It's been a week of heart break, children turning into teenagers, arguments, misunderstandings, dancing in bare feet and sunset soccer matches. It's been a pretty typical week in the life of a family.
I just don't feel typical. I feel like my life is anything but typical.
There are just so many variables, so many things that can and do happen every single day. So many things i want to make better, but am helpless to do so. I am just me, just me and my kids doing our very best.
Eliza's best friend moved away the other day and every night this week i have come home from work to find her still up and sobbing in her bed. She has a broken heart and i can't make it better or easier for her. I want to tell her it's all okay, but that doesn't do anything. Instead i just hug her, stroke he head and tell her i love her. Anything else just hurts her more.
Tristan turned thirteen on monday. Thirteen. I am now parenting a teenager and that causes me a lot of anxiety because, really, i'm still a teenager myself. I feel like i still have so much to learn and need to pull deep into my resources to make it through this phase. She's moody and beautiful and i'm scared to put her picture on the internet now. I'm scared for her, for all the crap she's going to have to go through in the next seven years. Next year some of her friends will start trying all those scary things like boys and drugs and alcohol and wasn't i just doing that yesterday? I have to figure out how i'm going to handle the myriad of situations that are just around the corner.
And of course there is love. Love greatly complicates things doesn't it? I forgot how hard it can be. How little misunderstandings can become bigger issues. That it takes work, lots of work to make a relationship special. But then there is the making up which in my house requires loud music and dancing in slips and laughing really hard. Which really is the point isn't it?
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This past week Eliza turned nine years old. We celebrated yesterday with friends and cake and the first sunny, swimming, lake day of the year.
Eliza has changed this year. She's no longer the shy girl in the corner. She's feisty and fiery and lives up to her red-headedness with every ounce of her being.
The change in her personality has caused a few shifts and rifts in the house, i try to embrace it because i always know she's around now. Not fading into the corners. Always a vibrant presence in the house.
She has also found friendship and has started that inevitable shift from always being by my side to seeking out the company of her friends over family. My greatest moments have been watching her running through the yard playing tag with friends, giggles and screams echoing through the house and the neighbourhood. I have to tear her away from her outside play every single night.
She falls asleep in a heap every night. Bursting forth first thing in the morning and charging the day head on.
She is everything i hoped for when she was a baby and her huge dimpled smile melted everyone around her.
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