Just for a few fleeting days...

Last week being spring break we started the weekend out with some family coming down to pick up Jared for a visit, which was a whole other processing stinging experience in and of itself, and when last Monday hit the boys and I completely shut off the world at home. I have had zero ability to cope and tolerate people and being in this town the last two months. My therapist says it’s because I am extra raw and vulnerable. The level of being able to put on the blinders and have tunnel vision to survive has gone tremendously down since court in February. I am triggered more than ever and have a barely there short fuse for things I see as wrong doings towards others or myself which is literally every time I go out here.

And I was soaking in it just being us 4, it just being the boys and I. I needed this. We played games and snuck out for sonic happy hour and hurried back home again with their favorite songs blaring on repeat for nap times and cuddles in pjs and underwear and more games and late nights and late mornings them coming in and snuggling into bed to sleep in with Mom. We mowed the yard and had picnics on the porch and talked about girls and what nudity means and nude beaches, and life, and good dreams and nightmares and found out Conner wants to live in China and Caiden wants to take a vacation to New York City. And we talked about religions and connections and spirituality and morals and good and evil and why there were bad people in the world and spiders.

I forgot about life, about people here, about my mess of a family, about the people that don’t understand or don’t care that support my abuser, about the pain, about all the crap Sam and I have to work through as individuals and in our relationship as we work through our seperation. I forgot…just for a few fleeting moments; hours; days.

And then with a trip to OKC, and upon bringing Jared back home and upon entering back into the routine of life we have here this week it has all hit with a vengeance once more. I want to stay hiding but I can’t. My bed begs for me to wrap me back up in comfort and ignore the undeniables for temporary fleeting time. My soul is tired and no matter how much sleep I get this week my body just keeps screaming for more. And I believe at this point it's merely responding to the weariness of a different kind of tired entirely. When it feels like it takes a weeks worth of my willpower to be there emotionally and mentally for the kids to get therm breakfast and off to school. To make myself go on a run because it’s the one healthy coping skill I have I can use. When I have to use that weeks worth of will power to force myself to eat something. To stay away from the bedroom so I don’t crash into bed again. To write emails to clients and be excited about what deep down I am really passionate about but depression has for the time stolen away from me. And when I finally crash at night I wonder what I am going to do in the morning because I used up my already low tank into the negative over simple daily tasks and things that should be life giving.

Why do I share these things? Share my darkness? Because I know it’s okay not to be okay now. I know that while I’m afraid of the darkness I am not afraid to go into and even though I want to shut the world off most times I don’t want to really shut off connections I could have with others. “The middle is messy and dark but you have to go right through it. There is no other way to live. You must die a thousand deaths to live.” - Brene Brown

Because I am not wearing a mask and pretending life is amazing when it is not. Because I am not playing the games anymore I was raised in and raised to play. I know being vulnerable can bring misunderstanding and hatred from some. But I also know and have experienced vulnerability and human nakedness breeds connection and truth and unbreakable bonds with other raw and real souls that do understand and love.

“I am not less afraid of the dark. I just know that if you are willing to go in there is beauty in it. I’m afraid of vulnerability and being emotionally exposed. But I have been in there before and I know the beauty of it. And I know the choice is going in or standing on the outside of the dark my while life and hustling and pretending for my worthiness. And standing on the outside…that I am not willing to do now.” Brene Brown

Process? WTF is that...

These past 3-4 weeks have been the most confusing, exhausting, overwhelming weeks. That feeling of how could things possibly get any harder and then they do. The battle I just went through has been a long time coming and has left me with so much going on inside I haven’t been able to process anything on my own. Nothing. It’s just a mass mess of painful and overwhelmingness. It has scared me. I’m finding myself questioning everything and everybody.

I don’t know how in the hell I am supposed to feel. What I am supposed to feel first. What am I supposed to process first. What do I dare touch first.
There’s anger at my father for his obvious unchanging sickness. I am angry at my mother for not ever taking a stand, for not showing she cared, for taking the abusers side, for helping the abuser, for playing it cold, for still playing games with me now. I am angry at all the people that filled his side of the court room. For the people who said the abuser was the victim in all this. That the abuser deserved mercy because "his family has suffered enough". What do they know! I am angry that not ONE member of my family stood up against him. That they sat on his side of the courtroom or didn’t come at all and left me to fight alone. I am angry that they say one thing and do another. I am angry at the games and manipulation in my family. I am angry at the triangulation between siblings. I am angry I am still the scapegoat. And how the hell am I supposed to even process this shit again? Like what the hell does that even mean at this point. How do I process things that feel like daggers in my soul. All these people that show validations and empathy for the person who destroyed my body and mind.

And yet in all this anger I’m relieved I got to see with my own eyes at court where people actually stood. Relieved that I had a DA that fought like hell for justice and the team of people some I had never met that saw through the bullshit of my family and their friends. Relieved I am able to have the strength to step away and out of my family’s circle as needed without feeling guilt anymore. Relieved I had the army there with me I did have by my side squeezing strength into my fingers and wrapping me in comfort when my heart was feeling like it was being crushed and knifed by a dozen knives.

And the most unexpected emotion of the day was humor. As soon as my father stood to say his few words before the judge I felt this laughter of disgust and disbelief yet mixed with “not really surprised” well up inside me. The same old bullshit, the same underlined anger, the same manipulation, the same fake emotions that I could now see through…it was still him. The same monster disguised. The same asshat who snuck into the dark at night. The same groomer. The same manipulator. The same pedaphile. The same man hiding behind false humility and lies and "Jesus Christ my Lord and Savior”. He had been caught, I spoke up when he thought I never would, he had lost his power, and his games to try to walk out of that room a free man were in strong play. And I watched my aunt hugging my mother as he talked. I watched my brother sitting with his wife's arm around his shoulder patting his back. I stared at the back of my uncle’s head wondering HOW?! I watched his friends sitting in their seats their heads hanging. I looked at the rows and rows of people and my heart felt pity. Relief. Disgust. Humor. Not just anger. I remember being in their lifes just 5 years ago and it makes my hairs stand on end. Looking in from the outside I wonder now, how in HELL I ever survived as long as I did, and played those games as long as I did.

And so how. How. How do I process the feelings of panic I felt. The feelings of vulnerability in front of a room of people who’s actions where showing they had no empathy or care for anyone but the abuser. How do I process feeling like I was sitting in a lions den sharing the most painful and vulnerable gruesome parts of myself with my father sitting with his back to me, his nose in the air, his lawyer sitting there as if waiting to try and pounce on me. My body telling me to run, and never stop. My voice feeling like a thousand bees stinging my throat. Stumbling over words and sentences of a stupid damn 3 page statement. Trying to explain what your heart, body and mind has been through with something so traumatic.

How do I process one of my father’s character witness coming over after he was sentenced and handed over to the sheriff’s department and graveling at me feet, apologizing and saying he didn’t agree with what his friend did…well buddy your words and actions sure don’t match there. Did he ACTUALLY expect me to talk to him? To shake his hand in the middle of my panic attack and high emotions and desires to literally crawl under the seat and curl up in a ball? Did my sister who snuck up behind me and grabbed me around my neck and whisper I’m sorry I love you after everyone left the room expect a response from me after sitting on his side of the courtroom in the shadows of the back corner?

How do I process people actually feel sorry for my parents? That they can empathize with their “suffering” in this mess? Their “suffering” that has been caused by THEIR choices and THEIR actions not inflicted upon them by someone. How do I process the fact that my father stated he thinks he is owed an apology? That I started this, I got him caught, he was found out and they think I am still to blame? How in hell were there people there from our old church sitting in silence and gloom in the back of the room. How the hell is this a game, a pick a side gamble, choice? Why are some so willing to hold their arms open and continue giving chances to people who have done nothing but give worthlessness and distrust and have played games.

How do I process that I have to accept being the outcast in my family. That putting energy into my family means pain on my part. How do I process when I think something is going well, my sisters are healing and then everything blows up in my face again and it feels like I lost everyone once again. How do I process the betrayal of having not a single one of your family with you in the courtroom, or willing to stand up for what is right; how do I process the incredibly unimaginably painful. Having to keep on facing being the family loner, the scapegoat, the one that doesn’t want to be in the unhealthy triangulation and game playing and manipulation.

I feel like I am standing on the edge of a black abyss of emotions with no way around it to move forward but to jump in and crash at the bottom and break open into a million pieces and then heal those pieces and put myself back together again and start climbing terrified up the other side of the abyss. And I’m avoiding it. I stand at the edge my obsessive counting keeping me from dealing with too much, my mask wearing for my kid’s sake on point, my raw and real hiding behind it trying to peak out every now and then. Knowing if I try to jump in all at once or alone I will have a mental breakdown. So I cope. I wait…for my therapy sessions.

And so...I feel like I am currently standing on the edge of a black abyss with no way around it and to move forward I must jump in and fall and fall and fall and fall and crash at the bottom and break open into a million pieces. And then I have to heal those pieces, and get help, and find support and put myself back together again, heal, recover and then start climbing up the other side of the terrifying, seemingly impossible jags and steepness to get back out of the abyss. And I’m currently avoiding it. I know to what depths and magnitude I face. I stand at the edge and let my mind race and my repetitive counting cope my brain, and fight all the symptoms of PTSD as best I can. I put on my mommy mask when I need too for my kid’s sake my raw and real hiding behind it trying to peak out every now and then. And all the while feeling if I try to jump alone I will have a mental breakdown. I won’t be able to handle the years and years of pain and trauma that will overtake me let alone all of this currently. I try to keep surviving. I remind myself that my monster is behind bars. I need to process that first. Somehow, I have to fight through all the faces that were in that courtroom and get to that truth. The one truth for sure I can stand firm in. He’s locked away. He’s gone. So I cope through as best I can and wait for my therapy sessions. For the slow slide down the abyss and then stopping to cling onto a rock until I can slide down some more to cling onto another rock. For me its baby steps and that’s okay. Because I know and I’m moving and I’m doing the most I can handle in this confusing shit hole of hell.

“Don’t Quit. You’re already in pain. You’re already hurt. Get a reward from it.”

February Ipsy Review

This year I started a couple of monthly subscriptions for the fun of getting packages and surprises to myself dropped off at my doorstep every month. I mean who doesn't love a surprise and "good" mail for a change. It's only two months in and I'm already hooked. One package I received sat begging to be opened on my desk for two days because I wanted to make sure I had the time to dig through and enjoy it when I did open it. 

My coffee shop owner friend told me about Ipsy and when I finally went to look into it I got curious and exciting about the $10.00 a month subscription and decided to try it out. I love the fact they find out your style and what you like and then customize what they send to you accordingly instead of everyone getting the same things every month. The lipgloss was the only thing I did not like in this month's package. Just because it's lipgloss...and I despise lipgloss. So that little beauty is going in my lil' gifts-and-surprise-mail-for-others box.

Otherwise I'm impressed. Good brands. Good sizes. And it's a fun treat to have mailed to yourself. 

You guys should totally go give it a try! - Ipsy.com

Karen

Nothing makes me happier than going into a shoot with someone who is feeling down with life, struggling with circumstances, not feeling all that great and then getting them to feel like a million bucks again and empower them in front of my camera though my camera! It's my little slice of gold to put out into the world. Being behind my camera and bringing out the raw and real inside people, bringing out their lives and stories, creating stories together; it fills me up!

My Drug of Choice

I laced up the laces of my bright worn running shoes that had seen my pounding feet through hundreds of miles. I thought about how I hoped I would get new shoes for my birthday and if I didn't I opened a new tab in my brain (that was the last thing I needed was another open browser) to put in my budget to get me a new pair before my next half marathon. I sat on the concrete to stretch and continue to convince my mind I had to run. I had to stay on my training schedule true but that wasn’t the only reason. I needed my dose of medication for the day. I had put it off until it was now 4 pm and I had exactly one hour before my time would be taken up for the rest of the evening. My mind was trying to overpower the itch my body had to run. My mind was tired, whining at me. I had spent all morning hashing out the future on paper, pros and cons, looking up options for which direction I wanted to go on this fork in the road I have come too in life, and I had starting some online classes that had my brain swirling with thoughts, ideas and 'itches'. But my body was telling me to run out the emotions pent up in my shoulders and back. To run away the voices, the noise, the chaos, to focus and quiet my mind. To run out the demons and once again sort through the mess in my head and heart.

My feet pounded out the pavement to the blaring playlist in my earbuds, finding my rhythm and pace as I got further and further away from the comfort of my home I could hide in the shadows of if I wanted. I was running streets and through neighborhoods I usually don't run in and my eyes started noticing things. The dirty streets. The consistency of thrown out cigarette butts, too many to count. There were lost shoes and gloves, littered trash thrown thoughtlessly out of windows and even a flattened metal spoon. Empty beer cans mixed in with the leaves and grime and then the liquor bottles, empty glass bouncing off the afternoon sunrays.
Stories. Things that were once in peoples hands. Behind every cigarette butt something that spurred the need to cope, to deal with something. Pain. Stories. Behind the lost worn out shoe that someone once wore. Wonder what horrors and what joys they have walked and faced. If they are thriving or just breathing. If they are full or empty. The empty cans and bottles. Who’s lips the liquid fire passed between to drown out whatever it was inside them that was eating away, that hurt that was killing them, or the guilt, or the shame, or whatever it was they couldn’t face. What sadness or pain did they endure. What bad or good are they giving to this world. What was it, who was it, that made them the person they had become. What life have they known. Have they ever only known this small town of people living in boxes and molds. What are their dreams, their fears, their hopes, their nightmares. Stories. Beauty and hell.

I think everyone medicates. Everyone has some way of dealing with pain, sorrow, anger. Everyone. And those who go into the church building doors medicate as much as those who can’t even step foot inside the church doors. And there is no difference in the worshipping servant of religion and the worshipping servant of anything else. But it is easier for me to empathize with those who know they are hurting and in pain and don't hide their medication of choice than those who hide their medicating in the shadows even sometimes from themselves. Those who stay blinded. God however I have been able to make it to where I am today…I am thankful. Sometimes I wonder how. I do. I am thankful to have been split wide open and broken. To be going through the pain of psychological surgery. I can not even imagine being back in that horrifying place where I was so blinded and brainwashed I could never have seen the stories on the streets. Where I couldn’t even see my own stories. Where I couldn’t breath for myself or think for myself. Where I walked through the church doors nearly every day of my life for years and years and thought I was safe and better than and had been taught how to have appear at least to have it all together. That the evil that happened all around me in “god’s house” was okay, somehow, okay…I mean it must be, right? This stuff happened in other girls homes too right? My parents are my authority, my go between between God and myself so everything they did or said had to be right somehow. Because somehow we believed everyone there was better than the other humans in the world. That somehow we were different because "we had Jesus". When really everyone was just hiding their pain and ugly humanness behind religion and masks and false pretenses. That was what I knew.

So I…I run. I run until the pain, or lies, or stress and emotions of the day, of my life, of my stories has poured out of my body with the sweat. I run until I can no longer hear the voices of my mother telling me I am a bitch or a drama queen or a lier, or my father whispering in the dark, you are my special daughter and this is our secret I can't have with anyone else or God has put me here to help you grow up in "this way”. I run from the voices saying stop because you aren’t good enough. Give up on yourself you can’t do anything right. You are worthless. I run.
And I damn them to hell. I run for myself. To prove to myself. To fight for myself. To love myself.
Because my stories are mine to tell, to share or not to share, to be vulnerable with, to heal through. And I don’t want my stories to end with: she gave up. Because now, deep down under the shit and lies, I believe I am worth it. The opposite of what I was even taught, told and shown is that I am valuable. And that is something that I have learned on my own. From my pain and my stories. No one implanted that in my neurological pathways. That is something I have found on my own. I have taken back my own power.
And so...I run.

Finish Each Day & Be Done

So I worked hard to get a handle on my emotional and mental health yesterday. By lunch I was feeling in a better mindset and had some things I had thought through that had just finally clicked; some ah ha moments. I felt hopefully. Ready to maybe try and stand up again from the last few weeks.
And then I come home from school and there was a bomb waiting for me to arrive and drop on my head. After the bomb dropped and a couple hours went by I felt proud. I had handled it somewhat calmly and cooly and was not wallowed in fear and panic and worry in my room biting my nails and looking for ways to busy myself to cope away reality. I stayed somewhat focused on continuing life through the rest of the evening and still be a mom for the kids and not let another unknown circumstance control my emotions and peace. It felt good. I felt proud. Then after the boys went to bed and the house had calmed down and I was starting to think about crawling in my bed, letting the comfort swallow me up and passing out for the next 9 hours we had another bomb drop and this one hurt more. My heart physically ached at this one. I felt frustrated and sad. Frustrated that every time I feel like I’m getting in a good place again immediately that is tested. No pause. No recovery. Immediately tested. Sad because I felt my hope being tested and this bomb poked at my loneliness I fight and the desperation I have to get out of Duncan. I immediately was fighting thoughts of feeling defeated. Feelings like I was sitting in a glass box watching someones life spin around me while they laughed and mocked me sitting like a shattered spectacle inside. And I felt tired again. Tired and sad. I couldn’t be angry, I couldn’t talk through anything, my brain kind of shut down. So I told myself gently, “Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities crept in; forget them as soon as you can. But tomorrow is a new day; you can try and begin in well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with then current shitty nonsense.” I crawled in between my sheets and giant fluffy blankets encapsulating me with warmth and hugs, plugged one ear with an earbud and zoned out to the noise and movement of a show on netflix, fighting the want to shut the whole world and everyone in it out, telling myself; It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. You are not alone. Change will continue to come and in all this shit there will be good change too. Just hang on for this crazy life ride. Circumstances will not steal your hope, Leslie. You will not let it. Look at the beauty beside you, the people next to you right now.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will keep fighting for, loving, nurturing myself. Tomorrow I will try again. I will keep trying.

Making My Physical and Psychological Heath Equal.

I am practicing my emotional hygiene this morning. Psychologically I have dozens of cuts from the last few weeks and this last weekend and instead of taking a knife and cutting them deeper I am practicing stitching and bandaging them up. Instead of going boxing this morning, like I almost did, and working on my physical health some more and beating some shit and tears out, I took my laptop, some ted talks, hot coffee and a quiet corner at a coffee shop to switch, work on my psychological health and write.

The therapist reminded me yesterday of something I already knew but had let my mindset take over and slip me into a bad place instead. No one can put me in a awful place, in a negative mindset, in a box but myself. People can reject me, make me feel alone, say and do hurtful things but my mind is the one that chooses what to do with it. The thoughts and actions are implanted by others but I can either heal those wounds or cut them deeper. If someone walks away from me I can either cut myself down more, let the negative thoughts and reasonings as to why they would do that or I can reject the notion that because someone walks away from me I am not good enough, I did something wrong or I am a failure. If someone questions my authentic actions, words or love, I can let those thoughts and lies creep in I have been told that they are telling me I am "dramatic" or that I am a "manipulative selfish bitch" or I can take it as a sign I am on the right path to loving myself, being confident with my words and truth, and that I am on the right path to being vulnerable and letting my walls down. I am in charge of my own psychological health and well being. Just as equally as I am in charge of brushing my teeth, feeding my body and bathing.

I had been hurting all week the games and manipulation that had been played around me again, the place I felt I was being viewed in again. Being put in a fighting ring with someone again I wanted to stay distanced from without my consent. Being the bad one again, the scape goat like I used to always be in my family. Feeling the pain of people I truly wanted so badly to be there not being able to empathize or understanding. Feeling alone again. And alone is a dangerous place for me to go. Loneliness creates fear in me, a psychological wound in my mind that makes me less perceptive to truth and to my own power and instead feel like the people right beside me care less about me than they actually do. And I see the proof in that in this last week shit hit the fan with Sam and I. I have felt like he hasn’t understood me, hasn’t wanted to care or empathize, everything he has done or said has been a knife in my heart. There were misunderstandings flying left and right between us. We both were dealing with our own individual emmotional and mental pain and hurt and we were not dealing with that and letting that even more so greatly affect the connection between us as a couple. Words were flying and stabbing like knives into hearts. Yesterday we both felt physically sick. My mental health was affecting my physical health. I felt nauseous and achy. I felt physically exhausted like I had just ran for 5 hours straight. It took every ounce of my being to get up, get the kids taken care of and off to school, get dressed and get out of the house for my busy day. Sam had to call in to work and take a day because he was feeling the same way. You can not tell me that our psychological health should not be equal with our physical health. A huge misconception. A flat out lie to ourselves and others.

So today. Steps.
"Get out of bed. Don't lie there and think - thinking is the kiss of death for us in these moments - just move. Take a shower. Sing while you are in there. Make yourself sing. Sing stupid and laugh at yourself. Joy for its own sake - joy just for you, created by you - it's the best. Find yourself amusing. Put on some makeup and fix your hair. Wear something that makes you feel good, for yourself not for anyone else and if you don't have something like that go buy yourself something that will make you feel that way. Show yourself you love yourself no matter how hard that is. Get yourself a hood cup  or coffee or tea and read a book without thinking about other things while you are reading. Get out of the house, if you have nowhere to go take a walk or sit at a coffee shop. Do not excuse yourself from a walk because it's too cold. Bundle up. The big endless sky and oxygen will help."
- excerpt from Carry On Warrior

And here is a Ted Talk from my morning that could be the best video you could watch all week:
The Importance of Self-Care

"Why is it our physical health is so much more important to us than our psychological health. We sustain more psychological injuries than we do physical ones. Things like failure, or rejection or loneliness. If ignored they will get worse and they can impact our lives in dramatic ways. "Oh your feeling depressed just shake it off it's all in your head." Can you imagine saying that to someone with a broken leg. "Oh just walk it off it's all in your leg." It is time we close the gap in our physical and physiological health. It's time to make them more equal."