Is anything ever going to change?

http://www.gulf-daily-news.com/NewsDetails.aspx?storyid=378559

Once again I open the GDN to read an unbelievable story about sexual abuse and the leniency the Bahrain Courts have when punishing perpetrators. A 15 year old and his uncle beat, raped, and filmed themselves while doing it because the man was engaged in a relationship with the 15 year olds mother. His words were, she was having a relationship “behind his back”. Since when do mothers need their children’s permission to have relationships? She is divorced and free, right? Ok let us make the poor excuse that this is an Arab country and so the mother needs her son’s permission to have a relationship (this is still Bahrain and not Saudi, right?), why did those two feel that a beating and rape while filming it was the correct course of action to take in order to bring this relationship to an end? The son claims it was his right to “honor beat” the man. Honor beat? Once again, what country is this? Since when did using the word “honor” become an acceptable excuse for beating and raping someone anywhere in the world but specifically Bahrain? I have lived here over 22 years and have never heard that word used as justification in court before. Is a new trend in extremism coming to Bahrain? Do residents here now have to fear that at any moment an attack will ensue based on “honor”? Not only that but your day in court will be little more than another assault against you as the judge will view your beating and rape as merely an inconvenience to you because the defendant had to restore his family honor one way or another?  In all the years I have lived in Bahrain one of the constants that has never changed are the atrociously low sentences  (or slap on the wrists if you will) that child molesters and rapists earn for doing the most despicable thing one can do to another, much less a child. Not only did these men confess to what they did in court, it is obvious that they are dangerous men who use extreme measures to deal with their issues. What excuse will the courts give them when they show up once again having done something similar to some other victim (maybe the mother next time, in defense of honor) because human beings generally show you who they are but we often ignore it and assume the best in them.  If I were someone considering coming to Bahrain for work or travel and I read the local newspapers as a way to gauge what sort of country Bahrain was, imagine my thoughts when reading that expats might not be able to drive for much longer, that car accidents due to extremely poor and aggressive driving are a daily occurrence, that if your nationality is not the “right” one you may be treated as less than either physically, financially, or humanely, that animals are often abused and considered disposable, that beaches are garbage dump sites, that elected officials in this country spend copious amounts of time doing nothing more than coming up with ways to waste both time and money,  and that, worst of all, sexual crime is not a big deal and treated lightly by the Bahrain Court system. The Bahrain government has spent a lot of money and effort in convincing the rest of the world that everything is fine here in order to get tourists and business back on board after events over the past couple of years and yet for anyone that has even the smallest interest in coming to Bahrain, all that effort is wasted with just a few minutes spent reading a local newspaper. All the money in the world and the best P.R. firm cannot undo that kind of damage.  

A reoccurring dream has me head scratching...again.

As I have stated several times on this blog, I often have dreams over and over again that generally end up meaning something to me, or coming true in some cases. Quite often these reoccurring dreams occur in the same place, like a bedroom or a particular road that ran near where I lived for awhile in my teens. One dream I have had many times over the past few years puts me in a bedroom, though this one is a room I'm not familiar with, in which I am on one side of the locked door and someone else is on the other side trying very hard to get in. That someone is almost always my father though now and again it is some unknown person. 

These dreams are not exactly scary but I do wake up from them feeling stressed and a bit anxious. I'm not sure what the purpose is considering my father has been dead for quite some time now. It's not like I will ever find myself on the other side of a door from him while he tries to knock it down. 

The more interesting thing to me is that I don't feel as if I dream that often. I know we forget our dreams generally upon waking giving us the impression we don't dream, so that may be it, but most mornings I wake up with no memory of having dreamt. When I do dream they are vivid life like events that have very little fantasy type scenarios involved. In order to come true they need to be capable of coming true. Dreams that reoccur often do come true in some fashion, though, so I suppose if I dreamed of flying it could be me in an airplane and not me personally flying...but my dreams don't generally work like that either. One thing doesn't generally stand for another thing. If I ever dream that I can fly chances are I can and just need to muster up the courage to jump off the highest available peak. My dreams are more like that .

 The dream about my father on the other side of a door trying to get me is on my mind a lot as he recently showed up in once again doing just that. The way my dreams generally work doesn't mean my father on the other side of a door trying to get me symbolizes some inner angst...but that at some point in my future, my dad will be on the other side of a door trying to get me. That is what the dream tells me..but that is impossible. Over the years I have had this same dream too many times to count, but I don't give it too much thought because my father is dead. End of story. The dream can't come true...so why do I keep having them?

One other interesting thing about my dreams is that I don't dream of the people currently in my life all that often. While married to my ex for 20 years he rarely showed up in my dreams...as did my father while living at home. An occasional cameo role is about the most they could hope for. My children probably show up more often than any others in my life, but then again, still not as often as it would seem they should. The love of my life probably even less so. This is something I have always found a little strange. My dreams are generally about me, of course, but often just me or me with unknown people set in familiar surroundings...friends and family are almost never co stars. 

I have no idea if that means anything at all in regards to my psychological make up or sanity level but it is something I have experienced all my life so is normal, whatever that it. However, dreaming of my dead father in a way that makes it seem as if a future event might take place that is impossible (unless one believes in the zombie potential...hmmm) but also knowing that those dreams of mine that do reoccur often come true in surprisingly accurate ways has me scratching my head.

Not sure if I should find this interesting...or be worried about it. My dad alive was hard enough to live with....not sure I want to find out what the alternative is.

New Year 2014. Last one was damn rough...time for something a little different.

2012 was one of my worst years yet since I divorced. No lie. I made some very bad choices, burned some much needed bridges, and generally just set myself on a destructive course that nearly had me in the black for good. 2013 was mostly spent trying to do damage control with varying degrees of success depending on who you asked. If you ask me, I wouldn't mind forgetting 2012 all together and parts of 2013 can follow right along, thank you. 

However, I didn't die from any of those bad choices so I will assume that means I still have time to do better and be better. A work in progress. Good days and bad days rub shoulders and have me on that emotional roller coaster ride that never seems to have an end. I have cried a lot and laughed little. I have spent more times just sitting doing nothing other than beating myself up over all those bad choices that just kept coming rather than do something about them...but eventually I caught on and started doing something. Too little too late? As I said, I'm not dead yet so let's assume the answer is no. 

I seriously need to start writing again. I keep saying I will and then let things get in the way even though this empty space is running like a ticker tape through my head day and night. It begs to be filled and my fingers itch to fill it but my mind just gets in the way and makes excuses...never seem to run out of those. 

Anyhow, my one resolution, if I must, is to get back to writing. I need to fill the empty spaces with words that won't stop in my head until they are written down. I need to finish that story I started awhile back that some of you may remember and I need to figure out how to make my writing work for me because I stopped writing and I started spiraling. I see a connection yet I couldn't seem to stop it or fix it. My goal is to write at least one post a week, more if properly motivated. Whether my readers come back or not is immaterial...I always did write just for me but the positive feedback was always nice. 

So here I am, 2014. Not dead yet. Not out for the count. Long as I wake up every morning then I have been given another chance to do better than the day before. Let's see if I have enough sunrises left to undo the destructive sunsets that are behind me? 

Wish me luck. 

Bahrain: Humanity lost among sectarian divide.

On Facebook, a pic of a man on fire was displayed with the caption that he was a Shiia that caught himself alight while setting some tires on fire. The comments under it were a litany of disgusting and very telling opinions about how Sunnis and Shiia see each other during these days of blood shed. Most of the comments were along the lines of  he deserved what he got for being a protester/terrorist despite the fact that he was dying a most horrible death. My reply was this:

This man may have been "the enemy" or a Shiia before he set himself on fire and thus might possibly warrant every mean spirited comment left here, but the moment he set himself on fire is the moment all of that hatred should have been dropped and the humanity of this man allowed to shine through. At the end of the day Sunnis and Shiia must see each other as first human beings, then Arabs, then Bahrainis, and lastly (if you must) as Sunni and Shiia before any thought of peace can come to Bahrain. If a man on fire dying a horrible death cannot let you drop the hatred even for a moment and have a second of empathy for him then where is the future of Bahrain headed? Not towards peace that is for sure because each side sees the other as less than human...even during the last moments of an agonizing death. There is no peace to be had in that depth of hatred. 

A Squeezing of the Heart

A Squeezing of the Heart

For much of my life I was alone. Yes, I had a family growing up but I was not like any of them..or they were not like me. Not sure which is more relevant or if it matters. What matters is that I wasn't very connected with them and so spent much of my time alone...and by alone I don't actually mean physically alone, since that was rather impossible, but more emotionally alone or mentally alone. I spent more time inside my head then out of it...if that makes sense. 

When I married things didn't really change all that much. I really had no connection to my ex, who never read a book, never thought too deeply about anything important, and never understood why I did. I spent more time alone then with him...both physically and mentally. 

I couldn't really make friends either. Mostly because he didn't allow me to be with people, for the most part, but even when I was I didn't really know how to foster friendships and maintain them...so either he broke them up or my inability to be properly sociable did. Either way, I was alone more often than not. I was alone a lot in my life. I could say I was use to it but that wouldn't be true. Choosing to be alone is one thing...having it forced on you is something else.

And then I met someone who changed all that. 

This person was (is) everything I thought I would never have in my life. Something I thought I never deserved to have in my life.

 I was taught from a young age that I was worthless, useless, a waste of space and not very good at anything. Not a good daughter, sister, wife, mother, Muslim, friend, girl friend...etc.. Even though my I.Q. was higher than most children my age (I was tested and skipped grades blah blah blah), I was made to feel stupid and never encouraged to build or make something of my intelligence. My father couldn't be bothered to allow me to see just how smart I was. He refused to send me to college...hell, he refused to pay for SAT to get into college. I couldn't take them because I had no money of my own. I took the free ASVAB and went into the military. Not what I wanted in my life but the choice was not mine at the time....and see where that got me.

My ex spent 20 years destroying what little self worth I had left. He degraded everything there was to degrade in me..both physically and mentally. We both knew I was smarter than him...yet he made it a point to attack me in every way possible so that my intelligence was never a weapon I could use against him. I was too busy trying to get through each day...day after day...trying to be a better wife, mother, Muslim etc. so that the words and abuse would stop. If I could be better...he would be nicer. Didn't work with my dad but it might with the ex.

It didn't work but we all know now that it never would have. Abusers don't care. Period. No amount of fixing yourself will fix them....since they are the ones who are truly fucked up. 

At any rate, by the time this person entered my life...I was about as low as one could go and not actually be under ground in a grave. That all changed...to a point.

There is something about being loved by another human being that changes you. To see how he or she looks at you to the exclusion of anyone else in the room. The way he or she softens their voice to speak just to you...softens their touch just for your skin. The way they sit closer to make sure their body has some kind of contact with you. The way the sound of his voice causes a  reaction in you...or the way her gaze focused on you makes goosebumps crawl up and down your arms. That reaction your body experiences just because that person is near...or if they are not near...just thinking about them can do things to you that nobody else can. The way they go out of their way to make sure YOU know how important you are in their life. How special you are. How loved and appreciated you are just for being you. It's like your existence suddenly makes sense...you exist for the soul purpose to be loved by that someone special. 

Now it is one thing to have someone fall in love with you, quite another for you to believe it...to believe you are worthy to have such a love given to you when you have been made to believe that you are unlovable, unable to generate any emotion other than disgust, hate, or worse, indifference, in others. To have someone open a door and enter your life that knows none of your history, none of your emotional hangups and can't see the scars you have on the inside that are far worse than the ones on the outside...and just loves you because of YOU...not only is that hard to believe...it is hard to understand. 

There is obviously something wrong with me...for my entire life people have been detailing exactly all that is wrong with me. They can't all be wrong...can they? So how is it you can't see what they see? How is it you can see my intelligence? My sense of humor. My blue ocean eyes that sparks a shiver inside you when I look at you with that intensity that you love so well. How is it that my touch, which has always been described as cold and unwelcoming, is suddenly, not only welcomed but longed for? Who is this person you see when you look at me that nobody else can see because it seems you are looking at a stranger. Someone I certainly don't recognize and have never heard of. Since there is something obviously wrong with me...yet you find me desirable, lovable, and all things good...then there must also be something wrong with you. Yes...that is how my mind has been working during the course of this relationship.

Of all the things I have had to work on within myself..my anger, my self esteem, my sense of purpose and worth...believing I am worthy of another person's love has to be the one that has come hardest to me. People who professed to love me have been leaving me all my life...and usually after doing something  truly horrible to me (so better they left really but still painful), and those that stayed in my life made sure I understood they were the ones suffering from my existence because I was more work then I was worth. It is hard to get past a life time of that sort of conditioning. It doesn't happen over night and not just because someone enters your life and tells you that you are loved. 

It doesn't work like that. Believe me. 

No matter how much that person will express his or her love. How much they might go to pains to show you, prove it, live it every day of your life. No matter how much you want to believe it..there is always that little voice in the back of your mind saying, it's only a matter of time before he or she discovers that same person everyone else was aware of, that unlovable person, and do what they all did...either leave or stay and suffer from your existence. 

So because that voice is the voice of the demon that lives in your head and has lived in there since you were old enough to know that a demon lived in your head...it is the voice that dominates much of your thoughts, your choices, your life. No amount of love from another human being can silence the voice of the demon that assures you that no matter what that person says...you are not worth being loved. Period. 

So you hear the words, love and enjoy how that person makes you feel, how they touch your heart, your mind, your body...while the whole time the demon is negating it all in your head. It is a constant war going on that never ceases. There are lulls, there are retreats now and then but it is a full scale war going on and the casualties are constantly piling up. Of course the casualties are the moments you let pass, the choices you made believing they were the right choices, the harm you did to your relationship because the demon dominated your thoughts. Created anger and doubt and suspicion where none existed...but existed in your head none the less. Demons are powerful things. So powerful that sometimes even love cannot conquer them. 

My personal demon was anger, of course. All the years of abuse from every corner of my life caused such an all consuming anger in me that in the end, I had very nearly destroyed not only myself...but the one relationship...the one love that was given to me freely and unconditionally. 

It is not that I don't love this person. I do beyond words. Beyond expression. It is just that I couldn't believe in myself, find worth in myself, find anything in myself to deserve what I was being given so much of. I was letting the anger and self doubt destroy even the little bit of good I had in my life. I was allowing that anger and self doubt to make choices for me that were not good choices but of which I had no power NOT to make because the voice in my head, my demon...was the most powerful force in my life up until then. Not even the greatest love I have ever had the honor of being given could quiet the voice of my own personal demon. 

I had to fall very hard and very fast and all the way to the goddamn bottom almost (almost) before I learned that the demon was alive and well because I fed it, nurtured it, and gave it everything it needed to survive. It needed my anger, my self doubt, my self loathing to live comfortably in my head...it needed everything negative I had within me...and I had a lot...and so it grew and grew and became louder and louder...until every other voice was drowned out (even my own). Even the voice of my love. 

So I made choices. Bad choices. Choices that were bad for me, for my children and for this relationship that was the best thing I have ever had in my life. At the time, of course, I thought they were the right choices but then that was the lying little demon convincing me they were. And I listened...and lost a lot. 

As my previous post indicated, I had an epiphany of sorts. Realized that I needed to just Let Things Go if I was going to survive my life. Survive with any sense of peace and happiness. I'm 44 years old and not getting any younger (so sad) and all I can say is better late than never that I was finally able to drown out that terrible horrible little voice that has been my constant companion since I was a child. Of course I still have moments of doubt, moments of in which I have to mentally catch myself from falling into bad habits of self destruction...but I'm coming along quite well for the most part. 

However, I have learned that just because I am healing myself...working on myself and doing what I can to ensure I am a mentally healthy person...that doesn't mean the damage all that anger created isn't still being felt by those that are closest to me and suffered the most from it. Most especially by the one person that loved me when no other person on this planet could find one reason to do so (not including my children here of course...that is a different kind of love). I damaged this relationship a lot by making choices that hurt us both. I thought they were the right choices at the time...but they were choices made in anger so obviously were not going to turn out well. Unfortunately, fortune telling is not one of my skills...and I'm worse off because of it. 

So now that I have let the anger go (mostly, still working on some issues) and have gained a lot in my life because of it (inner peace, happy thoughts, better choices made with a clearer mind and losing weight), I find that now this relationship is in danger of coming to an end. Not because the love is gone, it isn't. Still as strong as ever. Not because the desire to be together is gone. Still there...but because my anger has been a very real part of this relationship even when we both tried to ignore it or excuse it. My decisions and choices were made from anger and they turned out very bad for all concerned...and so this person is use to being hurt because of my anger and the resulting fall out. Hard to convince someone that it's no longer an issue when it always has been before. Sort of like convincing myself I am worthy of being loved...even when everything in my life convinced me that I wasn't. 

I am so afraid now. More afraid than at any time in my life. More afraid then when I thought my father was going to actually kill me. More afraid then when I thought I was going to actually kill my husband. More afraid then when I thought I was going to die at various times in my life. None of those moments of fear can measure up to the this overwhelming fear that now consumes me that NOW...when I have finally gotten my life on a good track. When I have accomplished so much mentally, physically and emotionally...to the point where I can feel actual happiness is within my grasp...now when I believe that this relationship can actually be better than it has ever been before because NOW I won't be busy destroying it with anger and self doubts etc....now is when it will finally succumb to all the pain it has had to endure over the years. 

Now....when it has the best possible chance of succeeding...is when it will fall apart. 

Irony...Karma...which ever it is...you are a bitch.  

I am fearful that my vanquished demon will return with a vengeance because even though the anger is gone...it is being replaced with fear of abandonment once again. I cannot blame this person for leaving me...lord knows I did my share of pushing away...but I cannot seem to find the right words to convince that all will be better now.

Words have abandoned me, it seems....and without the power of my words...what do I have left to convince with? Words are all I have ever had to truly express myself. To make people listen up and pay attention to me when most of the time I am invisible and ignored. 

I have accomplished so much within myself this past 5 months or so...but my greatest fear is that it is simply too late. I will end up losing the one thing that kept me going when nothing within myself could do that. And for that reason...I am terrified. 

It is hard to remain positive and moving forward towards happiness when that very source of my happiness seems intent on moving further away no matter what I do. I cannot blame anyone but me for this. Which is ironic considering I have been blamed for all the failures my abusers had within themselves but pushed off on me all my life...I didn't deserve those blames...but this one I actually do...and I am afraid it will send me free falling back into the black that I have worked so hard to pull myself out of. 

I have dealt with abuse, with neglect, with anger and self doubt. I have lived through soul destroying loneliness and unhappiness. I have survived when my abusers have died alone or continue to live but are alone having lost everything. I survived all of that for better or worse...but I am not sure I can survive this person leaving me (or worse yet, becoming indifferent). 

It will be one leaving too many. 

All I can say is that I love you. Need you. Want you and that I am so sorry for my past mistakes. I have no excuse other than that I am a work in progress. I cannot undo in such a short time what 40 plus years has had time to create in me. Have a little more patience with me and I promise it will all be worth it. I am trying so hard. Please don't give up on me. 

Please.

Just Let It Go

For those that use to read me regularly you may have noticed that I haven't written anything significant for quite some time. Writing is my Thing. It's what I do and I have always enjoyed it since I realized I do it rather well. However, this past year hasn't been My Year, so to speak. I've been in an up and down roller coaster ride that has had me either hanging on for dear life...or raising my hands in the air and enjoying the thrill. All this has resulted in one very troubling aspect in my life...I lost the desire to write.

Period.

It just left. No idea why...or really when but I realized at some point that I just had nothing to say anymore. Or maybe I felt my words had lost their ability to really convey what I was feeling or what I wanted to express. I have no idea but the end result was silence in the one area of my life I had always depended on to get my demons out...or my humor (I choose to call it that) or whatever was on my mind. Without being able to write...it has all been locked up inside me...and damned if I haven't suffered because of it.

I went down the rabbit hole more or less and apparently enjoyed it so much I decided to stay there for a spell. I have been down that hole before (my past made it a place I tend to visit from time to time) but I have always used my writing to pull me back out again. This time I did not have even that ability to rescue myself...so there I stayed.

Around the first part of this year I had a revelation of sorts. I was angry. Very angry. Angry at the people in my life (past and present) that have done things to me that turned me into a negative, pissed off person. Every day I was fuming about one thing or another. My temper, which use to be so hard to trigger, was now on a veritable trip wire. Anything could set me off...and I was a raging ball of fire. I was a seething mass of negative energy that ended up corrupting everything good in my life...because I was too angry to pay attention to the good things in my life.

I was letting my past ruin my present...and destroy whatever good my future held for me. I was allowing all that bullshit that was my past life...be the sum total of my present life. I was my past..and my past was me. When I realized that I was allowing those people, that are long gone from my life, to still be a part of it (taking up full time rent free space in my head) and therefore impacting and corrupting it...I knew I either accepted the rabbit hole as my forever dwelling...or fight my way out of it.

Everyone who reads (or did) about my life know that I have 5 kids. I had a blast with my kids while they were growing up. We were rarely apart for any reason and they were a close knit group of siblings. My kids are mostly all grown now. I have my youngest, 15 years old, at home still but the rest are off living their lives. The silence that is my house now weighs on me terribly. Gone are the sounds of the music they all played, the fighting or laughing...the messes they each generate in their way. This silence has fueled my anger in ways...because I had no distractions from that anger and could spend copious amounts of time nurturing it and feeding the flames. My children are the soul reason I survived my marriage. Having them in my life, knowing I needed to be there for them..meant I couldn't give up or give in. Even if I felt my life wasn't worthwhile or important, theirs was...and I had to make sure they knew it. Now they are gone (generally speaking) and Ive been alone with my thoughts, my inner demons, my anger issues...and that has meant I had little respite from the inner destruction that was going on.

As I said, I realized one day that I might as well still be married if I was going to wake up every day and spend my time, my precious time, living as if my ex was still a real and meaningful presence in my life. If my memories of the past were going to keep me company as I went about my daily routine, ruining whatever happiness I might gain from even the smallest of joys then why bother living. If the experiences I had while living in Bahrain for the first 20 years...were going to color and corrupt whatever came after that then what was the point of the divorce..of gaining my freedom...if I was still going to live as if I were a prisoner?

I realized that the only person that could save me from my anger and issues with my past...was ME. Once I realized this I set about on a course of emotional healing. I spend far too much of my time alone...but one thing that being alone affords me is time to think....and think... and think some more. At times I would lay in my bed, during my time off from work, and just think. I would do nothing else but think about my past, my anger issues and where they came from...and what I could do to change what I was becoming (or had become) into someone better. I would literally lay there for two days solid and just stare at the ceiling...going through every damn issue that had turned me into a person that others didn't want to be around (did I mention I have lost several "friends" this past year as well)...I thought it was them...but realized it must be me since it kept happening. I find it incredibly hard to make friends, went most of my whole life without really having any, so losing the ones I did have was like a confirmation to my already low self esteem that I'm not even worthy to remain friends with. If others can't stand me..what did that say about me?

I worked my way through issues that were like open wounds on my soul. I poked and prodded them and made them bleed out all that pent up corrosive blood until only fresh blood remained. As I dealt with each issue I would ask myself...why is this still making me so angry...and is it worth it still? Of course, most of the time (damn near every time) the answer was no. Anger and self loathing, low self esteem and feelings of unworthiness were not worth it. My past was what it was...I couldn't change that...but I could change today, tomorrow and whatever came after that. As I worked my way through each and every issue...the end result would be to Just Let It Go.

Like a balloon that yearned to be free and sail off into parts unknown...I released, one after the other, issue after issue that was weighing me down, corrupting my relationships, my goals, my life. As each balloon sailed away I felt myself become lighter inside. I started feeling something I hadn't felt in so long I wasn't even sure I was calling it by the right name.

I started feeling happy. (don't be as shocked as I was please)

Happiness is not a feeling I have really felt too often in my life...and when I say happy I mean more than just a fleeting moment of happiness that is more like a memory than a state of mind. It felt unfamiliar and alien at the beginning...almost like an impostor had set up residence after I kicked out the abusive squatters. I almost didn't know how to handle this new emotional state. I felt like a beginner at happiness..a noob that needed to feel my way around and learn the rules and tricks before really putting my all into the game.

Apparently the "new" me was attracting some attention. I have had people at work comment more than once that I always seemed to walk around with a scowl on my face (I'm sure I was as I always had some inner demon playing with my mind)..or that I looked like I wanted to punch someone. Now they were amazed to notice that I was smiling, whistling...even singing...while going about my work. I had a few people ask me if I was in love..had I found someone that had brought about this change. Well, first off, yes...I am in love, have been for years now, but that relationship was one of the ones I was busy destroying due to my anger issues and one I was desperately trying to save at that point....but the reasons for the smiling, whistling and singing was due to another person all together.

Me. I was happy....or working hard so that I knew it was coming. I could feel it...see it...taste it. As I worked my way though each issue...I finished with it..and then Just Let It Go. I could not possibly explain with adequate words the effect this had had on me emotionally. Yes of course I still get angry (more than I like still...a work in progress) and I know that to never get angry is just not possible...but when I trip up and fall into a full blown anger melt down, I mentally try as hard as I can to reign myself in and put a halt before it gets out of control. (again, not always successful but I'm far better at it then I used to be). I ask myself, will this matter in 5 minutes, ten...tomorrow...and of course it most likely won't. And when I realize this...I can almost  feel myself relax and feel the anger start to recede and dissipate. It has stopped my anger in its tracks most of the time...most, work in progress as I said.

I have reached a stage now where so many things that use to set me off (thoughts of my past, of Bahrain, of certain people) don't really affect me at all anymore. I can think about them without feeling that tightness in my chest that would be an indicator that rage was building. I can talk about them without gnashing my teeth or getting angry at the person I'm talking to because the person I'm really angry at isn't there. Those balloons have sailed...and I have never heard of a balloon that was set free...come back to its owner.

Now, if there was one set back to all this emotional healing...it's convincing others that it's actually taking place. People who know me, love me, are so used to Angry Red...that they are suspicious of New Red. For some reason they would rather believe that you can't change who you have always been even though those same people have been encouraging me for years to do exactly that. I have actually gotten into arguments (go figure) while trying to convince these same people that the changes are real, are reaping benefits and are permanent. I much prefer New Red to Angry Red...why would I go back to that...and why do those I love most keep insisting I do? I have no idea.

Anyhow, I have a lot more to say. That makes me happy just writing that as it means I have more writing to do...and I realize this post is not up to my usual standards but I felt the need to write and I haven't felt that in such a long time...I'm just putting it out there before the mood disappears. So you guys (if there are any readers left) get a rough copy and I'm sorry for that but it is what it is. 

A few topics I will write about are my two recent trips to Bahrain (yes...imagine that), my new status as Grandma (my granddaughter is amazing) and what the future might hold for me. I became friends again with my ex from high school and other topics that might be of interest.  Stay tuned...if you are interested. I know I am.

Oh mind of mine...

Being alone with my thoughts
What black chaos
What red pain

Filling my head with your sneaky ways
Devious pain filled images
Do you even care...oh mind of mine

Three little words on a screen
Causing doubt...hurt...regrets
Squeezing my heart

Wonder of wonders
It still functions...beats
Tho each one leaves me breathless

Choking my throat
Filling my eyes so I can't see
Squeezing...always squeezing

Oh mind of mine
You are not really my friend
Will you leave me too?

My room, my desk.

After spending that past semester trying to make due with my card table to do homework on (trying to squeeze my books etc on there along with my monitor is very frustrating), I broke down and bought a nice spacey desk. It weighed a ton...and came in a box. Apparently I had to assemble my new work space before I could enjoy it's many shelves to put things on, its long wide table that will hold my monitor and books easily, and the little lamp I bought especially to shine down on my new contented head while I did homework. All I had to do was put this puppy together and I was good to go. Homework heaven here I come.

I might mention I have never in my life put anything together more complicated than Lego blocks. My ex did all that sort of thing and I wasn't allowed to touch anything cause I "might ruin it"...being a girl and all. Whatever. How hard can it be anyways?

It took me 20 min to get the darn thing out of the box. Those boxes are like...indestructible. Seriously!!! I was hacking away at it with my kitchen knife no less and contemplating borrowing the neighbors chainsaw to get it done. (no idea if my neighbor has a chainsaw but he looks very Jasonish...so I'm assuming odds are in favor he has one tucked away in his closet somewhere).

Finally ripped a corner open with a banshee scream of success, which brought all my kids running...in which one of them pointed out the easier way to get it open. Which he did, in about 2 min. Creep.

There were about a million and five pieces to this desk. I sat looking at the pile of soon to be desk delight...and at the picture on the box and couldn't fathom how all these pieces were going to culminate in such a work of art. Looked like left over pieces after building a very big house.

Then I remembered these things come with DIRECTIONS!! Yay me. I hunted for the elusive piece of paper...actually a small sized telephone book of instructions it turns out...and eagerly flipped through the pages thinking...no big deal. Nice pictures, plenty of arrows...no big deal.

On the first page it makes this claim (that I discovered later was TOTALLY bogus...I should sue someone for false advertising) that it would only take about one hour to assemble this lovely desk. One hour. I had 5 hours before I had to be at work so plenty of time to get this thing together AND to test drive it with some Biology homework I had waiting. No big deal. One hour.

One of the very first things I learned about furniture assembling is that you need a lot of space to spread things out adequately. I was in my bedroom and had to put the desk together there cause it wouldn't fit through the door later if I did it in the living room...where there is lots of room. So the most I could spread out was in about a 4 by 5 foot square area....with areas extending down by my bed and into the closet. It was a tight squeeze, but hey...one hour. I could tolerate the cramped space for an hour.

I separated pieces of wood into like piles and went hunting for some tools. Screwdriver, check. Hammer, check. Apparently that was all I would need so I was good to go. I sat down in the middle of my pile and looked at the directions for the first step. A nicely drawn picture of two pieces of wood joined together with little pictures of the appropriate nails to hold them together with. Some kind of locking nail as it had a hole in it which another nail was meant to sit in at some point and lock together when you twisted it into place. Easy peasy.

I looked at all the pieces trying to discern which ones were the ones in the drawing. I held up this one and that one and compared them to the picture...no..not that one...too narrow. Not that one, too square. Ah..here they are. Two rectangles that matched perfectly.

I spent about 10 minutes trying to figure out how to hold two pieces of wood together while at the same time screwing a nail into them. Apparently I was jumping the gun as I was meant to screw the lock into one piece and the locking nail into the other and then fit them together. Ok, gotcha. I'm starting to catch on to rules of the game. Things should go smoother now.

Once done with those two I looked at the next set of directions. I had to add another piece onto the two I just fit together. Once again I hunted for the right piece of wood...not easy when they looked pretty damn similar to each other. (I would be nearly half done with this damn thing before I actually noticed that on the edges of each piece of wood was a letter associated with the pic it was needed in. So much easier that way *sigh*)

For the next hour I hunted for the proper pieces...struggled with nailing and screwing things as they are not my forte, and cursed the heat, the lack of space, the mocking children who ventured in every now and then to point and laugh and the various scratches and bruises I was self inflicting at an alarming rate. Still...it was coming along...sort of. By the end of the promised hour...my desk still did not resemble a desk and there were far more pieces left to assemble than had been assembled. I grumbled and went to take a break before I chucked it all out the window.

I came back with new resolve and tackled the next set of directions. Attach the little shelf dividers with pegs that went into each edge and into the main part of the desk. No problem. Easy enough. After completing this no brainer I sat back and looked at my progress. It was then I realized I had put the shelf dividers on backwards. Instead of the nice smooth pretty surface facing outwards (where we can see it) the grainy woody part was looking at me. Damn!! I grabbed the hammer and tried to pry them back out. I could barely get the edge of the hammer underneath the edge. It was too tight a fit. I struggled with it for a few minutes before deciding, Who cares? My room...my desk. One little misstep would not take away from the purpose of the desk. (I'm pretty easy going like that...plus it gives the desk character. *ahem*)

I finally got the point where the shelving pieces fit onto the top of the desk. At this point I am meant to sit under the desk, twist and contort my body into a position in which I can screw nails upwards and at an angle...putting pressure on top as well to allow the nails to enter. While Pilates class has taught me some interesting moves of late, this was nearly impossible. It was probably the most frustrating part of the whole damn process. I took another look at the directions and noted at the beginning where it said One Hour (liars) it also said only ONE person was needed for assembly. Really? One very nimble flexible 4 handed person apparently is what they had in mind. That wasn't me by a long shot.

I took another break.

I came back and with more sweat and cussing than nohow, I managed to get the damn shelves on. They even looked mostly straight. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Next part was to put the backs on the shelves. Little flimsy pieces of panelling that closed off the back. How hard could that be?

Hammering teeny tiny little nail wannabees is a lesson in perseverance and marksmanship. Perseverance I have...marksmanship....not so much. 10 throbbing fingers later I had the panels on. Now it was looking like a desk. Hot damn!!

My daughter came in, took one look and asked..."are those panel things supposed to be showing the grainy side this way?"

DAMN!!!

I grabbed my hammer and attempted to pry the panels off so I could turn them around and put the smooth side facing the right way. The panels were too thin though and immediately began to shred when I attempted to pry them up. Hell...OK then...no big deal. My room, my desk.

I looked at the clock and noted that over 3 hours had passed by now. One hour my ass. Who wrote that false claim on those directions anyhow, Inspector Gadget?

I was hot and a mess. I had numerous self inflicted injuries...and my "be calm be patient" mantra was starting to wear thin. I had to be at work soon so needed to get this done. I did NOT want to come home the next morning and face this mess on the bedroom floor.

I tackled it with renewed vigour...and promptly stubbed my little toe on a protruding edge. More cursing and some fairly energetic hopping around and I'm sure I heard some giggling coming from somewhere else in the house. Just remember, kids...moms don't forget.

I started slamming the remaining pieces into place and banged away with the hammer much harder than I needed too...but ironically my aim improved considerably. Who knew?

Within an hour (20 min till I needed to be at work) I was putting the last piece into place. (or so I thought). I called all the kids and they came to admire (poke fun at) my handy work. Not bad if I say so myself. It looked like a desk. The goal I was going for..so it's all good. See what nearly 5 hours of hard labor will get you...a desk with several backward pieces and some nicks and cuts here and there...but homework here I come.

My son pointed out that there were several pieces of wood still on the floor. I turned to look and yes indeed, there were 4 triangular pieces of wood just sitting there mocking me. What!! I grabbed up the directions and flipped pages frantically trying to figure out what step I missed that would include 4 triangular pieces. I looked at the picture of the finished product and could see nothing that looked even remotely triangular in nature. WTH!!!

I will be honest and say that I chucked those pieces of wood in the dumpster. Until now I have no idea what they were for...but the desk seems to be holding up nicely so whatever they were for...they weren't being missed.

At any rate, desk is assembled...homework has been done on it with nary a problem arising from the backward pieces...and I'm proud of myself for getting it together without resorting to the gasoline and matches that had crossed my mind more than once, taking hold.

I won't be putting anything else together anytime soon. There are somethings I can do easily...and maybe better than some other people...but assembling furniture is not one of them because I know...if I choose to do this again..there will be sweat...there will be tears...and yes...there will be blood. (not necessarily mine but you know...blood).