They write songs about it…

a note: some of these posts are backdated from another journal. Bear with me as I get my writing back into full swing…

…This past year will forever be known by myself, my family, my friends and my therapist as “The year Meg got her shit together, grew up and learned how to be herself.”

I have been thinking a lot about the past year and how change, open to it or not, happens at such a lightening fast rate you have no choice but to go along for the ride. Sometimes it is exhilerating, sometimes it is terrifying, sometimes you slow down long enough to think on all the little things you could have done to change the outcome and then you’re off and running again.

I didn’t think it was possible for me to feel like a “regular person”. And I thought that life was just supposed to be frustrating and hard with little glimpses of contentment. That love was a daily struggle and if it was to be worth it you had to fight and fit the other persons vision of you perfectly everyday to keep it. That my dreams and my goals could be put of indefinetly to ensure other people’s happiness. I thought that feeling crushingly overwhelmed by little things was normal. That keeping my true self careful in check was how people wanted me…I was wrong.

It is uncanny how we can convince ourselves that toxic situations we put ourselves in are perfectly adequate. I look back over the past year and I see myself shedding of the toxic layers that took me YEARS to accumulate. Before my divorce, before my gandmother’s deaths, before my acting out. The past year was difficult in the sense that I had to take stock of my life and finally say: “I’m sick, I need get help. I’m self-absorbed, I need to think of other people. I’m frustrated with my life, I need to re-evaluate the patterns I’m falling into.” And I did. And I haven’t looked back…

It was an overwhelming year. And this New Year’s, more than any before, deserved the tagline: “Maybe this year will be better than the last”. Earlier in the week Himself and I went out to breakfast with his parents and his sister and her boyfriend. We talked about where we had been each New Year’s Eve since 2000. It was so interesting to hear what they were doing and to think back on what I was doing, what I was thinking at each point. I have had mostly quiet New Years’ for the last 6 years. (Probably to make up for the partying I was doing year round), I even worked one year and came home after midnight. This year we went to church, went out for sushi with SisterJ and her boy, went to bed early, set the alarm for midnight and fell asleep, awaking only briefly to celebrate…and it was lovely. They all were. Looking back on all those memories makes me realize the one thing that has remained a constant in my life, my ability to make the best out of a situation. To find the joy in my life and hold tight to it. Even if it seems like there isn’t much there…because it’s always there.

Even with that knowledge, for a lot of people this will be remembered as the year I changed. Everything. My personality, my partner, my family, my job! And for a lot of people it will be remembered as the year they said goodbye to me. I know that I will remember it as the year I said goodbye to them. But I think that both sides know that it was better. It made both of us stronger and more ourselves. To be able to say: “This person you have become is not in my story, is not on my path, and so I bid you farewell” has been the greatest lesson I have learned.

That and how to cook steak. That was a good lesson.

Here he sounds like the President

Himself has gone out to the backyard of his grandparent’s house to light a huge pile of leaves on fire.
huge. pile. of bone dry. leaves. The man is in heaven…he also is sporting a relatively heavy Texan accent. It’s amusing.
I’ve spent the last few days amongst people who remind me very much of my own family, only Republican and in a scaled down version. They truly love being with each other and they are happiest when they are playing and eating and, well, burning huge piles of leaves together.

I have always struggled with the aspect of family in relationships. Ask anyone who knows me, my relationship with my family is an incredibly close one. I tell them everything, generally I want to be with them than with anyone else. I am fiercely loyal to them and can tell you in detail about almost all of my 35 cousins. I am especially close with my mother, father, and sister, they are like the gatekeepers of my life, to be close to me, you must also be close to them and to not get close to them wreaks havoc on our relationship (mine and the partner who isn’t communing with my wacky immediate family) I have never been able to adequately express how important it is to me that my partner be close with my family.

My ex-husband struggled with this. He was not as close with his family and I think my closeness with mine intimidated him. Darling N was close to my family, but we were together for short a time that she never had a chance to fully integrate herself into our group. All of my other partners have either shut them out completely, or haven’t been around long enough.

Strangely enough the few people who have fit seamlessly into my family unit I had never been romantically involved with. Lady J, who can call my mother “Momma” (the only person to successfully attempt this trick), J Beauty who my sister always asks about, Just (my best friend of 16 years) who my mother offered to fly to Canada to keep him from getting shipped to Iraq, who has been at almost every major family event the run of his life, Beloved S who spent time with me during my “Nana Duty” before La Reina died, watching movies with us…
and Himself.

Before we started dating, Himself and I had been friends for almost 6 years. He came around every now and then, fixed my mother’s computer, talked wine and travel with my father, gave my sister a hard time. As we moved (relatively seamlessly) into the romantic aspect of our lives together, he fit so well into the family group that it was like he had always been there. He is the only peer of mine to date that can tease my mother like me and my sister. He can talk with my father for hours. My aunties and cousins who have met him send their love to him when they talk to me. Several members of my family have his cell phone number (something that didn’t happen with my ex until after we were married).

I realized on this trip, that the reason he fit so easily into my family is because thats whats important to him. Watching him call his grandfather “council” (like my Grandfather called my mother) or tease his sister, wrestle with his little cousins, and offer to clean up his grandparents yard, I realized this man is the partner who will get the relationship I have with my family. More so than some because he knows how I feel being seperated from some of my family be state lines. He misses his little family all year round and seems so at ease around them, people who have known him for years in Arizona would barely recognize him.

I was apprehensive about this trip because of my difficulty meeting new people, because this family is so devoutly Christian, and so hard line Republican. I am my politics and my liberalism is as natural to me as breathing. I was delighted to find that this family is friendly and loving and easygoing…and if I steer clear of the political conversations I’m home free!

This entry is turning out to be more about my relationship (which I intentionally try not to discuss publically these days) and less about the beautiful weather, delicious food and interesting people I’ve met this Thanksgiving…so I guess I’ll get into the later.

Meanwhile, I’m thankful that I have finally found the mental clarity and stability, happiness and stillness that I have been looking for. I’m thankful that even though we have lost the matriarchs of our families my huge crazy patwork families have managed to hold each other together and love each other all the more. I’m thankful that I have my darling friends, who love me even if I am crazy and difficult and flaky sometimes. I’m thankful that one of those darling friends, who has stood by me through ups and downs the last 6 years, waiting patiently for me to realize how perfect we are for one another, understands my craziness and my dedication to my family, my struggle to adapt to new situations and to make the best of stressful ones, that he is forever curious, because it’s his best trait.

I am thankful that I’ve finally realized that my life is just that: Mine. and even though sometimes other people’s drama overwhlems me, and sometimes I’m hurt by what they choose. And sometimes I lose contact with them. And sometimes our relationships change. My life remains totally in my control. and I can do anything.
and it’s a joyful thing.

Movement

Today seems to be one of those days dedicated to remembering, to telling stories, to reflecting on the movement and changes of life over the last 5 years.

I often wonder how we, as Americans, got here: beginning to number the changes of our lives from that warm September morning 5 years ago. Is it because it seemed so earth shattering at the time, we feel like time itself shifted?  Is it because we have lost so many (not just in the attacks but in the wars that have followed) and we cannot imagine our lives continuing without these souls?

Maybe it is because today marks the moment that we became like everyone else in the world. It marks the moment when we ceased to be untouchable and all of our sins (made by Republican and Democratic leaders alike) came crashing down upon us, with a rage so blinding…it burned away who we were. It demolished any notion we had that we were immune and better-than and indestructible.

Today marks the moment we became mortal…

I wholeheartedly acknowledge the importance of today. Like everyone else cognizant in the world that morning, I can tell you what I was doing (driving to class), what I was thinking (initially that it was a radio hoax, and later I just felt drained), and what I did for the rest of that day (wandered around campus in a daze, I went home that night and sat in the living room of the apartment I shared with Melch, we ate pizza, we waited for news of Meghan’s…cousin maybe?, we watched the news for hours, we did not speak). I realize that this is the event I will tell my children about, like JFK’s death with my parents (or with MY parents, the Kent State protester murders), when they pick up their history books in elementary school. I am aware that this day marks more than a tragedy but a shifting of consciousness for our society, not just the American people but worldwide. I know many many people who became politically energized that day, who became socially aware; who became charitable beyond what they thought they were capable of…September 11th will always be seared in our brains.

But I did not weep that day…not for many hours, maybe not even until the next day. It was too much, too big to comprehend. It was to far away, and my family was here, safe, still anticipating the movement of life to come. While I have been changed over the last 5 years…9/11 was just another change, another movement in my life. A terrifying one…but one more nonetheless…

In the last 5 years, I have lived overseas, I have cared for an ailing relative, I have gotten married, I have protested a war, I have lost my last remaining grandparents within months of each other, I have watched the loves of my life be demolished in a car accident, I have turned 21, I have watched my best friend leave for a war zone, I have been on the brink of divorce, I have moved 6 times.

It is THESE gripping, heartbreaking, astonishing events that have comprised the changes in my life over the last 5 years. The events of that day 5 years ago were only part of my story…they are part of your story too…

On days like today, when we sit and tally up our lives, I am struck by the thought that the opportunity for change, for movement and growth is present every day. Every morning, September or February, summer or spring, we are faced with the opportunity to be an active participant in our fate. We are constantly afforded opportunities to take risks and grow as people.

It has taken me years of therapy to come to this conclusion folks…years.

the bottom line is this:

We do not need a catastrophic event to remind us how fluid we are, how strong and fascinating.

We need merely look in the mirror….and seize every opportunity we can.

Riddled…

Today, boys and girls, were going to talk about anxiety. And more specifically the incessant, irritating, anxiety that Meg experiences on a daily basis! Its the best brand!

These days, I find myself becoming more and more the person I was in March. I realize its my ridiculous mental illness rearing its ugly head. I also realize that my therapist put me on medication for a reason and possibly taking myself off of it was perhaps not the brightest idea I’ve ever had. Especially now. I can’t quantify exactly what it is that has triggered me in the last couple of days but something has.

And I do not do well in stressful situations.

Scratch that.

If the stressful situations do not affect me directly, or if they affect me in a super positive way or if they don’t involve me confronting someone or involve me changing my routine, I do AWESOME in stressful situations.

I switch to practical, adventurous Meg mode. The facet of myself that I love and adore and really would love to be all the time but find that I can’t always be her.

 

So as I begin to revert to crazy Meg I will try and do what all this therapy has been endeavouring to teach me over the last several years.

I will try and identify my triggers

I will identify my negative behavior responses

I will do my relaxation and focusing techniques

I will do my yoga breathing

I will write as much as possible

 

But soon (oh very soon now) I will begin what I call “Classic Meg Self Destruction!” (always spelled with an exclaimation point – because, children, exclaimation points sell!)

Soon 

I will begin thinking of everything that is going wrong in my life

I will begin thinking of everything that COULD POSSIBLY go wrong in my life..this causes me to:

hyperventilate instead of breathing like a normal human being.

Then, I will begin to snap at everyone I know because I feel like if I get mad at them first they can’t get mad at me.

This will lead me to:

begin staying home because then I won’t have to see people and snap at them. You know, ever.

Then

I will take a lot of naps

And

I will not answer my phone

And

I will exhibit all the normal signs of depression but will deny loudly that I am depressed and subsequently become super anxious over exhibiting visible signs of depression…

leading to:

developing this really annoying nervous laugh.

oh yes and I will not so much cry as weep constantly over nothing

 

I will become an all around lousy human being to be with.

 

So I’m attempting to head this off at the pass, and I’m letting you, all of my friends and a chunk of my family, know:

I feel like my anxiety issues are becoming a force I am going to have trouble dealing with and I’m sorry.

 

I will do my level best to keep from breaking down. I will do my level best to stay off the drugs (quick side note: Celexa killed my appetite. I never ate, and consequently dropped to 120 pounds. Boo.) because the drugs were only supposed to be a stepping stone into wellness for me.

 

And before I disappear again, I will ask you for help.

I’ll be that annoying friend or sister or daughter who just needs to be around people all the time even if she doesn’t talk because being around people is keeping her from losing her mind. Again.

 

and, boys and girls, once is quite enough.

Focus

Last night I sat in the dark trying to describe to a dear friend what it was like to lose my mind.

(He was very sympathetic, one of the things I love about him is his uncanny ability to appear as though everything the other person is saying is fascinating)

I sat there, in the dark, in the lovely weather and I stared at the sky.

I struggled, like I always do when trying to convey the feelings of that period of my life, I struggled to capture what it was like.

And my mind got louder and fuzzier, like it does, it raced trying to beat my mouth, I felt my stutter coming back. I tried desperately to slow my words so I could catch the chaos of my mind.

My mind is often noisy, always chaotic. I am frequently fuzzed out around my edges, trying to express what it is like in there

I settled on describing to him the auditory hallucinations that made frequent appearances in March, I told him about the whispering from razors that they used to torture me with

I fought through the chaos of my mind to convey to him what its like to have a nervous breakdown.

and I realized that when I was at my craziest, my mind was sharper than it has ever been in my entire life

I was just terrified of what it was telling me.

History

an hour ago my mother handed me a piece of paper.

On it, in a familiar hand, that I hadn’t seen in a while was a prayer in Spanish.

It was the prayer my Nana said over me the day I turned 15.

I grew up in a household divided. My mother being fiercely Mexican and my father looking so very white. I inherited my fathers skin tone and my mothers eyes. I learned how to make tortillas and menudo when I was 10. I understood Spanish from childhood. My mothers cousins children called my “El Casper”…

When I was 14 my parents asked if I wanted to have a Quinceanera. I decided that it was something I wanted and we planned a day that mixed Mexican tradition with my feminist upbringing. My grandmother and my Nana said prayers over me both invoking the Virgin. It was a great party.

4 years ago my Nana had a severe stroke that left her unable to communicate, unable to write, it limited her movement and she wasn’t able to stay by herself. Every Firday night (when I wasn’t doing a show) for 3 years from 5:30 until 9:30 I was at her house, making her dinner talking with her in her limited vocabulary, watching romantic comedies with her.

She died in April. I was in her kitchen. She looked at the statue of La Virgen as she stopped breathing.

I sat here this afternoon weeping as I read the prayer that she wrote for me. A prayer about family and faith. She ended it the way Catholics have done for centuries “en el nombre del padre, del hijo y del espiritu santo…” but then she took my face in her hands and said “y que la virgen maria te acompane siempre…Amen”

I don’t miss being a Catholic. I miss my Nana so tangibly that it is hard to breathe sometimes. But today something transcended those feelings….

I wish I had words for it. But it’s been a bit of a mixed bag today. I’ll let you know when I figure it out…

Uncouth

uncouth    (n-kth)
adj.

1. Crude; unrefined.
2. Awkward or clumsy; ungraceful.
3. Archaic. Foreign; unfamiliar.

I had an uncanny knack “back in the day” for saying whatever came into my head. My filters had been skewed by all the lovely people I spent my time with growing up. My friends from high school found this crudeness charming, although I think that was because we are all under the influence 90% of the time.

As time has passed I found that discretion really is the better part of valor, and I’ve reigned in the impulse to curse like a sailor and make rude suggestive comments at every turn.

Last night I was reminded by a friend of my earlier tendency toward crudeness and it amused me to no end. Because these days I wouldn’t have given him the satisfaction…