Victimhood

There are the moment when you truly feel alone, out of place. You realize you don't quite fit in anywhere. It may not be true, but the feeling nonetheless is very real. I've felt this all week. With a friend who has not responded to renewed conversation. Perhaps because I shared me hurt it pushed her away. It is hard for me to not feel as though some of the circumstances of my life are indeed my fault. A cause of not being funny enough, not being outgoing enough, not being lovable. Yes these are my thoughts though I know them to be victimizing thoughts. They are true statements for a lot of us. A lot of us do feel unlovable in the mist of the crowd or alone. For me that is the struggle how do I believe in love, in friendship, when it feels as though people do not want to engage in the idea. I have fleeting moments of this. Of feelings as though I've found it and then one relationship from my past can through it all out of kilter. Its amazing really if you sit and think about it. The healing needs to deepening. I need to believe in myself to the core. And the truth is I don't. I fear more than anything that I am inadequate. That may weird ways will never be loved enough to be dear friends. That I will be left leaning on my work for a sense of worth in the world. Even though I know deep down this is not the answer. I also know the communities of the past are not the answer either. I am in limbo. I have found some true authentic experience of friendship. I have found some true love in my life. I have had healed. And I find myself spun back around to victim. Victim to my own emotions as the tumble through my like a tornado. Trying to grab hold only seems to make it worse. I need space, I need to breathe, I need to bathe in the sun without anything else to do. I want to spread my arms wide and scream. Let all my anger seep out of me and feed the earth. I want to be free.

Ghosts from the Past

I'm finding myself worried about the past, holding onto the energy even though I know it is bound time to let it go. But I think back to the friendships I use to have and I miss them. I miss the people I had them with and when someone tells me that they care about me and want what's best for me. If you are so proud of me why did you leave. The neglect and abandonment of my childhood hits me like a wave of anger that I cannot quite step past. It's not just the childhood, it's the connection to my father's death. The people who flew to be by my side during the tragedy are no longer by my side. The sadness of that fact is deeply heartbreaking to me. I miss my father more than anything in the world. I wish I could hear his voice just one more time and the people from my past from this community remind deeply of his death. Of the moments I felt so alone I could not breathe, I felt neglected while being surrounded by people. Its not like they didn't try, they did but I could not feel their presence. They did not understand the emptiness that lay in my heart night after night. The hope beyond hope that maybe it was all a bad dream. I go back to this every now and again. I find the whispers of the past bring back to this place of deep heart and deep longing. I long to have friends that can hear my heart. I have found in letting go a small tribe of these people. I've never wanted sympathy, I've never wanted why aren't you over it, it's too much for me to handle so I disappear. I wanted true authentic friendship and in the grief I know I asked for a lot. I may have been borderline begging for someone anyone to finally see through the fog, the walls, the damns I'd built to protect myself. I'm through most of what I consider the worst of the hurricane. I guess I felt in some ways they gave up on me. But it goes beyond the grief for me, I feel myself wanting friendships where people are engaged and what to actually have fun with me. I don't want to process, I certainly don't want to talk about my dad. I want to laugh. I want to be wanted. These people made me feel like I was not worth loving, that I was not cool enough because they did not ask me to do things. It really hurt when they left. Everyone has their flow with relationships I've discovered. Mostly for me I've realized that my grief over time showed me who were my true friends. And who were too wrapped up in their lives to connect on the level I craved. And now the beauty of all the pain is the opening to a whole new way of being. I want to be a new me, I want to be wild, brilliant, and change the world. I don't want to hold back. I want to explode outward in all the rainbow colors that only a few have had the pleasure of witnessing. Do not judge me by my cover... I am much more than I seem. If you have known me for years, you might be missing out on how awesome I really am. Do not judge me by my past, I am no longer my past.

Moving drama

Most days I'm not sure how to get back to myself. Everyone seems so overwhelmed with their own life that I find myself lost in my thoughts. My thoughts of moving mainly... I worry that living in someone else's space will continue to make me feel that there is not enough space for me. That I don't have room to grow. I'm afraid I'll feel claustrophobic like I do now living with my actual family. And then again maybe I won't. It would be nice to live in a big house. It would be nice to have the sense of family, and maybe it would be different if it wasn't my family. Maybe I could learn to live simply. Open myself to the idea that I don't need so much space. There is plenty of common space. And yet I feel myself greatly resisting the idea. Finding myself running against a large pole of resistance. Why... because I think I want to prove I am independent. Instead of flowing in community I want to hide under a rock. Instead gellin' with people I get grumpy and isolate myself. Can I truly open myself up to this experience. I'm unsure and unclear.

Grief on the back burner

Some days the grief sneaks up on me like an old friend. I pull out my father's pictures to remember him, to remember his voice, to remember what it was like to have a father. There are many days where it has become normal. I talked to him but most days I'm unable to allow myself the space to truly speak to him. Most days I am unable to truly speak my truth. I find myself overwhelmed by the business of life. The sure amount that goes into a day both literally and energetically is phenomenal. It in some ways overwhelms me, how can it not overwhelm us. Then in the silence I find my voice dormant but strong. I find the magic and I find him in the darkness. I remember just how close we were how deeply connected we were. And yet how deeply disconnected we were all in the same breath. I remember the anger of the incessant fighting between my parents, the tears I shed. The swearing when something didn't go right for my father, the neglect, the where are yous, the tears. And yet I do also remember the laughter, the games, the hikes, everything he taught me about nature and politics. And I miss it more than I can adequately place into words. Its in these moments I crave my own space to blast my hippie dippy music, to cry if I need to. To not have to worry that someone may find me out... that I am not done. I may not be done grieving for many more years to come. The realization is daunting that it goes on and on. It's in a the silence I seem to find my voice again. It comes on slowly, but I remember it. It's not a literal voice however I just find myself slowly remembering how to feel my heart. It feels as though work has gotten in the way of truly feeling my heart. It's like I'm avoiding the feeling of emptiness and lonliness, but what I am really avoiding is the connection to self. To remembering how deeply I miss my father, how deeply I want to remember how it use to be, and yet how I never want it to be that way again. I will always choose a community of trees over a community of buildings. Yes I am connected to the wider community I am not alone. But when I fail to write, when I fail to remember that I am still grieving life becomes difficult.

Workaholic

I find myself reminded how important it is to write and be present. How important it is not to be like my father? There are so many ways I want to be like him. But being a workaholic is not one of them. And yet I find myself feeling guilty if I say no. As if I am denying the universe what I've asked for. If it will backlash me in some way. I'm beginning to realize the fallacy in this thought process. It's a big piece. How do I have fun and make money? How do I find the balance in the dance of life. It feels as if I am sweating every ounce of my energies out into the world. I'm losing my soul the constant drum of the beat of commitments. It felt so unbelievable real to experience fire ceremony, to be reminded that who I am at my very core is a shaman/wiccan priestess. That is who I am and when I get bogged down by other commitments I lose the connection. I need to remember that I do not need to take every commitment that comes into my life. I do not need to work myself into the ground. I'm loosing chances to connect with those who I hold dear. I want dearly to connect with friends before I leave and start my new life. Romanticizing the thought of Portland is sticky. It causes a false sense of security. What if I let go and accepted that though my father was a workaholic that I do not need to follow in his footsteps. The next phase of the grief, breaking negative beliefs that my father passed onto me.