Note to Self (121) Cry For Help

Note to Self, Writing16 Comments

I remember when I was married and I got into a fight with my ex. I cried all night and the next morning I looked like crap, but I still put on some make up and I went to work. I didn’t talk about my sleepless night to anybody. My heart felt heavy but I still joked around with my colleagues. From outside, you’d have thought I was the happiest chick in the world.

I lived a lie. I pretended everything was fine when it wasn’t. I came home and I feared another fight would break out. It felt awful to pretend. It felt awful to keep everything to myself. I cried so much I didn’t know how to feel better. I was on the phone every day with mum and dad, trying to hang in there. I resisted until I couldn’t take the abuse anymore. The anger, the fighting, the violence. I had to go, but I wasn’t sure how.

I came home one day and I found my ex locked in the bedroom so I moved to the living room. I slept on the couch and I prayed. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t really sleep. I mostly thought a lot. I imagined what my life would be like without him. I felt alone. I felt empty. I waited for things to improve. I still tried to talk to him but he refused to speak to me. He called me names. He treated me like I was worse than garbage. I stayed strong and I waited. And that’s when I saw it. There was a deep cut through my pillow. I could put my finger in the hole and go all the way to the other side. I immediately knew what he had done. I entered the bedroom and I grabbed his switchblade. Then I examined the bed, and found the same cut into the mattress, right on the side where I used to sleep and my head used to rest.

After that incident, I packed my suitcase and I left to stay with my girlfriend. I never came back.

I don’t know why I’m thinking about this now. I slept on my friend’s couch for one solid month, meanwhile I found an apartment in the same building as her and we became neighbors. And then everything started for me. My depression, my journey into writing, my unfortunate encounter with a co-worker who thought he could get in my pants because he witnessed my misery and wanted to be a friend. He actually managed to rape me after he got me so drunk I blacked out. I never filed charges against him, but I raised the matter with HR. I had no evidence and I didn’t want to start a lawsuit – another one besides my divorce. I drank a lot. I cried even more. I thought I had entered another hell by living by myself. I didn’t know how to do things alone anymore. I adopted cats to help me stay sane. I didn’t go see a shrink and I started writing instead. I poured my heart out, I told the world how sad I felt and the world listened. People helped me. People supported me. I was loved again. I was whole again.

My mood is shot. I’m reminiscing about the past. Tomorrow I’m supposed to go to this party to celebrate the wedding of a friend. My mood is always shot when I think of weddings. The scar of my divorce is something that will fade, but it will never completely go away. I loved my husband. I really did. I haven’t loved someone so deeply before. But it’s alright. It was meant to be in a way. I accept the fact we weren’t supposed to be together. I accept the fact I’m destined for something much greater.

I’ll be fine in the end. I don’t enjoy being surrounded by negativity because it always brings me back to my failed relationship. I think I was surrounded by too much of that negativity today. But it’s ok. Writing always cures my cry for help.

I feel better now. See. I just needed to write.

Watch this: Latest Trailer by @KrystalWade for Wilde’s Fire

Trailer2 Comments

I’m all about promoting the work of authors whom I consider have great talent. Krystal Wade isn’t only talented, she’s gifted. She knows how to tell stories like you’ve never read before. She shapes and builds a world that will kick your imagination’s ass so hard, it’ll take a while before you fully recover, if you ever recover. I’m so grateful to know her and to share an amazing friendship with her, I’d like for you to love her as much as I do because she’s seriously terrific.

But enough praise. Just watch the trailer she just released for her upcoming YA fantasy Wilde’s Fire and let the journey begin!

http://krystalwade.blogspot.com/2012/02/wildes-fire-trailer.html?spref=fb

Note to Self (120) #Islanders

Note to Self, Sports2 Comments

I’m a hockey fan. A couple years ago, my former office mate invited me to a game and I fell in love with the Islanders. My ex used to root for the Rangers, so I thought why not add some spice in my life by supporting a team he didn’t like? I think I’d still root for the Yankees and the Giants though, no offense to the Mets and the Jets… But the Islanders, I don’t think I’m being unfair here.

I lived on Long Island for one year while I went to law school, so I had something to share with the team. Long Island was my first home in the US. I bought my car there, I passed my driver’s license there, I learned how to speak and behave… Hum, anyway, I forged my weapons on Long Island and rooting for the Islanders seemed like a logical step to me. The Islanders also offer the cheapest NHL tickets… I think I gave enough arguments to justify my decision. Yet, I’ve never rooted for a sports team so much I wanted to cry at the end of a game. I’d have cried if the Patriots had won the Superbowl this year, let’s be honest, I really hate Tom Brady, but I wouldn’t have made it so personal. Same deal with the Yankees. If they win against the Red Sox, I’m glad, but I wouldn’t slice my wrists open if the Red Sox won the World Series… But with the Islanders. Wow. I felt a total different way.

It isn’t a matter of rivalry. It isn’t a matter of who’s better. It’s a matter of pride. And the same thing happened to me during the 2002 and 2006 Soccer World Cups when France got their ass kicked – actually blown away – during the first elimination round. My heart broke and I decided to never watch soccer again. Well, I’m not saying I won’t watch hockey again because I love hockey too much to quit so soon, but today, I can tell you my heart broke. The Islanders played the Senators and they got beaten 6-0. I won’t go into the details of the game, but seriously… The Islanders sucked big time. They made me sad to the point I rooted for the Senators after the first ten minutes in Period 1. I can tell you more about The Senator’s defensemen and goalie than about my beloved team. Honestly guys, WTF!!!!

The only good part of the whole afternoon was the intermission between the first and second periods. Since it was President’s Day, the Presidents’ mascots paid the Nassau Coliseum a visit. These guys went for a race on the ice and they entertained me so much, I wish they had continued ice skating against the Senators during Period 2. This is the bottom I’ve reached today.

I’m pasting pictures below to give you a little taste.

Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt and Jefferson... The race has begun and Sparky is the referee!
Oh they're going at it hard! Theodore Roosevelt is out already... He fell on the players' bench.
Close to the finish line!
Theodore Roosevelt sneaked up on Washington! He was such a cheater but he made me laugh really hard!
Ah bloody Senators! You got us good this time around! Ok... so I'm not giving up on the Islanders yet because I don't want to be such a bad fan. All I have to say is Go Islanders and try to be better next time so you don't go breaking my heart again, ok? I love you!

Note to Self (119) My New Addiction: #Phone Writing

Note to Self, Writing8 Comments

I’ve discovered a new way to write. I start as soon as I set foot in the elevator and I continue until I’ve crossed the threshold of my office door. Nothing can stop the creative flow from invading my thoughts. I play some music on my Ipod and I shut myself down to the outside world. My weapon of choice to draft the next chapter of my novel has become my phone. I take my Blackberry out of the holster and I start typing. I’m like a freak. I don’t look up, I don’t hold onto anything, I just ride the subway and write, walk and write, halt at the crosswalk and write, and for thirty to forty minutes each morning and each evening, I reach an absolute level of concentration that is hard to beat otherwise.

I can’t write at home anymore because I feel too distracted. There are my cats, the TV, and my bed where I love to take naps… I can’t focus properly. I need to be in an hostile environment for my imagination to work well. I don’t talk to people. I don’t listen to the train announcements. I feel like my body reacts like a robot while my mind travels to a beautiful place filled with genius sparks. The best ideas come to me while I commute. The best plot twists unravel as the subway moves from station to station and I don’t pay attention to anything else but my writing.

I wonder how much I could achieve if I spent an entire day riding the subway. I’m sure I could write an entire novel if I stayed at the airport or in a train station too. I’ve calculated I type about 5,000 words a week by writing this way. I never thought my phone could be such an amazing tool. I’ve to admit, I’m totally hooked.

Note to Self (118) Looking In The Mirror

Note to Self8 Comments

I can hear the rain outside hitting the glass of my windows, and it feels like my heart is polluted by too many storms created by too many negative thoughts in my brain. I can’t really tell why I feel so down. Maybe because I’m troubled? Maybe because I don’t know what to do about a certain situation that bothers me to the point of causing me nightmares? I shouldn’t be so annoyed. I shouldn’t let frustration take the best of me. I’m better than this, ain’t I?

When I was a little girl in kindergarten, I never cried. I could scrape my knee, bump my elbow into the edge of a table, get into an argument with a girlfriend or be subject to the unfair scolding of a teacher, I didn’t flinch. I took every hit and I stayed strong. My tears were my weakness, and I couldn’t show the world how fragile I felt or I’d be eaten alive. I don’t know why I forced myself to be so tough at such a young age, but this sentiment persisted as I grew up.

I didn’t whine about my divorce when I separated. I only shared some concerns with my girlfriends, and I remember crying myself to sleep every night for months. I came to work the next day and focused on what needed to be done. There was never any time for an emotional break. There was never any time for failure. Day by day, I forced myself to look in the mirror and face the world like a champion. I walked down the street ready to conquer the universe, and nothing could stop me even if inside my heart was shattered in a million pieces.

My reaction to adversity doesn’t feel unique to me. I know many people who did the same thing, my father being first in line after he went through a divorce himself. He woke up and dealt with all the challenges put in his way, and he didn’t complain and didn’t give up. Maybe I’m in the wrong. Maybe I should show my emotions. But I don’t feel comfortable doing so. You know, there’s something I never wrote about that traumatized me immensely, much more than my separation. Yet, I refuse to be victimized. I don’t want people to take pity on me. I want people to think I’m invincible. I want people to believe I never experienced a single bad moment in my life. Maybe someday I’ll draft a post about this traumatic event. Maybe someday I’ll tell the world about it. For now I carry my burden and I take the bad memories as a gift. I’ve accepted them so I could be stronger. I’ve overcome the pain and I’ve grown wiser.

It angers me to witness certain people don’t follow the same path. They allow themselves to be weak. They allow themselves to be defeatist. They cry whenever they feel a bit annoyed. They show no resistance to the outside world, and I wonder, what image do they see when they look in the mirror?

I sometimes think I’m a bitch. I sometimes think I’m intolerant. I often joke I must be made of steel, probably something coming from my German heritage. When I look in the mirror, I’m aware I’m far from perfect. So I take it one day at a time, and every minute that goes by I love myself a little bit more, because I know deep inside I was born a fighter.

******

I’m writing this after the fact. 

This post came from a dark place. The need to write was triggered because I felt frustrated. I don’t want people to think I’m a bitch. I’m not. I’m a very caring and loving person. But when I try to help somebody and that somebody refuses my help, I tend to just shut down. 

I have to be the adult here. And I make mistakes like everybody. 

Note to Self (117) #Shoes

Funny, Note to Self, Shoes4 Comments

Today I felt so happy, I decided to go to Macy’s and buy a pair of shoes (on sale ;)). A picture of the hottie patottie pair of 3 inch heels is pasted below.

Yes, these hottie patotties are MINE!!

Now that I’ve taken your breath away, let me reminisce a bit about my childhood. I remember being five. My parents took me to the mall, and they bought me a super awesome hottie patottie pair of fuchsia pants and some hottie patottie pink sneakers with glitter. Oh boy, what a pair of shoes they were. I got so excited in the car, I couldn’t wait to arrive home to try them on and run around in them. When we finally reached the entrance gate, I knew the hottie patottie shoes would soon be mine!!!

While my mum and dad watched TV, I put my brand new shoes on and I beamed from ear to ear with a grin that would strike you out of the ballpark in the blink of an eye. The hottie pattotie shoes made me feel invincible, and I liked them so much, I wanted to keep them on all the time!

Well, I actually kept them on because I ended up sleeping with them. My mother made fun of me because I felt so attached to these shoes. Hold on! These weren’t any shoes. They were my hottie patottie pink sneakers! And I was totally entitled to sleep with them if I wanted to.

I’m not five years old anymore, but twenty plus years later, I still feel the same way about a bag, or a pair of shoes I really like. If I fall in love, I go all the way, and this means potentially sharing my comfortable queen size bed with my latest purchase… Hold on. I don’t really sleep with my pumps, but I could. Who could resist the hottie patottie shoes I bought today? I know I couldn’t.

Talking of sleeping with my shoes… who cares if I really do sleep with them? 😉

Note to Self (116) – #Cats

Cats, Note to Self21 Comments

I’d like to dedicate this post to my kitties. It’s been almost a year since I adopted them and I must say, they made me a very happy person. For dog lovers out there, you might think cats are the most despicable animals on the planet, but I honestly love them so much I actually consider them my life saviors.

I hit a rough patch through my recovery. Switching from married to single in less than a few months can mess up your balance real good. I wasn’t immune to feeling depressed and lonely. I cured my depression with alcohol – bad idea – and by going out to bars to feel like I belonged to something – an even worse idea. At the end of every day, I pushed the door to an empty apartment with nobody to welcome me home. I felt sad, useless, and at the end of my rope.

I knew I needed a presence in order to cheer up again, but a human in my newly furnished apartment was out of the question. I wanted to be solitary and I wanted to feel loved. Paradoxes ruled my life for many days after my separation. I didn’t know what to do and what to think to keep my mind distracted from the obvious: I was single again. It felt awful. How could I live with myself? I used to have somebody else to anger me, frustrate me, bother me and treat me like crap for years. And now that the hell was gone, I felt unable to deal with my own crazy mind. What a world we live in…

But things got better as soon as I entered the ASPCA. I asked to adopt an affectionate kitty. I ended up leaving with two fluffy fat five year old cats, a female and a male, both abandoned and in serious need of a loving home. I gave them everything they craved. Tons of hugs and kisses, a comfortable bed and couch, cushy rugs, healthy food and a safe environment where they could sleep, eat, and prosper an extremely lazy existence.

Thurston and Lovey filled a hole of immense solitude and pain. They purred in my ear and asked me to pet them as often as I could. Most importantly, they gave me their unconditional love. To my babies – I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH. xox

Note to Self (114) #Valentine

Note to Self12 Comments

Last year on Valentine’s day I officially moved out of the apartment I was sharing with my ex. When people ran to buy flowers or chocolates, I sealed my wedding pictures in a cardboard box. I turned the page on a chapter of my life I didn’t want to continue anymore. I was ready to start fresh, despite the sadness and the pain of the separation. I knew I needed strength and determination to heal. Day by day, I made it my goal to fight back and find my true self again.

When I put my things away, I realized I had a problem. I used to splurge on expensive designer stuff. The feeling I got from owning a Gucci purse or a Prada pair of pumps superseded everything. I seriously got addicted and my credit card suffered my uncontrolled excesses; thank God, I always managed to pay off my balance. After a while I realized bag and shoe shopping had become a cry for help as my marriage went downhill. The more unhappy I was, the more I bought. I filled up my closet until I didn’t have room for clothes. My ex used to yell at me for spending rent money at Saks and Bloomingdale’s. My girlfriends made it a contest to count how many designer bags and shoes I bought in six months… and the number naturally became ridiculous.

As soon as my ex and I separated, I finally looked at my closet and realized how stupid I had been. The bags didn’t mean anything anymore. The shoes piled up in a mountain of non sense. I collected everything and checked what I didn’t need. Then I logged into Ebay and one by one, the bags and shoes sold out. My girlfriends grinned from ear to ear when I gave them some bags and shoes too. Of course, everybody ended up happy in the end. But when I look back at how much I spent to fill a hole that could never be filled, I knew the level of misery I was buried under for so many years.

One year later, it’s Valentine’s day and I feel happy and free. I made peace with myself, and I found a new balance by writing, and creating, not buying. Yet, my first love for bags and shoes never fully disappeared and I still crave a nice pair of pumps or a funky shoulder bag every once in a while. I use moderation. And sales. Lots of sales. 😉

To all the couples and single people out there, I wish you lots of happiness, love, and bliss. Life is too short to be wasted on negativity. Get rid of the crap while you can, and enjoy yourself, because you’ll never know when your last day will come.

Note to Self (113) – Time

Note to Self, Writing7 Comments

It feels like time has passed but I actually don’t feel any older. It’s just bliss, an emotion, a feeling of having grown up without noticing wrinkles slowly marked my face, leaving me with memories I’m unable to forget. Time didn’t teach me patience but impatience.

Things got easier to get, quicker to produce and to sell to me. I, the avid consumer, needed to buy in order to exist in a world where everybody vegetated in an eternal search for their true identity. It took a while to observe the changes and notice them alter my responses to all these precious stimuli sent by the brains controlling my LCD screens. First it was on TV, and then it came on my computer. Finally it appeared right there, under the touch of my finger on a flat and glossy telephone. I didn’t think everything could happen so quickly, destroying the need for more essentials than just bags and shoes…

I just wanted to be human and view the world as a place where I could freely express my thoughts without barricading myself behind a shiny golden watch and a nice brand new pair of fake boobs. Today, I stand behind a window for anyone to see and assess me. Is she smart enough? Can she do the job? I’m a woman in a man’s world. I carry the weight of centuries of preconceived ideas and stereotypes that still pollute my TV every once in a while. I have to move fast before somebody else takes my place. Time flows, sprawls, cracks and crawls within the holes of my walls, but as I am trying to catch it and make it my friend, time always wants to escape. I have to beat the system or it’ll be too late…

I can’t control time. Time controls me. All I can do is run or I’ll end up empty and defeated with nothing to be proud of. So here I write. Here I edit my WIP and I pray not to get hit by a bus on my way to work so I can finish what I started.