Tag Archives: daydreaming

Fact, Fiction and Frustration

I’m a housewife (I guess that’s what you’d call me) and generally like my life, but sometimes I get a bit bored. I know that boredom isn’t necessarily a *bad* thing-hey, if nothing’s happening, that means nothing *bad* is happening, right? Either way, I’ve always been the kind of person to make up stories in my head to entertain myself. Sometimes I have a really hard time getting to sleep and, creative person that I am, these things just come out. I’ve written a few into screenplays (or scenes that I will expand on later), but I don’t really think they’ll go anywhere other than my hard drive.

It’s strange, but the vast majority are romantic comedies of some kind, with the lead character either being me or based on me. Sometimes it involves being a character in one of my favorite TV shows and screwing the guy I’m drooling over, but sometimes it’s just about my life. Or, what could have been my life.

That is not meant to be any reflection on my marriage because I have the best husband in the world, but for some reason I find myself thinking about past ‘missed opportunities’. I wouldn’t want to change the way things are now, but lately I’ve been fantasizing about what it might have been like had I taken a chance with a guy I knew and liked while I was in college. This guy was someone I met during the summer break, we really liked each other and said so in no uncertain terms, but nothing happened because I was dating someone at the time.He found me and we spoke on the phone a few months after all of that, but by that point we both knew that ship had sailed. One of the stories I’m working on is a fictionalized version of what might have happened if I had broken up with my then-boyfriend and dated this guy. It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway for a number of reasons and I love the one I’m with. I don’t regret losing my virginity to my husband, and that’s probably something I couldn’t have done if I’d dated this guy. Even so, I’ve wondered, what if? Turning into a writing project is a good way to make something positive out of it, but sometimes I feel troubled for thinking of it at all. It’s almost as though I *want* to be that confused, naive person I was when I was 20. Instead, I feel old.

Another story I’ve thought of is about someone completely fictional meeting ‘me’ and us having a nice date and great sex. There’s no ‘what if’ here because, like I said, it’s not about anyone real. My question to myself is, why do I even *think* of stuff like this? If I have a happy marriage, why are sex and romance on my mind so much? Why does my heart still sometimes lrace when I think of it? Am I a terrible person?

I just thought of something. The common denominator in both of these stories is that I’m 20, and that I’m single. When I was that age, I was dating someone who turned out to be a really bad influence. I’m not talking about him getting me to drink or do drugs or anything, but he was very manipulative and emotionally/psychologically/sexually abusive. Of course, I didn’t see this at the time, but damned near everyone else around me did. There were guys who wanted to date me but didn’t because of him, people who probably would have treated me much better in the long run. I know I would have been a much happier person had I not been being jerked around and treated like crap by someone who didn’t seem to have much respect for me-or women in general, for that matter. I knew that it wasn’t a good relationship, but I felt like I was in too deep to get out and that I just had to ‘take the good with the bad’. I *did* actually break up with him once for a few months but ultimately came back because I was afraid to be alone and the other guys I had been dating all backed off. And, of course, he swooped in to play the hero and be all sweet…as it turns out, he had been harassing the other guys behind my back. This is *definitely* more than the usual ‘ups and downs’, but I didn’t know exactly how bad things were. I hadn’t had much experience in relationships and frankly never thought what I wanted was very important.

The fact that he used my religion against me sometimes by telling me that I had to forgive him and take him back because the Bible says that we have to forgive others or else our own sins won’t be forgiven. That should have also been a clue but, like I said, I didn’t see it for what it was at the time. The truth is, we never do. That’s the whole problem-people in abusive relationships stay because they don’t feel like they deserve/can get any better and, even if we don’t like what is happening, we think it’s something we just have to deal with. If I’d seen it for what it was, stuck by my decision to break up with him the few times I tried it and/or stayed away from him entirely, I could have spared myself and a lot of other people a world of hurt. That, and I wouldn’t have written so many run-on sentences talking about him. 🙂

I’m wondering if these fantasies are my mind’s way of trying to get that time back-time that was wasted with the wrong person and could have been much more productive had I known then what I know now. I’m 35 now and sometimes just want to be young again, but am very happy to be with the man I am with now. If I had dated the guy I met one summer or anyone else, I might not be with my husband, which would be tragic in and of itself. We’re not meant to live in the past, and I guess there really *is* a reason for everything that happens. I just wish sometimes that I had a clue what those reasons were.

Oh well. At least I have good fodder for ‘villains’ in my stories.

Drugstore reflections

I had an epiphany in Walgreens the other day.  It wasn’t in the makeup aisle, when I realized that I’m never going to look like those models.  I’ve always known that. It wasn’t in the hair color aisle either, although I have more gray hairs than some women twenty years older than me. It wasn’t in front of the depilatories, because I’ve known that those don’t work worth a crap on dark hair for a long time. It wasn’t the chocolate-tinted wine, although that does seems strangely good.  No, the epiphany I had took place next to the pharmacy, where the kids’ medicine is.

I’ve decided I want to be a mommy. I think part of it is because I see all the happiness my friends have with their kids, or maybe it’s because there are so many cute baby toys and clothes. It could also be because my nephew has a child of his own…which makes me a great-aunt before I’m even a mom…geez I feel old…:) But seriously, this is a big thing for me because I’m 34 and I’m just now realizing that my bipolar disorder doesn’t *have* to keep me from having a child or adopting one.  The biggest thing was concern that I won’t get through the pregnancy without my meds; that, or that I might pass it on. I’m not incredibly concerned with passing it on, strangely, even though my doctors say that the chances of that happening are quite high.  Between me, the fact that my sister (and possibly, one of my brothers) has it, and that my mother-in-law has it too, you can see how that would be.  I’m not as concerned about that because there are a lot more things that can be done for kids that have bipolar or other illnesses. Also, a lot of people with this sort of illness are brilliant and very creative. I don’t know what happened to me. 🙂

Still, I can’t help but think about it when I’m around so many people who either have kids or constantly talk about wanting kids, like one of my friends does.  My husband is on board with either having or adopting a child in the next five or so years…which would mean I might be nearly 40 when it happened. I’ve mentioned it before here that I feel as though something must be wrong with me that I didn’t want kids, but looking back I don’t think it wasn’t that I didn’t *want* kids so much as that I felt that I *couldn’t have them* and so might as well just get used to it.  After talking with my sister and others who have similar issues to mine, I’ve realized that the health issues don’t have to hold me back if I really feel as though I can handle being a mother. After all, it’s not like *anyone* is really prepared for it before it happens. I also thought I wouldn’t be allowed to adopt, but I found out that that’s not necessarily true either.  I was worried that I might not be a good mother if I wasn’t perfect, but then I remembered that my own mother had her problems.  She didn’t like to talk about it, but she had depression issues as well. As much as I hate that she had them, I think that made her an even better help to my sister and me whenever ours started. Honestly, I can’t think of a single selfish act on her part in the 21 years I had with her.  I guess you could say that that is yet another example of God taking something bad and making something good out of it, or of things (in this case, my mom’s depression) having some sort of reason. I think I would be a good mother, although I can be selfish at times and want to be by myself. I’m not always that patient, but my sister told me that having kids can teach you these things-patience, putting others before yourself, etc.  I can see it is true in her case. I remember how we both were as teenagers, and she’s a totally different person now. Granted, most of us aren’t the same people we were as teenagers when we’re in our 30s, but a lot of people I know who had kids young say that it forced them to grow up. I can completely see how that would be.

I guess I’m just thinking out loud here, but I would like to see if others have been in a similar position. Have you ever thought you couldn’t have kids or do something else vitally important because of a condition, only to find that it wasn’t true? How did you work around it? Also, has anyone here had a child ‘later on in life’? If so, is there anything I should know? My sister had problems getting pregnant when she was 34, but her twin boys are the sweetest things and enrich her life in so many ways.

I guess this is selfish of me, but I think one motivation is that I don’t want to leave this world and have it be as though I were never here. I’d like to leave something of myself behind, even if it’s in the form of lessons taught or memories made. That certainly isn’t the only reason I’d want kids and I know it’s not really a good one, but it’s still nagging there.  I keep thinking about death, but not in the sense that I want to die.  I’m not sure why, but that’s another post.

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