Tag Archives: life

Christmas list?

This post was originally published in December 2010, but I thought it could use an update. Even though I am working now, I still can’t help but feel like crap because half the time I forget things that are easy for everyone else to remember and I seem to always be doing something wrong. I’m not saying that because I get constant criticism, although it feels like that sometimes. I’m saying that because I’m oversensitive and tend to respond to things like the tones people use when sometimes it’s better to remember that that’s just how someone talks or that this isn’t a good time of the year for me in general. It’s better this year than it has been because I’m working and making money, although I do wish I could see my family and friends more often. Anyway, back to your regularly-scheduled whine-fest.

My husband asked me what I wanted for Christmas. The first things I thought of were a Bible with the Apocrypha in it and/or one of my favorite party games. Of course, we’d actually have to *have* parties in order to play said game, but that’s something else entirely. I can think of a few things I’d like, but I don’t think they would be something he could give me. For instance:

-He can’t give me my brain back. One thing I hate to no end is that I feel like I am ‘slipping’…everyone else ‘gets’ things that I don’t, and I keep missing and forgetting things. I don’t want to immediately say it’s because of my bipolar and/or ADHD, but that’s probably the most likely scenario. My doctors have told me that it affects the way I think; I test lower on IQ tests than I did before because my brain works differently (well, assuming it works at all ๐Ÿ˜› ). Seriously. I’ve been told over and over again that I ‘don’t think’ or whatnot, but that’s not true at all. I *do* think, I just tend to think so fast that nothing really ‘sticks’. My last few employers-you know, the two jobs I was fired from in two weeks-can attest to that. It’s just so frustrating, because I feel like everyone else is smarter than me and understands everything much better. Maybe this is true, but maybe I’m just *different*, not any less or any more. I don’t know.

-He can’t help me lose weight. Maybe he can in terms of eating more vegetables and less fatty stuff, but he can’t exercise for me or stop me from liking things like soda and cookies. I feel like I’ve nagged him enough about that in terms of getting him to buy veggies and fruit for produce, although truth be told I really don’t push anywhere near as much as I could. Still, I know that money has been really tight for us and that he feels like the stuff we can afford is often the stuff that’s really the worst for us. He doesn’t say it like that, but that’s what it comes out to. We *do* get canned veggies but It’s up to me to actually *eat* them, or to choose them over other stuff when I have a choice.

-He can’t help me get motivated to do, well, anything. I have so many projects I’ve started that I haven’t finished and don’t really know if I will. A children’s book, a novel of sorts, a few other writing projects…at least I’ve had some stories published, although they haven’t sold yet and *ahem* aren’t the type of stories you let your dad read. I have a couple of tabs open in my browser right now for things I keep meaning to read, but somehow never get around to it because I’m so easily distracted. Maybe at some point I’ll stop playing Facebook games long enough to read the stuff I’m supposed to read on Beliefnet for my job, and Slater, get off the counter,then do some writing I get paid for and Dr Phil’s head looks particularly shiny today….oops, got distracted again.

-He can’t get me to stand up for myself the way I need to.

-He can’t ward off my depression or make other people do stuff with us. They have their own lives and I totally appreciate that, but sometimes I just get bored with the same old thing. Boredom often leads to depression with me and, since I don’t work outside of the home, I get bored quite a bit. It’s gotten better now that we’ve paid the car off and I’ve been doing more stuff at church. Just to get out among other people-especially more women since most of my friends here are men-really helps. Even so, sometimes I still feel really “meh”. Which leads me to my next point:

-He can’t make me feel like less of a piece of crap because I get disability even though a lot of the time I feel as though I can work. I know from experience that my mental issues cause major problems and my physical issues aren’t much better, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling as though I’m one of those “sponges” or “cheats” some people rant about. I would never, ever say that to someone else, but I’ll say that to myself. Hmm.

He can’t change the past, which is ultimately what it would take to ward this off.

That’s just it. He can’t change the past. I know he would if he could, though. The only thing that can be done is to get to be more comfortable and content with the way things are and to try and improve things from there, but that’s something I have to do for myself. I have to ask God to help me with that every day, if I remember. That’s really sad, ‘if I remember’, but the point is that he can’t do it for me because it’s not *for* him to do. It’s for me, with God’s help. And I need all the help I can get.

*sigh*

Maybe I should just stick with new jeans and some bras to replace the ones I can’t wear anymore. That would require a lot less explanation.

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Spitballs From Heaven

I apologize in advance if this post depresses you. It’s about the death of someone very dear to me and, while it is meant as a tribute, it’s…well, about death. You’ve been warned.

Every May you can’t help but see it-‘Happy Mothers’ Day’. Flowers. Cards. Mugs. Ads for the latest kitchen gadget. They’re everywhere. I suppose that’s all well and good for those who are trying to find presents for their moms, but it doesn’t do much for me. I know she’d hate this, but I can’t stop thinking about how I don’t have a mother. Not in this plane of existence. Not anymore. I don’t normally sit around feeling sorry for myself (well…), but sometimes it just comes.

I remember the day she died. It was December 12, 1998, approx 11:45 pm. Yes, I remember the time. I always will. She had breast cancer…she lived for about a year or so after she first got the diagnosis. For a while, she did relatively well. But then, she didn’t. I saw how the chemo changed this once active and vital woman I loved into someone who didn’t even want to move or eat. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain she was in.

I guess one thing is good, though; she gained a completely new outlook on life. She stopped coloring her prematurely-gray hair. She would laugh and smile more. She stopped feeling depressed about things like her weight…yes, she lost a lot of it, but that’s not the point. The point is that she seemed to see each new day as a gift-a much more positive “lease on life”. I remember she would say that she didn’t want to color her hair anymore and if other people didn’t like it then, tough, because this was her. She did her best to instill confidence in my sister and me, even though she didn’t have much herself. I remember some of my friends were surprised to see me back at school for the semester after she died, but I didn’t know what else to do. It was my last semester of college, so I guess it would have been stupid for me to stay out when I was so close to finishing. But the thing is, she wouldn’t have wanted me to. She would have shot spitballs at me from heaven if I hadn’t gone back. To this day, that’s what I call hail-spitballs from heaven.

Come to think of it, that’s a good thing to do. Remember. I remember the Snickers bars. I remember that it was she who gave me my first Dr. Pepper, and I’m still addicted. ๐Ÿ™‚ Dr. Pepper from a can, the drink of the gods. I remember telling her when I got my period. I remember that she had depression issues, and thus was a very good help to my sister and me when we had our problems. I remember how she didn’t want people to put themselves out for her, but would do anything for anyone else. I remember our ‘agreement’ that Pierce Brosnan was gorgeous…I’ve seen some unflattering pictures since, but there’s something about a man with an accent…:)

I remember the stuffed cows she gave me. We both loved cows. I remember how she once saw a stuffed cow in Walmart and bought it for me. What made it special was that she only had the money with her to go to lunch, but instead she used that to buy me the cow. She didn’t eat lunch that day. I’m tearing up a bit…I know It seems small, but it reminds me of what I *don’t* remember. I don’t remember a single selfish act on her part in all of the 21 years I’d had with her. Not one. She devoted her life to our family in a way we may not have noticed growing up, but that made a huge difference in our lives. We truly are better for having known her. If I’m lucky, maybe one day I’ll be *half* the mother and person she was. One can only hope.

Before I forget, here’s the cow:

20150216-201455.jpg

18 years later, I still have it.
I miss you, Mama. I hope I’ve done you proud.

Oh, and, one more memory-I remember how upset I was when I was told that she died rather than being healed on this planet because she didn’t believe God could heal her. That opens up so many other doors for discussion I’m not going to go through here, but I have one word for that-bullshit. She asked us to pray for her on a number of occasions, and prayed herself. Still, despite her treatment, she died. But if you think about it, she was healed. She suffered a number of things on this planet, and now she is somewhere where she will never want for anything ever again. Her depression is gone, her pain is gone, and she is with God. If that isn’t healing, what is?

Goodnight, everyone. Goodnight, Mama.


5 Things Women Should Stop Apologizing For (Assuming We Ever Did)

(Throwback Thursday-this was originally published 9/2013)

 

โ€œLo sientoโ€

โ€œJe suis dรฉsolรฉ.โ€

โ€œMi dispiace.โ€

โ€œEs tut mir leid.โ€

โ€œI’m sorry.โ€

I tend to apologize a lot for things I don’t need to. Sometimes it’s to keep the peace, but mostly it’s because I’m a ‘people-pleaser’ and feel guilty every time someone expresses the slightest bit of frustration with me. This has been my undoing so many times that I’ve come to think that the words, ‘I’m sorry’ should be banished from every language on the planet. I know I’m not alone in this. There are a few things, though, that I will never apologize for. In fact, I don’t think any woman should. The list is pretty long, but here are the five things that I feel are the most important.

1) Standing up for herself. I know several women who were raised not to show anger or frustration. Apparently they were supposed to ignore things that bothered them for the sake of being ‘ladylike’. Some of these women are from England, a society many people think would be ‘beyond’ this sort of thing. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been asked about “PMS” when I complain about something I’d be able to buy my own private island, preferably staffed with shirtless firemen to serve my every need. Ditto being called a ‘bitch’. Comments like that say a lot more about the person making them than they do about us.

2) Not looking (or even wanting to look) like a supermodel. That’s the whole point of this magazine-celebrating those of us who have curves! Marilyn Monroe, a woman who is considered the bastion of beauty the world over, wore a size 12! If you’ve ever seen Mad Men, you’ve seen Christine Hendricks (http://www.stylehasnosize.com/tag/christina-hendricks/). I don’t know what size she wears, but it’s clear that she hasn’t missed many meals. Ditto Catherine Zeta-Jones, Adele, Queen Latifah…the list goes on. We’re gorgeous, and anyone who doesn’t appreciate that isn’t worth your time.

3) Choosing to work outside the home. Economics aside, some people think a woman who does this is selfish, doesn’t love her kids or intentionally being obstinate-ignoring traditional gender roles just for the sake of doing it. Sure, this might be true for some people, but most have completely different reasons. My mother, for instance, felt a lot better about herself once she got her real estate license. Regardless of how much money she made, it got her out of the house and allowed her to meet more people. Tell me-if my mother were depressed because she wasn’t ‘allowed’ to do these things while we were in school, what good would that do us? If depression were to suck all of the energy out of her the way it does to a lot of other people, would she have had anything left to give us kids? No. Contrary to what some people think, working outside the home can actually make someone a better mother.

On the other hand…

4) Choosing to be a stay-at-home mom. I’ve heard such women criticized by some of the more strident feminists as ‘continuing the patriarchal society structure that kept women back’. I can see their point, but I couldn’t disagree more. Feminism, for me, is about choices.

The problem, as I see it, is that some of us have been told that we only have so many options when it comes to career and family life. Even if it’s not explicitly said, I’ve known women in male-dominated fields who have been made to feel as though they don’t ‘belong’. It is much better now than it was in my mother’s generation, but some societies and religious groups still hold to what they view as ‘proper’ gender roles. Feminism has, among other things, given us the ability to choose what we do and where we go in life rather than having someone else (fathers, husbands, etc) make those decisions for us. Some women want to be SAHMs (Stay-At-Home Moms), and there is nothing wrong with this. In fact, I admire them; I don’t know that I’d have the patience!

5) Wanting to be appreciated for what we do. While we don’t, to quote Jesus, ‘do our deeds in public to be praised [paraphrase!],” it’s always nice to know our ‘good deeds’ do not go unnoticed. I’ve heard things like ‘you do this because that’s what you’re supposed to do-no one thanks a secretary for doing her jobโ€. Um, I beg to differ. I’ve had employers do just that. They know that we’re the backbone; without us, their business couldn’t run. That makes me want to try that much harder to please them.

The point is that we, whatever roles we take in our lives, lay the foundation for the things that stand now and those which are to come. In raising a family, we are grooming our children to make a difference in the world. In being a wife or partner, we are giving another person the love and support they need to go about their daily life. In the professional world, we support our employers and colleagues. If we work outside the home, we help ‘bring home the bacon’ needed to do all of the things mentioned above. We are always going to be somebody’s mother, daughter, sister or friend. If you think about it, we really run the world. We let the men think that they do, but we know the truth. ๐Ÿ™‚

We have been given the gift of strength and an indomitable spirit. That, my friends, should never be apologized for.


A Different Look At Being ‘Born Again’

John 3:3-[to Nicodemus] Jesus answered and said to him, โ€œMost assuredly, I say to you, unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.โ€ (New King James Version)

2 Corinthians 5:17-Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new. (also NKJV)

Hi, I’m [river in Ireland], and I’m not an addict. I’m not an alcoholic either, although such things run in my family. I’m not a sex addict, since it’s kind of hard to be one of those when you’ve only been with one person. I’m not a criminal, have never been homeless and had a pretty good childhood. And yet, I am what you could call a born-again Christian. In a sense, anyway.

When I first came to know God, I was part of a very small Independent Baptist church. I was fifteen. For most of the [censored] years since then, I’ve traveled in various Baptist and Pentecostal/non-denominational circles. If you’ve been there, you know that those churches tend to be full of ‘born-again’ Christians. One of the biggest things I’ve heard them say is how God brought them up out of the pit of Hell in the form of addiction, sex, abuse, crime, etc. I’m not discounting their conversions at all-in fact, I admire them. I can’t even begin to imagine what their lives were like or how difficult it has been to change. If this describes you, bravo-you are a better woman than I, my friend. Or man. Or whatever.

One thing I also saw, though, was how these were thought of as the only “real” conversions. It seemed that, the more dramatic the change, the more “legitimate” your faith. I heard it said that people who grew up in traditional churches or always lived on the straight-and-narrow couldn’t be really Christians because they couldn’t be “born again”. We weren’t ‘new creations’ because we have always lived the “Christian” life, even if we didn’t call it that. I wasn’t raised a Christian so technically my conversion “took”, but I had always lived like one. Leaving one denomination for another as many of my sorority sisters did counted because their previous churches were “dead” and they needed to go somewhere else for an “authentic” experience of God. I’m not saying that every new Christian I met felt this way or that this is the Evangelical “party line”, but it was something I hadn’t heard before and it made an impression. Some were downright rude about it, but others just spoke from their own experience. I see their point, but I think they’re missing something.

A big part of being “born again” is recognizing your need for God; that you can’t do it all by yourself. People being brought up from the depths of whatever usually acknowledge that a change is needed, that they are on a path that only leads to destruction. The “good kids”, however, usually think they’re doing just fine. That’s how I was, anyway. They might not see their need for God because, to them, He’s always been there; they’ve never known what it’s like not to have Him in their lives. They never “look for” Him because they don’t think they need to.

Then, enter college. I say college because this is a time that many people are away from home for the first time, but it can happen anytime a big change comes. At some point in our lives we will sit back, take stock of what we’ve believed so far and decide where to go from there. We’ll decide which pill to take and whether or not to walk through the door we’ve been guided to.*

For instance, take my friend D. He was raised Catholic, went to Catholic school the whole way and was pretty devout until he went away to college at 18. The first thing he thought when he got there was, “yay, freedom! I can stay up as long as I want, watch dirty movies and sleep late on Sunday because no one will make me go to church! Yay!” He thought he didn’t need to go to church or keep up a relationship with God because He was always going to be there no matter what.

He was partly right. God was there, just as He always is. However, it wasn’t long before he felt that something was missing in his life. Am I homesick? Not really. Friends? That’s what email is for. Is it a girlfriend? Maybe. When all those needs were fulfilled, though, something was still lacking. Then, he came across a Catholic campus ministry, found a church and resumed the observances that he’d been ignoring. The “hole” he’d felt was filled and he went back to the way of life he’d gotten “freedom” from before.

My point is that, despite his upbringing, he still had to make an active decision whether or not he still needed or wanted God in his life, which is the same thing I did when I “got saved” and my hard-living sister did when she found God and got onto a better path. It wasn’t a dramatic change and it didn’t look like the “brought up from the pit of Hell” things we often see, but he was still “born again” because he had analyzed his circumstances and decided that He still wanted to follow Jesus. However, a lot of people I’ve known would say that his experience isn’t “valid” because he didn’t “get saved” and make the 180ยฐ turnabout that many think is required. Even so, he still had to make that commitment, he still had to renew his focus on God and accept the charge that is given to all Christians to do God’s work on earth.

When I first learned about God, I was taught that our past wasn’t of concern to Him so much as our present and future. We often take that to mean that He can redeem even the worst of sinners because they are the ones most in need of it. This is true, but perhaps it’s the not the only “right” way of looking at it. Perhaps the past God doesn’t care about also includes our past of thinking we could earn “brownie points” by being good and of not thinking we need Him at all. Like I said before, the people who know they are on a destructive path usually know something needs to change and will do what they have to to make it happen. They’ll turn to God because they will learn that there’s really no other way. Those of us who think we’re okay without God might not see it this way. However, I still think you could say that we’re even *more* in need of being “born again” because then we will come to the realization that it’s Him that saves, not our good works. It’s not about what we do, but what He already did.

Each person has his/her own path to follow. Whether it starts at age four in Children’s Chapel, age 18 when entering a transitory period or age 40 after decades of hard living, each person experiences God and the message of Christianity in their own way. No one else can tell us whether or not our walk started in a “valid” way; it’s following Jesus and giving Him our whole hearts that matters most. I’m not the best at this, but I guess that’s part of the process that is the Christian life.

My cat Toby agrees, which I guess is as much of an ‘endorsement’ as I can expect. ๐Ÿ™‚ He probably just wants me to feed him. Typical cat.

*Please forgive me the Matrix references. It was a big franchise when I was younger, back in the dark ages.


How to be a good friend to someone with bipolar disorder

(I’m publishing this again because I found a new resource that I think will be *immensely* helpful, both to you and your friend. Thanks to Healthline.com for bringing this to my attention!-PQ)

Hi, I’m [river in Ireland] (*cue twelve-step group greeting here*), and I have bipolar disorder, also known as manic depression. To people who have known me for a long time, this isn’t usually much of a shock. Actually, I take that back. People who have known me and been close enough to have seen some rough times aren’t usually that surprised.ย  As for everyone else, my friendly and talkative exterior can hide pretty much anything I want it to.ย  I’ve had to use this skill a lot in the past because I have had some people find out that I have bipolar and not be very nice about it. I think my favorite comment was that I was ‘demon-‘ or ‘spirit-possessed’. *roll eyes* Others think I’m not as much fun anymore since I have begun taking medication that doesn’t allow me to bounce off the walls like I did before. Still others think I’m just a freak. Of course, I was pretty freaky before, but that’s not the point. ๐Ÿ™‚

The point is that people with bipolar disorder can be quite complicated; things can bother us that won’t bother ‘normies’, and our medications and treatment can take a lot out of us.ย  The disorder is very complex and there is more being learned about it all the time. There are various different symptoms or signs that can be mistaken as something else entirely, which makes it really difficult to figure out.ย  It can really screw with someone’s life.ย  For instance, it wasn’t uncommon when I was first diagnosed to get four hours a sleep a night for two weeks straight and clean the house up and down at 3 am**…only to crash the next week and not shower or leave my bedroom for two days.ย  That’s not even counting the episodes where I was crying and throwing things one minute and dancing a jig the next (only a slight exaggeration), with major swings like this happening in the same day.ย  It’s kind of hard to hold down a job when your boss can’t figure out what planet you are going to be from one minute to the next!ย  That’s not even talking about the medications and their side effects-I’ve been through several changes and can’t even keep track of them all. One of the medicines that worked the best for me also gave me shakes so bad I had to see a Parkinson’s doctor.ย  Another gave me gas you wouldn’t believe, and still another made me gain so much weight that I was nearly too fat to fit into my wedding dress! And you know what’s scary? I’m one of the luckier ones, because I can even take medicine;ย  I know some people who haven’t been able to find anything that doesn’t mix badly with their other medications, assuming they can find something that helps at all.

Bipolar has a strong tendency toward comorbidity-meaning, it often occurs alongside other similar disorders.ย  I’ve lost friends and had others change how they relate to me, although I have had some actually come closer because they had similar problems and felt I wouldn’t judge them.ย  Generally, though, it’s one of those things you don’t really understand very well unless you have it yourself.ย  In this spirit, I thought it might be fun to give sort of a ‘guide’ on the care and feeding of your bipolar friend. ๐Ÿ™‚ย  So, let’s get started:

Continue reading


Yet Another ‘Kid’ Post

I’ve been thinking a lot about kids lately. Yes, we’ve been here before, but I guess this is something I won’t get over anytime soon. The loss of my cat Daniel Tiger and the fact that it’s a brand new year has me thinking about things in a different way.

I’m 35-am I too old to have kids? Is it too late for me? Some people say yes. Quite a few, actually. Some of those people wouldn’t know their ass from a hole in the ground, so perhaps I shouldn’t worry about what they think.

Is the fact that I spent the last seven years with an injury that made it impossible for me to have kids (or do what it takes to make a kid), only to get it ‘corrected’ when I’m past the age some doctors would even *see* me God’s way of telling me that I shouldn’t reproduce? My doctor once said that he would refer me to a high-risk OB if I got pregnant because of my age and my bipolar disorder. The last one, I can see. As for the first…I remember telling my husband that I was concerned that the accident and our financial situation would make it so that we would never be able to have kids, even if we wanted to. We were prepared for the possibility that we might decide not to have kids because of our medical issues, et cetera…we might not like it, but at least then it would have been our choice. It wouldn’t have been because some wreck I don’t even remember getting in took that choice away from me.

Related to the above, am I an ingrate for being bothered by what the injuries made impossible when I’m pretty damned lucky to be alive at all?

Sometimes I feel left out because a lot of the women in the circles close to me all have kids or their lives center around kids. I feel like they’re in some sort of club that I will never belong to and that there’s something wrong with me because of it. That they will always feel like I am ‘left behind’ or something and will never *quite* have enough in common with them again. As much as I love my guy friends, sometimes I want to be around some women. I know it’s not a ‘contest’ or a ‘race’, but sometimes I still feel lonely because I’m in this weird place in life that most of my girl friends back home are in too, but no one here is.

What am I missing out on? Sure, I’m not having to wake up at 3am to change a diaper or spend hours connected to a breast pump. But I’m also not going to have anyone to take to a first day of school, anyone to make tuna salad sandwiches for, anyone to take prom pictures of, anyone to send off to college…you get the idea. Will my life still feel complete? Will it *ever* feel complete again?

I just finished writing a pilot for a kids’ sitcom. I got the idea from Amazon Studios and, while I’m not sure anything will come of it, I am grateful for the ‘push’. You see, I have all these stories going around in my head that I have yet to really do anything with. I sometimes will mean to write them down, but get distracted or discouraged halfway through (or sometimes not even *that* far). I had a great time writing this story, but it bothers me that I keep running through the final scene in my head. In it, the main character (a 14-year-old boy) is really excited because he just asked out a girl for the first time and she said yes. I keep thinking…you know, I’m not *quite* old enough to have a kid that age…well, not unless I had him at age 21. That’s still pretty young. But what if the kids I write about in this sitcom project are the only ones I will have? I love my cats like they are kids, but what if they are the only kids I have? Will I be okay with that? I’m really not sure anymore.

What if I don’t make a difference in the next generation? I’m not around my nephews much, although that isn’t necessarily through any fault of my own. We do go to see my sister-in-law’s little boy as much as we can since he’s here in town, but all my other nephews live at least 8 hours away in Virginia. I’d be with them all the time if I could.

Maybe I’m just being selfish.

Maybe all these questions are my mind’s of telling me that maybe I’m more ‘desperate’ than I thought. Or that I don’t have anywhere near as much time as I think I do; that I’m too old now to think of things in ‘maybe someday’ terms. I don’t know. Is this what a “midlife crisis” is like? When I hear that phrase, I think of the middle-aged man in the red convertible leaving his wife for a woman who’s barely legal. I don’t think of a questioning blogger who has no clue what she’s done with her life.

We talk about adoption, but we haven’t been able to make any sort of plan because everything hinged on being able to have the hip replacement surgery. We had to save up to afford it, we still have bills surrounding it, and it wouldn’t be fair to a kid to have a mother who couldn’t play with him or take proper care of him because she was recovering from surgery. Even if there were other people around to help, he would still need *me*, and I couldn’t be there. If that makes sense.

Maybe this is God’s way of having us wait for Him to bring the right child into our lives. Maybe there’s a child yet to be born (or already born to someone else) who we will be uniquely suited to parent. Maybe this is God’s way of having us wait for Him…period.

I don’t know. I never do. Hopefully I will someday.


Sweet Revenge?

When I was doing housework this afternoon (yes, it *does* happen :P), I had my iTunes going on in the background. For some reason, lately I always have to have something going on in the background, even if it’s only in my own mind. ๐Ÿ™‚ Anyway, the song, “Before He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood came on. I *love* that song, and I’m not normally into country. The chorus got me thinking:

“I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive/ Carved my name into his leather seat/ Took a Louisville Slugger to both headlights/ Slashed a hole in all four tires/ Maybe next time he’ll think before he cheats!”

To anyone who hasn’t heard it, it’s basically the anthem to all jilted or ‘scorned’ women anywhere. I’ve certainly found myself in that category on a number of occasions, but I never really found myself wanting to do anything quite *that* severe to get back at any of my exes (or false girl friends, for that matter). Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had plenty of angst that just *had* to come out. In fact, some of my best poetry was inspired by such incidents and relationships, some of which is on this blog (I think…). You can *definitely* tell that Alanis Morrisette and Mellissa Etheridge are some of my strongest artistic influences. ๐Ÿ™‚ Even so, I’ve never really gone out of my way to get back at someone who hurt me.

Actually, scratch that. There *was* the time when I called up an ex’s mother and told her all of the awful stuff he did to me, but that wasn’t my finest half hour and I certainly had plenty of fodder. There were also many late nights with my girlfriends making fun of the guy and burning him in effigy (I’m joking; we weren’t allowed candles in the dorm ๐Ÿ˜› ).

I never did anything as severe as screwing with anyone’s car, but I *did* once have to hide mine to keep it from happening to me.

The ex I mention above, whose mom I called, was in a class by himself. When I say ‘class’, I really mean ‘circle of Hell’. ๐Ÿ™‚ This is a guy who would harass any guy who showed interest in me (when we were broken up!) and then swooped in to play the hero when the other guys left me. Anyway, he was in ROTC and had these two guys, I and F, hanging around who were a year behind him and sort of his ‘subordinates’. That’s how he made it sound, anyway-I don’t know how it works in ROTC. The day before I was going to break up with him, I remembered some of the stupid ‘pledge’ or ‘hazing’ things the guys had to do, some of which were pretty destructive. I moved my car all the way across campus because I was afraid that, once I broke up with my ex, he’d have his ‘goons’ key my car and slash my tires.

In retrospect, I feel bad for thinking that. Not for thinking that about my ex, because neither I nor any of my friends had a problem believing he would be capable of something like that. No, I feel bad for thinking that about I and F; these are two decent guys who didn’t deserve to be painted as mindless drones who would even *think* of doing something like that, ‘ordered to’ or not. I’m sure they turned out well. Guys, I’m sorry I called you “goons”, even though you’ll probably never hear of it.

Either way, we’ve all moved on to bigger and better things. I’ve had quite a few more boyfriends, some of whom I still talk to sometimes. Sometimes things just don’t work out, however good the guys are. There’s only *one* more boyfriend who inspired more nasty poetry, but I brought the pain on myself for getting involved with him to begin with. I knew the relationship never should have happened, and I did it anyway. Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson.

Speaking of which, I wonder if Carrie would like any help writing her next hit ‘men are scum’ song? Because I’ve got sheets and sheets of the stuff. I’m not an angry person, but I really enjoyed writing about it all. At least that way, I can put the annoying angsty stuff to good use. ๐Ÿ™‚


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