Scared Bunny

I guess if you paid any attention to this blog you noticed that I like to write. Sometimes it's all that keeps me sane. Sometimes it is the only outlet I have. And sometimes the blog is like the only person I have to talk to.

And like most people who like to write think they have a novel in them. I have been kicking around ideas for years. Nobody seems to get my main idea besides me, which is OK. I don't mind that. I just want to get it out of my system.

But people who know me tell me that that novel is not what I should write. What they want to read is my life story. Hell, read early comments to the blog. People though the original stories were just a novel being tried out. People especially want the story from my first divorce forward. They probably want the whole shooting match, but I am not going to write about my marriage. I feel like that would be wrong.

And, as I have said, I won't write about my second marriage either.

That leaves a lot of very interesting stories, but no ending. There is no happy ending, and there is no tragic ending. All I have are the stories. Some people like the stories. Some people find them offensive. Some people think I am talking about them. And some of those people are right. But that just doesn't sound like a book to me. Then again, "The Secret" was a bestseller and basically all it says is to have a positive attitude and focus on your goals. It's a short book but, shit, I could say that in a greeting card.

So I have considered writing something that just doesn't include my marriages. The problem is that it would leave such a hole. When you read the stories I used to always write you have no sense for why I did what I did and how I got that way. I could fix that but it would mean including my childhood (making me look like a victim) and my first marriage (where I was an asshole and I am not willing to exploit that relationship). And I just know that whatever comes next for me, leaving out my second marriage would leave the story so obviously incomplete that any reader would wonder what happened.

The thing is, I am beginning to think I need to write and write it all. The whole mess. I feel like it has to all be compiled in one place to get it out and get over it. I am haunted by my past and I don't think anyone understands because nobody knows the whole thing. Even in therapy you can't tell the whole story. It is too long and complicated. 40 minutes at a time, including the bullshit from the therapist, would make it take years. And I realize now that I don't have years. To have this all bottled up is asking for trouble. While I am strangely calm right now, I know that is not a permanent condition for me. It is simply a pause in a storm. If I truly want to stop living from emotional storm to emotional storm, I need get the eye of the storm out of my soul.

So I am faced with a great decision and a monumental task. And I have to get this right because I know my soul is on the line.

Labels: book, emotions, insanity, life, relationships, writing

My therapist has a phrase she likes to use. She says I am “invested” in being miserable.

Now, understand she doesn’t say this to be mean. She known my childhood and understands I was raised to believe that stress, anxiety and fear were the norm. She also knows I had more than my share of reasons to be depressed, so until I decide to make the change in what I want my life to be like I will always be anxious and depressed.

There is something I have never admitted here. Despite the fact that I have a rule to never date exes, I have and if I wasn’t working real hard to avoid it I probably would again. I know I say that when it’s broken you usually can’t fix it, but I have tried in the past. It never worked. In fact, it usually fell apart faster. But I have trouble meeting people. I am a shy person usually, especially with women. I have so little game a female friend of a friend said my no game was my game.

But what I have been told to do is stop selling myself short. Funny thing is, many of the same things I am being told to do are things the women I was with said in reference to themselves. I have got to stop selling myself short. I have to accept that I am a pretty decent catch. I have a calm and soothing way about me while at the same time a biting satire that can double you over.

My therapist wants me to date. She wants me to try to meet attractive women, with brains and careers. She suggests starting online but that scares me. Other friends say bookstores, grocery stores and museums. Whatever it is it’s time to stop looking at the past and look forward.

So this blog may undergo a very drastic change.

Labels: dating, emotions, life, psychology

I have finally found a cure to my anxiety. Well, not a cure, but a control. If I keep myself productive at work, I stay calm. I am not sure if writing will work or not, but I am going to try. What I do know is that working means making more money and more money means less stress. I am paid on a commission so, needless to say, I get worried some months. It's a curse. We have people here making millions, so there is an incentive to work. Others barely make enough to cover their base.

What is real funny is how I can make all that money. The key is sitting on the phone all day. So I'm at my desk with the Bluetooth headset just like the Time/Life operators from those old commercials selling books about plumbing. The difference is I am selling millions of dollars to people who own more than I will ever imagine owning. That and we don’t use those odd pictures of strangely blank white guys in our reading materials.

The funny thing is, sometimes I can be working and really achieving nothing, but it still relaxes me. It's my mind that is the problem. If it's kept busy it doesn't trigger the physical discomfort. It's a tricky thing to master though because I am a master at switching between multiple thoughts very quickly. I used to believe I could actually think of more than one thing at once, but I now realize I am just one of those blessed with a quick mental trigger. In the past it has been a great benefit, but now it is a pain. I flip back and forth from good (or sometimes blank) thoughts to bad ones.

It’s just tough right now for me. I am re-training my mind and I know now that no pill can do it and really no therapist. I have to do it myself. It's just like my getting back in shape. Every day I have to do that cardio whether I feel like it or not. I have to make myself get off the couch and get on the bike. Well, in the car, in the gym and then on the bike. I really think that I understand now why programs have partners and they urge people to join a gym with a buddy. It’s about accountability. Having someone with you going through it would make all the difference. That said, I don’t want some crazy chick as a sponsor. The sane women won’t touch me, and I don’t blame them. A male sponsor in intriguing, but the whole naked in the locker room thing is awkward.

At home it's harder. My house is empty and I can't ignore that. A home for 5 or more has 1, and that makes me depressed and anxious. I swear I want a studio when I move. OK, not that small, but I may even go 1 bedroom just because there is no need for another. My son loves to sleep either on the couch or in my huge bed, so why not (other than where to keep his stuff.). I can just feel the absence of people in that house. Now I understand why a house feels haunted. It's not ghosts. It's that the life that should be there just isn’t. That leaves us as intruders on their turf. No spirits are involved, but we sense spiritual emptiness, and it scares us.

Labels: anxiety, emotions, life, mind control

These ideas are nightmares to white parents
Whose worst fear is a child with dyed hair and who likes earrings
Like whatever they say has no bearing, it's so scary in a house that allows
no swearing
To see him walking around with his headphones blaring
Alone in his own zone, cold and he don't care
He's a problem child
And what bothers him all comes out, when he talks about
His fuckin' dad walkin' out
Cause he just hates him so bad that he blocks him out
If he ever saw him again he'd probably knock him out
His thoughts are whacked, he's mad so he's talkin' back
Talkin' black, brainwashed from rock and rap
He sags his pants, do-rags and a stocking cap
His step-father hit him, so he socked him back, and broke his nose
His house is a broken home, there's no control, he just let's his emotions
go...

[Chorus]
{C'mon}, sing with me, {sing}, sing for the years
{Sing it}, sing for the laughter, sing for the tears, {c'mon)
Sing it with me, just for today, maybe tomorrow the good Lord will take you
away...

Entertainment is changin', intertwinin' with gangsta's
In the land of the killers, a sinner's mind is a sanctum
Holy or unholy, only have one homie
Only this gun, lonely cause don't anyone know me
Yet everybody just feels like they can relate, I guess words are a
mothafucka they can be great
Or they can degrade, or even worse they can teach hate
It's like these kids hang on every single statement we make
Like they worship us, plus all the stores ship us platinum
Now how the fuck did this metamorphosis happen
From standin' on corners and porches just rappin'
To havin' a fortune, no more kissin' ass
But then these critics crucify you, journalists try to burn you
Fans turn on you, attorneys all want a turn at you
To get they hands on every dime you have, they want you to lose your mind
every time you mad
So they can try to make you out to look like a loose cannon
Any dispute won't hesitate to produce handguns
That's why these prosecutors wanna convict me, strictly just to get me off
of these streets quickly
But all they kids be listenin' to me religiously, so I'm signin' cd's while
police fingerprint me
They're for the judge's daughter but his grudge is against me
If I'm such a fuckin' menace, this shit doesn't make sense Pete
It's all political, if my music is literal, and I'm a criminal how the fuck
can I raise a little girl
I couldn't, I wouldn't be fit to, you're full of shit too, Guerrera, that
was a fist that hit you...

[CHORUS]

They say music can alter moods and talk to you
Well can it load a gun up for you , and cock it too
Well if it can, then the next time you assault a dude
Just tell the judge it was my fault and I'll get sued
See what these kids do is hear about us totin' pistols
And they want to get one cause they think the shit's cool
Not knowin' we really just protectin' ourselves, we entertainers
Of course the shit's affectin' our sales, you ignoramus
But music is reflection of self, we just explain it, and then we get our
checks in the mail
It's fucked up ain't it
How we can come from practically nothing to being able to have any fuckin'
thing that we wanted
That's why we sing for these kids, who don't have a thing
Except for a dream, and a fuckin' rap magazine
Who post pin-up pictures on their walls all day long
Idolize they favorite rappers and know all they songs
Or for anyone who's ever been through shit in their lives
Till they sit and they cry at night wishin' they'd die
Till they throw on a rap record and they sit, and they vibe
We're nothin' to you but we're the fuckin' shit in they eyes
That's why we seize the moment try to freeze it and own it, squeeze it and
hold it
Cause we consider these minutes golden
And maybe they'll admit it when we're gone
Just let our spirits live on, through our lyrics that you hear in our
songs and we can...


This is a song that got to me from the first time I ever heard it. I have a little bit of a prejudice because the chorus comes from my high school class song, so the song stuck out to me from the start. But the ideas behind it really fit my childhood. Hell, in a lot of ways I still relate.

I live kind of a double life. On one hand I have the kind of job that people think of as a suit and tie existence. People would expect me to live in a gated community and be a member of a country club. I should feel more comfortable in khakis and a polo than board shorts and a t-shirt. But the real me is more of a punk than a banker. If I wouldn't get blasted for it I'd have even more ink than I have now. Given the choice the only long pants I'd own would be jeans.

It's not a house that allows no swearing, but a life. People around me don't know how to take me because I'm not like them. I'm edgier, darker and more blunt. I'm honest to a fault. I have even had trouble at work because people expect me to be someone I'm not just because of my position. At the same time, I don't fit in with people who wouldn't be shocked by my attitudes either. I see nihilism for the sake of nihilism as idiotic. I don't want to be satisfied with just doing OK and just getting by.

The history of my musical taste tells my story. I was one of the few white kids listening to rap where I went to school, and as it went from more fun and games to darker and more violent my interest increased. Hell, I hated the fucking Beastie Boys when they came out, and when they outsold Run DMC I just about puked.

Where I'm from there were a few groups when it came to music. The main group was dirtbags listening to their Ozzy, AC/DC and Iron Maiden. I didn't have anything against the music, but the fans at the time seemed pretty brain-dead. Then there were the alternative kids, which just didn't have an edge at the time. It wasn't exactly pop, but it wasn't very dark at the time. We did have some country fans, but I just avoided them.

Anyway, I liked rap at first because it was different. It didn't fit in to any of the groups that were on campus, and I didn't feel like I fit in with any of them either. The fact is, I felt like a total outsider, and there was little more outside the mainstream at a school with almost no black students than rap.

But I had one problem with the music at first. All you ever heard was the typical bragging, just short of pop, rap. The more raw inner city stuff took a while to make it to a town like mine. I'm sure it was in the record stores before I knew about it, but it sure wasn't on the radio and even in the stores they never played it, so I didn't know about it. That was until I went to a Run DMC show.

Now, imagine this bill: Run DMC, DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, JJ Fad and Public Enemy. Kinda reminds me of one of those old Sesame Street “One of these things is not like the others” songs. I can't say I immediately got in to PE. The sound was awful in that arena and all we could really hear was Professor Grif apparently calling for all white people to be lynched. But the friend I went with was able to sift through that and he started listening to their music. And before long we were both hooked.

It wasn't long before we added in NWA, Too $hort and the like. Now my friend just really liked the fact it was, to him, black music. He was one of those guys. But for me what I loved was the raw emotion and often anger. I was a very angry kid even if nobody seemed to realize it. I'd had a pretty rough childhood including whole years that are blocked from my memory. I'd been basically disowned by my father at the age of 10. I'd lived in a household where my parents spent so much time worried about my siblings they had no idea that I was an emotional powder keg. Music with so much raw emotion really fit my mood. I can't say I know what it's like to be black because I don't. But I do know how it feels to be angry at how I was treated by life and authority. And the fact it was outside the mainstream for that town didn't hurt.

Now I still listen to the old stuff, with some of the newer, edgier music thrown in. I am not in to the bragging music so much because, seriously, who gives a shit. I've even made room for a lot of the metal that has an edge and intelligent lyrics. It's the guys that really dig down deep in to what they see and feel make it to my Ipod. It's all because I still feel like an outsider. I may have a total white collar job earning a good living, but I don't feel like I fit in any more than I did in high school. I usually do a decent job of faking it, but the people that really know me know that I am usually uncomfortable because I feel like the people around me don't really want me there. And in some cases that discomfort is a reason why some of them really don't.

The people that see where I am in life don't see the real me. Those who don't appreciate how I can be like I am and still be where I am don't like the real me. Sometimes I feel like I scare them because they feel like I shouldn't be able to be here and still feel the way I feel. But here I am and if I can get past all my bullshit here I will stay. And if they don't like that they can kiss my ass.

Labels: eminem, emotions, life, music, pain, rap

You know, people that blog tend to write about all kinds of things. You see a whole lot of blogs about knitting or parenting. Everyone with a political opinion, and I think some who only think they do have one, feel the urge to write about it. There are cooking blogs, sex blogs (you know, like this one used to be), and photoblogs.

There are even blogs about emotions. How many blogs a day do you see about how depressed, unhappy, angry or even bored do you see when you hit next blog on that bar on top of most blogs? But, as you know if you read hear much you know that I play a little Blogshares on the side. And in all that play I had never even heard of something called the Freya. That is the artifact for love.

Ive reviewed as many blogs as every player in that game besides one person, and the only "love" blogs that stand out are teenagers talking about their boyfriends or girlfriends, and I swear the only reason those even exist is because kids have curfews. For adults like me, if we are in love we would much rather spend what little time we have doing something for the person we love.

Look at my writing. When I first met Tricia the frequency and quality of my posts dropped. And eventually the posts here ended and the ONLY posts I did were for her. But I would rather spend time talking to her or doing things for her than writing to her. That, for me, is what love is. I have this giant hole in my life trying to come up with something to fill it.

To be healthy I need to fill this hole with friends and healthy activities. I need to find a way to spend my time following the secret to happy life and focus on the things in life I want to make real. My mind can't be focused on loss and pain. It needs to be full of damn near anything else.

Blogs aren't designed for lovers. They may be a way to share with others what you intend for the one you love, but, ultimately, most of us are lonely at heart, and being part of the blogging community makes us part of something, which is more than we get from any of our other appliances when you get right down to it.

Labels: blogging, emotions, love, relationships