Scared Bunny

Lots of times I get comments to this blog that readers never see. It's not that I delete them. Except for spam and a couple of very vicious posts, I leave the comments even if they are negative. Everyone is welcome to their opinion, and if someone is going to put themselves out the way I do, with a lot of my negative experiences discussed, I have to expect negative responses.

But most of the time the poster thinks better of what they have to say and deletes it as soon as it's posted. Of course I still get an email telling me what was said. I would say I am told who said it, but they are always anonymous. Again, I don't fault people for deciding to delete what they say either. That is their right. (Although I am disabling anonymous comments because I have someone that is intentionally abusive and I think people should own up to what they say).

One comment was very negative. It basically said I will always be alone because I am "full of fail". Sadly they deleted it because I would have left that comment because, not only are people welcome to their opinion, they are right. I am full of fail. Granted most of what I write focuses on the negative things because, let's be honest, a post about how wonderful things are is boring. People may not like what I write, and that's OK. But I don't want a blog that is basically "today I ...".

I have failed in every relationship I have had. Even when the other person wronged me, as has happened, I failed by choosing the wrong person and allowing them to hurt me. I admit freely that I am probably incapable of a healthy relationship. I don't know how to do it and, to be blunt, I have not been around enough to see what they take. I am stuck living with issues beyond just what I have posted here. I have a childhood I have tried very hard to deal with, but have failed miserably. I have been in and out of therapy to try to find someone who can help me. I have been on more medications than I can remember.

When I want to work on my past, I end up with present crises which overwhelm me. When I am trying to deal with my present I am not touching on root issues that keep me from growing. I dwell on people and events that are not part of my present reality, and that drags me down to the depths of depression and fear. I never learned how to put things behind me, and I lack the control of my mind to keep unhealthy thoughts in check.

Maybe I don't know how to be happy and content.

The reality is I am full of fail. And until I learn how to get past my past I will be alone.

Labels: alone, depression, failure, life, mental health

The strangest things get to me.

There are some commercials out from Ikea that show a couple at bedtime. Oddly, it's not the idea of a couple that hits me. It's not even the fact the couple is in bed together. While those are both things I miss, I make it through those things ok. They get to me obviously, just like any reminder of a loss would. But I have been through enough that I can handle that pain without much of a problem.

The part that gets to me, in both ads, is what the wife does when she is in bed. In the first she climbs in to bed with her husband already asleep, and pulls his arm over her to go to sleep. In the other they are both asleep and she does the same thing. That little gesture really gets to me.

I miss holding someone. I lie alone in my bed, with my arms around a pillow, but it just isn't the same. I miss rolling over and having someone there. I miss having someone in my arms. Even more, I miss being held.

There is a sense of security I get from being held that I have never gotten any other way. When someone is holding you you can tell whether or not they love you. You feel as if they will always be with you. You never want that feeling to end.

Every time I see those commercials I feel a sense of loss.

Labels: commercials, life, relationships, sadness

One thing kind of surprises me. That is that most people never look at timestamps on entries. I can tell because people would wonder why the hell I write so late at night when I should be in bed. It's basically a bad case of insomnia. Once I do fall asleep I can sleep forever, but I am having a hell of a time falling asleep. I don't want to take any medication that will make waking up even harder.

So tonight I ended up watching a film I have seen before, High Roller: The Stu Unger Story. I doubt anyone that reads this has seen it, so here's a brief summary. Stu was possibly the best card player in history. He was a champion at both poker and gin.. His gin play was so strong that they even stopped allowing him to enter tournaments because other players wouldn't enter if he did. His poker was strong enough that he won the World Series 3 times, which no other player has done.

Of course there is another reason they made the film. He was a gambling and cocaine addict. He would lose more on sports betting than he won playing poker. He spent a fortune on cocaine. Over the course of his life he went from being a millionaire to bankrupt 4 times. He died at age 45 due to heart damage from the years of drug use.

I mention this because I sometimes wonder if my life will continue to be like that. No, I am not a gambling and cocaine addict. Hell, I have never done anything like that. But my life has been such a roller coaster. It seems every time I get up I mess it up or otherwise lose everything. I can honestly say that at one point or another I have lost everything except my son at one point or another, and sometimes I feel as if I have lost part of my relationship with him because we are apart most of the time. I also wonder how his being around me during these highs and lows has affected him.

But even though that is something I think about a lot, that isn't what I want to write about. See, I know that Stu died from drug abuse, but how much of a toll does the roller coaster life take on a person? I can tell you that you can feel physical reactions to the fall. Sometimes it actually feels as if you had physically fallen. Your heart races. Your stomach churns. It has to be doing damage. Is it going to shorten my life?

I can handle my mortality. I can even handle the idea I will live a shorter than normal life. But I do not want to die while my son is a child. I want to live long enough to see him graduate college. I want to be there when he gets married. I am honestly scared that I won't live long enough to see those things.

I need to find a way to stop the cycles, and I have no idea how to do that.

Labels: children, death, life, movies

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

I guess I need to write more often. If I don't people think something is wrong. While I appreciate their concern, that’s usually not the case. Of course some people just seem to like what I write for some unknown reason.

So, to have something to write about I had a great idea. There are these commercials out now about how people are being rejected by eHarmony. If you have read everything in this blog you need to get a life. Just kidding, you know that I think eHarmony must be some kind of cult based on what those people keep saying on the commercials. I also think they give them Ecstasy before filming. But seriously, get a life if you really read all this shit.

Anyway, my plan was this. I was going to fill out their test and then, when they rejected me, I was going to trash them and discuss how crazy I am. But the bastards didn't say no. I have to say to those who were rejected, you must be really fucked up. How the hell did you answer those questions? If you or anyone you know was rejected, read this blog. Read what I have done and been through. It seems to me I am about the least safe bet in a relationship you could find. But, apparently, there are millions of you even more fucked up than I am! Seriously, read this whole damn blog. I'll even refrain from making fun of you for doing it just this once. At least to your face.

So then I have this account with eHarmony. And they're on TV all the time saying that, for free, they'll let me see my matches. That got me thinking because I have a theory. The only semi-good looking couples they’ve had are on those commercials. I'm really being generous there. But when they say you get to check out your matches, they just mean their profiles. Want to see a pic? Got $59? Didn't think so. So my plan to make fun of who they'd match someone like me with is totally shot because, let's be honest, everyone lies in their profiles. What we all want to know is if the person is hot.

Then I started getting requests from women wanting to communicate with me. I thought, OK, maybe if they initiate it you can reply and see a pic. Not only do you not get a pic, you can't reply. See, that’s how they afford all those fucking commercials. They figure after you spend all that time filling out the test you'll pay just to justify the time you just wasted. Frankly, I can think of better ways to spend $60. So now there are all these women who think I am ignoring them. Then again, they paid for this shit, so they may very well be nuts and or desperate. In short, perfect for me.

But, no, I am not giving them $60.

So what am I doing for companionship? Nothing. Not a damn thing.

I am really not ready for a relationship. In fact, the idea truly scares me still. Even as my anxiety overall is better, certain things still trigger quick attacks. And almost all of those things have to do with relationships and marriage. And since I am not exactly good at dating around... You'd think I’d be good at it by now, but I don't even have much experience. Every time I tried I freaked out. I think I may be too blunt for dating. Maybe blunt isn't the word. It's open. I am far too eager to share. People don’t really want that. And I am too willing to give. Secretly that isn't what people want either.

The scary part for me is that I'd almost need those “We knew the first time we met” sparks you see in their commercials. Of course I had that once…

Labels: dating, eHarmony, life

If I am going to be bi-polar I would at very least like the happy manic episodes instead of the anxious ones. Those people may have the rock bottom lows that I am getting with all the stress I am under, but at least they balance it out with some fun now and then. I would like some of that fun dammit. I would like to just be mindlessly happy for no reason. I'd like to be so blindly happy it's annoying to those around me. I’d like to be filled with joy no matter what is going on around me.

Yesterday I felt as low as I have been in a long time. I had a lot going wrong in my life and a lot to be afraid of. Today things are a little better, but I am still scared and have good reason to be. The world wants me to function like nothing is going on, but anyone that knows me knows that isn't true. There is a lot to be afraid of and only so much I can do to stop it.

People don’t get one thing my therapist loves to say. "Your mind is not your friend." It really is true. Left to it's own devices a mind like mine will either dwell on the past, sand descend in to depression, or fly off in to an unknown future, and trigger fear and anxiety. My doctor doesn't get that what I want from him IS to be numb. He says no doctor will do that, but plenty will. I'd rather be numb than scared. I’d rather be numb than cry.

I've been numb before and it wasn't that bad. I wasn't very social, but I didn't really care. When you’re truly numb you don’t need people. It’s relatively easy to get things done because only outside forces can stop you. I can push past anything that gets in my way. But I have to be able to tell myself to do it. When you are numb you can sometimes muster the energy to do it IF it really matters. When you are scared or anxious the level of need it takes is so much higher.

People also do not understand that anxiety and depression take you to the same place. When you are extremely depressed your life seems worthless and you see no reason to go on. When you are extremely anxious you will do anything to make that feeling stop, and that can eventually mean taking the ultimate step. I used to do a little cutting not so I could feel but so I was feeling something different.

Maybe people are just too used to problems being packaged so neatly. The closest most people get in to other people’s business is what they see on TV. And in an hour Oprah can bring in a doctor and cure your daughter of bulimia. At the end of 60 minutes Montel will make sure your child no longer dresses like a tramp. And on one trip around the dial Dr. Phil will guilt you in to changing your ways. For the twisted souls there is always Jerry Springer who will make sure your problems seem like nothing compared to the freaks he’s found in some trailer park.

I’m here to tell you I have been deep down in to other people’s lives, and there is a reason Oprah distances herself from the "little people" (the middle class, not midgets). Lots of people have lots of problems. And it’s real easy for their problems to become yours. Heather’s life was a disaster, and by the time we were done so was mine. That is not the only time I have been down that road. The solutions people offer each other are almost always very superficial because they know the real work can’t be done by someone else. They also know the risks of getting involved.

If people knew how messy it really can get maybe they’d have a better understanding of someone like me. But, on the other hand, if they did perhaps they would steer clear of us altogether because we seem to bring nothing but pain.

Labels: bi-polar, depression, life, numb

Labels: karma, life, mental health, positivity, religion, the secret

Labels: life, memories, the past

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

Fridays suck.

I know you all read that and said, “What the fuck!” but they really do suck.

The thing is work on Friday goes on forever. It seems like everything is moving in slow motion. I feel like it’s been a full workday and its only 2PM. I just got up to stretch my legs and they felt like I had been sitting for hours, even though it had been maybe an hour.

And people are different on Friday. Nobody wants to get anything done, so if you need someone to do something forget about it. Everyone here was fucking rowdy as hell this morning. I got reprimanded and complained about for a fraction of what was going on. Granted they don’t have to deal with “Use your inside voice” lady, but still…

And I’m still pissed about that. I’m not your fucking toddler lady. I do not have an “inside” voice. You can ask me to speak more quietly, but I just have the one voice which I use in a variety of volumes depending on the situation. Sometimes it will actually be a little loud. At the time it was slightly above normal. Maybe she was nursing a hangover or something, but the rest of us weren’t exactly impressed.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that “It Was a Good Day” comes in at exactly four minutes, twenty seconds.

Getting anything done on a Friday is impossible. And if the weather is good, you are royally screwed. Then everyone who has any time off saved up will be out, and people with no accountability will follow them. Here all the managers are gone so the whole floor is like an empty maze of cubicles waiting for a giant hamster to come through. Giant hamsters would be fucking scary. I used to have hamsters. They bite hard and they can be mean little fuckers. One bit my brother’s finger and held on as my brother tried to get his finger out of the cage. He took a serious beating before he finally let go. Gerbils are nicer.

Someone gave me fake flowers at work with a card saying :

CONGRATULATIONS

You are the new recipient of the award recognizing you are the

VERY BEST

______________________________________
Insert accomplishment here

AGAIN

CONGRATULATIONS

Nobody knows or will admit to giving it to me, and nobody seems to know why I got it. I almost feel like I’m supposed to pass it on to someone else without them knowing who sent it. Maybe it was part of making me feel part of the team. It could also be part of making me feel insane and paranoid. That makes a lot of sense too. Just because I’m paranoid does not mean they are not out to get me.

Well, I am out of random topics for the day, so this is all you get. No sex. Get over it.

Labels: 4:20, awards, confusion, Friday, Ice Cube, life, work

Sometimes I wonder who I am writing for. I have mentioned in the past that it seemed my writing belonged to others. Now I am taking it back. I don’t do this out of anger, but because I need to return my writing to the healthy outlet it used to be. It is like reclaiming a part of my life, or almost like reclaiming part of my body. If you lost an arm, and had to choose whether or not to attach it, you would choose to have the arm. That is what I am choosing. The very first entry was titled “Sometimes you have to tell someone” because what was going on in my life was beyond belief and I needed to vent. Now I once again need something that is mine but that is shared with the world, regardless how small the audience may be.

I fell in to a pattern of depression and I am fighting my way out of it. I would eat when I needed comforting, and my metabolism isn’t exactly designed for that. Now I have a large goal of weight loss I am working on. I go to a gym almost every day just for cardio because I need that built up just to be able to do the other exercises. This has taken a toll on my already fragile ego. I used to know that I was at least semi-good looking. Now I am fat. It’s what I see in the mirror when I get ready to shower. I even had to buy some fat pants.

Consider how this comes at a time when I am single. I used to use personal ads and besides the crazy women I also found a bunch of women who had serious misperception of what an average build is. Now, I know I do not have an average build, but if I tried to date them now we’d be a match. I am superficial, and I admit that. Tricia was and is very attractive, so I was drawn to her. I can’t get the level of woman I desire right now so I wouldn’t try even if I wanted to.

I’m not even happy getting down to the weight I was though. I am mostly looking at what size I want to be. I want a 32 inch waist (If I can without looking bony). I want the smallest waist I can have and be healthy. I am dedicated to diet and exercise like never before. I want to look at myself and be proud of how I look, and I have never felt that way before. I also want to set a good example for my son so he doesn’t follow my bad example.

This, of course, means lots of things like Special K, Slimfast, V-8 and Gatorade (during exercising). I don’t mind the Special K, and the rest are not bad, I guess, but I am a big country cooking kind of guy, so it’s rough right now. It’s not easy to avoid the all you can eat buffets and high fat Chinese food. I know, though, that not avoiding them would be a huge mistake because it’s easier to stay on that balance beam than try to jump off it and land right back in place. If it weren’t gymnasts wouldn’t all be skinny little pixies. They don’t eat a 20 oz. Rib Eye with fries or a baked potato. I could do that every day.

I wish I could get my heart rate up when I’m at work. Imagine if typing kept it at 146 (a good aerobic level). I’d be down to a 32 inch waist in 2 months.

I guess I need to set a realistic goal. If I can lose 3 pounds a week I can be down to the weight I was when we split by New Years, and my target around February. Those are realistic goals if I just stick to it. Thanksgiving may be tough because I have my son, but he hates turkey, so if we don’t have family he and I can do chicken and nothing else special.

God… this just became a Dating, Relationships, Humor, Bipolar, Parenting, Weight loss blog. Now all I need is to learn to knit and to move to Asia and lie about my age.

Labels: fat, life, weight loss, writing

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

I am in a weird mood right now.

To be honest I am in neither a good mood nor a bad mood. I have been exchanging emails with someone and knowing they are happy and I’m not doesn’t make me feel better. I know it’s selfish but I kind of felt like it was twisting the knife, even though it was just a statement of fact. I don’t want to be with the person, but I want to be missed. I want them to want to be with me even though they can’t be. I am being a selfish bastard and I know it, but it’s true.

I am not numb. I’ve been there, and that is usually a medication issue. I feel, but I don’t know what I feel. I’m not anxious. I’m not depressed. I want certain things to happen, but that isn’t an emotion. I am, in the truest sense of the word, just being. I am keeping myself busy and have plans to do so over the weekend as well. I have a plan to start my weight loss. I have an idea on my exercise. In short I am doing what I need to do. But it’s not giving me satisfaction, nor is it making me feel weak or helpless.

I am making moves for the future that, if they pay off, will help alleviate so much stress. On the other hand I am aware that much of my fate is beyond my control. I am aware, but only mildly afraid. I can only do so much and the rest is up to the universe. Maybe that book “The Secret” is right. Keep on trying and have the right attitude and it comes back to you. When I was down I got nowhere. We’ll see what this gets me.

I have but one goal. I have to get financially strong enough that my son wants for nothing. When he said he would miss me this weekend it didn’t make me cry. I was happy for once, because he never says that. I can tell he really wants to be with me, which is more than I can say for most people. One day he will be someone great. He may not be famous, but he will be a great man other men will look up to. And I will look on with pride wondering how he ever got there.

Labels: life, medication, relationships, stress

I was reading one of those: How does your birth order impact your personality in relationships pieces, and now I'm confused.

First, understand my dilemma. I was a first born. BUT, there were multiple miscarriages before me. Then my mother remarried and I was a middle child. Then my siblings were kidnapped and I was an only child again. But they were found, so I was back in the middle. Then the younger one was kidnapped again, and I was the youngest.

So where, exactly, do I fit?

My therapist says most of what makes your personality is formed by age 5, so we can eliminate everything starting with the remarriage. But was I a first born, middle child, youngest or only child. Surely the miscarriages affected how I was raised. But does that mean I was pushed more toward an only or a first born. Was a coddled like a last born? I am confused.

Even worse, I meet the criteria for a First, part of a second and most of only. The charm thing for a third is something I have been told, but I feel I have lost that over the last couple of years. In fact, a friend of mine pointed out when we went to watch a fight that I have no charm at all when it comes to women. Frankly I didn't give a shit since I wasn't looking to meet anyone. Maybe they are all just expecting men to push and try too hard and I'm not going to do it.

It's very strange for me because I am not at all interested in dating or a relationship. Everywhere you go, when you meet someone of the opposite sex you are expected to try to impress them. What they get from me is the same thing a casual guy friend would get. I make smart ass remarks and if you make an ass of yourself I laugh at you and make fun of you for the rest of the night over it. In short, I treat everyone like a guy. And, even worse, I am not interested in making these people friends usually because I know I'll never see them again. Why would I? I don't live in a bar, grocery store, restaurant…

I am not looking for a girlfriend, a hook-up, a friend with benefits or anything. That part of me right now is TOTALLY dead. I know the faithful readers, or those who read the real old archives will have a hard time believing this, but I have almost no interest in sex. And I think that if I did develop an interest nothing would come of it. It would be lame to end up in bed with me right now. I'd never make a move on you and spend an hour or more tossing while I tried to fall asleep.

This is a person I don't understand or really like. Neither of those is a change, but the person is a change. I'm told I am making progress, but maybe I just put myself out there less. I don't even really know anymore. I do know that I am not the same person, and whatever defines who we are has me in a spot where I can be multiple people and not like any of them.

I think it's time to take off my shoes and rest my feet. Maybe that will relax me.

Labels: birth order, dating, life, relationships

I love the way people are trying to get me to start dating again.

Don't get me wrong. I still appreciate a hot woman. And I am still a hornball just like the next guy. But I am not interested in dating. I have found that if I stop for even a minute, and don't keep myself occupied, my anxiety jumps and then I'm a mess. I even enjoy making cold calls at work because it fights off the anxiety. But the causes of my anxiety would be right in front of me if I were dating. The anxiety isn't about Tricia. It's about me. She didn't personally cause them. The fact that I was dating and then married caused them.

But people, including my shrink, keep asking me if I've tried this, that or the other thing. Let me ask you this; can you see me being a church guy? I have a blog full of the word fuck and comments about anal sex. While lots of church guys are like that in private, I am just like that period. And bars? You think I would ever trust a woman I picked up in a bar? I would assume any time she went to a bar without me she was trying to get picked up. After all, I did it.

But the best suggestion was online. With one exception (Heather, or She Who Shall Not Be Named) every single story in this blog involves an online hookup to at least some degree. So we kind of have a track record there. We have the women who were married and told me they weren't. We have the women who were married but said they were separated. We have hard core no lube anal girl. We have a woman who I broke up with who, despite pledging she wanted to marry me was claiming to be in love with another guy less than a week later. And… Well, you get the idea.

Unless my new psychiatrist comes up with a med that blocks the physical symptoms of anxiety, there is no way I can date unless it's one off and I never think about them again. I don't do that very well though. If I like them I get attached. Then the anxiety hits because I don't feel worthy. It hits because I don't trust. It hits because I am expecting to get hurt again.

People don't understand that. It's not always my thoughts that are triggering this bullshit. I am pretty nervous physically sometimes even when I am not thinking about anything negative. Even when it's thought triggered it may not be a negative thought. Sometimes I need to be doing something, but at the same time can't get myself motivated to do it because I am so anxious I just feel like walking around almost in circles.

I'm seriously worried about myself, and I am not sure people see that. I can't show it at work because I could lose my job. At home nobody is there. I sure as hell can't call friends and say “Guess what. I'm turning circles in the living room!” It's bad enough my dog does that when he takes a dump.

I am isolated because I have to be with someone that makes me feel safe just to not feel insane. People don't understand that and how do you tell someone “Sorry. I don't feel safe with you emotionally.” That is a pretty harsh thing to say, to be honest. But with all but a handful of people, it is the absolute truth.

It's not always that they scare me either. It is that I need to draw on their strength to feel safe. My son calms me some because he won't hurt me. But he can only do so much to comfort and protect me emotionally. My mother… well, she is the root of much of my neurosis, so the fact she may be better now doesn't change that. My Dad is sometimes the only one I feel safe around within the family.

It's all so complicated and confusing. It's bad enough I have even wondered about ECT to see if it will slow my thoughts. My quick wits have always been a source of pride, but my conscious cannot keep up and keeping bad ideas under control is impossible. The mind may only be able to think one thing at a time, but what it thinks can be hard to control. My therapist has tricks that help when I'm there, but they don't seem up to the task in the real world.

One of these days I have to get better. Because I can't live the rest of my life like this.

Labels: anxiety, dating, life, medication, relationships

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

I'm scared to write.

I don't mean that in the way I have said certain stories aren't told because I am scared that the person or persons involved will unleash on me making me miserable and making this blog unreadable. The stories from my marriage aren't going to be told period, so why be scared. I don't write those stories because I don't want to. They are ours and ours alone.

But for some reason I have a problem when I even think about writing. I get scared and anxious. I hate that feeling. I have all these triggers, but to have writing, one thing I love and one thing I am good at, be one of them is making me miserable. I loved when hundreds of people read what I wrote every day. I even admit that I loved that some people would stay up and keep checking the page to see if I had written for the day yet.

I know that part of the problem is that when I write I think of her. When Scared Bunny stopped being a nightly read it was mostly because what I wanted to do was write for her. I know it seems strange, but it still seems my writing belongs to her, and I can't use it without her blessing. I don't mean her blessing telling stories. I mean her blessing to write at all. That's why I wrote those paid posts. I felt a little guilty writing them, but not near as guilty as I felt writing anything of substance.

A big part of me is trying to keep my whole life superficial right now. If I keep it shallow and I fall, the fall won't be too far. And I can't handle another fall.

Labels: fear, life, relationships, writing

"I was raped. What's your excuse."?

What a powerful line from a powerful show. And I can't say I was raped I have no idea what happened to me at many points along the way. I know why I am angry with my mother. That's a phrase I said in therapy for the first time today. I am angry with my mother. I am angry because I was neglected and ignored for much of my early childhood.

Remember when they had those after school specials or "A very special Dif'rent Strokes" where Arnold’s friend ended up drugged and naked naked in a shower with the guy with WKRP? When they felt like we needed to have those warnings on TV I was going home with a door key on a shoelace around my neck. On weekends I went to stay with a man whose house only reminds me of pills, beer and a gun.

What I learned in therapy is really pretty simple. When you are a child you are developing the foundation of what you will be as an adult. If that's done badly and you are going to live a healthy life you are going to eventually have to repair the foundation. No matter how wonderful the house you build on that foundation is, it can’t keep standing until the foundations. Get repaired.

Most of us have that done in our childhood. Nobody has a perfect life, but we usually have things that happen to correct the wrongs. I see now I didn't have that. There's not a single point of my life as a kid where I was the object of love and attention that could have made up for the years where I wasn't given that care and attention we need. My childhood was one crisis after another where I wasn't involved. I was a witness to my life for years rather than a player, but the rebuild that foundation takes work, and observers don't work. Let's be fair, children don't even know how to do that work.

So now I find myself working with professionals to rebuild a 30+ year old foundation. I'm scared to death. At times I believe that a foundation that old can't be rebuilt without tearing down the house it is built on. The house is just so weakened by the damage done by the poor foundation. I've lived in Texas long enough to see how years of bad foundation can ravage a house. But they keep swearing to me that we can repair the foundation, and make the house solid.

It just seems weird to me that I can repair a broken foundation that implements itself in trust tissues and anxiety, without learning how to trust the people that did the damage. At the same time I don't really need to trust them much. My ability to be fed, clothed, housed and kept safe doesn’t depend on them. So maybe I can feel safe and have not wake up scared to death and exhausted from a night sleeping full of fear.

The problem with so much of this is that it does take figuring out why you have the problem, and that reason is usually childhood for someone like me. But when you are talking about something like that it sounds like you are placing blame. But I'm not in therapy to retrace my past. I'm trying to learn how to be happy and relaxed.

One thing I do know is that parents like me have to somehow identify when we've let them down in their life and somehow work to repair the damage. Nobody should reach 18 without parents having equipped them for the real word. People like me weren't (and due to my own mistakes still aren't) equipped for this world. We don’t have the foundation to hold up this house through all the rough storms we're going to encounter. And we certainly don't know how to avoid the storms in the first place.

Life can be one storm after another, and right now I have days where I don't feel like I'll be able to keep standing when the storm hits. All I can do is keep on working and find people to be anchors. Yesterday I felt like I had the repairs underway. Today I feel like the walls are tumbling. And not a damn thing has changed but the date.

Labels: childhood, life, parenting, therapy

All of this started literally because I was too tired to stay at my desk. I couldn't just sit there because I would fall asleep. I'd say that's a medical problem. So I got up and did the only thing I could do, which was talk to people. It seems people find the idea of sitting on Twizzlers to warm them up odd (trust me, they're better warm) and others thing that the fact that Twinkies burn in a microwave is dangerous.

it's not like I was sitting on peoples' food or burning Twinkies.

People are just too fucking boring for thier own good.

Labels: life, Twinkies, Twizzlers, work

They have sent me some forms for my doctor. I guess they want to know if I can work. The poor lady has met me once and now she has to deal with all this. I know I can work, I just need meds that control my anxiety and don't make me groggy. They have to exist.

Maybe I can just telecommute. I have always had permission to work from home, so why not formalize it? Throw in a fax machine, phone line, Hi-Speed internet and some other stuff and all the sudden I have ahome office. Makes sense to me, but what do I know.

I am scared, but I'm not. Part of me realizes this is really just another episode that would make my life a good book.

I wonder who'd play me in the movie.

Labels: anxiety, insanity, life, medication, work

People have been wondering why I am posting commercial stuff and not personal stuff. The reason is the commercial things kind of keep me occupied and I need to say something, even if it’s just for money. But the personal stuff, I just don’t feel comfortable writing about.

I don’t want to write anything that seems to be excusing myself, or pointing blame. But if I do write everything that is how some people will take it. On the other hand, if I just write about how bad I was and the things I did I am not being true to what happened or to myself. It doesn’t help anything to beat myself up or place blame.

I am not going to try to use what happened in my marriage for entertainment. This is not like writing about some woman who I dated a couple of times who ended up being a freak. This is also not like a woman who hit me, stole from me and tried to get me arrested and then turned around and asked me to testify that she was a fit parent. What happened is far too personal for even this site.

I have always been brutally honest when I wrote here. Sometimes I said more than I probably should have. But in a couple of cases I have said nothing because what happened is too important and real for that kind of treatment. I just don’t have it in me to write a Lifetime Movie Network version of events with a clear villain and a hero. That’s not what this was like or what it’s all about.

I also have been real hesitant to write about what is going on in my life because it would center on therapy and my personal crap, and I do not want that to be confused as me making excuses for anything. The reality is I wake up every morning scared for no reason and after the morning medicines kick in I relax enough to barely make it through the day. Then I go home, which I dread doing, and as the meds wear off I get more and more stressed until I finally go to bed to escape it.

I am in a holding pattern while I wait to start with a new, much better, doctor who will hopefully manage my meds instead of leaving me out on my own to try to find a way to make them work well enough that I don’t go off the deep end. I also am in slower therapy because the 90 minute sessions she needs are harder to schedule and sometimes I have to miss a week.

I am waiting for my hard efforts at work during a brief period of motivation to pay off, which will alleviate a lot of financial stress.

In short, I am waiting to feel like something less than a ticking time bomb.

So until I get the nerve to write about why I am changing doctors, I guess this will have to do.

Unless you want to hire me to write something.

Labels: ads, anxiety, life, medication, personality+tests, relationships, writing

One thing people ask me a lot is how I am doing. I know why they ask though. People that know me I have been kind of walking in the razors edge for years. I never really got healthy when I went through therapy, and I had decided that I could get by with just medication and self-learning. Of course that really wasn’t the case, and isn’t for lots of people.

They have seen how things like what has happened can affect me. Well, not like what’s happened because most of them weren’t around for my first divorce and that was a very different situation. But they know how susceptible I am to depression and anxiety and they get worried. I appreciate their concern more than they will ever know, but, to be honest, thinking about how I am is a problem for me.

Right now I go in and out of anxious states every day. Sometimes they get real bad and other times I am just fine. Lots of times there is a trigger for the anxiety, and the things that trigger me that can be avoided I just avoid. That would be like songs that remind me what I gave up, or even certain TV shows. Hell, I can’t even think of listening to country music without a problem.

But the biggest trigger of anxiety is thinking about what has happened and thinking about anxiety. If you take a body that is accustomed to running on the adrenaline and tension of anxiety, it’s pretty easy to get it back to that state. If my doctor hadn’t got me started on distraction techniques I swear I’d be dead by now because the building of the anxiety would never stop.

It’s kind of like the song by Blue October, “Hate Me”:

I have to block out thoughts of you so I don’t lose my head
They crawl in like a cockroach leaving babies in my bed
Dropping little reels of tape to remind me that I’m alone
Playing movies in my head that make a porno feel like home

In the opening to the song they play audio of an answering machine message from the lead singer’s mother. She is concerned about him because she knows he’s been upset and she wants to make sure he’s taking his medication. I have gotten those calls before, and sometimes the people checking on me now remind me of them. They really do serve not as a comfort, but as a trigger. They really do remind you how alone you are and how bad things really are.

But to those who wonder, no, I’m not suicidal. I am dealing with a huge loss and it hurts like hell most of the time, but I also am always focused on the fact that I can be happy and healthy if I just learn how to do it. I am working with someone who does a great job at helping me cut through the static a person with a mind like mine has, and who teaches me how the same mind can use that power to get better if you let it.

I think there is only one person I am close to who has been there for all of my bullshit over the years, and while he and I talk, and I go to him sometimes when I need to get something out, he also has not once probed as to how I am. He has been through a loss I can’t even imagine, and is just now coming out of the darkness. And he and I are so similar sometimes it’s scary. He knows that sometimes words meant to help cut deeper than things said out of cruelty. When someone insults me usually I can look at that person and realize there is no validity in their opinion. But when a person who is worthwhile says something that reminds you where you are, it really can hurt more than it can help.

So the answer to anyone who wonders is: “I’m alive.” How am I? Depends on the day, the hour or even the second. I’m not happy. I’m not satisfied with where I am in life or what all has happened. I don’t suddenly think I am OK and all is well. And at no point do I look at anything that has happened and say I am right where I want to be. But I am dealing with a situation where the best I can hope for is to be numb, and sometimes that is the best I can do. It’s something I will get through, and maybe I really will emerge on the other side a different person.

Labels: anger, anxiety, depression, hurt, life, pain, well wishers