Why flinging yourself off the ledge is a good thing.

I have written, in the past, about how I truly enjoy spending time alone.

This is not to say that I don’t enjoy the company of others, or that I don’t have genuine interest in people. I thoroughly enjoy time with friends and acquaintances alike, and I’d say that other human beings interest me more than almost anything else.

These things, enjoying time with others as well as time alone, are not mutually exclusive. While I like people, I need a considerable amount of time to myself. I always have, and I always will. There is a sense of overload if I’m around too many people at once or for too long. I literally require the decompression that being alone brings.

I revel in being isolated in quiet, adore to be wrapped in nothing but my thoughts. There is a level of reflection and philosophy that I am incapable of reaching in any way other than alone in stillness. On the other hand, I delight in pounding my brain with loud music and smiling at a room that holds only me while I assault my surroundings with my interpretations of the lyrics and melodies. This is like medicine for my soul. I need it as much as I regularly need to feel sunshine on my skin.

So yes, I like to be alone. I like to have my thoughts to myself, to be able to control my environment, to be the master of my domain at any given moment. I am a hair away from saying that my sanity actually hinges on my having time alone regularly.

And so it feels odd to say that I’m horribly afraid of being alone.

I don’t think I’ve ever really admitted that. I’m afraid to truly stand on my own.  Confessing that is difficult for me. I have always valued strength and independence, wanted those qualities for myself. Yet I feel as if I hold my head high on the outside, while in reality, I often tremble and cower inside myself.

Many years ago, fearing that he would never marry me, I suggested to my long time boyfriend that we part ways.  He had given me some ominous answers to some very pointed questions, and my heart was registering some unwelcome and heartbreaking truths.

I told him that I felt I had lost myself in him. It would have been unfair of me to blame him for that, and I most certainly didn’t, but I had allowed myself to be dependent on him for so much, practical as well as emotional, for so long. I’d poured myself into him. I always knew I shouldn’t but I felt powerless to stop doing it.

When I realized that he would likely one day need to flee the suffocation of my pressing need, that he would surely turn and walk from me eventually, I panicked. I felt the crushing fear of falling alone on that impending day.  How could I protect myself?  How could I learn to be stronger?

I had to force a situation that would make me let go and step away. Inside, I knew I had to take a leap, to make myself learn how to stand alone. Jumping, after all, always seems easier than falling.
It is not. Falling happens. Jumping takes courage.

He did not disagree with me that we should part ways. Even though it was my suggestion, I have always been pained by that.

And so, what happened then, after separating myself painfully from my best friend of 7 years?  Did I spend a good deal of time alone afterwards, learning to trust my ability to be an independent person? No. I lacked the courage to jump.

I am so ashamed of that.

I immediately started dating the man who would later become my husband. I leaned on him as hard as he would let me. He let me lean in all the way. My ex told me in a sad tone, after learning I was seeing someone else so soon, “You are dependent. You just go from one man to the next, always looking for someone to take care of you because you’re afraid.”

I was stung by his words, angered. I dismissed them as jealousy.

The kicker was that I secretly knew he was right.

I held my head high and moved on. I said to myself that I couldn’t walk from the love John was offering me, that I couldn’t allow myself to pass up a chance at happiness. I told myself I’d regret it mightily one day if I did.

Those things are true, I was not lying to myself.

But the other truth, the one I’ve never admitted outside my own head is that I was also afraid to do what I had set out to do. I was frightened to stand completely alone in the world, daring it to knock me down.

“What if it really does?” I thought. I wasn’t confident enough in myself to believe I could get back up.

Was it a mistake that I did not take that time and learn the value of being strong in myself? In a way, yes, very much.

You see, it is not so much that I am truly weak, or unable to stand on my own, to be a strong person and take care of myself. Even through my fear there is a knowledge in my core that I am strong enough. Fear has a way of making you near-sighted, though. I am often unable to see my core. I believe the lies that my insecurity whispers so close to my trembling ears in moments of doubt.

I do not regret loving my husband.  And how could I regret a union that brought me the joy that is my son?  I do not.  This is my life.  I take my past and wrap it like a bow around the person I have become.  I cannot change my past, but I can most certainly examine it, always reflecting on where I have been, learning, and watching where I am headed.  I am the constant analyzer, if you will.

The mistake was not that I allowed myself to love and be loved. That is never a mistake.

The harm was in not allowing myself a chance to see the living proof of my own strength. If I had jumped, I’d know for sure that I can fly, and that would have banished my fear of falling infinitely.

Today’s post is my answer to Broccoli, a writing challenge at {W}rite-of-Passage.

The following people took the challenge, too.

Weekly Winners, Jan 10-16

January 10th – 16th
These shots taken with my: Canon Powershot G9

Admit it, he could rule the world with this face.

One More Day of Warmth

Sometimes you need a moment.

Rough Terrain

Sole to Sole

To view all my photos, visit my Flickr Photostream

Weekly Winners Information
All My Past WW Posts

The elevator to nowhere.

Do you hear that?  Yeah, that’s muzak.  Muzak plays in my head sometimes when the words won’t come.  Most of the songs have no name that I can conjure, even though I recognize the melodies, and I could hum a few bars ahead if you asked me to.  But you probably wouldn’t.  Would you like to do a really lame, mellow hip shake and head bob with me? No?  Suit yourself.

I was vegetating, just now, staring at a blinking cursor for so long that my tongue dried up and got stuck to the roof of my mouth and a weird “glick” sound came out of me when they separated suddenly.  That’s when I realized I was just sitting here with my mouth hanging open like a moron.  You know the expression – you’d never be caught dead with that expression on your face in the presence of anyone you respect in the least.

Of course, that’s why you usually end up realizing you’re doing it when you’re in the room with someone you idolize and/or adore.  Maybe lust.  Fortunately, this time, it’s just me and the laptop and a bunch of unfolded laundry.  And unless Keifer Sutherland is hiding in the hamper, I think it’s safe to say I got lucky this time.  (Or not.)

Sometimes I have so many things I need to say that I literally have a handful of posts, in varying stages of completion, open on my desktop at the same time.  Right now, I want to write about something, and my brain just feels, well, dry… like my mouth.

I want to complete a writing challenge, but my heart isn’t in it.  I want to tell a funny story, but the words won’t come.  It’s not that I’m in a bad mood, or sad.  I’m not stressed out, distracted, or overly tired.  I’m not depressed, anxious, or tense about anything.  But I know when it’s not right, because I feel like I’m forcing something.  When it’s good, and real, the words flow onto the screen, and I can’t stop them.

But tonight, I’m just doomed to step on the elevator to nowhere.  The lift operator has on one of those funny hats and he won’t even smile at me.  He’s kind of cute, though, and it looks like there’s a guitar case propped in the corner behind him.  Maybe halfway up, I’ll goose him and see what happens.

I think “The Girl from Ipanema” is playing now.  I always liked that one.

Weekly Winners, Jan 3 – 9

Thanks to everyone who participated in Weekly Winners during 2009. You all inspire and delight me.

We have 2 participation winners:
$150 Web Design by Judith Shakes Designs goes to Jeanette Verster
$100 Gift Code to Good for the Kids goes to Tara R.
Congratulations, ladies!

I’m going back old school with Weekly Winners – no more prizes. If you want to hang and share your favorites, you’ll have to do it for the pure enjoyment.

But be on the lookout for me to announce something else that’s photo and prize related. *grin*

January 3rd – 9th
Shots taken with my: Canon Powershot G9

Guitarin’ with Daddy

The Joy of Snow (Warning: It’s Infectious)

Flakes I don’t mind having in my hair.

Her time limited, she waits patiently, nevertheless.

To view all my photos, visit my Flickr Photostream

Weekly Winners Information
All My Past WW Posts

I could always shave my head, get a penis tattoed on it, and be a real dickhead.

I’ve gotten a lot of compliments on my hair after some of the pictures I’ve posted recently, and that makes me feel good about myself (thank you!). But it also kind of makes me feel like a jerk, because:

• I’m horrible at taking compliments and
• those photos were taken after I made a special effort to look nice.

So, I actually took a shower and then did something other than give my hair the finger in the mirror and walk away. Hair styling products were definitely involved, as was a blow dryer, and maybe some praying and/or cursing. (I hate spending time on my hair.) I may or may not have duct taped my son to the closet door so he wouldn’t get into trouble while I was preening.

I’m actually extra sensitive about my hair right now, because it’s been falling out fairly badly for many months, which means I actually have to put effort into making it look nice. Of course, you are probably scoffing at me right now because it certainly doesn’t *look* like my hair is falling out badly.

If you’re unsure, you can ask my husband and he can relate to you how he’s had to pull a hamster sized ball of my hair out of the drain on any occasion that he’s showered after I did. He might tell you that there’s hair in his food often. (Unless he hasn’t noticed, in which case, oops, my bad, honey… uh, I was just kidding!) He wouldn’t be able to tell you anything about our vacuum cleaner because he can hardly pronounce vacuum cleaner, much less use one, but I can tell you that I have to *cut* the hair off the rotating brush every time I want to use it. There are strands of my hair everywhere, and it’s driving me insane.

I pulled my hair up into a ponytail before a workout the other day and, at my left temple, I could see my scalp through my hair there, because it has gotten thin enough for that. If I did not draw your attention to it, though, you’d never notice. Not yet. But I notice all the ways that I can see my scalp all of a sudden that never occurred before. Like when I get out of the shower and my part falls in a weird way after I towel dry.

Most days I do still look totally fine.  (Even if my hair may not look quite as nice as in some of the photos I’ve recently posted.)

But what bothers me is what I don’t show off in photos online.

This (what you see in the photos) may not seem abnormal (I assume) to some, but I’ve always had enough hair that you couldn’t see spots of scalp like this. You just couldn’t. It’s the *change* that bothers me.

Now, I’m not trying to cry and whine and solicit attention here. My hair is still far more than passing for normal because I’ve always had an insanely high number of hair strands. Every hair stylist I’ve ever had has remarked on this, as well as how fast my hair grows. If, however, I’d started off with thin hair, I shudder to think what I’d look like by now. I can still give special care and make sure it looks nice.

What worries me is that there must be some underlying cause, because this has yet to stop or slow down, and eventually, no matter how much hair I started with, this is going to look bad. Yes, it’s vain, but it’s also just the truth that hair matters. And I don’t want mine to fall out.

To make sure the recent hair loss wasn’t caused by a drastic change in my thyroid condition, I’ve had recent thyroid panels done, and even an ultrasound to make sure there aren’t any cancerous nodules on my massive and ultra sexy goiter. The scan showed that yes, my thyroid is still large and in charge, and I do have nodules (knew that already) but they don’t appear cancerous. The bloodwork laughs in my face, saying, “Your hormone levels are normal!”

What’s fun about Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis (your body has antibodies against your own thyroid and attacks it regularly) is that you can have “normal” hormone counts and still suffer symptoms, which apparently, doctors are unsure of how to treat. In fact, my experience is that a hormone imbalance is the only thing they know how to treat – you’re on your own with the rest of it.

So now I’m stuck with having to go pay out of pocket to another doctor, listing symptoms and seeing whether there is another underlying problem that could cause them. And that makes me feel tired and kind of like breaking things.

But that’s life, right? If you don’t find the answers you need behind one door, you just have to keep opening them until you find the right one to walk through.

So here I go, about to seek out the next door, hoping again that the knob doesn’t break off in my hand and that no one slams it in my face. And preparing myself if it’s just the first of many more I’ll need to open.

It would be nice if all of this weren’t so expensive. I’m hoping that along the way, one of the doors I yank open leads to a Money Tree Plantation.

If so, I’ll grab a few extra seedlings for you guys, promise.

I would like to take an informal survey.

Don’t worry, I know your time is valuable, but I assure you, this is a very important matter.

Let’s say HYPOTHETICALLY that I was sitting on the couch watching TV. I’m watching, ohhhh, let’s say Big Bang Theory.

Then, what if John, my husband, came downstairs, grabbed the remote, and started flipping channels. WHILE THE SHOW WAS ON, NOT DURING A COMMERCIAL.

Would you think that it would be overreacting for me to FREAK THE HELL OUT and start snatching at the remote? How about if he gave me a shitty look and then both refused to let me have it back and did NOT return to the channel and show I was enjoying before he entered the room like some kind of Assholian Dictator?

If this kind of a scenario, or you know, something like it, happened, then would it be kind of over the top if I lost my shit and yelled, “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!??” while visualizing myself strangling him until his lips turned blue and fell off? Would that just be too much?

I mean, it is only television after all. What do you think?

You know, I’m just wondering, in case something like that ever actually happens and I had the strong urge to beat my husband about the face relentlessly with the remote once I finally did snatch it back.

This way, I’ll know if it’s justified or not.

Thank you for your time.

Weekly Winners, Dec 27 – Jan 2

December 27th – January 2nd
Shots taken with my: Canon Powershot G9

I love my Canon.

Companions In The Cold

A Corsage Fit For Old Man Winter’s Prom Date

Refusing To Let Go

Don’t Fear The Reaper

To view all my photos, visit my Flickr Photostream

Weekly Winners Information
Weekly Winners Prizes
All My Past WW Posts

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Happy New Year, Beeshes.

It is the end of a decade full of a swirling mix of highs and lows – events, emotions, memories – for all of us, as is customary.  We are humans; this is our experience.  Thank you for letting me share pieces of myself with you, for supporting me in all the times when I came here and needed something, and for giving me insight into your lives and thoughts as well.  Humanity is alive and well, whether the world knows it or not.  I do.

May you all have the desires of your hearts this coming year, and in the new decade.

Love, Lotus