I couldn’t sleep. I woke up at 1:00 am and my mind was racing. I’m not sure what to call him. I suppose after 7 years together there should be a more defined role or title except I don’t feel it. It would be a bold faced lie to say it’s my significant other. I have an engagement ring that lines my jewelery box. I’ve always been a free spirit. The ability to walk away from relationships and bad situations. Except for this nightmare.
In my 20’s I thought it was crazy for women to stay in bad situations. Especially when they had children. Then I had my daughter. Something become clear. The fact that my poor decision would now affect her entire life and I had to live with that. The weight of that was like atlas carrying the world on his shoulder. So I stayed. Knowing one day I’d take my passport and my shit let my daughter know I’m out. Catch me in Europe. I’d served my time. The irony between my plan and my own mothers disappearance does not elude me.
Last night I couldn’t sleep. My “partner” told me my dad fell out of the car when he was getting out for dialysis. He couldn’t get up. My stomach dropped. The stress has magnified. The pressure intensified. That coupled with a lunatic that you have to walk on egg shells with are the recipe for a stroke or a heart attack. I’ve never met a person I couldn’t speak with. I deal with difficult high strung professionals and even then, nasty or not I can communicate. I can peg them. I can asses who I’m dealing with and how to deal with them.
I’ve never been in a situation where I couldn’t express myself. Where it’s like North Korea. You can’t express anything outside of the designated permitted forms of expression. Trust me, I am expressive. The moral is that the anx I felt came from knowing my dad fell and he didn’t want me to know. My limited ability to be everywhere, and the argument that ensued with this so called partner. The partner proceeded to spout how this was his fucking apartment and he didn’t want a nurse here until it’s spic and span. The problem is he has shit all over the place. But in his eyes this is not a problem. When you deal with someone who’s issues are everyone else’s except his own, where everything is someone’s fault but their own, there is no winning.
I take great issue with people who have a need to try to exert their power. In my eyes, they’re weak. If you need to hold power over someone who can’t or just because, know that you are weak. A strong and powerful person doesn’t need to exert power over anyone. People will do your will because they respect you and you command so. Not out of force like a dictatorship where it’s done out of fear. Fear is the seed of resentment, after resentment anger grows. There’s a phrase I say all the time that I stand by. “Those who need to control are they themselves out of control.” That’s what I’m dealing with. A cyclone of a personality and my life.
I’m not complaining by any means. I’m simply acknowledging what I know and that’s the similarity between myself and my mothers decision to one day pack her shit and leave. Except one massive difference. My father was not a bad person in his entirety. He made poor decisions but I chalk that up to a lack of education. But he took care of us, made sure we lacked nothing. As strong as his personality was, I know he loved me. That his intent was never to hurt me. That’s the defining difference. The difference is that I’m genuine. This partner is selfish. He does everything for the added bonus. Oh here let me help you with this, so later I can hold it over your head. Sure if you need my help now you can’t say anything to me. Here’s a 100 bucks but when I need you there’s no out. And that to me is disgusting…
Somewhere along the road I’ve lost the basics. I lost the very essence that makes me shine. I’ve lost the light. I’ve battled in the dark for a long time. The darkness is a source of comfort. I like it there. Being in the light is difficult. Being empathetic is hard sometimes. Being tolerant of ignorance is hard sometimes. But most of all it’s harder to fake it till you make it. So this morning I sought out a photo I wanted one where through the windows of my soul I couldn’t see the torment. I wanted one photo where I could set my sights on simply going back to the basics.
I told a friend of mine the other day, that I don’t care what anyone says. Life chips at you. Eventually the pain, the trauma, the sadness cuts so deep that it changes you. Whether it jades your view, makes you tougher less sensitive to things, you change period. For myself I have changed. I’ve come to loathe people. I’ve become unsympathetic, insensitive and just cold and antisocial. I think these traits were always there. However, somehow I’ve become the poster child for ruthlessness. You can’t un-know things. You simply can’t. So if you’ve learned pain, you can’t take that back. You move on from it, you grow but it will always be there hidden in the corners, like a monster hiding from the light, straying into the shadowy corners.
I think this is what makes me read others fairly well. I recognize the broken, the wounded, the damaged, the evil. Because I’ve seen it facing the mirror myself. I don’t consider myself evil but I can be. I can be unrelentingly evil and vile and not feel remorse. I try to force myself to feel it and I can’t. I say it but the words are empty. Meaningless. I just want to try to get to the basics..
Casey Anthony is called the most hated woman in America since the disappearance and murder of her two year old child. I recently started reading the book authored by the prosecutor on the case Jeff Ashton. I never felt a doubt that she had committed this heinous act but reading the book solidified a few key things for me. For starters the book confirmed for me that Cindy and Casey were in a toxic co dependent relationship. I agree that Cindy wanted to be lied to and Casey obliged. The book discusses the example of Casey’s impending pregnancy. Cindy denied that Casey was preganant while attending her brothers wedding. Although everyone at the party was asking themselves, who’s the pregnant chick? The story was corroborated by Cindy’s own mother. So the lies about where she worked which were not only the Universal Studio story but went back even before that to her fake Sports Authority job. This evidences a pattern of systematic lying. Yes, I think she’s a compulsive liar or a pathological liar. I actually think she might believe her own horseshit. What I think bothered me at the core was that her family swapped stories or refused to answer. Specifically her mother.
Let’s be honest. Parenting is a crapshoot. You can instill the best values, morals, education and still wind up with a bad seed. That I don’t blame the parents for. You can’t control every outcome of your children. But. There’s always a but. But you can’t cover and enable your children even when you know you have a monster in the midst. Maybe I don’t love. MY daughter enough but I can’t fathom covering her behavior and especially something so heinous especially given the evidence. Cindy called the police about Casey taking her car and dropped the bombshell in the 911 call “it smells like there’s been a dead body.” The forensic evidence showed that the signs of decomposition were in line with a human decomposition not garbage as the defense would like to argue. What killed me was that even when talking to Dr. Phil after the verdict, Cindy was still in denial. For 31 days, Casey Anthony partied and lied and did nothing to report Caylee missing. The defense argues that everyone grieves differently. Here’s where I take issue.
If your child had drowned accidentally why go to the extra lengths. It never added up for me that you would drag the police to your fake job where you don’t work until you have no choice but to say they’ve got you. Then at the end of it all after taking the police in a wild goose chase saying there was an accidental drowning. This to me signaled the final emergence of some truth. The truth that Casey Anthony knew this entire time that her daughter was dead. Pat Brown Criminal Profilist has gone as far to say she’s a psychopath. I actually agree. An interesting thing about the lies during the case was that one of the co-workers Casey worked with at universal studios was Juliette Lewis. Does that name ring a bell? It did to me the second I saw it. As in Juliette Lewis the actress?
This case fascinated the nation. Although much of the limelight was focused on the accused, I think it’s important that no one forgets the victim. A 2 year old beautiful little girl named Caylee Marie Anthony.
I admit it. I’ve pulled some things off that there has to be someone silently either rooting for me like an angel or maybe I’m evil and my minions help me like David Blaine. Yes, because I’m convinced that David has a pact with the devil. Don’t judge me, you probably thought it too after watching his new hand tricks.
Right now people are worried about the holidays. Right now, I’m worried about work deadlines. Trying to balance work, school and a kid while trying not to leave work late but still pulling off a saving grace or a Hail Mary as I call it when it comes to work.
When I succeed though I feel like I’m the Harvey Spector of law. By 10:00 a.m. I’m like fuck this shit and fuck Harvey I want to be a shrink and I need one while I’m at it. By the afternoon, a thank you from a client re-affirms the morning attitude that I will crush the legal game like Michael Jordan in basketball. This goes on all day long. Yes, it’s a very long and daunting day.
Today was no exception. Yesterday was a super bad day. But you take good with the bad’s and losses with every win. You can’t always win no matter how great you are. As I stared at my growing tower or rather the leaning tower of pisa of cases and emails from my clients, my anxiety hit peak. But, I know I have one objective. Get the 4 day deadline cases done now. Everything else must take a momentary back seat.
Sometimes I’m a glutton for punishment I must confess. I thrive in pressure. I’ve grown up in a pressure cooker. The problem is, that as I get older this presssure that I’m good at laughing at can get to me. I’m no longer bullet proof. Now I feel anxious. My stomach turns sometimes.
Whether I’ll live and be the female Harvey Spector (Tv show Suits) remains to be seen, maybe I’ll live my life in love with psychology and making a bigger difference that way. The only thing I’m certain of is that I’m as intense as my stomping stroll. My personality is as strong as my gait. A friend once joked I had an angry teacher stomp when I walk. For me, it’s just confidence, it’s endurance that leaks into my stomp. I equally take my wrath out on those who dare cross my clients and eat them for breakfast lunch and dinner.
At the end of the day, when you’re only given one option to sink or swim. Sinking is not even a consideration and your only choice is to swim. So in the words of Dory from finding memo, “Just Keep Swimming.”
When I was younger I was a spark. I’ve once described myself as the kind of spark that is beautiful from afar but scary up close. In my heyday, those words were no exception. Growing up, I had an older couple that I called my aunt and uncle. From time to time, I lived with them and sometimes took care of the children. One time I was about 19, I was babysitting the 1 or 2 year old babies. The other kids had gone to school and the oldest had to get ready for school. I remember that I knocked on his door but he gave me a hard time.
At some point, this so called nephew of mine decided he wasn’t going to school. He was about 15 at the time. He proceeded to tell me to watch my back. Let’s stop here a moment. Kids say all sorts of crazy things sometimes and people react in different ways to these kinds of threats. Some people ignore, some people lose their shit. I lost my shit. For me, I’ll explain how I reacted. I remember that it was like switching on the lights. As he proceeded to walk himself outside I ( all 5’4 of me) chased him with a dining chair held upside down in the air while running where I was going to beat him with it. I wound up tripping over the chair that I was carrying, falling on it and breaking the leg. In a fit of rage, I tried to beat him with the leg of the chair. Mind you, this is all happening outside in broad daylight. In hindsight, not my most shining moment in life. Then again, we laugh at it now and that was the last time he ever talked back to me again. Even today, we still laugh about it now that he’s a grown ass man. He often chides me and asks if I’m going to chase him with anymore chairs. Of course, I also had to explain to my aunt and uncle why they were missing a dining room chair.. which was about as fun as a root canal. Chair aside, this is one of those cringe worthy moments of stupid shit you do when your young..
When we grow up they claim that you go through a period of wanted acceptance. Where you want to be accepted by your peers. Reflecting back, I don’t relate. In high school I was a die hard rebel. You said I had a short skirt today I’m wearing it on my neck, how’s that for short? Interestingly enough I was thinking about my social interaction. I can be as nice as a sugar cookie or as noxious as anthrax. But the funny thing is I was thinking about my significant other. We had some words the other day and he lost his mind. The interesting part to me was that even with all that I had said, wished etc. there was a part of him that looked like it wanted my approval.
I thought to myself that’s crazy. Of course after that I also thought for sure I was a sociopath dealing with empaths. If the shoe was on the other foot I’d hope you’d get a case of the runs with no bathrooms or plumbing for acres. I thought about another lunatic that tried to sort of buy my approval. A plant? Hello kitty? Even though I shut her down at every turn and chance she would sporadically in some ways try to get my approval. That’s why I had to question if we all secretly need to be validated by someone’s approval. The harder they push us away like moths to a flame the more we run right into the fire…
Parenting and real life are like an oxymoron. In real life I’m an asshole. As a parent I can’t really teach my daughter to be one. She can grow up and choose to become one much like I did. But in good conscience I can’t teach her to be one. This my friends is a msssive conflict. Take for example the times I commute with her. I teach my daughter to say, please, thank you, excuse me. Sometimes on public transit though you get people hat practically throw you into the tracks. My asshole self handles these situations far more different than my parent self.
Parent me is more reserved, have manners blah blah. Me me is more like fuck you asshole and your entire lineage too!! This is a massive conflict. The thing is, there really is a fine line between making sure she’s not a puff cream pushover and raising Rambo. As a parent, I think it’s our responsibility to try our damndest to teach them to be good citizens that are also not going to take shit but not become a league of future bullies.
Once our kids grow up, let’s be honest the choice is strictly up to them to become who they choose to become. Our voices become the little conscience in the background. A lot like white noise..