Torn

It's either all or nothing -- Gene Senne (my father)

I usually have some cleaver quote, but with today's blog I realize that I don't have one that I can really relate to what I want to write about.   It was something my dad said yesterday that struck my core.  I don't think that's even the exact quote, I wish I could remember what it was, but you get the gist of it.  My father is famous for his little sayings, "don't sweat the small stuff, and it's all small stuff."  His view on life is a little bit different then mine, which, I'm learning, is totally okay and fine.  I think I only started to realize a few years ago, that my daddy isn't always right.  He might believe what he is saying or doing is the best way, the right way, but not necessarily the best or right way for me.  So, I'm learning to not take what he says as my own identity, but something that he probably thinks is in my best interest, and go with that.

I don't know what my direction is today, but I found myself listening to my Dido station on Pandora, which is what I do when I really want to find my feminine side, and the song "Torn" by Natalie Imbrulia came on.  I associate songs with different times in my life.  I never realized this until lately, seriously, I'm having some sort of awakening here, I am, but as I listened to this song, I started to go back to being 16, and heart broken for the very first time.  I'm not sure why heartache is so painful, even when the person clearly isn't the right one for you, but it hurts.  It's the most painful thing in the world, and I think that's why so many of us settle for less, because we don't want to endure the pain again.  The magical thing is, if you suffer through it, and try to learn about yourself in the process, your future will continue to get brighter and brighter.  I'm now seeing this for the very first time.  What I have done in the past is cry about it, and ask whatever this higher being may be, "what is wrong with me?"  Why am I not loveable.....

Therapy has been really really good for me.  I'm having all sorts of epiphanies lately, which is totally awesome and amazing.  I missed my normal therapy date two weeks ago, and instead had an extreme public meltdown in Billings while I was with the Special Olympics for the state games.  As you've seen in the past, when I cry, I don't exactly look my best.  I can hear my inner voice telling me how ugly I get when I cry.  And of course, what I took for the reason that I cried (which I later realized was much much deeper) was something completely out of my control that I wont be able to change, EVER, and I need to accept that.  I'll just give you a quick rundown of what happened. I'm sure most of you know this, but my older brother, Shad, is autistic and has some issues when it comes to eating.  He's usually really easy, if you feed him what he wants, which is McDonald's and Pizza, washed down with a whole lot of soda, chips and cookies.  I cringe when he picks out the donut with bright blue frosting because I know that there is nothing good in that donut.  I wouldn't eat it, and the fact that there is a very unnatural neon color coating the top, just makes it worse.  I'm a very clean eater about 75% of the time, you can't help it really when you eat out or are traveling, so I cut myself some slack. I try not to push my own beliefs of eating organic on to other people, but I've been trying to sneak it in with my brother.

This past winter, I've been working so hard at getting something good in that 34 year old body of my brother's.  I worry about his health, I worry about his future, and what years of eating more bad then good has in store for him.  We spent most saturdays, trying something new and organic, I watched him make faces, spit it out and even be very sneaky and throw it away when I wasn't looking, but I really felt like we were making progress.  When we were in Billings, I spent the first day, stressing over the fact that he wouldn't eat.  He skipped breakfast completely, even though there were things there that he would eat.  Lunch time came and he refused to gag down the ham and cheese sandwich, just settling for a bag of chips and a cookie.  I managed to find him some food at the bowling alley, nothing healthy of course and magically, dinner that night was a burger.  We had survived the day!

Unfortunately, the next day wasn't as successful.  I don't have time to watch every athlete, and there are a few that need extra attention, so I honestly have no idea if Shad ate breakfast that day.  He's so independent in so many ways, that I took it for granted, I guess.  Another frustrating thing, is I've been told several times now, that Shad will eat whatever is available on Special Olympic trips, when I'm not there.  I feel a little resentment towards him.  Is that little bastard manipulating me?  I refuse to let that happen.  So, dinner rolls around, and it was steak.  Shad HATES steak.  Why?  I have no idea.  My mom is convinced that he can't swallow it, and maybe that is a true fact, but it's hard for me to believe this, since he can down a cheeseburger in two bites, without chewing. I now know, for the future, to pack a bottle of ketchup, because that would have probably prevented what happened, you live and learn, right?  The city that hosts special olympics, provides dinner at least one or two of the nights we are there, so this night we went to a very nice sit down dinner at the food bank.  Having steak is also pretty unheard of, usually it's something easy, like spaghetti, which is a whole different mess, but everyone will eat it.  Anyways, I'm wandering off here.  I was sitting at a different table, and I could see Shad perfectly.  He wasn't eating.  I got up and walked over to him.  We discussed if he was hungry, and he was, so I cut the steak into little pieces and asked him to take a few bites.  He started to gag it down, which if you've seen it, it's gross.  I just gag by hearing it.  So we stopped again, and I tried to talk about how we were going to do this.  Wash it down with water, okay?  He seemed to understand.  I give him too much credit, I do, so when I went and sat back down, I continued to keep an eye on him and saw him, first hand, throw his food back up at the table.

Are you effing kidding me?  I got back up and walked back over there.  At that point I didn't have anything left to say.  I told him to stop, he stopped, and I went and sat back down.  That's when I realized that I will NEVER be able to fix this.  Never.  Instead of letting it go, and reminding myself that there is a higher power that will take care of Shad, I told myself that I wasn't good enough to fix him, that if I couldn't fix him, how the HELL was I going to fix myself.  I lost it, and public cry number #1,256 began, in a room full of friends, strangers, and Special Olympics atheletes.  FML.

I pulled myself together, called my mom and my sister, talked it out.  I felt like I was okay.  I joined our team again as they walked back out to the bus and was suddenly surrounded by some athletes.  They are so pure hearted and I realized that I was exactly where I was supposed to be, they swarmed me like a bunch of mother hens, giving me hugs and asking me if I was okay.  I've always thought I was taking care of them, and I now know that they take care of me.  I know that I am accepted by them.  I think that's always been a fear of mine, being accepted for who I am and where I come from.  I grew up being so embarrassed by my brother.  I know that he has made me who I am, and that I am a good person because of him.  I spent the rest of the night crying off and on.  I would stop and then someone would be so genuine when they asked how I was and I'd start it all over again.  I was a red hot mess, but I was happy to be there.  Such a special moment.

The very long, and very rewarding, trip ended that Friday, and I went home, super exhausted, but so grateful that I had gone.  I feel like a part of myself opened up on that trip, part of me that had gotten lost is back.  I say that now, today, but right after the trip I slowly started to spiral back down that black hole.  Down down down.  I've been so confused about life. What I want, is the easy way, I want someone to tell me what the fuck to do.  I've been contemplating moving, or as a few have called it, running away.  Actually, now that I think about it, I call it that even, jokingly, but I know it's really what it is.  I toy with the idea of being free.  Free from the hold of the puppet master (my dad) who has the very best of intentions for me, but doesn't see that what makes him happy doesn't necessarily bring me happiness.  Free from everyone who thinks they need to tell me what I'm doing wrong, free to think on my own.

I went to see Betty (my therapist) on Wednesday, so ready to feel better.  My expectations for these sessions has turned into a tool to feel imediately better.  I was sure I was going to go in there, tell her my problems and leave feeling like I owned the world.  She let the session go longer then normal and when I put my jacket on, she asked how I was feeling.  I broke down.  Those GOD DAMNED TEARS.  As I sobbed uncontrollably, I told her that I felt like I was where I started a month ago.  Why do I feel this way?  She had asked me earlier if I had ever had thoughts about hurting myself and I lied. Straight up lied to her about it, and I'm not sure why, because I've been honest with everything else.  Does it make me weak to have thoughts that it might be an easy way out?  I also have thoughts that I have people, who I love, that I would never do that to.  That me giving up on life, would not only affect myself, but so many people around me.  This is why I don't drink, why I don't have guns in my house and why I hate pills.  I know myself.  I also know that I'm a strong woman, and I will perservere.

Betty reassured me that I was exactly where I needed to be and I wanted to believe her, but I couldn't even face the world.  I went home and locked myself in my room for almost 20 hours.  It was as if I was in mourning and I finally was able to let go of so many things that I had been holding on to.  Guilt.  Unneccesary guilt.  I hold on to guilt for no reason.  I use to do that in my marraige, which obviously pushed us apart and I can now see myself doing it with Eric.  That's completely unhealthy and I need some me time.  It's taken me 31 years to finally come to terms.  Guess what?  I come first.

So this is me.  My name is Kristal Rae.  People really close to me call me Kris, which is probably the most endearring thing to me, because it reminds me of my grandfather.  I associate that name with a person I felt very close to but never had the chance to get to know very well.  I like terrible music and I dance to the beat of my own drum.  I think I've been struggling with that.  I try so hard to fight the fact that I am a little different.  My sister is known for telling me that I'm not dressed my age.  Who cares?  I've also been told that I don't look my age, and I take that as a compliment.  I'm very slowly but surely realizing that I might just be beautiful, on the inside and on the outside.  I believe that you look as good as you feel.