We all have a story to tell.
Some days, it seems more than others, I find myself staring at a blank page aching to find the words to get it all out, coming up with little to no result in representing the facts about my life. Most days, it's all a jumbled up mess and I find it hard to distinguish adequate details and relay them on a piece of paper in a mild attempt at making sense of it all.
Andrew asked me yesterday if I remember when I was 8. I looked at him blankly for about 5 seconds before I answered "no." I honestly tried to come up with some link, some minor detail to define that year in my life and I came up empty. I just don't remember. This is strange to me because ask anyone of my family members or friends and I guarantee they'll tell you I never forget. I remember everything.
Except when I was 8 years old.
I remember small details around that time period, playing school and nurse with my dolls and having tea parties with my daddy. He was my favorite guest to have in my little tykes kitchen. And my Mom was the best nurse to have at my side, creating elaborate hospital charts containing vital signs of each patient that entered our make-shift hospital in our garage. She often came home from the morning shift as a pediatric nurse, barring extra bandage scissors and smelling of alcohol swabs. The more she brought home, the more equipped my little hospital became.
Sometimes I crave these memories and I often wonder if some of them are derived from the millions of pictures my parents took of us when we were little. I now own a scanned copy of every pic I could get my hands on from the mountain of photo albums my parents still keep underneath the bookshelves in their den. I silently stare at some of them now, knowing that it's a younger version of myself within, but not truly remembering the actual event. It's kind of sad in a way and I'm not sure why my memory fails me when it comes to some of the happiest moments in my life.
My birthday is in 14 days. It seems the older I get, the more I think about the amazing fact of life. It's quite remarkable that our lives are based on a string of events and decisions made long before we even came into creation. The line continues once we are born and it's odd, almost scary at times, to think that one decision could have changed wherever it is we end up. It also makes me realize how truly out of control and out of my own hands my life is. Call it God. Call it fate. Whatever. I know the decisions I've made, good and bad, that have lead me here. But it was never just me involved in any given situation. When we decide upon any given action, we not only affect ourselves but anyone else remotely involved, perhaps not even as involved as they'd like to be or think that they are. But in thinking so, it still affects them because they care about you.
One is never quite as alone as she thinks.
I have a tendency to push people away when times get rough. I'm not sure why I do this. Perhaps it's because I feel it's my burden and mine alone to deal with. I don't want anyone else to feel the pressure, pain and worry that I might be harboring at any given time. I'm slowly learning that I have no control over how anyone else feels about me or anything I do or don't do; say or don't say. I have found that my paranoia in thinking people think the worse of me is indeed just that, paranoia. And I couldn't do anything about it should they really feel that way about me so I'm not sure why I let my brain go there. I've dealt with low self esteem my entire life, never feeling completely part of a group or like I belong. I like to chalk all this up to the fact that I am an individual and I don't need anyone's approval.
But in truth. I really do.
About a month ago, my first ex-fiance' (Yes. There's more than one unfortunately) deleted me from facebook. I know this act sounds so silly and trivial but it really bothered me, not because I want him back but I felt like he was deleting the memory of us being together too. Deleting me and our time together. I wrote him about it and he apologized, claiming that his new fiance' didn't like him being friends with exes. (Don't get me started on the negative connotations I began to form within my brain over how jealous of a person this girl must be and how her insecurity will surely one day drive them apart. It's not like I'm any sort of true threat anyway.)That's what it comes down to now. I'm just "one of the exes". We were never friends before we started dating 13 years ago, so I suppose it's naive of me to think we could ever be friends now. But I can't deny the fact that the sudden blow of being cut off from his life completely, doesn't affect me in some small way.
I guess it's normal to not want to be erased. Every person that comes and goes within our time here has some sort of affect on us whether we choose to let them or not. I know I will never forget the people who have come and gone or stayed with me. I am grateful to all of them because they have all helped, in some way or another, to form me.
Me: The shy girl sitting in the back of her class, hoping not to be called upon by her teacher in fear she would actually have to speak up in front of her peers. The little girl who enjoyed making mud pies and rolling down banks with her older brother, just as much as playing dress up. The teenager who lost her favorite grandparent to a horrible smoking habit when he was only supposed to be having a minor surgery; the same teenager who delayed getting her first car because he was supposed to be the one to sale it to her. The girl who ran around with her friends, singing at the top of her lungs and making silly home videos about soap operas and fairy tales. The girl who was going to wait for marriage and somehow lost her virginity in five seconds, found out two months later she was pregnant and miscarried the very next day. The same girl who is scared shitless it will happen again.The little girl who could, and still can, attract a cat within a 5 mile radius. Somehow they always know. Never took a whole drink of alcohol until the age of 23, never did drugs and only smoked 2 cigarettes in her life, not even inhaling so it really doesn't count. Lover of music and movies, musicals and reading. Met her best friend and true love on May 17th 2007. Married him on May 15th 2010. Still doesn't know what she wants to be when she grows up. Carries her heart on her sleeve, feeling empathy even when she wishes she didn't. A jumble of memories, some good, some bad. Me. My story.
It's only just beginning.
"All of these lines across my face tell you the story of who I am." -Brandi Carlile
Some days, it seems more than others, I find myself staring at a blank page aching to find the words to get it all out, coming up with little to no result in representing the facts about my life. Most days, it's all a jumbled up mess and I find it hard to distinguish adequate details and relay them on a piece of paper in a mild attempt at making sense of it all.
Andrew asked me yesterday if I remember when I was 8. I looked at him blankly for about 5 seconds before I answered "no." I honestly tried to come up with some link, some minor detail to define that year in my life and I came up empty. I just don't remember. This is strange to me because ask anyone of my family members or friends and I guarantee they'll tell you I never forget. I remember everything.
Except when I was 8 years old.
I remember small details around that time period, playing school and nurse with my dolls and having tea parties with my daddy. He was my favorite guest to have in my little tykes kitchen. And my Mom was the best nurse to have at my side, creating elaborate hospital charts containing vital signs of each patient that entered our make-shift hospital in our garage. She often came home from the morning shift as a pediatric nurse, barring extra bandage scissors and smelling of alcohol swabs. The more she brought home, the more equipped my little hospital became.
Sometimes I crave these memories and I often wonder if some of them are derived from the millions of pictures my parents took of us when we were little. I now own a scanned copy of every pic I could get my hands on from the mountain of photo albums my parents still keep underneath the bookshelves in their den. I silently stare at some of them now, knowing that it's a younger version of myself within, but not truly remembering the actual event. It's kind of sad in a way and I'm not sure why my memory fails me when it comes to some of the happiest moments in my life.
My birthday is in 14 days. It seems the older I get, the more I think about the amazing fact of life. It's quite remarkable that our lives are based on a string of events and decisions made long before we even came into creation. The line continues once we are born and it's odd, almost scary at times, to think that one decision could have changed wherever it is we end up. It also makes me realize how truly out of control and out of my own hands my life is. Call it God. Call it fate. Whatever. I know the decisions I've made, good and bad, that have lead me here. But it was never just me involved in any given situation. When we decide upon any given action, we not only affect ourselves but anyone else remotely involved, perhaps not even as involved as they'd like to be or think that they are. But in thinking so, it still affects them because they care about you.
One is never quite as alone as she thinks.
I have a tendency to push people away when times get rough. I'm not sure why I do this. Perhaps it's because I feel it's my burden and mine alone to deal with. I don't want anyone else to feel the pressure, pain and worry that I might be harboring at any given time. I'm slowly learning that I have no control over how anyone else feels about me or anything I do or don't do; say or don't say. I have found that my paranoia in thinking people think the worse of me is indeed just that, paranoia. And I couldn't do anything about it should they really feel that way about me so I'm not sure why I let my brain go there. I've dealt with low self esteem my entire life, never feeling completely part of a group or like I belong. I like to chalk all this up to the fact that I am an individual and I don't need anyone's approval.
But in truth. I really do.
About a month ago, my first ex-fiance' (Yes. There's more than one unfortunately) deleted me from facebook. I know this act sounds so silly and trivial but it really bothered me, not because I want him back but I felt like he was deleting the memory of us being together too. Deleting me and our time together. I wrote him about it and he apologized, claiming that his new fiance' didn't like him being friends with exes. (Don't get me started on the negative connotations I began to form within my brain over how jealous of a person this girl must be and how her insecurity will surely one day drive them apart. It's not like I'm any sort of true threat anyway.)That's what it comes down to now. I'm just "one of the exes". We were never friends before we started dating 13 years ago, so I suppose it's naive of me to think we could ever be friends now. But I can't deny the fact that the sudden blow of being cut off from his life completely, doesn't affect me in some small way.
I guess it's normal to not want to be erased. Every person that comes and goes within our time here has some sort of affect on us whether we choose to let them or not. I know I will never forget the people who have come and gone or stayed with me. I am grateful to all of them because they have all helped, in some way or another, to form me.
Me: The shy girl sitting in the back of her class, hoping not to be called upon by her teacher in fear she would actually have to speak up in front of her peers. The little girl who enjoyed making mud pies and rolling down banks with her older brother, just as much as playing dress up. The teenager who lost her favorite grandparent to a horrible smoking habit when he was only supposed to be having a minor surgery; the same teenager who delayed getting her first car because he was supposed to be the one to sale it to her. The girl who ran around with her friends, singing at the top of her lungs and making silly home videos about soap operas and fairy tales. The girl who was going to wait for marriage and somehow lost her virginity in five seconds, found out two months later she was pregnant and miscarried the very next day. The same girl who is scared shitless it will happen again.The little girl who could, and still can, attract a cat within a 5 mile radius. Somehow they always know. Never took a whole drink of alcohol until the age of 23, never did drugs and only smoked 2 cigarettes in her life, not even inhaling so it really doesn't count. Lover of music and movies, musicals and reading. Met her best friend and true love on May 17th 2007. Married him on May 15th 2010. Still doesn't know what she wants to be when she grows up. Carries her heart on her sleeve, feeling empathy even when she wishes she didn't. A jumble of memories, some good, some bad. Me. My story.
It's only just beginning.
"All of these lines across my face tell you the story of who I am." -Brandi Carlile
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