Friday, November 28, 2014

Thanksgiving

It sucks to be excluded. Everyone who has ever been excluded knows this.  People who have never been excluded know nothing about it. They are normally the ones doing the excluding.  I could be generalizing, but for the most part, generally, this is pretty much true.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving and I probably would have posted then, if the power hadn't have been out. Thanksgiving is all about being thankful and family and probably being thankful for family.  I did my best,  I swear I did. The first winter storm brought along a power outage that started at 2pm the day before,  and pretty much made the whole experience stressful.  No heat. No water. No cooking dinner. No lights. You get the idea. We had a brief period of the power coming back on.  Just enough time to get the turkey in the oven and cook for an hour. We finally gave up and went out to eat at a local restaurant, just the three of us. That part was nice but for the most part it was an experience I'd rather forget, and yet the loss of power wasn't the most disappointing.

The disappointing part was watching, via social media (because there was nothing else to do but browse my phone apps), everyone getting ready to spend the Holiday with their friends and family, while we had been waiting right up until the last minute and never got an invite from mine. I've spend many Thanksgivings with them since my divorce and had gotten to feel as though I was maybe a "part" of that. In fact, we had gotten an invite from my BF's uncle and turned it down. At the time I actually thought that I would like to spend it with my family this year. Just thinking that now makes me feel stupid and something else that I can't even fully describe.  Embarrassed maybe. Embarrassed for myself. For assuming. For letting myself think that I was a part of something. The feeling almost makes me want to throw up.

By afternoon when the power hadn't come on we were told "We could come over if we had no power."  That also made me want to throw up.  Thank you? I don't know what I'm supposed to say to that. How am I supposed to feel? Like a charity case.

Being excluded sucks. Plain an simple. It's happened too many times in my life to even count.  There are many reasons for being excluded, although I don't know why it was this time, and I can't stop myself from ruminating over it. It could be that we are not a "part" of the family. It could be because they don't like me/us.  It could be because they heard about the therapy or the AS.  It could be because the last time they were around my son, he talked their ears off. Maybe they don't like my BF. It could also be that they forgot. I've been overlooked more times than not and then blamed for it because I'm too quiet. It could be for any reason or any combination of reasons, none of which I will ever really know. All I do know is that it sucks. You try to reason with yourself or make excuses. You tell yourself you really didn't want to go anyway, because being around too many people is exhausting. You tell yourself it's for the best because, honestly, you really were just hoping for a quiet day for the three of you. You tell yourself you don't really care, or that you shouldn't really care. And then you ruminate some more, because it sucks, and because you do care. Because even though you know you don't fit, you still want to belong somewhere. Because even though your son may prefer to be alone more often than not, you still want him to grown up with some sort of "family" and memories. Because even though you have the option of saying no, and can, and should sometimes, you still want to be asked. Because being excluded and overlooked makes you feel irrelevant, even in your own life. It reinforces all of the horrible things you believe about yourself, that you know you're not supposed to think or believe.

And what do you do in a situation like this?  Do you just keep quiet?  Do you just write a blog post in an attempt to stop the racing thoughts and questions?  Do you say something?  Is it even acceptable to ask why we didn't get an invite this year, because honestly that is what my first instinct to do was, but I'm all too often asking or saying things that I shouldn't or that people don't want me to.  I really don't even know.

I know I shouldn't let this bother me. I've been independent, on my own, and alone for so many years now that I'm okay with it and I can do it well. I've also been excluded enough to realize that when it happens it's usually because it's not where you were meant to be.  My rational side knows this and will most likely take over after I'm done feeling hurt, angry, foolish and broken.

Someday, I'm sure,  I will be thankful for the lesson, even if I don't know exactly what it is today.






Monday, November 17, 2014

Meltdown

So today I'm having trouble with everything.  Fucking winter is on it's way and that in itself is enough to make life more difficult to deal with.  My normal state of being is a state of stress. This is constant that never seems to let up, no matter how I try to get to an easier place.  More schedule changes have the next two months looking like hell. Not MY schedule changes, mind you.  Everyone else's.  I'm sick of the trickle down effect.  I know I'm supposed to just accept change, but that's never going to happen.  None of the major recent changes in my life, and work schedule have had anything to do with me, and it's really pissing me off.  How is everyone else's life more important than mine?  How is everyone else's work more important?  Why am I always having to remind people that "I have to work." ?  Jesus Christ.  If I don't, we don't survive.  The bills don't get paid and we don't get to eat. How is that not important?  I sometimes think, everyone thinks I just pull money out of my ass and I can magically do everything, without ever having any down time, or ever getting to enjoy my life. That is not the case. Not even close. I'm seriously about ready to explode from be saddled with the majority of the responsibility for so fucking long.  For some insane reason I have the urge to throw everything in the house outside.  In the cold and the rain.  Irrational thoughts. I'm aware of that, but that doesn't keep them from finding their way in.  I don't deal with my emotions well.  That's obvious. All I know is I'm pissed off and I want to DO something. Throwing everything outside seems like a better option than banging my head against a wall. Right?  I actually did this as a child, when I lived with my birth mother.  When something would piss me off, all the check-out aisle toys I owned went out the window of our second floor studio apartment.  As much sense as it doesn't make, it did seem to make me feel better. But I'm a grown up now.  I still don't know how to deal with these "feelings" so I'm writing everything down in a rambling fashion without a second thought to what the fuck I'm saying.  That, in a sense, is throwing all my shit out the window, isn't it?

I can't waste too  much time here dumping my shit, because I obviously am not going to have too much time to fill orders at the busiest time of the year.  I'm not sure what I can do to bring myself to a better place.  Normal people know what to do. I don't know how to make my heart stop racing, and to make my muscles loosen their grip.  This is what unexpected change does to me. Each and every fucking time.  I start to see no option but to separate myself from everyone.  To take complete and total control over my own life.  This will make my life small. People will say I'm a control freak.  I'm not.  I don't care what you do so long as it doesn't affect me. I'm rigid. I'm never going to NOT be rigid. 42 years on this earth has taught me that. I just need to find a way to not just exist in a world that's constantly changing, late, irresponsible, forgetful, messy, chaotic, and loud, but I need find a way to be happy here. To not live in a constant state of stress. Right now, in this moment, I can honestly say, I don't know how to do that.  That all of the baby steps I've been taking have been wiped clean and I'm back to square one.





Monday, November 10, 2014

Why I can't just...

It's been a while since I've posted anything here, in part because I've just been busy, and in part because I've started writing elsewhere.  I'm back today because I have more to say on a subject that originated here.

I've spend my whole life looking for answers and reasons, not only to things that happen in the world around me, but answers and reasons for why I am the way I am.  There were always people that thought that was a waste of time.  They were usually the first people to say, "there's nothing wrong with you." in one breath and then point out how I was flawed in the next. It's been confusing to have people tell me what my "problem" was and then insist there was no real problem. Only I know how I feel and I've known forever that something was different. That I didn't see, or feel, or experience life in exactly the same way. I've tried very hard over the years to do what I was "supposed to do". To act like I was "supposed to" act. But that's all it ever really was. An act. I've made some very important life choices that revolved around this acting. Things I can't ever change or take back. I do have regrets. And I know I'm not "supposed to", but I do.

On Friday morning, I got what is as close to an answer as I will probably ever come.  It didn't come as a complete surprise as it was what I have believed to be true for almost two years now, but at the same time it made it real. After a year and a half of therapy, that started and focused mostly on my anxiety, my doctor, in his words "is pretty sure I lie somewhere on the Spectrum". "All of the pieces fit."  I knew this, of course. At least that the pieces fit. I felt it so strongly, but when I tried to get honest feedback from people in my life, their response made me doubt myself. Perhaps it was a mistake to share my thoughts with anyone. To put too much weight in what other people think. Perhaps they thought that it may be true, but didn't give me a truthful answer, so as not to "worry" me further. Whatever the case may be, on Friday morning, there it was. Confirmation?  Validation? Ironically, at that very moment it was somewhat anti-climatic. There was a small part of me that felt like a child again saying..."see? I was telling you the truth and you didn't believe me!"  But for the most part it put me in a daze. I felt a little numb and couldn't fully process the information. On one hand I felt like this is important.  This is really fucking important. But what could I do?  In reality it is only important to me.

For the past few days I've just sat with it. After all it was only a statement, right? There is a part of me that is still doubting myself. Doubting my doctor, even. What if he's wrong?  And I then I think, he's not wrong. I know this. With every fiber in my being I know, and I have known. So how can it be that I'm having difficulty wrapping my brain around something that I already know?  Acceptance. Just because I've felt this for so long doesn't mean that I have fully accepted it. There was always that little doubt, always that tiny bit of hope that I would still wake up one day and be something different. Somebody different. And I don't say that because I hate myself, I say it because a part of me just kept thinking it. I say it because so many things are a struggle and I just have always wished that they weren't. I say it because I've had a lifetime of hearing..."Why can't you just....", "Why don't you just...", "When will you just..."

I'm not entirely sure what I should be feeling right now. I do feel validation. I do. There is a certain freedom and relief in that feeling.  Asperger Syndrome. Autism.  Most people know of it, but not about it.  Most people will never care to learn. So nothing changes. It will only matter to me. Aside from validation, I guess I feel a little sad. Like I've missed something very important in life and I wish I had a do over. I can't really explain that feeling or why I have it. And then there's the anger, which is nothing new. I've been angry for a very, very long time. When no one understands you, it seems to be the go-to emotion.

I haven't shared this with very many people. Only a couple in my life, and a group I belong to, filled with like-minded strangers. Strangers are always more supportive.  They have nothing to gain or lose.

From here, the therapy will continue and testing will start. Answers and reason are important, but so is knowing what to do with them.

Hope, who came home Friday afternoon, to see that Jerry Seinfeld had shared some information of his own. This came as no surprise either. I hope that the world doesn't chew him to bits because he shared what he believes to be true on a public forum. You never know how these things will go. The media is already having a field day with it.

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Being Jack's Mom

Summer is here in New England, and it's hot and sticky. Given our recent move and no longer having a lake in my backyard it's not nearly as enjoyable as it has been. Change. Yuck. Another change this year is no summer childcare. None. Zip. Zilch. Every year until now I've had some sort of "paid help" whether it be school camp, a baby sitter or day camp at the lake. It was nice because it gave me a break and some time to work uninterupted and it also got Jack out of the house and with "other people", which everyone has always stressed the importance of.  This year it's the two of us, here, mostly in this house. It's going okay so far and I'm quickly realizing that the "nice" part of having childcare was for my benefit only. Don't get me wrong, I'd take someone up on the offer in a heartbeat. I still enjoy getting time to just be me, without mom duties 24/7, but he's over the moon with most of it.

Life is busy for us, even at the slower pace we like to move. I try to wear many hats in the summer, but between being a doll artist, a housekeeper, a cook, a house renovator, a girlfriend, a daughter, a friend, and a woman, the largest part of me is still mostly Jack's Mom. 

I've struggled with that, probably since the day he was born. Not because I didn't want him or love him, but mostly because I realized I wasn't made for this. I was completely out of my element, and that mothers instinct thing was lost on me, at least for a very long time. Some woman are definitely cut out for the job of motherhood and I have absolutely nothing in common with them. The struggle was made even harder by not having the same type of child rearing experiences as these "other" moms.  All of our "stuff" was different. Not necessarily bad. Just different. I had an amazingly polite 2 year old who said please and thank you, but for life of me I couldn't get him to wave, or play with other kids, or even acknowledge me half the time. "Our" struggles were different, and our time table and milestones were different too. I didn't fully know that then, so I kept reading the books and trying to figure out what I was doing wrong. It wasn't an easy road in the beginning, even though I was sure I had an amazing kid. I fought against what was, in order to try to get us to what we should be. I listened to a lot of the wrong people. 

I know, now, that wasn't what I should have been doing. Hindsight. 

Over the last year and half I have learned so much. About myself, about my son, and about accepting what is. Although no one has an official diagnosis of Asperger Syndrome, living "as if" has changed things drastically for both of us. It's still a process of living and learning and making a few mistakes, but  everything that was so confusing way back in the beginning now makes perfect sense. That's not to say that we don't still have our struggles. We do. Almost daily. But we can manage them and solve problems and do whatever it is that we need to, regardless of how typical or normal it may seem to anyone else. 

Today was a pretty "typical" day with Jack, and inside each "typical" day with Jack are amazing little gifts...

We started off by sleeping in, which is a new novelty for both of us. The latest he's ever up is 5:30am, with 4am being the earliest. Sleeping until 8am is a gift in itself and I thank and bow down to those budding hormones. Our plan for part of the day (because we like to have a plan) was to organize his room to better display his Legos (because sorting and organizing and creating order is fun.)  He was excited to do it so we headed to the store to pick up a new Lego bin. We've gotten into the routine of him heading straight to the Lego aisle, while I do a quick shop and then meet him there. 

This is what I found when I arrived I the toy section. 


I asked him what he was doing as I watched him move box after box. "I'm putting everything where it goes."  And there you have it. Sorting, organizing and creating order. Even in Walmart. Some people might be seeing a red OCD flag. It's possible. But what I saw is a kid doing what he likes to do. He was having fun. 

Once he was done we headed out with a small new lego set in tow, simply because he didn't even ask to get it. That in itself is worth $7 to me. 

On our way home I stopped for coffee and he wanted to stay in the car, which I normally allow so long as where not in the ghetto. When I came out the set he had gotten was opened and already built. A time waster he is not. On the ride home he talked about the Lego set and how he was going to put the stickers on and how he would play with it when we got back. I asked him if he was getting bored with vacation yet.

Jack: "No. I love summer." 
Me: "But we're not really doing anything or going anywhere. "
Jack: "That's what I like. Staying home." 
Me: "So you wouldn't want to go to a camp and play with your friends? You don't get bored not playing with anyone?" 
Jack: "No. I like being independent and doing my own thing."
Me: "What about when the kids are around? Would you still rather play alone?"
Jack: "yeah. Sometimes. When I'm playing Legos I like to play alone. And if I'm playing Basketball I'd rather play with Tori because when I play with Ryan there are so many rules and it's confusing and I just like to keep it simple."
Me: "Well, you're definitely a kid who knows what he likes. I used to like to play alone in my room too, but Grandma would usually make me go outside to play with the other kids."
Jack: (shocked) "Why would she DO that?"
Me: "I don't know I guess they just thought it was better for me."
Jack: "How is it better if you don't want to do it??"
Pause...
Jack: "You know, you probably would have gotten grounded, but you COULD have said...No, I don't have to! I know my rights!"

Wish he had been around all those years ago to advocate for me....

A little while later he said, "When summer is over I won't be that happy to go to school, but you will because you'll get to be alone for six hours a day!"

Yeah. He gets it. And what is amazing is he gets it a way that he knows it has nothing to do with him, just like his desire to play with his Legos alone has nothing to do with anyone else.

Once we got home I started lunch and within minutes he was in the kitchen fighting back the tears. Apparently the stickers to the Legos were proving, once again, to be a major pain on the ass. The lack of fingernails and poor fine motor skills has made this task a difficult one for him. I tell him to ask for help but he rarely does. 


For a perfectionist, this sticker is just plain shit now. It will never do. In his frustration, he asked if he could write a letter to Lego. I told him, sure, that would probably be a good idea and he could take his anger out on the paper.  This one is him taking his anger out on the paper...


This one is the letter. In messy/mad handwriting. 


It says: Dear Lego, Make all the stickers print ons NOW!! I don't want any more stickers. In fact lots of people all over the world may not want stickers. Please make that happen! Loads of people have trouble putting them on, getting them in a good position, and it's FRUSTRATING!

Not a very polite letter and he refused to sign his name. Later tonight I have to find out where we can send it because he's had enough. :)

It didn't take too long for all to be well again, and we went on to spend two hours organizing his room.
I don't think we can fit another lego book or set in there. That doesn't matter though, because we will. Somehow, we will. 

And this is how it usually goes with us. This is a pretty typical day minus all the other stuff I didn't include. It's days like these that make me realize that, even though I'm still sure I wasn't cut out for motherhood, I was supposed to be Jack's Mom, whether I was ready or not. And for that I'm grateful. 

Hope, who is mostly grateful, because, seriously, mothering those " normal" kids would have sent me over the edge. 







Monday, July 7, 2014

Catching up.

After a nice solid month of being MIA, I'm back. Im sure my tens of readers missed the hell out of me. I didn't intend to be gone so long, but, you know, once I make a real serious commitment to something, well, I usually bail. It's kind of my thing. 

So I did start documenting my PMDD symptoms on this fabulous little app called iPeriod. It was helpful. At least until I forgot to keep documenting, but then it was helpful again when a week ago I started wondering when I last had a period. Sure enough I was on day 38 of my cycle. For those of you that don't know what that means ( men ), I was 10 days late. Hmmm. I've only been that late a handful of times and each handful contained a pregnancy. That didn't seem possible as my BF had the boys snipped, so unless I was blacking out and screwing random fertile men, I assumed that wasn't it. I was right. Aunt "Flo" finally arrived with a vengeance. Bitch. Not only did she bring her own kind of pain but she added to my Sciatica. Why. We still don't know. So, long story short. No change of life babies, and most definitely a blip in the hormone scale. It's over now, so let's move on.

What I did on my summer vacation: I worked really, really, really hard. 

We really did take a little vacation. Four days in Newport, RI with kids. I almost didn't. I came really close to saying No. Instead, I voiced my concerns, which, is never a good idea. No matter how many psychiatrists tell you it is, trust me, it's not. It lead no where good. In the end I decided to go and to put into practice some of the coping strategies I've been learning over the past year in therapy. I coped like a rock star. For the most part. I kept feeling myself going off track and I kept pulling myself back. On purpose. I did a lot of breathing. I did a lot of not worrying about things that were not, nor will they ever be " my problem". I even allowed myself to say "no" to something when by the last night both Jack and I were exhausted. Not because we had been crazy busy but because we had just spend every waking hour of the past three days with people. That's not something everyone can understand. I get that, but I also don't care anymore. Just trust me when I say I need time away and if I don't get it I will start to have thoughts of tying you up and locking you in the basement. I was pretty proud of that. Finding my balls, and saying "No, I think we'll stay in tonight." 

So all went well, mostly, until the last day, which also happened to be wash the linens and clean up day. The details aren't as important as the very evident lack of communication that is very much still the elephant in the room. 

Eh. Who cares. Rome wasn't built in a day.

Once we returned home I took a solid week to not give a shit about anything. It was nice. When stress started to creep in I told it to piss off. When the anxious thoughts started squawking I told them to shut the fuck up. It was good. 

It was sort of good. I feel a little calmer. A little more in control. I haven't made the decision to jump on the daily med train. Yet. I'm still battling that out, mostly right before I fall asleep, and then again, as soon as I wake up. I think I feel a little calmer because I stopped caring a little, if that makes sense. It sounds a little shitty, but it doesn't feel that shitty. If you don't understand me, I don't care. If you don't like me, I don't care. If you don't want to communicate with me, I don't care. If you want to be a shitty mother, I don't care. If you don't want to marry me, I don't care. If you think I'm an idiot, I don't care. If you resent me, because you have to pay me child support, I don't care. If you don't enjoy spending time with me, I don't care. If you talk about me, I don't care. 

Not caring about any of this feels good. Selfishly good. I don't know if that's wrong or right. It does come with a cost I think. But doesn't everything.

Next on the agenda...figure out a place and time to write with no interruptions, because I've been interrupted at least seven times during this post. 

Hope, who is well aware that all the people that "do" care, aren't going to be happy that I don't. 

Friday, June 6, 2014

One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small



"You're just like a pill. Instead of making me better, you keep making me ill."

Decisions. I kind of hate them. I paid a visit to my regular doctor, ironically for a med check. A med check regarding the meds I'm not even taking. We discussed my "symptoms" aka feelings/behavior. That, the timing of said behavior and the fact that my tits feel like someone is cutting them with razor blades when touched for a week out of every month, lead her to the same conclusion. PMDD. Not to be confused with PMS, which is also very real and a pain in the ass. So great. We've got some answers. Doesn't completely explain my craziness away but it certainly helps to understand some of it. We talked about what I can do to help myself, most of which I completely agree with, but will most likely struggle to do. We talked about how I don't really want to take medicine, and we talked about how I don't really want to feel like this anymore either. In the end I left with another prescription. For Prozac. I left without being really sure if I would take it or not. My only experience with anyone that has taken Prozac is with my grandmothers sister. Her doctor prescribed it to her after her husband passed away. She took it for a while. And then she got in her car, pulled out of her driveway, drove to the top of the hill on her street, turned around, hit the gas, and drove her car straight into the big oak tree in her own front yard. There's no concrete proof that is was Prozac that caused her to take her life, but still, the incident left an imprint in my brain.

Suicide stories aside, I also have an anxiety disorder, which tends to make me ... Uh anxious? I worry. One of the things I worry about is starting or takings new medicine. I don't think my worries are entirely irrational, however, as I don't tend to react to any medicine or substance in a typical way. Despite my reservations, I had pretty much decided, after therapy today, that I would give it a try. This weekend...so I wouldn't be alone in case I started frothing at the mouth or suddenly wanted to jump off a bridge. All I had to do was just take it and go about my business. Pill, swallow, done. So long as I didn't read the possible side effects. I went the pharmacy, picked up the bottle, which is not as cheap as the others, and drove home. Don't read the possible side effects. Don't. Don't fucking do it! Okay, maybe just the common ones. Just to be prepared. You have to know what to expect. Wait! No! Don't do it!!! No. No. No! 

And then, of course, I did it. I read that pamphlet. That whole entire fucking pamphlet. Which wasn't easy at all because I need reading glasses now and I haven't been able to find them since the move. So, yeah. That was a mistake. 

Now I've pretty much decided not to take them. Pretty much. Maybe. Ugh. 

I just don't know. I want a wrong or right answer and there isn't one. 

For now I'm just going to marinate in it. Maybe when the crazy starts to rear it's ugly head I will change my mind. Maybe when I feel lost and desperate again, desperate to stop it all, I'll grab that bottle  with little thought or care about all the other bad things that could possibly happen. Maybe I'll only care about the bad things happening at that very moment. 

I guess we'll see. The wait won't be long. I figure I have about another good week left. 

Hope, who is going to try to enjoy the weekend and wait until Monday to brace herself for the ride. 

Friday, May 23, 2014

Failure to communicate

I had a visit with my doctor today and brought up the subject of PMDD. While he conceded that, yes, that could very well be the case and the anger I feel over things that might simply cause another to feel slightly annoyed, could be exasperated by the symptoms, he urged me not to dismiss the things that are actually going on in my life. Fine. I get it. While it would be nice to have one simple answer to all of my problems, nothing is ever simple. And by ignoring a problem we don't solve a problem. We only create more problems. I fucking get it. I'm not one to shy away from trying to fix something that is wrong. I'm not Irish. Not even a little bit.

Only there is no solving this problem. Once again, like a stupid fucking idiot, I used my voice. This is never a good thing. One because it causes that fucking sound to come out of his mouth. That sound of disgust. It's like a fucking knife in my back. I hate it. I can't even begin to describe how much I hate it. It ruins everything right then and there. Anything that I could have said in a normal rational way is out the window. And then the show begins. Nothing is ever solved.

I tried. That is the best I can do. I'm not happy with the way things are. I'm just not and it doesn't matter if it's two weeks before my period or during. Everything has changed so much from the way it used to be, and yes, I KNOW things change. I'm so fucking sick of hearing that. What if I didn't want it to? What if that is the kind of relationship I needed and not this? What if the house and the laundry and the shopping and the dishes and the waiting for the man to come home isn't what I fucking want? What if I want someone I can talk to who won't let out a sound of disgust? What if I want to discuss a book I read or a movie we saw. What if I want to be able to say what you did hurt me...without watching the eye rolls. Fuck that. And no I don't think I'm losing my mind right now, I just think I'm fucking pissed.

I've always had this ridiculous need to "fix things". I think that stems from the whole Alcoholic parent thing and feeling like it's your fault and blah, blah, blah. But really, why?  Can't something break and just be broken. Why do I struggle so much with accepting that? Why do I invest so much in something that no one else is concerned with? If it's broken, toss it out. Walk away and don't look back.

Christ. I'm like that fucking little kid that no one wants to play with, only I don't know that no one wants to play with me. I don't get it. So I just keep coming around.

I'm starting to think the whole relationship concept is a piece of shit. Is it even real? It starts with something that's purely instinctual on most occasions. It's start with lust. Lust. Infatuation. Perhaps a little obsession. Maybe some addiction. But when those things fade away, and they always fade away, ( I know. I've been married twice. ) what are you left with? The person you thought you knew better than anyone becomes a stranger. I'd like to say this is just my observation alone, but the divorce rates speak for themselves.

Maybe we are not made to be with one person forever. Maybe that isn't the way to true happiness. How could it be if we aren't happy?

Loving someone isn't always enough. We all have needs that have to be met in order for us to find some level of contentment. I realize it's unfair and unrealistic to expect one person to meet all of those needs, but don't they have to meet some? A few? Or do we meet our own needs with complete disregard to how our partners think or feel?

I don't know. I thought I knew once. I thought I had found the best thing ever. The person who was perfect for me, despite being my opposite. Or was that the lust and infatuation and obsession? Probably. All of that is changing now though. It has been over the past few years, no matter how hard I have tried make it stop. The addiction was the hardest part to get over. I'm not even sure I'm over it. Would I still be here if I were?

Hope, who wishes she could just forget.