Soap boxes

Today was a terrible day. But it's nearly over. And I finally have internet at my house again. So why am I at my mother's house waiting for her to get home? Because we are fighting and I know we need to fix it.

However, I had a really great conversation with Julie today. She "got on her soap box", as she put it, and pointed out a few very terrifying and true things to me about myself. For example, whenever I feel vulnerable or weak, I get very angry and usually at myself. And then I do what I did in my last post, and try to make myself just be better. Instead of admitting my weakness, or sitting with my vulnerability, I pretend to admit something, pretend to laugh, and then I "move on" which means I rant and rave and be angry for days.

Here's the vulnerability: I am afraid, desperately afraid, to fall in love. Or to even have a crush. Or even just maybe have a little tiny uncertainty about how I feel. I do not like to like boys. I like boys... but only as far as I am in control.

Here's the thing though, regardless of what made me vulnerable, or weak, or whatever, finally being honest with my best friend about that, was so healing. Sometimes I forget how much I need her to feel whole. And I always always miss her. She knows me just so well. Better than I ever expect her to. And I always assume she is going to be disappointed in me, which is just stupid, because Julie loves me.

And I really love her.

The joys of recovery

Deep breaths, Rebecca. Smile a little. Sing a lot. You know the magic keys you hold to recovery. Coffee, Cosmos, Episodes of Grey's. A lot of GLEE soundtracks. You love this. You thrive on it. So let's dive in!

There is nothing to bring me back around to finding myself like a fabulous weekend of overly emotional fantastic-ness. It really is amazing what best friends, great wine, and boy drama can do to inspire me toward emotional health. I think rejection is my motivator. Failure is my forte. Over-feeling is my catalyst toward change. Peace and Joy always return to me after I realize what a ridiculous person I am when I stop taking good care of myself. And then I giggle at my awesome "Becca-ness", as my precious (and pregnant!) sister-in-law put it, and wrap up my faults in a bag and chuck them off of the nearest waterfall, allowing them to become a dear memory, but no longer the current reality.

I love this moment. This is the moment where I live in the glowy aftermath of stolen kisses and little moments of flirtation that then turned the corner into the treachery of the DTR or State of the Union Address... also known as the moment when the weekend fun becomes that real conversation I always try to avoid. That conversation in which we all confess what we actually want and what we are really thinking. I always walk away with the knowledge that I am a silly little girl, sometimes a terrible person, and once again without any more wisdom about what I really want with a man. Because I am perpetually single. I never thought that out of all my childhood friends I would be the "Single Girl". But I am. And boy howdy I really do love it.

With less giddiness and more honesty, I always do learn more of myself. For example, codependency is attractive to me, but too terrifying to commit to. Selfishness is sexy, but gets old really quickly. Religion really does matter. Education is more often than not essential. I have to concentrate in order to not be manipulative. I have to remember to not be lost in the emotional crap that boys throw out in order to make you feel better, make them feel better, and remember what I actually what I need... and then express myself. Even if that means I have to give up the stolen kisses.

But at the end of the day, there is really something precious about a weekend away - especially when it includes Julie. She is so much my favorite. She is lovely. Really. Her life sucks a little right now, but she is working to change that. She loves whole heartedly and tries to continue to love people whole heartedly, even when she isn't sure how. People (or maybe just the church in general) should take lessons from her. And her husband.

Lastly, here's this one for you: 2010 was the most terrible year that ever existed. Seriously. This year needs to be better. So far it has been. All that hard stuff is becoming normal, and all the death is just becoming a piece of me. Remembering them is healing me. All of the illness it changing me into an adult.

So 2010, screw you. 2011, here's to you!

A new mantra

I am aware that this title will make some of my readers gasp in concern that I am becoming Hindu or Buddhist. Bare with me. I promise I still love Jesus.

I have just finished reading Eat, Pray, Love. Honestly, I had little motivation to read this charming little escape from reality (and what little motivation I did have, came from the Adonis-like form of Javier Bardem in the recent film), however, every time I go to Minneapolis I choose a book out of my cousin's basket of girly books and read it. It's my foray into the world of romance novels. I love it. This particular foray, however, held more substance.

I didn't particularly enjoy all of the novel, but it held certain nuggets of truth for me. The story was good, but honestly a little cheesy. How many women really have the opportunity to take a year off of life to go figure out how to be a person? Really? She does figure out how to be a person though and that means she figures out a few important things that were beneficial for me to read.

One thing that she figures out in the Ashram she lives in for a while is to find her own mantra. The one her Guru gives her, just doesn't do it for her. So she chooses her own. The particular mantra didn't do it for me, but the idea of having a phrase I can repeat to myself was novel. I chose this one: "I remain. I am still here." It settles me down when I start to become overwhelmed with this world. Whenever I feel that I am losing my mind, or myself, or my soul to work, or grief, or anger, or boys (yes I just lumped my boy dramas in with the much more weighty and important stress factors in my life), I just say to myself, "I remain. I am still here."

Although this year has brought a lot of huge changes to not only my life, but my person and my soul as well, I am still here. I said in my last post that "that girl died". And she did. But I am still here. Still remaining. (side note: The word that St.John uses in John 15, when Jesus says "Remain in me" is the say verb root used by James when he talks about Perseverance. Just FYI. I love that).

This reminder that I am still here is so important, because one thing I haven't lost this year is faith in my ability to care for people and to achieve things. It's when I lose myself that I become afraid that I am unable to keep myself afloat. When I am here and present, I am able. I am capable of taking care of me, but only if I am here. Being here sometimes feels like it's going to take a lot of energy, but can I just tell you that being here is inevitable and since I have to be here anyway, I might as well acknowledge it and take care of myself.

So world, "I remain. I am still here."... my natural next words would have been "Don't mess with me", but I'm tired of believing I can stop tragedy and change. Rather, let me just say, "I remain." because no matter the tragedy and change, nothing is going to happen to that truth.

PS. In other news, The Fat Lady stopped humming and started to sing. By this I mean that I finally quit. Thought you might like to know.

Stuck in between

For so long now, I've talked about death, illness, sorrow, mourning. It has consumed every thought I have outside of work. And I have thrown myself into work with a reckless abandon. I am quite officially a work-aholic. I have in many ways only avoided myself or plunged head first into everything. None of this allows sorting, organizing, and processing. None of this really allows me to move on.

But I'm getting better. Every day I wake up with even more awareness of this life in me. And it scares me. But I am getting the courage to figure out how to live again. I don't like it. I still want to crawl into a ball and just sleep every day away. But there is fight in me that won't let me do that. A restlessness. I hate that restlessness. It's annoying. It doesn't let me relax. It keeps me in constant anxiety, because I can't stop the fight to live, but neither can I stop the desire to just sleep.

I am stuck. I can't remember what it felt like way back then when I was me. I keep trying to get back to that person, to that feeling. But she doesn't exist anymore. She died. and I have to learn how to live again. I'm trying new things, testing different waters, reexamining the past, redefining the future. I'm becoming a person again.

There is one thing that lets me know I am getting better. I am ready to love. To fall in love. To survive without love. To survive love. I'm ready to stop this thing I've done - this thing where I purposely go out with people I don't care about so that I don't have to worry about hurting them or getting hurt by them. With them I don't have to worry about the fact that I have no emotions to invest, because they aren't real to me. But then someone barged past my emotionless wall and surprised me. And I began to see that I was cowering behind my "okay" facade.

So moving on. A friend wrote this, " The question becomes how much of our outlook is self-invented through our continual assessment of tangible occurrences in our everyday lives". That is the question indeed. 

when like turns to love and love to respect

I have a person I want to share with you today. I love him. He loves me. We love each other.

No not that kind of love. He's married. To my best friend. But I L-O-V-E love him.

Timothy Morris is married my very best friend in the whole wide world, Julie Morris. When I first met Tim, honestly, I didn't care for him much. I mean I could see why Julie thought he was attractive, but I didn't get anything else about him. As I got to know him, I saw that he was fun, but beyond that I didn't know what to do with him. He didn't seem like a real person to me. He was the fun guy that we hung out with.

Then Julie started dating him, and I really didn't know what to do. I mean, where were his real thoughts? Who was this guy? And then tragedy hit. He was driving us home and crashed my car. That wasn't the tragedy though. The tragedy was my reaction. I was terrible. I put way too much into it. I was bitter and resentful. I was wrong.

Then they got married. I was even more lost. My best friend, my other half, was married to someone I didn't understand and I just had to accept it. I was beginning to warm up to him, to like him as person, but I still didn't know what to do. I felt lost because my best friend changed when she fell in love. It took me a long time to see how good that was.

In the two and half years they have been married, I have fallen in love with Tim. He is a man among men. Sure he is flawed, but I wouldn't have him any other way. He is so in love with Julie that I see how much she needs him. And he is honest in how much he needs her. And their marriage is one I aspire to. Timothy quickly became my best friend by extension. It's almost like my friendship with Julie has expanded to include this amazing man who is exactly the man best friend I've always needed and never had. I love him.

After loving Tim, came respecting Tim. This is not usually the way things go for me. Usually I respect and then love. But not with Tim. He has taught me so much about love and humanity and honesty. I loved him because Julie loved him, and because he just such a lovable guy. I respect him because he has grown (more than most men I've met) from a boy into a man in just a few short years. I respect his pain, his humor, his vigor for life. I respect his faith and his pursuit of that faith. I respect his diligence and hard work. I respect his love for his wife, which is better by far than my love for her.

Timothy Morris, I (obviously) could not have chosen better for Julie. I could not have chosen better for myself. I admire you and how you deal with life. I love you dude. You just plain old rock my freaking socks.

So Timo, I will see you soon. And we will drink coffee and have a grand old bashing time.

Dealing with my...

Sometimes I look at my life and literally think, "There is no way anyone could live this life."

Then I look at myself and I literally think, "I am totally living this life."

And then I wonder, "Am I living or am I just surviving... just making it through?"

I am struggling to make heads or tails of this world, but somehow each day ends and the essentials have been completed. Rent has been paid, work has been amply completed, I've invested in relationships.

But have I done anything to make this world better? Have I made my life better?

Other than keeping myself alive, the answer is resoundingly no.

I know I'm keeping it together, but my brother made a difficult observation: We Gomes are very good at keeping it together, and that has no bearing on our ability to live.

I just don't know how to change this pattern. I have goals and plans and dreams and hopes, I just don't know how to take the step from here to the step where I begin working on achieving those things. I am good at achieving, but that doesn't mean that I am good at achieving what I actually want.

So, here's the goal: Stop living this day to day existence. My hope has once again reverted to "Time will pass and eventually this will be over. Someday this will change. Just take one day at a time. One hour. One moment. And soon you will be able to sleep and sleep takes this all away." I am pretty sure this is called depression.

Here is how I plan to achieve said goal:
1. Make plans.
2. Set achievable monthly goals (monthly because daily and even weekly seem just too hard right now.)
3. Keep on grieving. I know it's hard Rebecca, but the grieving now, will make later so much better.


Here is what I am proud of:
1. I have staid true to myself (somehow?) in the last weeks. At the end of the day at least I am honest.
2. I still know myself. This is totally awesome. I'm not lost. Just stuck.
3. I have had some success. I can still be awesome even if I am not awesome at those things I want to be awesome at.
4. I am learning how to rest and when to rest. Desperation has some sort of amazing effect on people.

Here is what I would like to change:
1. My attitude toward life. I have gotten beyond the anger with an intense need and desire for joy. The anger and bitterness creep (or rather barge) in often, but I need joy and resolve like never before. So, somehow, I keep on finding it.
2. My ability to accomplish. I am certainly keeping it together... but I would like to excel, not just succeed. I still want better (another thing to be proud of).
3. I want to figure out how explain who I am to other people. The condescension is annoying. The arrogance absurd. The pity, just downright pathetic. I want to be able to look them in the face and have that look alone be enough to show the world that I've got this.

At the end of the day, no matter how dark the valley, and no matter how deadly, I am still determinedly plodding. And that is certainly something. And I still have pride.

And all that still makes me smile.

A three days kind of post

Today is Wednesday. The third day. Three days. 

Because I don't know how to introduce this... I don't know how to tell the story without telling the end first, here it is:

My mother has leukemia. 

Every time I have started a post to tell you a story and explain this fact, I have deleted it. Every time I have been tempted by my ever present desire to share this news via facebook, I have deleted it. Every time I tell someone, I choke on tears. They may not see them or hear the choke in my throat, but I feel it all in the depths of my being. 

My mother has leukemia.

I found out three days ago. She has known for months. She didn't want to burden me with the news, because my father has stage IV laryngeal cancer and my grandfather was dying and I was losing my job, and she thought (like the martyred heroine she is) that I couldn't handle it, so she would wait. 

My mother has leukemia. 

I have cried every day for so many days, I am no longer sure I know how to fall asleep without tears. I can only sing the songs in choir that are not familiar or not in English, because we are practicing our Christmas selections and Christmas songs make me cry. I can't listen to my favorite comfort music, because my favorite comfort music is music I listen to with my mother (Rod Stewart and Chicago) and that makes me cry. I can't take walks, because I like to walk with my mother, and that makes me cry. 

My mother has leukemia.

Monday I wanted to stop at her work and give her a hug, but I didn't because I didn't know if I would be able to drive away. I am afraid of being with her because I want to be brave and strong and cheerful, because she's the one with the Leukemia, not me, but I'm not sure I can be. I am working on it. I'll get there. I'm getting better at explaining it to people. I'm going to see her tomorrow. 

My mother has leukemia.

When daddy got sick it was terrifying because I didn't know how to take care of him like a loving daughter and I loved my father. When Grandpa died it was devastating because he was my very identity and my very solid foundation and I missed him so. But my mother... I do not make sense without her. I am not human without her. She is because I am. I know that doesn't make sense, but she lives and breathes her children and I am her daughter, the only one she has, and I am her best friend. She is my mother. My mutti. My mommy. Mom... please. 

My mother has leukemia. 

She won't die soon. Probably. She's not so sick. Hopefully. She's just tired and that's okay. I can take care of tired. I am happy to take care of tired. I am thrilled at the chance to care for my mother. There is no hesitation  and no fear of the care taking. It is only the end idea that frightens me. It is only the anger that once again my life has a tragedy. A purpose again in illness (I refuse to say in death). Somehow my heart is broken beyond recognition. 

My mother has leukemia. 

and here the smallest of small voices makes this one small confession, "I have no dreams remaining. Grad School is over. Marriage is over. Babies are over. The Middle East is over." Because I cannot leave here. I cannot go knowing she is ill and I am away from her. And this, while my choice and my need to stay, not hers and not obligation, breaks my heart. 

i love you mom.

-b.