Rebuttal

This is my THIRD attempt at sitting down and following up on my post from Feb 16.

I keep getting distracted with tangents. Good tangents. It feels good to write. REALLY good. Really, really, really good.

As you know, I've been in a dark spirally place lately and I'm letting it just be out there and I'm feeling all exposed and terrified. That's still true.

I went through something a year ago and I went to a counselor about it and she advised me to allow some good in my life. No. That's not quite right. She INSTRUCTED me to do something good for myself and DEMANDED that I allow myself some good.

She also advised me to write it all out.

In this post I talked about fear of looking imperfect. Well, you should have SEEN how well groomed I was when I went to meet this counselor. There was no WAY I was going to allow her to see how incredibly flawed I was. Nails were done. Make-up: flawless. Hair: perfect. No lint or dog hair: check. Yeah she saw right through me. THANK. GOODNESS.

I can't play poker because you can read my face like a book. I have the definition of the opposite of a poker face.

I heeded her advice/instructions (whatever) and made a list of good things. I started wearing make-up more often and started looking myself in the eye. I started wearing perfume on a daily basis instead of just for church or special occasions. I started wearing nail polish. I started making the time to do my nails so that I could wear nail polish.

In the last few months all that has gone by the wayside. I have gone off track. I have let myself talk myself out of the good. Thus the downward spiral.

Yesterday, as I hugged Dewey goodbye before he left for school, he said "you smell like Sunday". I was wearing the perfume I usually wear to church. I thought it was so cute.

I've been trying to fight myself, my own worst enemy, and rebel against the negative voice in my head and allow good back in.

Here are some of the good things:

It's good that I'm in my head so much too. I really think about things. I think and think and think. Because of this I can see all the angles. I see all sides. I debate things out in my head. I think things all the way through. I think things sideways. I think things up-side-down. It makes me creative. It helps me to empathize and sympathize. It makes me see the little things. It makes me smart. It makes me not think like everyone else. It makes me good.

I CAN look myself in the eye. I do not need to be ashamed of myself because I am NOT a shell. I am whole and I am real. I am not pathetic.

I CAN SO.

I can get the house clean. So what if it's not perfect? It's not like Child Protective Services is going to come along and declare our home a disaster site. I can get it clean enough. It just won't be House Beautiful perfect.

Yeah, stuff is boring and bleah, but that's life.

I was actually looking forward to being forty, and I'm mostly okay with it. My life has most definitely not been wasted. I am not a waste.

I really can't make my husband happy, but it's not my responsibility to MAKE him happy. He needs to achieve that on his own.

I CAN get motivated, just not right now.

I have gone from eating fast food and drinking Dr. Pepper 5 times a week to once a week with success. I have seen improvements in how I feel and in how I weigh. I just need to keep up the good work and not go off the bandwagon. I have the self control I need. Next is seeing if I can go two weeks without. I know I can do it.

I can motivate myself and I DO deserve it because I am awesome.

I AM good enough.

If I disappeared I wouldn’t be here and that would be sad.

It would not be better if I’d never existed.

I love my boys and they know it. I am not a terrible mother. I’m just not June Cleaver nor Carol Brady and they are not real people.

I am not fat nor ugly and there are lots of times where I’m okay with looking at myself. Even when I’m naked – that’s saying something!

I’m pretty awesome.

I do miss the ocean and I get homesick. It’s hard to stand, but I can visit and I have great memories.

I have a pretty extensive music collection that I can turn to when there’s nothing good on the radio. It’s not the universe trying to tell me something.

My clothes are not cool because I have a conservative job so I have conservative clothes. My shoes are pretty cool. Also, I don’t go anywhere cool, so what do I need cool clothes for? AND, some of my clothes are cool.

So I drive a Hyundai. It was the first brand new car I ever owned. It gets me where I need to be. It’s not like I drive anywhere that I need to roll up in some fabulous car.

My house can be cleaned and decorated – and it will be.

I’m a pretty good cook.

I envisioned that I would be married in the temple, have some children and a dog and live in a house. All of those things are not only true, but I love my husband, children, dog and house.

Everyone has their moments when they want to run away.

It’s true that I need to spend more time with my dog. He does love me the most, but that’s because he’s a dog and that’s what dogs do.

I'm off to walk my dog now, bye!

Perfection

I am the first born child of the first born son of a first born daughter of a first born son.

Yeah.

I’ve read articles that are for and against the whole birth order thing, but for me and what I’ve observed in my life, it rings pretty true.

I’m also married to a first born child. No WONDER my life’s a mess! Just kidding, I love my husband.

I am a perfectionist. I have always been a perfectionist. I accept imperfectness in others, but it is ABSOLUTELY unacceptable for me to be imperfect, however, I expect others to accept my imperfectness.

Make sense? I know, not so much.

Talk to my husband and he would laugh in your face about me being a perfectionist because NOTHING in my life is perfect. What does he know? He’s the type of perfectionist that does not accept imperfection whatsoever. That’s a whole other issue and I don’t want to get off topic. This is MY forum, so it gets to be about me.

My dad is a real perfectionist. So much so that it paralyzes him. He’s so concerned about being perfect that he’s incapable of doing anything for fear that it won’t be perfect. He blames his mother.

He asked me one time if I ever felt the pressures I do to be perfect from him. Nope. Never ever once. The only thing I ever felt from my dad while growing up was love and acceptance for being so awesome. He explained to me that he was pressured so much to be perfect from his mother that he was determined to not burden me with that issue.

Too late, Dad, sorry, I was born this way.

It seems to be ingrained in me to be the most perfect that I can be to the point that I am afraid to start things or attempt things because I’m so afraid of failing. Failing is not acceptable.

The very very worst thing I could do in this world would be to disappoint someone or let them down. It started out with fear of disappointing my parents, and it continues with the terror of letting my boys down. It’s the reason that I can never say no.

I did something (only once) that let my parents down in the worst way possible and I didn’t die and the world didn’t end, so I’m slowly getting over my fear of disappointing people. I still never ever want to let my boys down, though. I think that has more to do with being a mother than with my in-born perfectionism complex.

Don’t be sad.

I’m okay. Sorry for yesterday’s post.

This blogging thing has its benefits. When I have thoughts bouncing around in my head, the only way to get them out is to either a) say them out loud, or b) write them down. I don’t usually have the time to write things down, thus I talk. A lot. More than I should.

I’ve also found that saying things out loud tends to make them bigger, but writing them down just helps me to get them out, get them in order, and make them go away. Blogging yesterday was a good purge, but not necessarily the best forum. Maybe next time I’ll just write it in my journal.

I do keep a journal, but it’s for the deepest darkest weirdest most inappropriate thoughts that I need to quit dwelling on and just get out of my head already. Yes, there are more deep, much more dark, and weirder thoughts in my head than what gets posted here.

So for the one other person reading my blog (hi, Jezz!), I just wanted to let you know that I’m okay. Not better, but okay. I don’t feel like that every day. Just feeling a little hopeless lately, but not so hopeless that I don’t know that I will get through this and life will be hunky dory later.

In the interest of full disclosure, however, I think it’s good to put out there that not everything is sunshine and roses. I think it’s nice to read that other people want to give up on themselves and have times of woe. It’s refreshing to read about other people who struggle with their self worth. It’s good to know that you are not the only one out there. It’s comforting to know that you are not alone. Others feel sad too.

I had this experience on my mission where there was this girl who hated me. She hated being around me and couldn’t stand even the sight of me. She complained to my mission companion about me constantly. My companion finally got fed up with her and told her that if she had such a problem with me then she needed to resolve it with me.

So she pulled me aside and listed off all the reasons why she didn’t like me. First of all, I was completely taken off guard because I had NO IDEA that she didn’t like me. Also, I really liked her, so it knocked me right on my butt to have all this vitriolic negativity come hurtling at me from left field. Secondly, her main reason for disliking me was because I WAS SO PERFECT. I had no flaws.

Double-you. Tee. EFF.

??!??!!!

That’s dumb. You hate a person because they’re perfect? That’s super dumb. That’s on you. That’s YOUR problem, not mine. How do you expect me to fix this problem? Be NOT perfect? Um, no, but thanks for your advice. Have a nice day!

Also, I am SO imperfect. If she had taken the time to get to know me, she would know how excellently imperfect I am, but whatever. That was over twenty years ago.

Months later I ran into her again and she told me how happy she was to see me and how great I was and all this blabbity blah. It was too bad that she hated me so much, we probably could have been really good friends.

So to make my point, sometimes to avoid people hating you, you should allow them to see your flawed imperfectness.

Not really.

My point is that it makes you more human when people can see all of you, not just the face you show the public.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Here is a recent photo of me in Kauai:

It was taken just after my 40th birthday. Note the black t-shirt. This is one of my very favourite photos of me.

I have a number of photos of me hugging trees. Here's one of me in Maui in 2007: 
I am a literal tree hugger. (I am SO laughing at myself right now because I can see that I am wearing a black jacket! I think my mother is right!)

So my DH pointed out to me that all my blog was about was what I was wearing and that's pretty boring, so I started another blog. It's called WhatIWore. If you go to my profile you can see both blogs. So the 'style' portion of my life will be over there, and the ranting and raving and whining and moaning will be over here.
I literally could not sleep last night. I was thinking of all the things I could blog about and how the what I wore portion needed to be a separate blog and how I need to rant in this forum. That was why I named it that. That is why I am rant girl.
Some clarifications:
1) I have not been diagnosed with depression where I am in therapy and on medication. Many general practice doctors have told me that I'm "probably depressed". I do get depressed and stressed, and writing and journaling DOES help me with that, and many therapists that I have talked to have advised me to write to sort things out. I am not seeing a therapist and I am not on medication and I am not clinically depressed. That whole thing about my therapist was kind of a joke. Sorry if I mislead anyone.
2) I really do and do not care what people think of me. My sister, Jennifer "her awesomeness" Bowie, told me that she thought it was funny that in my profile I outright say that I care about what people think, where my very first post stated that I don't care what people think of me anymore. I care what people think if it's positive and feeds my ego. I desperately need to have my ego fed and be told how shiny and sparkly and awesome and funny I am. (so thanks SO much for all the comments!) I don't care what people think when it's negative and critical and stupid.
3) I have some addictions. They are as follows; Shoes, nail polish, Dr. Pepper, black t-shirts, and blogging.
4) I noticed that I was wearing a black t-shirt AND shorts AND my apron is black in my last post. That black t-shirt has writing on it and was not included in the black t-shirt count. I also forgot the 1200 pairs of black yoga pants I own. Black is slimming, right? I'm a colourful enough person that my wardrobe does not need to reflect that. Or I like to disappear in to the background, so I wear a lot of black. Or I really am scarred from the Matthew at the Zone incident. Or all of the above. You be the judge, internet.

Today is the day I started

Now I can't get that Black Eyed Peas song out of my head.
I have been meaning to do this for awhile and actually started a blog years ago but, like most things in my life, I abandoned it after 2 posts. The first blog I started I attempted to be anonymous so that I could moan and complain about the people I love without them finding out. I have since come to the place in my life where I don't care what other people think of me, so perhaps I will be more successful with this blogging thing.
We'll see. Don't hold your breath. I haven't written in my journal consistently - ever - so I would hate for folks to be checking daily for updates. My therapist told me that I should write to help me with my depression. I used my journal for ranting, raving, whining and moaning, so this will be something of a public journal, I guess. Since I am mostly doing this for therapy and totally because it's the only thing I've found to have worked with my therapy, I am going forward. (make sense?)
Happy New Year. Love you all.