Just don’t wanna. January 29, 2010

Or something similar is what has delayed my marriage part 3 post. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s that I am tired of talking about it and tired of thinking about it. I don’t know, but regardless- I just don’t wanna.

I have the worst luck ever, and this fact is only proving itself over and over and over. Today my mom wondered out loud what I have done to deserve such karma. A few days ago I had a moment of satisfaction over a certain family members mis-fortune and when I voiced it I was reminded that in my so-called Christian mind you can’t have both karma and Gods forgiveness. I wonder how I feel about that- but I didn’t delve into it. Why? Seriously I don’t know, I just don’t wanna go there right now.

Someone also told me recently that I should get a divorce. “Talk the talk, then walk the walk,” she said. She wondered why Jason would “like” me, and why would I “like” him? And then she looked at me with that look that says “see? you know I’m right.” I couldn’t argue, or wouldn’t argue anyway- and I have no explanation really. I really just don’t want to. Not because we are madly in love, or ‘cuz I think we can make it work or ‘cuz I’m not convinced it’s over. And of course the kids have a lot of play in that decision but so do many other things and the bottom line really is that I don’t have to convince you or even myself at this point. I may be a selfish and spoiled brat but that’s cool with me. I don’t wanna get a divorce so I not gonna!

My parents are truly amazing and have opened their homes and bank accounts to help us out in this fucked up financial mess- but I’m not moving to Arkansas. Someone told me to go there since it’s better then being homeless and the fact that it’s getting that bad is numbing but still the fact remains that I DON’T WANNA!

We are selling all that we own in hopes of starting over somewhere new. Friends tell me I’ll be without anything and still be poor, so what’s the point and I should keep my belongings. Maybe they are right and I will regret letting go but in the moment it feels good and keeping stuff that fills a space I can’t afford doesn’t. So I’m not going to argue or try to convince people – I’m not keeping stuff, I just don’t want to.

I sound like a broken record, I realize this and I could go on and on and on but guess what?!!!! So I’ll just list them here:
I will not pay the $1000 deductable to fix the KIA.
I am also not vaccinating my children no matter what the law says.
I am not modeling for you or anyone else until my baby weight is gone.
I will not make the boys walk in rain and snow to get on the bus when they are wheezing.
I am not going to stop buying sugary cereal until I can afford granola.
I am not going to be nice and forgiving and sweet when I don’t feel nice, forgiving or sweet.
And I won’t make my kids do it either.
We are not moving to another country. Ever. And I doubt we’ll go visit somewhere that far away either.
Pretty is not going to be in daycare. anywhere.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll write about my marriage- unless, of course, I just don’t wanna. :/

My marriage – part 2 January 15, 2010

The disaster didn’t wait long. After a night of heavy partying my boyfriend and I had a bit too much to drink and the night turned into a nightmare. I’ll for-go the details. But even with a black-out the next morning, I remembered enough to know I had to move on quickly. By that time I was living with the guy so I needed a place to go.
My friends called their friends, their friends called my friends- and by the end of the day I was moved out. And moved back in to Jasons old apartment. Everyone gave me the big “get your shit together” lecture over and over until I almost wanted to rebel against rebelling. So confusing!
Sigh… what a messy time that was. What a mess I was. I’ve conveinently forgotten much of this time- memories are blurry and hard to summon up . Moments seem to fall into consciousness and then quickly fall away. As they go they get smaller and smaller. Some of them I don’t care to reflect on. This is a part of the healing process I’m trying to trudge thru. I know that I can’t expect anyone else to forgive me for the mistakes I’ve made if I can’t forgive myself. The problem is that these times are so ugly- I have a hard time focusing long enough to conjure up the issues long enough to feel anything anymore. It’s like trudging thru mud, and much too disgusting to write. Is it really that bad? In my reality it is.
Eventually I gave in to the comfort Jason allowed me to have. It kinda felt like moving back in with my parents. I felt excited to have a new start- happy to be forgiven and loved unconditionally. But that feeling was mixed with a sense of failure and loss. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Jason so much then. He was making me believe that I could really truly trust someone not to leave me. To love me even when I’m at my most horrid. And to be happy doing it. What a switch that was! I needed him, and he needed me. We were opposites, and it worked well for us. We enjoyed each other and had fun together.
Jas and I rented an apartment at a brand new apartment complex in south Denver. It felt fancy and nice, and we fell right into our comfortable existence as if we’d never left it. I found a great job at a cell-phone company, and that was exciting and new. Jason worked away at the hotel. All was well. Which is not.. Comfortable for me, for some reason.
The guy I ran away from? Well, turns out he ran away too. And the place he ended up at was not too far from me. He decided to write me an apology letter, and I walked right into his trap. Fell for his talk hook, line, and sinker. Yeah, I’m smarter then that. Yeah, I knew better. Yeah, I shouldn’t have even bothered responding. But, I did. Damn! It was also about this time that I began to make friends with other young people at my new job. They went to happy hour. They stayed out all night. They played hard and had fun and they invited me along. Of course I went. Of course Jason didn’t. Of course I had to go f*ck everything up.
I spent weekends with people I shouldn’t have been speaking too. I lied to Jason about it. We fell apart. We lived together but worked separate shifts and rarely saw each other. If we did see each other, we didn’t talk or hang out much. Jason never questioned me on my stories of where I was going or who I was with. He never called to check on me or see what I was up to. That didn’t make it his fault, by any means, but it did make it easier for me to do. I began to feel numb about the lies and cheating. I thought if he really cared, he’d have asked. I didn’t go out of my way to hide anything and Jason didn’t go out of his way to find out. This went on for over a year. In December of 2001 I went to Nebraska to visit old friends. We drank ourselves dry and at the end of the night I was in a panic. Jason was the one I always drunk dialed whenever the drunk wasn’t a happy one. He never complained that it was late and I was acting stupid. He talked me thru it. He swore his love to me. I agreed. When I drove home, we were back and all was well in our world. I broke it off with anyone else I’d been spending time with, and went on my way.
Until January 1st 2002. When I discovered I was pregnant.

My marriage- part 1 January 12, 2010

I have wanted to write about my relationship with Jason for a long time but kept finding reasons to procrastinate. Sensing possible pain or scrutiny because of the many mistakes I have made in our journey together has made it… hard to write. The new year has brought on a responsibility to repress such fears- and move forward toward healing. And so it begins:

1998
Such a shockingly scary time for this 20-year-old girl. I had recently returned to my home in Nebraska, and created a whirlwind of negative feelings about my past life. It is true that things out of sight are somewhat out of mind, and the hurt I felt toward certain family came rushing back while I was home. My Grandparents were aging faster than I could fathom- so fast that I hadn’t yet convinced myself of a reality without them there. Looking back that seems silly but I was still young, naïve and immature. It didn’t occur to me that I would be left to answer questions or find healing without my mentors.
Jason and I met early in the year, when he hired me to work the front desk at his brand spankin new hotel. I aced the interview, and was excited to start working on; what I thought, could be a career. My then fiancé, and first love, was failing miserably at satisfying my needs and unfortunately found someone else that was much easier to take care of. Jason offered me an apartment that his family had left him in charge of- low rent, utilities paid, and it was clean and safe. He even helped me move. The same day he took his stuff from the hotel to the apartment above mine, and I must have caught his drift because before long we were in his apartment downing some bud light and making out on his bed. I vividly remember the lecture he gave me about keeping this all on the down low- don’t want any friction at the new gig, of course.
Life went fast back then, and I know there wasn’t a lot of thought going on in this head of mine about the consequences of my decisions or actions. Jason was 7 years older than me, and at 20 years old that seems like an eternity. He could buy alcohol. He had stocks and bonds, and a car payment and a 401k. The car he drove was fancy and he was a business man. So far I’d only “dated” little boys. Actually, I hadn’t “dated” at all. It was all very exciting, and things moved quickly.
When my Grandparents died in the summer of ’98, Jason handled it as any man would in a grown up real life relationship. We graciously worked my shifts at the hotel, held me while I sobbed, and took care of me gently. He became my everything after that… I was in shock when they passed, and the hurt overcame all that was in me. Jason kept me together the best he could, and our relationship kept moving fast.
It wasn’t long before I was pressing to move forward- secrets are not my strong suit. Jason’s family didn’t know about us, our friends didn’t know about us, and nobody at the hotel knew about us. Well, mostly nobody.To make up for the nonchalantness at the hotel, we went on weekend trips to Ft Collins or Denver. Staying at nice hotels, shopping, and visiting nice restraunts felt very grown up to me- it was all exhilarating and fun!
The excitement of having such a secret wore off though; I was becoming restless and insecure. Soon it was decided that I must move on to a new job. Any problems we had would easily dissipate because we would no longer be a secret. Right? Wrong.
We moved in together, made it obvious that we were seriously relational and pretended we were sure it was forever. I had a new job, new friends, and a new found freedom. Before my grandparents died I was careful not to disturb the bubble they had me safely tucked inside of. Suddenly nobody cared what I did, who I saw, or where I went- That was a first, and I took full advantage of it. Jason held on for the ride, but from home. I spent all the time I could gallivanting the town, partying all night and sometimes all day. Naturally, trouble ensued.
Too much time has passed for me to remember all the reasons I came up with to convince Jason we should move. Maybe it was the humiliation I caused myself while miserably intoxicated? I vaguely remember blaming that ex love of mine for haunting our relationship at the time… I know I felt that Jason and I were mismatched- he was a boring old man, and I was having the time of my life. But, imagining life without him was also mortifying to me, so I didn’t push him too far. Maybe a change of scenery would be the bond we needed.
I applied for a new job- same company- in Aurora Colorado. The transfer moved forward and before I knew it, I had my very own apartment! Unfortunately Jason had refused to move with me, the hotel wasn’t ready for his departure. Somehow convinced that he would come eventually I insisted taking all Jason’s furniture with me to the new place, and left him with mine back in Bluffs. We took turns driving the 3 hours every weekend to be together. City living was intimidating to me and I was lonely and unhappy. Jason didn’t hesitate to say “I told you so!” and was adamant that I *not* move home. Lesson #1 in our relationship– Being told “no” is a sure fire way to ensure Kelli does exactly the opposite. Immature and silly? Yep. But I was determined not to be controlled or pushed around. Rebellion has always gotten the best of me, so I found a way to move home all on my own- without Jasons blessing.
So, back in Nebraska, I had my own adorable little house. A new job that I landed all on my own. Plenty of friends to enable my bad drinking habits and nobody to tell me no. Life was grand. For about a minute. Jason up and moved to Denver for a new job. He left me in Nebraska to fend for myself- just like I insisted I wanted…
Old boyfriends, toxic friendships, bud light- all to blame for my fall. Life spun out of control. I was a mess with a new boyfriend. A better fit. He was older then me too. Not my typical boy though- this one shared my love for the party life. And for the center of attention. We were quite a pair. A disaster waiting to happen.

Protected: I’ve been b*tch slapped. January 10, 2010

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Game Over- An open letter to my stalker. January 8, 2010

Dear person who haunts me:

This sick game we play no longer entertains me. I’m not humored by your hatred, nor am I saddened by the pathetic life you lead. I still find some satisfaction in the fury behind that mask you wear, but it’s not enough to pacify my desires in the least.

Your insults do not sting my ego, they aren’t believable to me any longer. I am in control of my emotions, for once. The threats you spew are hideous and careless. There are no longer secrets. The past is the past and I’ve moved on already.

Before I have been afraid to cut you out of my live completely. I was apprehensive of the animosity I know you hold for me. Maybe a bit habituated to the drama and thrill of having the last word. Deleting you from my contact list, banning you from my face book account, and writing this letter has been freeing to me. I’m certain this will anger you, but it’s not entirely intended to. Please understand that once and for all- this back and forth abuse is over. You are welcomed to have the last word if you don’t believe me. I quit.

Thanks in advance- K

ugly January 7, 2010

I resolved to blog about perfection and positivity this year… But then I realized that would make my writings nothing but big fat cheesy lies, so I decided against it. Instead I’ll attempt to write about the *truth* in hopes that my writing will magically turn the negative into a positive.

Funny that a good friend of mine recently asked me if I realize that I leave a bad first impression. She says I come off “bitchy” and can be a bit intimidating. Moi?! Um. “Nah, I think I’m shy….” I responded. She laughed out loud, if you can imagine, and said I’m domineering. After a bit of serious thought, I agreed that I may come off that way but I’m not at all bitchy, domineering, and especially not intimidating. She went on to say that the only reason I have any friends at all is because smart people tend to have a great intuition and bitch-dar (like gay-dar for bitches, apparently).

Recently I have come to understand that it is slightly possible that I have always had an issue or two with self-esteem. I say this with a dash of uncertainty, though, since there has been more then one instance when I have been accused of being self-centered and arrogant. Is it common that someone could be both insecure and arrogant? Well, anyway….

You would think that I would have an idea of who has the right opinion. But this is the problem- I don’t trust myself, and often I feel like I don’t know myself… Maybe I’m complex and interesting. Or maybe I am like most of the people I grew up around (no, I’m not naming names)-utterly delusional. Either way, lately I’ve been obsessing about what’s what with me. And the bottom line is: I feel ugly.

Physically I try to maintain my youthful appearance. I’m fairly certain that this is a honest description of me, since it’s been used as an insult before. I’ve always been told I look younger then I am… Although now that I think about it, I haven’t heard that in awhile. Still, I do try to look decent. I’m just not a foo-foo-sexy-dress-up-type of girl. I prefer to be comfortable and I despise shopping so I often wear gym clothes and pajamas. Or jeans and a tee-shirt… This time the baby weight is stubbornly making itself at home on the curves I usually cherish and I find myself hiding the dreaded mom pants with jeans that are too tight. I am not a good fat girl.

Spiritually I have lost my desire for my faith. There have been times when I’ve argued and defended myself or my faith, but I don’t have the energy for that anymore. Prayer has become a thing of the past. Mass is no longer comfortable. Where has this anger toward God come from? I know that He thinks fondly of me- since I have a life I don’t deserve- He has blessed me beyond measure. Maybe it’s Mary who is *not* my homegirl. I feel angry, resentful, and spiteful toward the Church. Not sure where or why that feeling has manifested. It is a scary one though, because faith is what I rely on when this ugliness gets to be too much. Without it, panic wins. I lose.

My friends are undeserved. Paranoia has become another good friend of mine though- I wonder if they really are my friends. Maybe my enemies are right- people just put up with me out of kindness and generosity. Not because of a true liking in who I am. It is entirely possible since:

I am often self-centered. Everything is about me, right? This feeling plagues every only child I know, which leads me to believe that it’s not really *my* fault. (((laugh now))) In most situations the voices that live inside my head are thinking, plotting, or discussing how and why and what is because or directly related to yours truly.

I am mean. People label people as children. This is a label I remember my mom giving me when I was young, and it’s always been with me. Who knows where this mean-ness comes from. Some say it’s just blunt honesty and call it a virtue. Others use it as an accusation-or insult. Either way I hate thinking of myself as mean, but it’s probably more often true then not. I’m mean to my mom. Mean to Jason. Mean to the strangers who dress funny at Walmart. It’s almost habitual though, as sad as that is. I certainly don’t intend to be mean! It just happens.

I am my mistakes. I have lied (liar), cheated (cheater!), played games, took advantage of, and been unfair. I have made false accusations, gossiped, dramatized situations and taken credit for others accomplishments. I have laughed at or because of someone behind their back or in a crowd. I have belittled or humilated my friends and family in social settings. I have created difficult situations and manipulated others to further my growth (or so I thought).

Am I wicked? Lost? Evil? Heartless? I often feel that way lately. That feeling is getting old, though, so I’m going to attempt to rid myself of it. How will I accomplish such a monumentous task? Well…. Since I haven’t always been evil… I have good in me somewhere… Here are some quick ideas:

Surround myself with positive, loving people. This will be easy because I’ve been blessed with a community full of amazing people. Yesterday I signed up with a new mothers group. The minute I have wheels I’ll be back in business, socially speaking.

Attend mass and get back to my bible study group. If nothing else, it gives me great ammunition in which to argue with Ben and that is always a favorite outlet for my negative energy. Hopefully God will chose to light a fire with-in me to continue with my faith and put out the hostility I’ve been encountering.

Volunteer. There was a time a few years ago that the boys and I would wake up super early to deliver food to the soup kitchen. We had to pick it up from the bakery at a grocery store, and unload it from our car to the kitchen. The boys were too young to understand the meaning of this involvement but it always felt good to be setting an example for them. Now that they are older, it would be gratifying to see them do for others. Plus, nothing feels better then to help someone else. I’ve been working with La Leche League as a leader too, but it’s more because I feel that breast feeding is so detrimental to babies. It feels like a selfish, judgemental type of volunteer work. When my grandparents were sick, I spent a major amount of time at the nursing home or hospital. Old people are awesome. Maybe we could visit a home here?

Make amends. Yeah, AA talk, shhhh…. Don’t tell anyone, please, everyone knows how I loathe me some AA talk. Still, I find this step (or steps) valuable- even if you aren’t a drunk. Pill poppers, druggies, husbands, and only children can benefit too. The last few years haven’t been my brightest moments and I know that I owe a few people some serious apologies- even more then that, proof that I actually truly mean it.

Sleep… yeah, ‘cuz sleep is invaluable to feeling beautiful…. speaking of sleep…. zzzzzz……..