August 29th, 2012
I just came back from Chicago – spent the weekend there with my super fabulous sister Denise.
It was a good trip and rather spur of the moment (as in, less than a month’s planning). She was going and…I decided to tag along for protective purposes.
I’m glad I went. For both of us.
She cried a little. I expected to…but I didn’t. I vented…a lot. We got drunk. We laughed. We commiserated on how woefully clueless, thoughtless and stupid men can be. We talked about what we deserved vs. what we’d accepted. We talked about life, and babies, and…more life. About changes. And chances. And opportunities. And progress. And saying Fuck It to the bullshit. And Fuck YOU to some folks.
It was good. For both of us.
I wasn’t sure if I would make it, because last week I took Pudding to the doctor with a very wet, persistent and long-standing cough, only to have the doctor say she would classify it as mild pneumonia. EXACTLY what I was afraid of, exactly what I did NOT want to hear, but we got him started on antibiotics and by Friday he was definitely on the mend, so I felt okay about leaving him in the hands of his loving but clueless father.
I’m very glad I was there because…she needed me to be there. But I’m also glad that I went for myself because the change of scenery was…thought-provoking. It’s amazing how sometimes just being in a new place, a different place from where you always are, can give you a new perspective.
Of course, the challenge is to keep that new perspective once you’ve returned to your old familiar surroundings. Because old habits die HARD.
And I’m back, and some of the old stuff is creeping back, but…I’m fighting it. I’m holding on to that breath of fresh air I inhaled in Chicago, the breath that helped me to say I have things to do and shit to accomplish and I have to let go of old crap and old feelings in order to move forward.
It’s getting easier. Despite the return to normalcy, despite the coolness that is creeping into the breeze that always brings with it a wave of foul moodiness and hopelessness and sadness…it’s getting easier.
Part of it is deciding not to be sad, but to be…angry. They say that depression is anger turned inwards, and it’s so true. It’s so easy to blame one’s self for life’s failures and life’s disappointments, to say I didn’t try hard enough, or I wasn’t good enough.
Fuck that. I know there are times when I did not try hard enough. So…that’s done. All I can do is try harder NOW to accomplish the things that are still important to me.
I wasn’t good enough? Fuck that too. I AM good enough. I am GREAT. I am fucking AWESOME. I am not perfect, not by a long shot. Not by a looooooong shot. I know this. But I am not just my virtues and my strengths, I am my imperfections. Those are a part of me and a part of who I am, a part of what makes me lovable at times, hilarious at times, unstoppable at times, desirable at times, vulnerable at times…human. All the time. This is me. This is who I am. I will not pretend to be strong when I feel weak. But I will not be made to feel weak when I am strong.
So yeah, I’m a little…pissed. Somewhat at myself but in a good way. Not in an I-feel-awful-and-I-suck way but a have-you-forgotten-who-you-ARE? kind of way. Every now and then I forget who I am. It’s so so easy to forget who you are and what you are, especially when other people trample on your sense of self and try to corrode your spirit with their bullshit.
I hope that my beautiful sister will do the same, will remember who she is and what she has to offer and promise herself not to stand for anything less than what she deserves. To make choices that reflect her own self-worth. To make people value her or leave them behind. To decide to be treated, if not with love, at least with respect.
I love you, Denise!
And I fucking love myself too! MUAH!