Category Archives: Friendship

One Problem with Recovery

I just looked at the “laundry list” for the adult children of alcoholics or dysfunctional families. Here’s a link.  Almost all of that pertained to me in the past. Almost none of it fits me now, thankfully.

If you look down the page, you’ll find the flip side of that list.  My problem is with #5. This one:

We stop living life from the standpoint of victims and are not attracted by this trait in our important relationships.

That’s pretty easy to see. What I don’t see addressed here (and haven’t found elsewhere) is how you deal with those who were in your life before — getting them to change the unspoken “givens” in your relationship? Demands don’t work. At least in my case, neither does asking reasonably. My answer has been to cut off my family and all but one of my oldest friends. I’d like to have relationships with them, but in most cases I’ve moved on and they haven’t. Or, in a few exceptional cases, they’ve moved on and I’m not enough like I was to be “interesting” any more.

Says a lot about your value to someone, ‘eh? Either you’re valuable because you’re someone to be “better” than or “entertaining” or you have no value. If I did something extraordinary, that made me well known, these people would almost all in my estimation reclaim their relationship with me, whatever it is. But as an ex-victim, ex-emotionally unstable, non-victim, stable, older, housewife, who lives in the middle of nowhere, without drama — I’m unimportant.

And if I did something important, why would I want to be connected to these folks?

My old friends, I thought would be happy for me, because they cared about me, and I was stable and happy. Nope. Almost without fail, they were bored by me, because I wasn’t “exciting” any more.

My family? Well, that’s more complicated. I think they’d also claim their relationship with  me if I did something “important.” But it’s probably easier to call me “overly sensitive” or some such, now, than realize that the only way I will allow them to have any but the most casual contact with me is to rewrite the premises.  I’m not less than them. Different? Yes. Less? No!

Much of the problem of course is of my own creation. I thought for decades that being less and interesting/unconventional were some of the only real assets I had, as I was damned with some undefined piece. So, I started all relationships with the idea that I was less.

I changed, but that doesn’t mean that others want or need to.

 

 

Advertisements

My Friends

are people I admire, not surprisingly. That said, it occurred to me tonight that my friends, as diverse as they are: sf writers, bibliophiles, computer geeks, teachers, artists, antique/vintage retailers — all have at least one thing in common.

They all feel strongly about what they believe. Whether I agree with them, or not. Whether I share the perspective/history which got them there, or not, we share that. We’re passionate about our beliefs.

I’m not only talking about religion, although that’s included, but also issues related to the flow of history, societies, mankind’s future, etc. I think to be my friend requires the commitment to your own beliefs as well as the manners to help me find our common ground, if we disagree.

When the conversation starts “I’m right; you’re wrong.” It’s a pretty short trip to good bye for me.

That statement echoes abuse, right? Abusers all start with the notion that THEY are right.

I don’t require agreement, but tolerance — acceptance of differing opinions as having value, even when not shared. I don’t need you to agree with me, but I do need real manners: not couching your “acceptance” in such a way that is really isn’t. That’s what most of the people of my old life do — say the right words, in the wrong ways. The intellectuals sneer; the monied hold themselves superior. Me? I walk away.

Not surprisingly, I have no tolerance or patience for the underlying attitude which creates abuse in my life now. Yes, that makes me just as bad. I know it; I admit it. And no, I won’t change it. No matter who it might be, they aren’t worth the trip through hell that being around an abusive person, again, would bring.

There are relationships I mourn since I walked away. I’m sure there will be more still. I have this gut belief that all people are valuable, if you just know how to look. All people have a worthwhile story. All people.

Some people I can’t get away from my damnable past when they’re in my life, so I’ve removed them. It doesn’t mean I don’t love or care for them; it means I love me more, as I should.


I wrote this originally 4/4/2018, and I have no idea why I didn’t publish it? Should have!

Being Self-Sufficient & Not

It’s getting colder, thankfully, the furnace is finally fixed! We’ve been using the woodstove, a thing we’ve decided we’ll do much more of this winter. For one thing, it helps deal with the various downed wood on the property. For another, it uses the resources we’ve already paid for, like firewood, instead of incurring a bill with the local propane company.

We’ve wintered here without a furnace before and it isn’t fun to come into an absolutely frigid house, but it can be done.

I have for the first time put root veggies (carrots) in wet sand to store them overwinter. We’ll see how that goes. Being able to buy organic and then storing them without refrigeration sounds like the best of all possible worlds to me. Along that line, I found a Mother Earth News article (of course) about this. You can find that here;

http://www.motherearthnews.com/real-food/how-to-store-fresh-vegetables-zmaz04djzsel.aspx#axzz3Gn2iYEhy

Also, I’m making bread again. Making our bread all by itself saves us about $5 a week as we like hard crusted, “gourmet” type bread, not the supersoft cheap stuff. It ends up being about 2 loaves in a week. This time I cut up the end of the last loaf, to prepare it to become breadcrumbs.

I’ve been using a lot of breadcrumbs lately. I made stuffed mushrooms Sunday morning for both the political party my neighbor had and my writing group. Last week, I made a crustless quiche, why I’ve never heard of this technique before I don’t know, but I doubt I’ll ever make a quiche, at least for us, with a crust again! You just brush the inside of your quiche dish with olive oil, then spread a layer of breadcrumbs on that. Then add your quiche batter and bake. It was great, took WAY less time than a pie crust, was made with ingredients I almost always have at hand. Not to mention that it probably uses way less fat than traditional crusts too.

Otherwise, I did something I never thought I’d do. I gave up about cleaning the house. Last week I started to get really depressed, the house was a mess and no matter how much time I spent on it, it seemed it was still a mess. Or, I clean it up and then mess it up again. I finally asked 3 people to help. All of them know about my house, indeed two of them are neighbors. The other is one of my bosses (!). But I asked for help. I’m not getting it done on my own, I’m doing the same thing I’ve always done, fits and starts and forward & back.

I’ve had it. I’m stuck already. I asked for help, and thankfully, all 3 of them responded that they’d help. This is sort of scary for me, but I don’t really know what else to do. Professional help isn’t possible, it will make me panic AND we can’t afford it, so that’s out. And I’ve tried almost everything else I can think of, short of getting a dumpster, and that’s out for much the same reason the professional organizer is.

So, I swallowed my pride and asked for help where I needed it and otherwise, we’re working at being more self-sufficient.

What’s New?

The book got sent off to be edited last October, almost a year ago. I got it back, then spent two weeks coming up with a new outline, then more weeks adding and culling and moving around.

Then it was sent to the editor again, this time for a copy edit. It’s back.

I’ve been putting off making the changes. Nothing major, I was going to move 4 sections around. I need to send pieces of it to my siblings so they can say if they hate what I say about them. I don’t expect they will, but, I’d rather ask than get sued or make someone mad.

I need to send it off to people to read I’ve promised the chance.

I have a marketing idea brewing.

After I get it back from the beta readers, then I’ll make those changes, and it goes out to be formatted for epub and POD,and will available to buy on this blog.

Why? Because the book is titled

Teacup of Water:

An Emotional Testimony of

PTSD with SF on the side

so the sales link should be here. My editor, rightly so, got all over me about the SF reference, as most people would say “sci-fi,” except you see that isn’t true in the science fiction world; that’s what people say whose business isn’t science fiction.

Anyway, that’s where I am with the book.

The house is getting (and staying!) clean too.

Yeah, I’m doing both at once. The fallout from that is that I’m having nightmares,  for weeks now. I have multiples most nights. I don’t remember them and they don’t normally actually wake me all the way up, just enough so that I know that I’ve done it again. There was one bad one, or one I woke all the way from about my ex-husband that was just weird, as we’ve been divorced for decades! Another night whatever was going on in my head caused me to stiffen my right leg so much it went into spasm —that woke me up! But aside from those two incidents, I haven’t a clue wtf the nightmares are about, just that they occur, nightly. I figure it’s a bleed valve and that’s just fine, obviously I need it.

I was in California for a funeral last month, remembered/was reminded how really messed up some of the people I knew were, and it’s so crowded I doubt I could ever live there again. Made me sort of sorry I’d come from there a bit.

Today I got home and DH said, “Your box is in the kitchen.”

“What box?” I asked.

He said, “You got a box in the mail.”

There was a card and a gift of candied orange peel from one of my oldest friends for no real reason at all, except she loves the stuff, remembered that I did too and bought me some. She is one of the people I didn’t get to see when I was in SoCal, as she only lived there for the short while we lived together, lo many, many years ago.

I was feeling exhausted and worn down when I parked the car. It seemed to be a nonproductive day, but it took an upswing. I got out of the car on the beautiful piece of land where we live,  found an affectionate cat, an intelligent and caring man, and a box from someone who knows me well enough to know that I like my sweet and tart mixed — and always have.

I wish I could write poetry! I’d write a poem about the granular, sugary sweet offset by the oily bite of the soft peel. I can’t, not my kind of writing I’m afraid. I wish I could though.

Today wasn’t all that great,but it ain’t over yet!