See, it all started when I tried to quit smoking a couple of weeks ago.

It wasn’t a conscious decision.  I was just sitting at work reading because there wasn’t much else to do, [...]]]> It sounds like the beginning of a really bad joke: The Ego, the Epiphany, and the Scar walk into a bar…

See, it all started when I tried to quit smoking a couple of weeks ago.

It wasn’t a conscious decision.  I was just sitting at work reading because there wasn’t much else to do, and every time I thought I should walk downstairs for a smoke I asked myself if I actually wanted a cigarette or if I was just bored.

The answer was consistently “no” and “I’m bored,” so I just couldn’t be bothered with it.  Which made me feel a tad lazy, but that’s because the only exercise I get these days is walking up and down the stairs to and from… you guessed it, having a cigarette.

Anyway, I lasted all of about 20 hours, with 8 of those being sleep time.  By hour 20, I was all sorts of bent out of shape, hyperventilating and anxious, and desperately wanting to crawl out of my skin. Not so much because I wanted a smoke, but because there was this sudden influx of emotion that I was ill-prepared to handle.

You know, those emotions that I – and every other addict, regardless of our drug of choice – have spent years numbing into oblivion. While I don’t equate cigarettes as being on the same level of addiction as, say, heroin (and I don’t particularly care that the “experts” assert that it is more so) I can fully understand why it’s so hard to walk away and not look back.

Addictions are essentially a security blanket.

Too Simple?

Perhaps that sounds too simplistic. Certainly there are many reasons addicts stay addicted, but I’m looking for the absolute bottom line reason and that’s what I come up with. It helps us cope with things we’d rather not.  We get overwhelmed with emotions – our hurts, our fears, our loneliness (I doubt anyone uses because they’re happy) – that we have no idea what to do with.

We all find something to cuddle with that makes us feel better, or at least gives us the illusion that we do.

Further Application of the Simple

I’ve been trying to lay my finger on the absolute bottom line in terms of what I want out of a specific situation.  I’ll skip the gory details, but suffice it to say there is a boy and a girl and a rather lengthy amount of time.  We seem to have the same conversation once every six months or so where we say essentially the same things and end up in the same spot every single time.  He digs his heels in on one side, I on the other, and in the middle is this expanse that I’m going to call the common ground that neither of us seems able to reach.

The most recent conversation took place shortly after my exercise in quitting smoking.  He said, she said, and all of that.  The particulars don’t matter.  What does matter is that I get the distinct feeling that neither of us really heard what the other said.  Oh, we listened to each other talk and could probably repeat verbatim the points of note, but that’s not really hearing now is it?

So I’ve spent some time ruminating on the conversation as a way to really get down to the bare bones – to lose all the extraneous shit that’s piled on top of the words we so nicely parse.  And it dawned on me that as confused as the discrepancy between his words and his actions makes me, I have most likely done the same to him.  Unintentionally.

Say Hello to the Ego…

See I’ve got this struggle between how I feel and what my ego tells me I should feel.  I tell him that I can’t do things – which my ego tells me is the right thing to do – a little time passes and I reverse course – because that’s what is more in line with what I feel.  The only consistency is my inconsistency. Which is apt to produce a constant state of whiplash.

*Sigh*

…The Epiphany

This led to the realization that I need to understand what it is that I want.  Which I’ve narrowed down to:

I want him to feel like I’m worth the perceived risks and take the risk anyway.

Simple enough, right?

It would be if I’d stopped there. But something else was bugging me.

…and the Scar

I thought about some of the things I’ve told him – big things, big risks – and his reasons for being self-described gun-shy and I realized that I feel like he doesn’t believe me.

Honesty is a big thing with me and I try – always – to be honest. Sometimes my delivery is a bit less than tactful, but I pride myself on being honest even if it costs me people I love dearly – and it has.

To feel like he is doubtful of me really kind of pisses me off – my ego wants to rant and rave and tell him to fuck off.  It tells me that I’m being jerked around; that I’m being tested to see how far away I can be held before I decide to leave; that my walking away will give him the excuse to paint me as the bad guy.

“See… I knew she didn’t mean it.”

All scar tissue.

My heart on the other hand knows that any doubt is a direct result of something someone else did and so far I’ve been willing to try to be patient when pretty much anyone else would have walked away long before now.  I understand his position because I’ve been there and I have my own scars to contend with as a result.

Whiplash.

I realize that I have exacerbated the situation since, of course, but I didn’t create the initial problem.

For him.

Perhaps this is karmic payback for the scars I’ve left for someone else.  And perhaps it’s time I stop being the punchline.

~~~~~~~~~~

Here is some advice I hope you’ll consider:

• Deal with how you feel. It’s hard and it sucks but in the long run you’ll be much better off.
• Know what it is that you want. If you don’t know, which is probably more prevalent than not, take some time to find out.
• Tell your ego to take a hike.  Nothing but trouble, that stupid effing ego.
• Be kind to those people you are in relationships – any kind of relationships – with. You will leave behind something of yourself. Only you can decide whether your legacy will be one that is good or one that leaves scars.

With Valentine’s Day fast approaching, the [...]]]> I give you an essay from my eBook Fractured: Essays on Love, Friendship, and the Nightmares in Between.  I am opting not to include links for purchase, but if you’re interested you can find it at the major retailers (Amazon, BN, iTunes) as well as Smashwords.

Damn Those Arrows!

With Valentine’s Day fast approaching, the air is filled with reminders that my life is devoid of anything that even remotely resembles a social life.  I console myself by insisting that Valentine’s Day isn’t so much a celebration for couples, but rather a day invented for those of us who are dreamers, albeit dreamers willing to spend our hard earned money on disposable trinkets to express how we feel.

Talk is cheap, after all.

That generally lasts about two seconds until I remember that being single isn’t all fun and games any more than being part of a couple is all love and roses, and spending weeks surrounded by cheap paper hearts and boxes of candy I can’t eat won’t change that.

Cupid should have his arrows shoved unceremoniously up his cherubic ass.

It’s not that I’m walking around shouldering a picket sign declaring “down with love.”  I’m merely in love with the idea of being in love.  I have dreams of dancing in the kitchen with a nameless, faceless man while Frank Sinatra croons in the background.  The thought of lying in a shadow-filled room while being read the words of great authors sends chills up my spine.  I’ve gone to clubs with the possibility of meeting someone completely by chance in the back of my mind.  I’ve even read personal ads on craigslist – not as a specific tool for meeting people, but because everyone needs a giggle, and they serve as a reminder that I’m not the only person flailing around in this knee-high wading pool.  Once I stop laughing at all the “Easy Money!! Watch me jack off for $100!!” posts, some of them are quite intriguing.

The blatantly obvious posts by insane people aside, it’s hard to tell who’s being even remotely truthful and who’s simply scamming.  While I don’t have the genetic makeup to be deceptive, I don’t trust other people not to be.  Pessimistic, I suppose, but history has taught me to be wary.  Taking what people say at face value has delivered me into more trouble than my own bluntness ever could.  On the other hand, so has reading between the lines; a veritable catch-22.

I constantly ask myself when dating became so complicated.  There seems to be a direct correlation between the degree of complication and the self-defense mechanisms that creep up more often than not after dealing with, and moving on from, the inevitable hurts of life.  No one likes to feel vulnerable, but we all are; instead of acknowledging how we feel, we shut down.  I call it The Curse of Being an Adult.

I’d really like to know who set down the rule that adulthood had to equal letting go of the childlike wonder of exploring.  Another.  Person.  In many ways, the teenage years were best; the expectations were not only simple and awe-inspiring, but utterly lacking in cynicism.  That may only be showing my age.  Or romanticizing the past.  Or both.

Lately, the cynic in me, with his no-nonsense, gravelly voice, declared that it was no wonder the divorce rate was sky high and the dating scene has become watered down to such sterility it’s a miracle that children are still being born the old-fashioned way.  Why not scrap it all and make cloning the procreative way of the future?  We move ever closer with each suggestive email, the protective walls climbing byte-by-byte.

After I told him to take a hike, I gave his musings some thought.  Has meeting face-to-face become obsolete?  Has hiding behind the safety of the computer screen become the norm?  Even if neither of those questions can be answered in the affirmative, the anonymity can be deceptive.  It now seemingly takes weeks to accomplish what used to take months or even years.  But therein lays the ruse:  regardless of how much time is spent exchanging email or IMs or texts, the most important parts of who and what a person is cannot be extracted from letters, words, sentences, and paragraphs.  I spent nearly six years trying.  It’s not that I didn’t meet and date the traditional way, but absolutely nothing could compete with the intrigue that gripped me.  I was fascinated, though wholly unprepared, by how easy it was to get tangled in the world of words and instant gratification.

Unfortunately, it was that damn fascination that led me merrily skipping down the primrose path only to run headfirst into the proverbial brick wall.  With the same person.  Not once.  Not twice.  Try at least a half-a-dozen times and you might be coming close.  I would breathlessly await the next email, the next flirtatious volley.  I was addicted; so much so that not even the intense frustration of constantly finding myself back at square one could tear me away.  Despite knowing it was time to walk away or risk losing my self-respect completely, I refused to take my leave.

When I later found myself in a similar situation, I made it perfectly clear I was interested in more than online flirting.  I wanted something real, something tangible.  And we were on our way.

Or so I thought.

Perhaps the expectations were too high.  Perhaps the reality just couldn’t compare to the safety and picture-perfect idealism that cyberspace can provide.  Hell, perhaps all we both really wanted was an ego-boost; a validation of sorts.

It’s hard to say because we never got beyond briefly meeting twice.  I was under the impression that everything was going well.  We’d made plans to spend some time together, get to know each other a bit.

Then nothing.

At first I was angry.  I had already been through the minefield of email flirting and gotten blown to bits.  I wasn’t ready for it to happen again quite so soon.  I went through the inevitable questions of what it was exactly I had done only to realize that it had nothing to do with me.  Not really.  He had instigated it and he had ended it.  Whatever his reasons, I don’t truly have so big of an ego to honestly believe his decision had anything to do with me.  We all come with our own unique issues; sometimes they mesh, sometimes they don’t.  In the end, though, all I’m left with is speculation and a bit more disappointment.

All things told it wasn’t a complete waste; I still have the visual of abusing Cupid to amuse me.  And while discovering what it is I truly want escapes me yet again, I have become more aware of what it is that I don’t want.  And regardless of what I’ve learned or not, I still find myself captured by the intrigue, by the thought of finding my equal who will put forth an effort to discover the wealth that lies within me; an effort that matches my own discovery of his.

Copyright K.J. Pierce 2011

Yeah, me, too. I don’t do so well when I haven’t had enough sleep, when stupid bullshit is dancing the damn Macarena across my [...]]]> Did you ever have one of those days when it feels like the universe is out of alignment or that mars is wreaking havoc in the house of your rising sun?

Yeah, me, too. I don’t do so well when I haven’t had enough sleep, when stupid bullshit is dancing the damn Macarena across my grey cells, and I feel so pulled in every possible direction that I’m beginning to feel like one of Pinhead’s victims.

And, yes, I’m mixing my horror stories.

A Little Bit of History

For the past 12 years or so I’ve struggled with a number of things: constant exhaustion, motivation, the desire to be creative, depression, and anxiety (the anxiety has been in the mix for far longer) and mood changes.  I spent probably 10 years writing it all off as character flaws – basically that I was lazy – only to find out the vast majority of what I was lambasting myself about was due to a chronic health condition I didn’t know I had.  I started treating the condition naturally – taking vitamins, olive leaf complex, getting lots and lots of rest – with fantastic results. I’m still not 100% and it’s gotten worse again with working the crazy hours on night shift for months on end, but it’s still much better than it was.

What’s been more difficult is losing the mindset of thinking I’m lazy or getting frustrated at the constant changes in mood. If I get enough rest I generally do well with being in my normal state of optimism, but it’s a precarious line. One day of not enough sleep will take me at least a week to recover and the slightest frustration will turn into a full-blown meltdown if I’m not careful.

The Current State of Things

There’s been a lot of stress going on in my life lately – pretty much the same as everyone else.  Most of the time I can keep it to a dull roar, but with being ready to move on from my current job, and working on starting my own business, and the usual emotional turmoil I’ve been bouncing back and forth between optimism and pessimism, hope and fear.

What’s a Girl to do?

All mankind is divided into three classes: those that are immovable, those that are movable, and those that move.
~Benjamin Franklin

In order to try to keep things in perspective I’ve been saying “Benjamin Franklin” to myself every time I feel myself backsliding. I think about the above quote from Benjamin Franklin and ask myself if I’m immovable, movable, and if I’m going to move.

Why Ben?

Because he came from worst starts than I did and accomplished more than anyone could have ever imagined.

Our Friend Ben

Benjamin Franklin’s formal education ended when he was about 10.  That’s a 5th-6th grade education by today’s standards.  But he didn’t let his lack of formal education stop him from doing anything. By all accounts he was a voracious reader and took care of educating himself.

He was movable and made sure he moved.

A brief list of some of the things he accomplished:

• Started what became the American Philosophical Society (still in existence)
• Started the Library Company of Philadelphia (still in existence)
• Invented the Franklin Stove
• Wrote and published Poor Richard’s Almanack
• Helped create the Union Fire Company and subsequently the first fire-insurance company
• Signed the Declaration of Independence
• Invented the Bifocal
• Invented the lightning rod
• Conducted experiments with electricity (key and kite, anyone)
• First U.S. Ambassador to France

The list is much more extensive, but my point is this: if Benjamin Franklin, with little formal education and from a working-class background, can accomplish what I’ve listed here and nothing more, then certainly I can be movable and I can move; I can start my own business and create the life I want for myself.

And so can you.

Question:

What would you do if you could do anything you wanted? Are you going to be immovable, movable, and are you going to move?

And with that in mind, I’d like to revisit a quote about being yourself by another dead writer, Oscar Wilde:

“Be yourself; [...]]]> There’s no better way to start off a blog post than completely annihilating Shakespeare, but since the zombie apocalypse hasn’t quite begun, I think I’m safe from the brain-eating playwright from Stratford.

And with that in mind, I’d like to revisit a quote about being yourself by another dead writer, Oscar Wilde:

“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”

How true that is, and yet I wonder how many of us actually know ourselves enough to be ourselves.

This is my current conundrum: Who the hell am I?

I know who I used to be:

• A freak girl
• A club brawler
• An act first, think later person
• A ram who was more inclined to butt heads than to be all sheep cuddly
• A fearless explorer and adventurer
• Someone who loved as easily as she despised.

And now?

No clue.  I still feel like a freak (which I use in the best possible manner because I wear that as a badge of honor) even though I don’t look like much of one anymore.  I’ve lost the brawling in clubs, thank God.  I now think about things first, except I think about them so much I’ve lost my fearless side.  And I can still butt heads with the best of them, although that’s become a rarity these days mostly because I’ve been too exhausted to bother with it. As for the love part, well I love wholeheartedly, sometimes to my detriment, but my desire to be vindictive is long gone. That’s probably a good thing.

In my quest to figure out who I am I’ve read a lot of books about how to discover who you are – it’s amazing how many are available – but honestly none of them felt geared toward me.  I don’t mean this as an insult to those who find them useful, but I’ve never been inclined to more normal ways of doing things and that does make it difficult for me to connect with ways of thinking that most everyone else would find helpful.

So I’m going to have to make my own path on this one, I think, which leaves me wondering how I’m going to do that.  Not that I’m not capable, mind you, but I’m a bit rusty in the whole forging a path department.  Despite feeling suffocated in the coffin of societal rules, I’m pretty sure making up some of my own is probably a good idea.

More to come in Part II

Question:

Do you find it difficult to be yourself?

~Oscar Wilde

The few of you who have been hanging around for a while are probably wondering where in the hell everything on my blog went.

The truth is that I woke up one afternoon, took a good look in the mirror, and had to ask myself who [...]]]>

“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”

~Oscar Wilde

The few of you who have been hanging around for a while are probably wondering where in the hell everything on my blog went.

The truth is that I woke up one afternoon, took a good look in the mirror, and had to ask myself who I was.

And, no, it wasn’t dark and I wasn’t playing that stupid “Bloody Mary” game where you stand in front of your mirror and say “Bloody Mary” three times.

This is only because I’ve always been a bit creeped out about mirrors in dark bathrooms.

Being a ’fraidy-cat aside, I have to admit that working nights and crazy hours for the past two-and-a-half months has screwed everything up – I can’t seem to keep track of my days; I’ve felt like I lost my mind on a number of occasions; and threw myself whole-heartedly into a couple of freak outs.

Honestly, I’m surprised any of the people I care about still talk to me – that’s how bad it got.

It would be way too easy to blame this all on the past two-and-a-half months, though.  The scary thing is that this is about 7 years in the making. And the colossal waste of time feels like a gut punch.

In less than two months I will turn 41 years old. Maybe it’s just some midlife crisis – if I was a balding, paunchy middle-aged male I’d be buying a sports car that I can’t afford – but me… I’m just ready to grab life by the balls and twist.

(And, yes, the few male readers I have are cringing at the moment.  Sorry about that. Just take a deep breath.  You’ll be fine.)

In preparation for the forthcoming changes I’ve been scaling a Mount Everest of books and came across the most fantastic quote that significantly changed my perception:

“The opposite of love is indifference, and the opposite of happiness is—here’s the clincher—boredom.”

Tim Ferriss – The 4-Hour Workweek

The first part about love and indifference I already knew since my brother reminded me each time I made a snarky comment about his ex-wife, which translated to a nearly constant reminder for far too long.  But who knew the opposite of happiness was boredom?

Not me—and I’ve been bored for what seems like my entire adult life.

That’s not to say I haven’t had my moments of happiness nor people who have been part of those moments, but for the most part I feel like I’ve had my soul sucked out by a blood-drunk vampire who thinks he can get his buzz on by using a straw.

So, I decided it was a perfect time to start over without actually having to wear diapers again.  Hence, the tabula rasa state of my blog.

The Change Game is on and I have a lot of time to make up for.

Care to join me?