Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Holding Space

I had a post that was forming in my mind that would have gone very well with the prompt for today. But the Universe had other plans and instead I am holding space for my Beloved and his family.

Gramma isn't doing well. She was fine on Sunday, but yesterday was not a good day.  A trip to the  ER and an over night stay, hospice has been called. She will be home this afternoon, but her time with us is short.

It is opening old wounds ten years past. Things are different, yet the same. It's going to be a rough few days.  Best case we have a week, worst case a day or two.

Please send strength and peace to the family as she transitions from this world

Monday, October 16, 2017

October 16 - Ancestors and Altars

October 16 – If I were to build a beautiful altar to my ancestors, who would be on it? Do I know?

Hopefully back on track here with posting daily thanks to prompts. They give me a topic to write about when I feel like my own words are not enough or too much.

Today's topic is Ancestor Altars. 

Growing up Catholic and Polish, I can't say I recall either of my grandmothers having an ancestor altar in their homes.  I know my paternal grandmother would pray the rosary for the dearly departed family members on days such as their birthday, death day, or All Soul's Day. I can't recall anyone having photos or mementos along with candles and statues.

If I were to set one up, it would definitely have a statue or a couple of the Virgin Mary, maybe a saint or two as well.  Some flowers and rosaries.  Photos of my grandmothers, one of my great grandparents, perhaps even my grandfathers.  I don't know what else it would have except for maybe some candles and holy water. 

This isn't an area I am familiar with so it would really take some research to see if there is anything in my ancestral history to indicate what a Polish ancestor altar would look like. Maybe I'll add that to my list of things to research and see what I come up with.

Sunday, October 15, 2017

Triple Post

I missed a couple of days, so I will make up for it in this post.

October 13 - How comfortable do I feel reveling in my own awesomeness?
I'm not!  I hate it!  Hell, 95% of the time I don't even feel like I'm awesome.  I feel less than. So no, I am not comfortable at all.

October 14 - Who else am I proud of right now? How can I express that?
My niece.  She's taking advanced classes in her first year of high school! And she is part of FFA and is raising two baby goats, one of which she will show next year.  I don't know how I can express it to her.  I don't get to see her very often. The best I can do is tell her when I see her.

October 15 - What is my dream life like?

I have dreams, don't we all.  But I feel like mine are just that, Dreams.  I don't want to hope for more because I don't want to be disappointed or feel like I failed.  If I put them out there, and I don't achieve them then I will feel like a failure.  I already feel less than, so that would just make it worse. 

It's hard for me to put things out there.  I feel like I shouldn't even voice things. I posted about my one dream on my word press blog. And now, I feel like maybe I should delete it.  Because how dare I put that out there. But then I feel like how dare I even dream that. It's an impossible dream.  One that I know won't happen.  I can use it as my happy place maybe when shit gets hard, I can go there in my mind.

If I dare, in my dream life I am finally divorced and reclaimed my name.  I have a space of my own to do my creating without being in the way. It's colorfully decorated with strings of lights all around and wind chimes hanging outside. I have my easel out there, maybe even another one to go with it. I have canvases to paint on and ones I've completed are hung on the walls. I have candles or incense burning and some Omnia on the CD player. In this dream, maybe I've sold a painting or two, perhaps I've sold a couple of my photos that maybe were just good enough.  And I have a space to write, where I can leave out my quill pens and not have to worry about the cats eating them.  Because FEATHERS!  Perhaps I have a little herb garden or planter growing, I can have some herbs hanging to dry somewhere.

I feel silly, almost childish for even have any kind of dream. I don't feel worthy of having them. 

Thursday, October 12, 2017

October 12 - Own It, It's Your Story After All

October 12 - What’s on the top of my ‘kudos to me’ list?


You should take a moment and read Kallan's post on owning your story.  Go ahead. I'll wait.

I am learning how to own my story. But honestly, I'm not sure how to do that. When I try to
change the narrative on a thing, it sounds crazy. That's probably because when I speak the truth
I've been told that I was crazy and that what I say happened isn't how it is.

All my life, I have been told by other people what the story of my life is.
My mother made to sure to tell me often I was an accident. That they weren't even sharing a
bed when I was conceived. To be honest, as I got older, I often wondered if my father was my father.
I often wondered if I was his brother's child. The only way I could prove that now would be if I did a DNA test with my cousins. The thing is though, I don't know if I would want to know.  It wouldn't change things. It would just be that my life was a lie from the beginning.

I've long been told how I was not enough.  I've been told I should have never been born.  I've gone through my life having people think I was something that I wasn't. All because of things other people said. And the people that knew they were lies.........no one, not one would ever step and say anything. No one ever told me that I wasn't any of the lies.

Learning to change the story, is hard as fuck.  Because crazy, you know.  Do you know how many times I've actually wondered if I was in fact crazy because I was made to feel I was? It sucks! It's a wonder that I didn't turn out worse. It's a wonder that I'm not an alcoholic or strung out on pills. Even when I know I am speaking the truth, all the lies in all the voices of those that spoke them scream loudly in my head. Telling me that I'm wrong, I'm crazy, that's not how the story goes.

Growing up without one positive speaking person and then marrying some one that all things should only benefit and revolve around him, it really fucks with you.  In all that time, in the younger part of my life, if I had just want person that told me a different story, I wonder what a difference it could or would have made.

Now, when someone tells me that they believe in me that I can do something. Or that something I made is really good. It is so fucking hard to believe it as truth. It's hard not to think that they are just saying these things to pacify me. That behind my back they maybe telling the "real" story about how bad it is or that I can't do shit.

You can change the narrative.
You can speak it.
Speaking and being heard, believed......seems impossible
But living it and believing it, that's a whole different ball game.

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

October 11 - Voices

October 11 - When I get quiet with myself, what voices am I hearing, and what are they telling me?

I know they if you're hearing voices you should probably see a psychologist or be committed, right. 
The ones I hear aren't that kind. They don't tell me to do something horrid to others or myself.

They do, however, tell me how worthless I am.  All about my not-enough-ness.  If you have been reading here for awhile, you know what I speak of. The ones that sound like my mother, how I'm just like my father.  Stubborn, useless, lazy, scrawny.  I was shamed for being a thin child, not having meat on my bones.  My ass was too boney.  Seriously!  Who the fuck tells a small child their ass is too boney.  My mother did. If I am stubborn like my father, then I'd like to wear it like a badge of honor.  I want to take that to mean that he resisted her bullshit at times too.

Oh how she tried to make me into a mini version of herself, spewing hatred and hating everyone and everything.  But I couldn't do it. If I couldn't rationalize why I was supposed to hate a person, group, or thing because she did, I wouldn't do it. If I went against her, I'd get the silent treatment for days. Then she'd come tear up my room with a big black garbage bag and would start to get rid of my things. I used to beg and cry, but eventually I learned that none of that would work and she would just do it anyway.

She told HIM (the not soon enough to be ex) that he would regret marrying me one day. I was lazy and good for nothing, that I didn't know how to do anything.  HE told me if I ever tried to leave him with the kids, he'd have me arrested and declared unfit.  HE told me on more than one occasion that I needed to be on medication and needed to see a shrink. And maybe I did need to see someone, but not for the reasons HE said.

I've been to counselors in school.  Out of all of them, only one was actually helping and he was transferred at the end of the school year. I tried the two that followed him, but they were more like just giving us a place to get out of class.  When I worked for Blue Cross, they had one.  I tried one visit. I remember it as the office being dimly lit and him not saying much. It was awkward and uncomfortable, I never went back. I can't remember if I tried when I was in college.  I think I did, once or twice.  I wasn't what I thought it would be either.  Eventually I just gave up with trying to talk about things with professionals.

I dance with the negative voices almost daily.  Sometimes it's a win, sometimes I lose, sometimes it's a draw because I go binge on Netflix when I don't feel like arguing with them. Sometimes the voices sound like my mother, sometimes they sound like HIM, other times like one of my other former abusers.  I think I'm getting better at telling them to fuck off. But maybe not, because if I was then maybe I wouldn't be stuck so much of the time. I don't know. Maybe I'll never be rid of them. Maybe I'll never win the battle.  Only time will tell.

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

October 10 - Medal

October 10 - If I could give myself a shiny medal for anything this year so far what would it be for?

Do I deserve a medal for anything?

I don't feel like I do.  Not for anything I've accomplished, because I don't feel like
I have accomplished much of anything.

Maybe a medal for procrastination?  Is that a thing?  I'm not proud of it, but I could
certainly win it.

Remember I said I was going to start The Artist's Way?
I haven't done a thing.
I still haven't finished reading the first chapter.

Remember that art journal project I mentioned
Pages are still blank for the last 9 days.

That canvas
Still blank

It's "Prep-tober" for NaNo
Still no clue what I'm doing, nothing prepped.

So yep, the medal for procrastination goes to............ME!

(image found on Google)


October 9 - The Title of My Life

October 9 - If my life were a novel, what would it be called?

GAAAAAAAAAAAH!  I put this in my drafts and forgot to finish and post it.

I feel like I might have wrote a post once in which I came up with some titles.  But I can't recall for sure.

Some options I've thought of:

The Mistakes I've Made
Things You Shouldn't Do
If I Could Do It All Again
The Beautiful Mess That Is My Life

I suck at titles if you haven't noticed.  Even at titling a post, I struggle.
I wonder how authors come up with the title for a book.  I know some can
be quite obvious like the titles for the Maximum Ride series by James Patterson.

Those are mostly snarky titles, I would say.  If I dug deep, if thought about what
I really wanted to tell about my life thus far. It might be something like
"How I Survived Being Raised By A Narcissist"

But truthfully, I don't know what I would call because I haven't written it.