What's behind door #3...

 So, I left off on my last post with the reflection on the question of what I am hiding. 

A few days after I had dinner with Tracy, when she broke down a lot of stuff for me, I then went and hung out with my friend Amanda. Amanda and I got into a discussion about this blog, and she got me thinking about a vague reference I made a few posts ago, that was about the struggles I have had with depression. 

Sometimes it is hard for me to look back and try to remember what was going on with me that made that time so difficult. It is like, when I am better I just don't even want to think about it. Looking back now, it is hard for me to remember all the things that were upsetting me. 

The way I see it, my depression is like the trash compactor scene in Star Wars. (nice reference right?) It is as if I have this door that leads down to this room. A room that is covered wall to wall with trash and disgusting garbage. The water is rising up past your knees and no one knows what kinds of slimy creatures are lurking in its depths just waiting to pull you under. When my depression is bad, the walls are closing in on me and I'm beginning to suffocate. When I get better, the walls retract, I can breath again, the water resides, and I am just left with the aftermath.

Of course, I don't deal with the aftermath. Or at least I haven't, until now. But before, as soon as the walls retracted I hightailed it out of there! Then I spend the rest of my time scratching my head, unable to remember what lead me down there in the first place. 

I may not remember what led me to open the door and go into that room, but I do remember two thoughts I had once I was down there. One; I wanted the pain to stop. I never doubted my friends loved me, and I never thought my parents would be better off without me. I knew that God had a place for me in this world, but if that place was going to be this painful, I didn't want it. Two; how could I ever have a family, if I can't bring this on my husband? I'm only 29 years old, I have another 60-70 years ahead of me. Odds are, I will go through this again. How can I put my husband through that?

Driving home from talking to Amanda was the first time it clicked; that is what I am hiding. I would rather remain fat and ugly my whole life, then to risk opening that door for someone, anyone. 

Because if I did...if I let someone see down into that disgusting slimy dark room inside of me, they would never be able to look at me the same.

As you can imagine, I wasn't too thrilled when I first realized this. 

But then, I realized, I have opened that door for someone. 

I opened it for Father Boyer. I told him everything. And through his encouragement, I opened that door for my friend Mary and my friend Kate. Only a very small group of my friends knew what I was going through when I was going through it. And to those friends I gave different degrees of information. Some friends I showed them the hallway, others I would actually show them the door, but I only opened it for Father Boyer. And because he knew Mary, he requested for me to tell her everything, and I did. 

And because I love Kate, I shared with her as well. But I do think that there were a few corners of that dark room that I hid even from her.

And you know what I have only now started to fully appreciate? They still love me. They still look at me the same. They have never once looked at me or treated me like I was broken.

And now that I am finally starting to understand that this dark and slimy room doesn't define me, that I don't have to hide it, I actually have hope!

It is like I now have this little warm fuzzy ball of hope and peace inside me that is starting to grow. It is like one of those dandelion seed heads that you blow on as a kid. It isn't cemented inside me yet, and I don't want to blow to hard at testing my theory, for fear that it will all blow away.

I think, before, I believed I could get a husband, but I just wouldn't be able to show him that room. Not all of it. I would have to clean it out first or get rid of it entirely, which seemed impossible. I still felt like I would have to hide who I was in order to get someone to love me. But I am actually starting to believe, really and truly believe, that someone will love me. The real me, slimy dark room and all.

I don't have to change who I am to find love! 

That's huge!

Knowing it is huge, believing it is HUGE!!!

Now I kind of feel like I am not just opening that door for people, I feel like I am taking out the hinges! 

Walls and doors are crumbling people! 

And it has only been a month!

Fathers and Daughters

When I was little my dad had nicknames for myself and my sisters. I don't really remember what he called my sister, but me...I was his "little boy". My mother hated that he called me that, but I loved it. I loved any attention I got from my dad, and it made me feel singled out and special. I guess it was because he thought I was less girlie then my sisters and probably had hopes that I would be more of a tom boy. As a little kid, I took that to mean that he thought he would have more in common with me.


It is true that I have never really been into dresses or make up, and I was never one to beg to go shopping. I was definitely less girlie then my sisters, but I wasn't a tom boy. Only my father didn't know that. I loved the attention that I got from him so much, that I played up the version of myself I thought he would love more. I begged him to take me fishing, take me to the boat shows, to baseball games, all of it. But the whole time I was bored out of my skull.

When I had dinner with Tracy last week, this was another one of the theories that we tossed around. The theory that at a young age, I understood that in order to receive love, I had to hide who I was.


My first reaction to the realization of this particular piece was one of denial. You can not seriously be telling me that this all goes back to my parents? That has to be a cop out of some kind! It just seems way to easy! But the fact is, it's true. Children are taught how to establish relationships with members of the opposite sex, from the relationship they have with the parent of the opposite sex.

Once I realized this, the question became "What exactly is it that I'm hiding?" 


When Tracy first asked me this I couldn't think of anything. I really do feel that in my life, especially now, I do what I want to do. In all honesty I wouldn't have been able to say that a year ago. But I've grown stronger in the past year, I stick up for myself more, and I'm no longer a push over. 


I do what I want to do, say what I want to say, live how I want to live, play how I want to play, and I dance how I want to dance. I may not be a member of the Addams Family, but I certainly feel that MC Hammer's theme song for them would definitely apply.


So, what am I hiding? What am I so afraid to show people? What is it that I need to hide so badly that I would push people away, especially guys, to the degree that I have?


Well, surprisingly, I figured it out. Yep, I sure did. It took me a couple of days, but I think I have the answer. 


Unfortunalty, it will have to wait for a different post, this one is long enough as it is. 

I will make the next post ready for Tuesday, but get ready because there will be a Star Wars reference coming your way!

Intrigued? 

I thought so... :)

A piece to the puzzle

Earlier this week, still reeling from my meeting with Father Boyer, I decided to call in the professional help of my dear friend Tracy.


Tracy is a great person, a great friend, and since she comes along with a doctorate degree in Psychology, she is a great resource in times like these.


I came up with a theory that went back to my childhood, and I went to Tracy to try to understand how plausible my theory was. We actually discussed a lot that night, so I may have to divide all that we discussed into two or three separate posts. But for now, let us begin with one theory that we tossed around, and that was one that had to do with the temperament a baby is born with.


After having dinner with Tracy, I did go visit my parents house and I was able to ask them about the kind of baby I was. According to my parents I was a loving and affectionate child. In fact the first thing my dad said in response to the question was that I was a "hugger".


My mother agreed with my dad, but then added that I was affectionate, loving, and friendly all the way up until I was two. Apparently when I was two my mother had my older sister and I, attending a day care that was run out of a local church. My sister is two years older than me and therefore we were in separate classes. In my class there was a little boy who was a biter. I guess every daycare at some point has a kid that goes through a biting stage, but my mom says that this kid specifically sought me out for some reason. He would bite me repeatedly, to the point that I had scars on the back of my shoulder blade until I was twenty.


I remember those scars. I remember that whenever I would wear a tank top or bathing suit and my mother saw them she would get angry. Her complaints to the administrators were never dealt with satisfactorily, and after a few months she pulled my sister and I out of that particular daycare.


Anyway, according to my mother, after this incident with the boy at daycare, I was still an easy going kid, but not as affectionate as I had been prior.


So as a kid, I was bitten by a fellow classmate, and instead of fighting back, I turned inward. It is probably one of the first examples of my being faced with negativity and responding by blaming myself.


I was two.


I don't know what this means. In fact, I'm not saying that it actually means anything. As far as I am concerned,  it is one small piece to a very large extravagant puzzle. I don't blame this kid for my problems, in fact I think the whole story is kind of ridiculous. I mean, some kids suffer far worse by their own parents or family members, I was just bitten by some random kid at daycare.


But it is still a piece. And a large part of my journey this next year, is taking all these little, seemingly insignificant pieces, putting them together, and using them to understand who I am.

The Greatest Love of All

Yesterday, I went and spoke to my priest for the first time in about a year and a half.

Quick back story:

I have suffered from depression pretty much my entire life. I come from a long line of family members that have struggled with it. It all comes down to a chemical imbalance in my brain that is from my genetics. Twice in my life I have come dangerously close to losing my life due to my depression.

Once when I was a freshman in high school and had just turned 15. 

The second time was a year and a half ago. 

I felt alone at the time and like I had to deal with my depression on my own because I felt that I would be "burdening" my friends if I turned to them. Finally, I went to confession, not because I wanted help, but because I knew that as a Catholic I had to go. But of course, Father Boyer responded by instantly taking me under his wing and helping me through that time. 

And then, as soon as I wanted to believe that I was better, I quit meeting with Father Boyer. 

When I went to see him yesterday, the first thing I did was apologize for running away like I did, but then I told him about my project for the year. 

He thinks it is a great idea and was very supportive. But then, he offered me an insight that was...well...insightful. 

He said that the reason why I run away, whenever a guy starts showing interest in me, is because I don't love myself. I don't love myself and therefore I can't understand how any guy would want to love me. In my mind, if a guy has feelings for or is interested in me, he must be crazy, so I run. And this is also why I ran from Father Boyer when he was trying to help me, and why I felt that I was a "burden" to my friends. 

What does that...

I don't even...

I just wanted to...

I don't know how to process a statement like that.

Do I think he is wrong? 

No, of course not. But what does it mean? What do I do now? How do I change it?

Does this mean that in the morning I'm going to have to look into a mirror reciting affirmations about the things I like about myself every day while Whitney Huston is playing in the back ground?

And why is something that seems to come so easily to others, so hard for me?

I know I'm not the only woman who struggles with self confidence. And I know that all my friends would want to turn to me and say that they struggle with it too, and that I have so many great qualities and blah blah blah...

I know I'm not alone. But the ability to love oneself seems like it should come so naturally. So why is it so hard?

And just to clarify, it's not like I hate myself. 

Ugh, this whole post is starting to gross me out. I'm trying to be honest, but I just don't want to even think about this anymore. 

What's in a "Type"?

A couple of days ago I was at work helping a customer named John. We were talking and laughing the whole time about how much he hates winter and snow and how much I LOVE winter and snow.

The whole time, in the back of my mind, I had a "danger danger danger!!!" siren going off and a voice saying "please don't ask for my number, please don't consider this as flirtation, please oh please just leave me alone..."

Now, it would be very easy for me to say, that I had this kind of reaction because John just isn't my "type", but the truth is that I'm pretty sure I always have this reaction.

I think it is very possible that in life I always go after the guys that would never ask for my number, but then the guys that do ask for my number I always see as being...for lack of a better way of saying this...not in my league. Do I even have a league? honestly I have no idea, but for the sake of this post let's just say I do and move on for now...

So, what is my type?

Well, for starters let us say that my type is definitely not a customer at my store! I work for a pay day loan company, and I'm not saying that I need a guy with squeaky clean finances (because I don't even have squeaky clean finances). But if you loan at my store, I can see all your dirty little secrets. And that is not something I need to know about someone I am just getting to know.

Other than that, I usually go for serious, slightly up tight, kind of a wall flower type of guy.

I've always loved the romantic movies and comedies where you have opposites attracting. You know, how one partner is serious and straight laced and passive, and the other is wild and crazy and therefore the more aggressive one. And because I know myself to have this silly and crazy side, I tend to look for the serious guy as my partner.

The only problem is I'm not aggressive at all. And then, I'm attracted to passive guys, but I get frustrated when they aren't aggressive enough to ask for my number. Of course, once a guy does take that initiative, the warning sirens go off and I run for the hills.

Do you see my problem here?

So basically, I can still go for passive guys, but then I have to push aside my insecurities and my fears, suck it up, and be the aggressive one.
Or, I can continue to be passive, but when a guy shows interest in me, and asks for my number, I need to quit running.

what a conundrum!

While typing this post, I'm sitting at work talking to my friend Shavonne. I asked her what her thoughts were on my "type" of guy and it was funny to hear how different her thoughts were when compared to my own.

It was as if she was thinking of the type of guy I "should" be with, where as I was thinking of some ideal type of guy, romantic comedies tell me to be with.

So, today, the question I have for my readers is:

What type of guy do you think I should be on the look out for?

And just for fun, I'll also share that I like auburn or dark hair with green eyes, nice smile with a good laugh and a great sarcastic dry sense of humor, not too masculine but still manly, good with technology, maybe have a creative artistic outlet of some form, and as a bonus; good with cars.  I know it is rare, but for some reason, I really find it hot when I hear that a guy can build me a car. I mean that is really not a skill guys put a lot of effort into these days, but someone should tell them that girls really do like it.