Judgements, Expectations, and Family Ties

Growing up I had a friend named Olivia. Her mother was from England and she was very proud of being English. Although she must have lived in the United States for at least twenty years by the time I met her, she still spoke with a thick accent and refused to change her vocabulary to accommodate us dumby Americans. She would always call bathing suits swimming costumes, and the back yard was a garden, rain boots were Wellies whether they actually were or not; and there were a million more that I have since forgotten. It could sometimes seem charming, but more often than not it came off as pretentious; clearly she knew that people did not quite always understand what she was referring to, and she didn't care, she just wanted them to know she was from England. She always seemed to be of the opinion that English people were more cultured and civilized than Americans. And not just some English people like herself, no, no, she thought the whole country was better. So why did she move to the states, marry a Greek man from Charleston, South Carolina and live out the whole of her life as a United Stated citizen? I think it probably came down to money, because she was obsessed with presenting her family as very wealthy and civilized. The more money her husband made from his computer jobs, the bigger the houses became, the fancier the cars, the gardens became more and more extravagant, the clothes they wore were suddenly so posh, and they were living the American Dream.

But no matter what, no matter how many years it had been, or how many good friends had been made, or how successful the family became, in her mind it still was not England so it could never be quite as good. There is a point to all this, just bear with me a bit longer. It was not just language, ideals, and possessions in America that did not live up to her idealized dream life; she made it very clear to everyone that her husband and her daughter, my friend Olivia, were not up to her standards because they were tainted somehow by too much Greekness. That seems like a crazy claim to make, right? How could I know such a thing about the way someone else feels unless they came right out and said such a thing? And why would a mother feel that about a child, much less say it outright? Why would a woman marry someone she felt was not good enough? Well, people like to think those things don't happen, but they do happen, they happen all the time. Having such a dysfunctional family myself, I am fascinated by the dysfunction of others. And the older I get, the more I realize that there are very, very few families out there that do not have some sort of issues with communication, or understanding each other, or maybe there is mental illness in the family, or addiction, or whatever it may be, they are human too. But people hide that stuff and portray their lives as perfect to the outside world, not wanting their weaknesses to show. For some people this may be fueled by competition, others may simply not want to expose their vulnerabilities for fear that they may be hurt that way. Who knows, but hiding the dysfunction of billions of families behind creepy plastic painted facades of happiness only serves to weaken bonds and perpetuate the disintegration of the family unit. But I'm running off on a tangent, my point is much simpler.

This woman had two daughters, Olivia and Eleanor. Olivia was the elder sister, my friend, and she took after her father in looks and character. She was quite pretty with very thick, dark hair and huge brown eyes. She had rich, buttery, olive skin and strong bones. But her mother would constantly make all these passive-aggressive comments regarding her coloring and her obvious Greek characteristics. She would unapologeticly compare her to her sister Ellie who had received her mother's looks. She was fair skinned, slender and had dark blond hair like her mother. And in her mother's eyes, all these traits were far more English and therefore more acceptable. She fiercely disliked her mother-in-law who was a short, round, Greek woman from the south. She was loud and boisterous, she liked to cook and eat, and she was very NOT English. She would liken her daughter to the grandmother and the father and then put them down; and Olivia knew how her mother felt about her.

Now, my Mom has always talked about these circumstances as if they were just so sad. How could a mother treat one child as if they are better or more important than another. How could her daughter's looks make her less lovable, she always cries. And over the past couple days, as I've listened to her go on and on about this family, even though it's been almost ten years since we've spoken to any of them, I've realized that she is just like that woman. And maybe it bothers her so much to think about her because she knows, however subconsciously, that she feels the same way about her own daughters and is ashamed to admit it. Projecting much?

I basically stayed away from my family as much as possible until recently. And coming back here has been a crash course in acceptance. The only way for me to move on with my life is to accept that I will never have the relationship with my mother that I wish I could have. I simply have to accept the only relationship she can offer and try to make the best of it. Trying to fight it is only making me fight with myself. I'm fighting with myself over something I want and know I can't have and it's driven me crazy for over fifteen years. My mother sees me as the frumpy, embarrassing child. I don't dress right, I don't speak correctly, I'm not polite enough, I'm too quirky, I'm too shy, and she's always told me. And my sister can be crude and disgusting, she can act like a mental patient, but all is forgiven because she fits into the picture of life that my mother has in her head. My mom wants herself to be living in a huge, antique home with a very handsome, very successful man with her very attractive, blond children standing primly around her. She pictures herself and Lily as fitting into this mold, she's delusional of course, but she has no idea that she sees herself so falsely. They are prim, and thin, and beautiful. And they act like the world owes them everything. They look like two little English garden statues. And me with my brown hair and breasts and my ass, and my crazy, unconventional tendencies simply shatters her picture perfect illusion.

I struggle daily with wanting to accept myself, because I actually think I'm pretty enough and really cool. But it's hard to stay positive and move forward when someone is constantly questioning things that you thought were fine. We went out to dinner last night, it was the last evening we had alone, and we walked to the other side of town to eat at the Exeter Inn. It was a very warm night and I had overdressed slightly. I sweat very readily and profusely if I get to warm, much of it is due to the methadone but I'm sure being overweight does not help. So by the time we got there, I was definitely sweaty and my forehead was slick with shine, my feet were slipping in my boots from the moisture I worked up chasing my mom to the restaurant. And when we walked in my mom asked me where we should sit, and I immediately said let's not sit at the bar, let's get a table in less light with less people. But no, she wouldn't have it because then we wouldn't be on display, she wouldn't be able to shamelessly flirt with someone else's date then. So she dragged me to the bar, and we sat directly under these lights that were making me even more hot and sweaty, so then I started to get anxious because I knew I looked like a wet seal on a bar chair at this point and everyone is staring and my mom is scrutinizing my skin and whining about why it's so blotchy and why don't I go get the facial she set up for me, blah, blah, blah......it got so bad I could feel my ass sweating. I couldn't even think about eating because now I felt sick I was so hot, the lights above me felt like flames and my Mom is looking at me like I have three heads, "what is wrong with you, Nellie? I don't remember you being such a sweaty person. You know, that will stop once you lose some weight". It's always about my weight or my skin, is it possible that all the pressure makes both worse? Finally she relented and let us move to a table in the corner, away from the lights and a breeze coming in from the open doors. It was the table I really wanted to begin with. But she wanted to sit at the bar because she likes to put on a show. And the whole night I knew she wished she didn't have to sit there with me. And I try and try to talk to her, to relate, but I just don't know how she sees the world as she does.

Anyway, this is a big ramble and I know to anyone reading this I probably sound like I'm seeing more into things than what's really happening. But if I went into more detail, I swear you would see that my Mom really is ashamed of the way I look and she treats me accordingly. And it makes it hard to not obsess over things that someone harps on you about all the time.

So I'm off to Curves which she made me join. I'm glad I get to go, but I don't think she wants me to go so I get healthy and feel better. I get the distinct feeling that she wants me to go because if I'm going to live near her and be seen with her I can't be fat. And I can't have bad skin. And I can't wear weird clothes. She signed us both up but she's gone once while I've gone every day. Honestly, I like going alone. I just wish she could accept me for who I am and I'm starting to consider that that's never going to happen.

Nothing Of Consequence

If reading about sex is going to bother you, don't read the whole middle of this post. Skip to the end or something. It's not described graphically, but it is personal. So if you are a family member of the male variety, you may not want to go there. And if sex otherwise makes you queasy, this may not be the post for you.


I like Rhianna's new album. It's pretty good I think, even some of the slower songs which aren't generally my thing are pretty listenable. I like the one line, "I'm such a fuckin' lady". Because a lot of people think that women who swear must be trashy and uneducated. But that's not true at all. I think you can be a lady and still know when the situation calls for getting down and dirty. Being a lady doesn't have to be synonymous with prissiness. I think the main attribute a lady must posses is being able to handle almost any situation with grace and ease (or what looks like grace and ease by those on the outside, no matter what she may be feeling on the inside). I'm sure there are many who don't agree with me, but that's still what I think. I aspire to be able to deal with anything from a flat tire to making an edible meal with whatever's in the fridge; anything from a crazy person opening fire in a crowded shopping plaza to getting a red wine stain out of a vintage lace tablecloth, all without freaking out. But that doesn't mean a well placed 'Fuck' doesn't have it's place sometimes. Anyhow.....

We had a little bit of snow last night. I love snow, actually. I hated being forced to stand out in it in the middle of the night with massive eighteen-wheelers careening towards me; but from the comfort of a warm place behind glass or down, it's lovely. It looks like a magical wonderland outside of my window. Snow leaves a feeling of peacefulness for me. Some of the best times in my life were in the snow. I'll remember forever some of the days when I lived in this little cabin with the one I may always consider to be my best love, snowed in with a big fire, cuddled up reading or listening to VPR. The cabin getting so hot we would end up laying there naked, perfect, so happy. Often I wonder if I will ever be in love like that ever again. I know I could if I just got out of the rut I'm in. I love Mikey but in the way you love a brother or a best friend. I really hope we can stay friends, but there is no passion. And I'm way too fiery of a person to have such a lack of passion in a relationship.

I get so annoyed when I hear men who complain that there wives or whatever won't have sex with them enough. It's the opposite for me. I'm sure any men who read this will think, "Well, you probably got all fat and ugly and your man is simply disgusted by you". Well, honestly, I have gained a little weight but I still only weigh about one thirty and I'm about five-two. According to self magazine I should weigh one seventeen to be healthy. So I am about fifteen pounds overweight. That's not un-fuckably fat, right? I mean he's no Jude Law, okay. He's a bit flabby himself and I can look right past that. And I'm, like, what you may call fit fat. I had always been really thin and fit until I got off dope and on methadone and I just don't know what happened but I ballooned up for a while. I've lost a lot but not all. But still I have really good muscle tone from being being so active for so long. And I have a decent face, I'm no model but I'm not ugly. So what's the problem? I don't know, he won't ever give me an answer. He says he's tired, or his back hurts, or he used to blame the methadone or the dope. But he's not on it anymore, so what is it? Is he gay?(I don't think that's it because I find hetero porn all over the house when I clean. That's another thing. I don't care if a guy likes porn, really, I don't. But if he can get it up for that, what gives? I'm always saying that it's not fair that he can do it with a fantasy but saves none for me.) What kind of red-blooded man pushes a woman away when she's trying to pull off his pants to suck his dick? I mean, really? Who doesn't want a blow job, like, whenever? Right? I've blatantly told him to start getting it up or I'm getting out, or I'm going to, eventually, cheat on him. And that just sucks. It's ruining our relationship. It really is the main problem. I don't think we would fight so much about other things if we had more sex. I know it stresses me out to not have sex, like, every day. He says that's not normal, but I think it's him that's not right. Maybe everyday sounds like too much for some people. I can be reasonable though. But he doesn't even want to get down once a month, I swear! I'm not exaggerating! Why should I be okay with that? It's messing with my self-esteem, you know? I'm beginning to think it must be me, even though I know, logically, it couldn't be just me. Our sex life was never the best thing about our relationship. But it was passable for a while. I figured we could make it better once we got to know each other better, but we're just at a barrier in our sex life right now. I've always had a great sex life with other boyfriends. Other guys hit on me or look at me like they'd hit it. He won't even have make-up sex with me. He says when he's mad at me, it turns him off and he just can't. WTF? Is he serious? Is he a fuckin' girl, or what?
Sorry if all the sex talk is making some people uncomfortable. I just have to get it off my chest. Whether anyone reads it or not doesn't really matter. I just have to wonder. I don't like to talk to people who know us both about it because I don't want to embarrass him or myself. But it's really taking a toll on me. I feel like I'm wasting some of the best, most fertile years of my life. Despite the fact that I bitch about overpopulation and how I'm not a huge fan of kids, I do actually want to have kids some day. And so does Mike, but I try to explain to him that that's not ever gonna happen if he won't have sex with me. He just ignores me. It sucks because I think he'd make a really good father too. If you saw the way he treats the dogs, you'd think so too. He made a f'n YouTube video of the tricks he taught his favorite. I'm embarrassed to even admit to that. (I'm pretty sure he posted it, but he may still be working on it at the time of this posting. He was trying to erase my voice from the background saying, "This is gonna make people puke".)I told him I wanted no part in it but he made me video part of it because he said he couldn't orchestrate the tricks and hold the camera at the same time. Definitely goofy. But he spoils the crap out of them. And he's really good at taking care of plants. And I believe that if a person or people want to have kids, they damn well better be sure they can at least keep a small animal like a cat, dog, or guinea pig alive. And certain plants take a lot of care and love to keep alive, too. Seeing the way he treats the plants and animals in his life makes me think he'd be good at raising kids. Of course those are not the only reasons I think he'd make a good parent, obviously. I know I mostly complain about Mike, but clearly I wouldn't have been with him as long as I have if he didn't have redeeming qualities. He's a good guy, don't get me wrong but I just get the feeling that we're not meant to be together for the long haul, you know? We just don't mesh as well as I think we could.

On a more positive note......I really like my new schedule, awake in the daytime, asleep at night. It's just so, I don't know, normal. After only a week I feel so much more alive than I have in almost three years. That sounds crazy, but it's true. Maybe even four. Ever since I started working nights. First at Price Chopper, a local grocery store, in the bakery over night. Than at C&S as a "Security Guard", which was the absolute worst. I was talking to Mike about it the other day, and we agreed that it was around the time we both started working nights, about a year or so after we first got on the methadone (yikes, it maybe has been almost five years) that we really started to get fat. I know I'm going to lose weight so much faster now that I'm working a normal job. I'm moving around constantly, eating a normal breakfast, lunch, and dinner instead of just eating crap whenever I could at weird times because of when I had to be awake. And because I'm working at a health food store I'm becoming more conscious of what I eat. I mean , I've always been picky about what I eat. My Mom always fed us well, homemade meals with a lot of vegetables and no soda and very little sweets. And I've always tried to stand by that. I was really into natural medicine and eating all organic and shit like that for years. That's what I studied at Bennington, along with dance. But once I started getting high all the time, I sort of changed my mentality about a lot of things. Some of the ways in which dope liberated me, I'll never regret. But other things I lost, I'll always be sad about. But anyhow, I've been working out almost every day since I started a couple weeks ago. And now it's my primary job, and I'll have a lot more time to spend on improving my quality of life. I really want to lose the rest of the weight I put on. My goal is to weigh one fifteen. That's not that crazy, I'm pretty small. That's about where I should be. I know I will be much happier with myself if I can fit into my clothes without being self-conscious. I hate that. I hate, hate, hate looking at myself in the mirror and thinking, "Ugh, look at that. It looks horrible". I want to think I look hot all the time, not just sort of hot but, like, wicked hot. I can't wait for my hair to grow out. It's really getting better now that it's not totally short, short. Short is NOT my style, trust me. It has to grow fast. I wonder if I could afford really well done extensions? Is that insane? Yes, okay, I know it is. I'll just have patience and try to make it as un-hideous as possible until then.
Oh my God, it's one! I can't believe I've been on here for so long. This things sucks up my life. That's why I haven't been posting as much. Because I'm not sitting at a desk in front of a computer for twelve hours at a time anymore, I don't have a lot of time to post. But now look what's happened, I've let it all cram up inside me and it's come gushing out in a pus of never-ending-nonsense. I'm going to try to post more often. It's difficult to pry Mikey away from the computer. He's, like, glued to stupid facebook games. I hate facebook, it makes me feel lame. Anyhow, I have to run. Literally, run, run on my stupid elliptical machine. So I'm not fat anymore, and maybe my boyfriend will have sex with me before I run away and find someone who will. I guess I don't feel guilty that it's one o'clock in the afternoon. It's Sunday, my day off. I worked hard at my new job this week. As much as I like the job, my boss is kind of a mean dweeb. I thought I was the only one who thought so. But it turns out, so does everyone else. He can hardly keep staff around a few months, I'm told. He's really mean, he accused me of lying already (I didn't) but that's a story for another time. I don't care, I'm not going to think about it. I'm going to try to let it roll right off me. Like my co-worker, the other-worldly handsome one, does. It's as if he doesn't even hear dweeby man's insults and accusations. That will be me too, if I can pull it off. I need the job. Oh, wait, and I was invited to a party!
So for now, Goodbye.

How Did I Get Here, Where Am I Anyway?

Where does all the time go. Weeks, months, years have gone by and I don't remember them. Shouldn't I have more clear memories of the people I loved. I look at pictures and it seems like they were never really there and it's just a weird picture that came with a cheap, crappy frame. Do they think of me, do they remember me, what are they doing, where are they, do they still feel love for me like I do for them even though I can't see their faces in my mind.
I got home from work today, a twelve hour shift, four days a week. It seems like for those four days that I'm just in a daze, waiting for my real life to start on my days off. But then those days come and I'm so tired and have all this shit I should do. Pay bills, pay tickets, try to get my license back so I don't need to beg and ask for permission to go places from Mike. One thing that almost always makes me feel better is to drive around alone with my music, and I can't do that without looking over my shoulder because I'm in a vicious cycle and there's never enough money to pay for anything. I walked in the door and just fell into my bed. I didn't care that my dogs shit on the floor or that I'll never get out of my shitty apartment and own my own house if I don't call realtors and try to get loans, I work fuckin hard enough that I should be happy when I get home because I own it. I shouldn't come home wanting to smash the faces in of my crack head landlords. They fuckin lied about heat being included and when we moved in we realized they lied and they wanted us to use electric heaters to heat the place which is just STUPID. Who in the hell would do that, besides them (idiots)? Do you have any idea how much that shit costs, each heater is like 1500 watts and to make matters worse they jump the breaker all the time and steal our electricity. I HATE them!!!!
I haven't eaten anything all day, maybe I'll be able to force down half a sandwich when Mike comes out here for lunch, honestly I'm happy to be sick for hope that it will make me lose weight. If I feel like this now, imagine how shitty I'm going to feel once I'm on NO methadone. I hear it takes a long time not to feel like shit. Yay! I just want to be skinny again, I feel like I never appreciated my body enough before and I want it back so i can appreciate it. I used to be so strong and fit and now I'm flabby and it makes me sick. But obviously I have no will power so unless I can't eat, I will eat. I hate to cook which is weird because I used to like to cook, I used to do a lot of things and now I live in a void of time which seems unreal. I feel like this big piece of heavy mass just taking up space and air. I make the worst choices, or maybe I'm just not made for this time, I just don't fit in, everything we do as humans in this world just seems so forced and unnatural. All work, no pleasure. Shouldn't there be more time to simply enjoy our existence?
I fell asleep at about eight AM and I didn't take my methadone first (we had storm take-homes) and so I woke up at about noon feeling like a piece of shit, all weepy and dejected feeling and then I couldn't fall back asleep and so now I'm at work trying to keep my eyes open so someone doesn't rat me out for sleeping on the job. Want to hear something funny? I work as a security guard (hey it's a fuckin job, right?) I only found out about it because my boyfriend worked here first in the warehouse. Really, I don't keep anything secure, I just wave employees by and check in trucks on a computer program. Mostly I just sit here messing about on the computer or watching movies on my laptop which I'm technically not allowed to do. What they don't know can't hurt them. I hate security guards and I am one. I hate the police and really authority figures of all sorts make me uncomfortable. I hide my "uniform" (which is just an ugly black jacket and a black hat that reads 'Security') when I'm not at work.
I wish I could just scream, I could, I do sometimes but it doesn't help. Just fuck the snow and the cold, the cold that goes all the way down to the marrow in my bones, even when I'm sweating profusely at the same time. Fuck my car with no heat and all my warrants and fuck all these nasty perverted truckers. Do they seriously think that I'll be all cool and friendly when they say shit like "oh, you'd be so pretty if you fixed your hair" (I have dreads)? Fuck You you fat, nasty, smelly, sweaty, pig - I AM PRETTY, DREADS AND ALL! FUCK YOU!!!!! I wish I could just say, "Yeah, and You'd be sexy if you weren't so fucking disgusting."