I can keep your secrets
But I can't keep myself broken and bare.
We've had our moment of weakness
I've learned how to keep you there.
I've been doing it all wrong but never let it show
Sweetheart I promise you will always be the last to know.
I'm stronger than you'd like to believe but still not strong enough to leave.
You've left your mark
as the villian of my story.
But if you're gonna bite
Do me a favor and draw blood next time.
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5.27.2010
I hope they serve wine in therapy.
While sitting on the couch opposite Kenneth, I realize something: I am a wreck. I have trust issues. I have an addictive personality type. I'm self destructive. I lie occasionally. That was a fib, I actually lie a lot. I'm a mess. I'm needy and very sensitive in a lot of ways. I spend too much money on useless crap I can't afford, then turn around and tell the Visa people their check is in the mail. We both know that it is not.
I slack off at work and take long lunches, then secretly cry in the bathroom when my boss says something, no matter how veiled or indirect, about performance and work ethic. I make no effort to buy organic or local. I am a lapsed Lutheran. I go out of the house without brushing my teeth or taking a shower sometimes.
At this very moment, I have no idea how much money is in my 401 K or when was the last time I changed the batteries in the smoke detector.
I've cried over the war and famine and the sorry state of the world then I get in the car and go to Jamba Juice and talk on my cell phone about absolutely nothing consequential.
I am as aware of the problems as I am a part of them.
So now you see, I am a wreck.
And I pay Kenneth a hundred dollars an hour to point these things out to me. He is a well respected psychiatrist. Ok, I don't know that. He is a psychiatrist in a ritzy part of town; far away from my lower middle class part of town. This way I won't see anyone I know coming or going. He also happens to accept my crappy health insurance. And yes I do charge my $25 copay.
I sit in his comfortable, eclectically-decorated office for an hour every Wednesday morning (yes, while I'm supposed to be at work) to have him hold a mirror up to my life. He points out the faults in a concerned, non-threateningly way. He even looks like a psychiatrist: glasses, nondescript facial features, Dockers, polo shirt. Old enough to be respected, young enough to be relatable. He has an extensive vocabulary and aside from shaking my hand once, has never been fewer than five feet away from me. Kenneth is a great believer in personal space.
I tell Kenneth things in a non-edited way. People I don't pay to talk to get the edited version of everything. He just nods and frowns and makes scribbly notes in a leather bound book.
I'd like to take this opportunity to say something not shocking: I have Daddy Issues. Being rejected by my birth father and feeling "never good enough" to my step father will do that to a girl. It's sickeningly textbook and almost boring. Young women with daddy issues are to psychiatrists what young children with the sniffles are to pediatricians. I have been seeking male acceptance to make up for it ever since. Promiscuity, drug experimentation and low self worth landed me here about two months ago. Two months ago when I felt myself coming apart and not finding a way back together. Therapy, something I'd never been a believer in, was a last-ditch effort.
Back to my story. As I was sitting across the office (at a personal-space respecting distance of course) I realized while I pay him a hundred bucks an hour that I cannot afford to point out the faults I'm already aware of, I could just go out on more dates.
Think about it... these men will point out what's wrong with me. Men have said I'm too clingy, I drink too much and should try to lose some weight. I've heard that my friends are crazy and that I am too much drama for their lives. These men unknowingly point out what I should work on to lead a healthier, more productive life...for free.
And sometimes I'll even get dinner out of it.
Who's crazy now?
I slack off at work and take long lunches, then secretly cry in the bathroom when my boss says something, no matter how veiled or indirect, about performance and work ethic. I make no effort to buy organic or local. I am a lapsed Lutheran. I go out of the house without brushing my teeth or taking a shower sometimes.
At this very moment, I have no idea how much money is in my 401 K or when was the last time I changed the batteries in the smoke detector.
I've cried over the war and famine and the sorry state of the world then I get in the car and go to Jamba Juice and talk on my cell phone about absolutely nothing consequential.
I am as aware of the problems as I am a part of them.
So now you see, I am a wreck.
And I pay Kenneth a hundred dollars an hour to point these things out to me. He is a well respected psychiatrist. Ok, I don't know that. He is a psychiatrist in a ritzy part of town; far away from my lower middle class part of town. This way I won't see anyone I know coming or going. He also happens to accept my crappy health insurance. And yes I do charge my $25 copay.
I sit in his comfortable, eclectically-decorated office for an hour every Wednesday morning (yes, while I'm supposed to be at work) to have him hold a mirror up to my life. He points out the faults in a concerned, non-threateningly way. He even looks like a psychiatrist: glasses, nondescript facial features, Dockers, polo shirt. Old enough to be respected, young enough to be relatable. He has an extensive vocabulary and aside from shaking my hand once, has never been fewer than five feet away from me. Kenneth is a great believer in personal space.
I tell Kenneth things in a non-edited way. People I don't pay to talk to get the edited version of everything. He just nods and frowns and makes scribbly notes in a leather bound book.
I'd like to take this opportunity to say something not shocking: I have Daddy Issues. Being rejected by my birth father and feeling "never good enough" to my step father will do that to a girl. It's sickeningly textbook and almost boring. Young women with daddy issues are to psychiatrists what young children with the sniffles are to pediatricians. I have been seeking male acceptance to make up for it ever since. Promiscuity, drug experimentation and low self worth landed me here about two months ago. Two months ago when I felt myself coming apart and not finding a way back together. Therapy, something I'd never been a believer in, was a last-ditch effort.
Back to my story. As I was sitting across the office (at a personal-space respecting distance of course) I realized while I pay him a hundred bucks an hour that I cannot afford to point out the faults I'm already aware of, I could just go out on more dates.
Think about it... these men will point out what's wrong with me. Men have said I'm too clingy, I drink too much and should try to lose some weight. I've heard that my friends are crazy and that I am too much drama for their lives. These men unknowingly point out what I should work on to lead a healthier, more productive life...for free.
And sometimes I'll even get dinner out of it.
Who's crazy now?
An open letter to Disney
To whom it may concern at the Walt Disney Corporation,
I've got a bone to pick with you.
I am writing this on behalf of little girls, born between the years of 1940 and 1994. Little girls who saw your classic princess movies, stared wide-eyed at these stories brought to life and got swept away. Chances are, they got the same message I did: find a man, a prince of your very own.
Find him at all costs and you will be OK. If you change everything about yourself, from your hair down to your fins, you will get the man. You will get the castle and that elusive happily ever after. It will be an easy road and everything will turn out just swell. If it doesn't happen this way you must be an ugly stepsister or an evil queen.
We were shown by these movies that if you wait around long enough, and do absolutely nothing to help yourself, good things will come your way.
On behalf of girls who really, truly, wishing-upon-a-star believed these things: What the hell did you people do?
Here's what I’ve learned: The real world is ugly, glass shoes are not a good idea and there is no easy road to a handsome prince. Romance does not always take the shape of a slow dance in the enchanted forest. Some of us expected it would. Needless to say, we are more than a little let down.
Don’t get me wrong, your movies are innocent and mythical and entertaining…for a time. However, if love were a tangible commodity, I'd be writing a class-action lawsuit right about now for false advertising.
I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. I checked my well-worn copy of Cinderella for a warning label, something like: "Results not typical. Individual results will vary. Side effects may include a proclivity to big hair and the expectation that animals can speak English and wear clothes."
Sadly, no such warning exists.
I have decided that I do not want money from you for this egregious offense. (Unless you’re just handing it out. In that case I wouldn’t say no.) I will settle for the creation a relatable princess…who maybe has a college degree and teaches history at Far Far Away High School. Or, perhaps she owns her own castle architecture firm? And maybe her handsome prince is a nice, normal guy who makes her laugh. She fights the forces of evil beside him, instead of waiting for his rescue. He will take her to the ER when she's accidentally ingested a poison apple. Now that’s real romance.
Its not a pleasant fact but happily ever after rarely, if ever, turns out the way we think it will. There won't always be a "riding off into the sunset" moment. If we stick rigidly to that ideal, and believe that's the only way to be happy we are bound to be disappointed.
Everyone’s happily ever after is different. And achieving your own version of happiness, whatever it may look like, deserves its own catchy song and candy-colored story book.
Sincerely, and without a trace of bitterness,
A leftover princess
I've got a bone to pick with you.
I am writing this on behalf of little girls, born between the years of 1940 and 1994. Little girls who saw your classic princess movies, stared wide-eyed at these stories brought to life and got swept away. Chances are, they got the same message I did: find a man, a prince of your very own.
Find him at all costs and you will be OK. If you change everything about yourself, from your hair down to your fins, you will get the man. You will get the castle and that elusive happily ever after. It will be an easy road and everything will turn out just swell. If it doesn't happen this way you must be an ugly stepsister or an evil queen.
We were shown by these movies that if you wait around long enough, and do absolutely nothing to help yourself, good things will come your way.
On behalf of girls who really, truly, wishing-upon-a-star believed these things: What the hell did you people do?
Here's what I’ve learned: The real world is ugly, glass shoes are not a good idea and there is no easy road to a handsome prince. Romance does not always take the shape of a slow dance in the enchanted forest. Some of us expected it would. Needless to say, we are more than a little let down.
Don’t get me wrong, your movies are innocent and mythical and entertaining…for a time. However, if love were a tangible commodity, I'd be writing a class-action lawsuit right about now for false advertising.
I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. I checked my well-worn copy of Cinderella for a warning label, something like: "Results not typical. Individual results will vary. Side effects may include a proclivity to big hair and the expectation that animals can speak English and wear clothes."
Sadly, no such warning exists.
I have decided that I do not want money from you for this egregious offense. (Unless you’re just handing it out. In that case I wouldn’t say no.) I will settle for the creation a relatable princess…who maybe has a college degree and teaches history at Far Far Away High School. Or, perhaps she owns her own castle architecture firm? And maybe her handsome prince is a nice, normal guy who makes her laugh. She fights the forces of evil beside him, instead of waiting for his rescue. He will take her to the ER when she's accidentally ingested a poison apple. Now that’s real romance.
Its not a pleasant fact but happily ever after rarely, if ever, turns out the way we think it will. There won't always be a "riding off into the sunset" moment. If we stick rigidly to that ideal, and believe that's the only way to be happy we are bound to be disappointed.
Everyone’s happily ever after is different. And achieving your own version of happiness, whatever it may look like, deserves its own catchy song and candy-colored story book.
Sincerely, and without a trace of bitterness,
A leftover princess
5.24.2010
Lucky Strike
Everyone can see me trying my best tonight
with the highest heels
comes the lowest of expectations.
I walk into that room,
it's heavy with the smell of you.
Smeared red lipstick stains
and this picture won't fit its frames.
You only know the smallest part of me
does that make it less true?
Tell my mind to stop so my hands can keep going
and going and gone again.
I swear this is the last time,
Until the next time.
I fall so fast and with each button it's harder to stop than ever before.
Please just leave me alone
I think that's what I want today.
Oh wait baby where did you go,
and what do I have to do to make you stay?
with the highest heels
comes the lowest of expectations.
I walk into that room,
it's heavy with the smell of you.
Smeared red lipstick stains
and this picture won't fit its frames.
You only know the smallest part of me
does that make it less true?
Tell my mind to stop so my hands can keep going
and going and gone again.
I swear this is the last time,
Until the next time.
I fall so fast and with each button it's harder to stop than ever before.
Please just leave me alone
I think that's what I want today.
Oh wait baby where did you go,
and what do I have to do to make you stay?
Things I can never say to S_____.
You say you need a girl just like me
But you wouldn't dream of needing me.
You gave me diamonds on the inside
Then left me screaming infidelities
and whispering obscenities.
And I've got something real to bring
to this fake life you've created.
Let me in
and I promise not to let you down.
Let me in
Just don't leave me hanging around.
Its the one thing I can't bring myself to say out loud
So many perfect reasons
to settle for stolen time
Til I become a temporary distraction for your troubled mind
So I'll keep wondering
how come you have to look at me the way you do
Do you keep me in mind?
I know that I'm not the one you wanted
even though
I've got something real to bring
to this fake life you've created.
Let me in
and I promise not to let you down.
Let me in
Just don't leave me hanging around.
But you wouldn't dream of needing me.
You gave me diamonds on the inside
Then left me screaming infidelities
and whispering obscenities.
And I've got something real to bring
to this fake life you've created.
Let me in
and I promise not to let you down.
Let me in
Just don't leave me hanging around.
Its the one thing I can't bring myself to say out loud
So many perfect reasons
to settle for stolen time
Til I become a temporary distraction for your troubled mind
So I'll keep wondering
how come you have to look at me the way you do
Do you keep me in mind?
I know that I'm not the one you wanted
even though
I've got something real to bring
to this fake life you've created.
Let me in
and I promise not to let you down.
Let me in
Just don't leave me hanging around.
Saying the thing you're not supposed to say, and letting myself off the hook
I'm restless today and just...hungry perhaps? Not for food but just...for something.
I think I know what it is.
I think it's the thing you're not supposed to say when you're a fairly successful young woman, who's life is going along perfectly well, replete with incredible friends and family: I want a relationship, dammit.
I am lonely. Yep, this is the pity-inducing phrase guaranteed to get you either scorn or sympathy. I'd personally rather have the scorn. If one more person lamely tells me that I'll find someone, I'm great, blah barf barf blah, I may stab them.
I know, I know. I think I've more or less got myself together and I am really happy most of the time. I just want someone to share it with.
Confession time: When I see guys that I've dumped end up in relationships it makes me second guess myself, to the tune of Did I dismiss him too quickly? Why didn't he want to go mountain climbing in Portugal when we were together? Does he still have my yellow bra?
On the plus side, I know myself well enough to know that I would never be with someone just for the sake of being in a relationship (OK, I'll never again be with someone just for the sake of being in a relationship). I would rather be lonely than a cliche. I couldn't live with myself if I settled for a unsatisfying life. Too many people settle and that is the source of nothing but unhappiness. Also I never want to get a divorce or end up bitter so maybe its better I'm single.
On a side note, I must say its kind of awesome to reach a point in life where you can safely say, "Hey I don't have to get married!" Growing up, I assumed it was just something that everyone did, like pay taxes or cut their toenails.
As a young girl, I literally cannot ever remember thinking, "Maybe I don't get married. Maybe I stay single." For the first time in my life I know it's something that some people do, and some don't. It is no reflection on the person. Its a choice, an option. One of many options in life. This realization is empowering, no?
Well, yes and no. I still feel that little piece is missing, which brings me back to the thing you're not supposed to say: I want a relationship. I know I have no right to expect to "have it all", whatever that might mean. I have a career, good friends, family, my health, varied interests and an active life. That should be enough. And on paper, yes it is. In the two dimensional, non-feeling world I can say that I am quite fulfilled.
But I miss. There are a million tiny things I miss about being with someone. Oh do I miss.
There lies the weakness, I suppose. Some might think it's weak and a little sad that I miss love, or the prospect of love when I'm single. As far as I've come in life, deep down I still need all that mushy stuff sometimes. Confession #2: As much as I can be a snarky, mean girl I love Love.
And missing romance is one thing, it's actually OK. I welcome love into my life, and will do my best not to mess it up if (when?) I've got it. However it doesn't make or break me. Ever.
From here on out I've officially let myself off the hook. I advise you do the same because it's OK to be single and happy. It's also OK to be single and happy and still hold out hope for a relationship.
I think I know what it is.
I think it's the thing you're not supposed to say when you're a fairly successful young woman, who's life is going along perfectly well, replete with incredible friends and family: I want a relationship, dammit.
I am lonely. Yep, this is the pity-inducing phrase guaranteed to get you either scorn or sympathy. I'd personally rather have the scorn. If one more person lamely tells me that I'll find someone, I'm great, blah barf barf blah, I may stab them.
I know, I know. I think I've more or less got myself together and I am really happy most of the time. I just want someone to share it with.
Confession time: When I see guys that I've dumped end up in relationships it makes me second guess myself, to the tune of Did I dismiss him too quickly? Why didn't he want to go mountain climbing in Portugal when we were together? Does he still have my yellow bra?
On the plus side, I know myself well enough to know that I would never be with someone just for the sake of being in a relationship (OK, I'll never again be with someone just for the sake of being in a relationship). I would rather be lonely than a cliche. I couldn't live with myself if I settled for a unsatisfying life. Too many people settle and that is the source of nothing but unhappiness. Also I never want to get a divorce or end up bitter so maybe its better I'm single.
On a side note, I must say its kind of awesome to reach a point in life where you can safely say, "Hey I don't have to get married!" Growing up, I assumed it was just something that everyone did, like pay taxes or cut their toenails.
As a young girl, I literally cannot ever remember thinking, "Maybe I don't get married. Maybe I stay single." For the first time in my life I know it's something that some people do, and some don't. It is no reflection on the person. Its a choice, an option. One of many options in life. This realization is empowering, no?
Well, yes and no. I still feel that little piece is missing, which brings me back to the thing you're not supposed to say: I want a relationship. I know I have no right to expect to "have it all", whatever that might mean. I have a career, good friends, family, my health, varied interests and an active life. That should be enough. And on paper, yes it is. In the two dimensional, non-feeling world I can say that I am quite fulfilled.
But I miss. There are a million tiny things I miss about being with someone. Oh do I miss.
There lies the weakness, I suppose. Some might think it's weak and a little sad that I miss love, or the prospect of love when I'm single. As far as I've come in life, deep down I still need all that mushy stuff sometimes. Confession #2: As much as I can be a snarky, mean girl I love Love.
And missing romance is one thing, it's actually OK. I welcome love into my life, and will do my best not to mess it up if (when?) I've got it. However it doesn't make or break me. Ever.
From here on out I've officially let myself off the hook. I advise you do the same because it's OK to be single and happy. It's also OK to be single and happy and still hold out hope for a relationship.
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