Self-Worth

And so continues therapy. I've been focusing on building life skills. Hay.

1. This would never have happened had we not moved back there. 

My therapist and I were trying to revisit certain events, trying to pinpoint when the sadness began. For me, it had always been clear. That wasn't the difficult part.

I've been apologizing for what I did, for what happened, as unclear as those events are to me right now. (It's amazing how hazy some parts of last year's events are; it's like my brain is consciously prohibiting me from remembering everything.) Part of all this process is my having to come to terms with the things I did to myself and to others and owning up to all of that. Apologizing has been a difficult exercise in humility, but there is a certain calm that descends upon me after the act of apologizing.

That still isn't the difficult part.

I don't think I've been fully forgiven for everything—certainly there is still enough pain and anger to go around—but I've also consigned this to the whole process.

Still, not the difficult part.

What this process has granted me is this realization though: I deserve to be forgiven. I have enough self-worth to desire that now. But yeah, process.

The actual difficult part is expecting that somehow, I would be apologized to. I want an apology. From her. I can only apologize and take responsibility for so much. But this happened as a direct result of other things, and I feel like I ought to be apologized to as well. I mean, I can be allowed to feel this way, right?

And the hardest of all this is the knowledge that that person will never ask for forgiveness. I know that much about her. And so begins another process (and the most difficult part of all): that of forgiving her when she doesn't want to be forgiven, when she doesn't even think she has to be forgiven.

2. "It's a condition, you don't have to keep saying that you're sick. You're being treated now."

I try to be upfront about my...condition; not that I owe anyone a thorough explanation. But I feel like I ought to warn people closest to me (not just by emotional affinity, but also by physical proximity) that there are reasons why I can't do or can't participate in certain things. Or why I have to do some things a certain way. 

Most of the time, I'll poke fun at myself first. Sort of call out the elephant in the room so that people won't get too uncomfortable. I'm always so worried that I might make people uncomfortable to be around me. I don't want to be THAT person, you know? But I'm also slowly learning that finding the funny in the situation is different from making fun of myself—because I think it allows other people to make fun of me, and sometimes it gets really hurtful. 

Not that a lot of people are making fun of me. It's just...

Let's just put it this way: If I had cancer, you wouldn't be telling me to up my radiation therapy just so I'd be less cancer-y, right? 

So, yeah. 

Must make sure I don't let people think it's okay to make flippant comments about my medication or my condition. Must stand up for myself. Must stop being so nice. Must allow myself to defend myself. I've been apologizing and existentially genuflecting to people I've wronged for so long. 

Oi, but Katinka, you did not hurt every single blessed person on earth. (Sorry, yes, I'm talking to myself.) So do Bob Marley proud and get up, stand up, stand up for your rights. (Okay, I'm singing the song in my head now. Sorry, I've just let you all inside my head. This is a confusing place. You may step out now.)

I need to learn to say stop. It's not funny anymore. I don't appreciate being spoken to like that. I don't appreciate having my awful life events become fodder for some mindless banter. (Rinse. Repeat.) Sorry. I mean it.

(Goodness. And to think I was such a you-know-what when I was younger.)

3. I've come so far and I feel like I'm almost in a good place, but this...this is holding me back.

Sigh. But THAT's for next week. Still so much to do. But, process. Process.

Sssh Sundays

Rainy, sleepy, lazy. 

Baby Steps

Step 1, State the Obvious:
I haven’t written anything down in weeks.

Step 2, Establish Context:
I’ve been busy with work and Lucia, but mostly, I’ve been busy making sure that my wits are about me.

Step 3, State Present Conditions:
Tired. Un-hungry. Lonely. Confused. Excited. Afraid. Overwhelmed. Noisy. Sad. Angry. Ambivalent. Doubtful. But most of all, un-hungry.

Step 4, Use a Photograph to Show How You Are:

Photo taken by friend and former co-worker, Adam David.

Step 5, Assure People:
I’m okay.

Step 6, Don’t Lie:
I’m functioning.

Step 7, Explain:
Despite feeling incredibly alone (and lonely) most of the time, I find that I need to that weightlifter thing—the squatting, the sudden inhaling, the grimacing—to be well enough to cater to the needs of a toddler who’s so smart and energetic, I have to wonder if my womb is, indeed, a petri dish; so meticulously and perfectly formed is she.

Step 8, Emphasize the Brighter Side While Cleverly Underscoring the Sadness of It All:
Well, at least I don’t have lupus.

Step 9, Reassure to Segue Into a Close:
But I’ve been through worse. I’m recognizing all my feelings. I’m calling them out. They’re not faceless phantoms. And yes, I’ve been through worse. Onward, Christian soldiers. Much love.

Step 10, State Your Name:
Katz

Too Fast...

...If only I could slow time down, just for a bit.

Today...

...was a good day.

We celebrated with doughnuts, enjoyed the most by Lucia.

Today was a good day. Thank you, Lord.

Other Birthday

Dear August 13, 2012:

Hi. It’s been a while. When I wake up tomorrow, there shall you be.

So. You’re finally here. Sort of. I’ve been waiting for you, anticipating you. Steeling myself for you. So, now you’re here. Almost.

(But you're so here, I can taste you. I've been tasting you the whole day. You taste like bile.)

And I’m stalling by hyper-objectifying the fact that you’re almost here instead of actually confronting how I feel about you coming around again.

(There's a storm now, did you know? How about that.)

Right. Feelings.

Well, I’m glad that you’re finally here. I think I can allow myself to breathe a little more freely once you pass through. As you do, allow me to use this inchoate bravado of mine to stick my tongue out at you.

I’m still here, see. I’m still alive. I didn’t die. For better or for worse, I didn’t die.

(I lived, damn you. I lived.)

I thought I would be more conciliatory, as in: "Let’s bury the hatchet. From henceforth, you shall be like any other day." 

But not yet. Almost. (So almost, I can taste it. It tastes like the air after the rain and unwashed cherries.)

Right now, along with my tongue, I shall show you my wrists. The only marks on them are tattoos that celebrate the fact that I lived. The reasons I do my best to keep doing this whole living thing. (Thanks to you, my body now holds a forever-tapestry of victories.)

And you stand there, silently. Neither friendly nor menacing. You’re just standing there, waiting to be defined by whatever state of healing I may be in. And I hate that you're so cavalier about this whole thing. I've been struggling not to be defined by you and you're just there. So...undefined.

Tell you what, let’s just nod, acknowledge each other’s presence, and let’s try to get on with tomorrow's today, shall we?

What’s that? Yes, thank you. Happy Other Birthday, indeed. Thank you. Coming from you, that means a lot. I appreciate it. (Sincerely.)

Till next year. Perhaps, by then, I shall have been able to define you.

Kindest (kind now, not belligerent) regards,

K

Velcro-Hug

Sometimes, it's painful. Like, physically.

I get numb headaches. I dunno if that makes sense to you, but that's the only way I can describe it. And then things go dark, and I can only focus on one thing at a time. And then for a few minutes, everything will go back to normal—noise, color, everything. And then I get overwhelmed, so I will take in huge gulps of air to still myself. And then when I finally get a grip, the world darkens again.

While things are dark, I check my pulse, just to make sure it isn't another panic attack. Because I'm calm. So what is this?

And then Lucia's squeal pierces through the reverie and I feel myself making the effort to look at her and smile.

And then the tunnel reappears and I feel the darkness Velcro-hug me again.

One Night, Two Conversations

I had to go to the grocery store after work to buy a bag of rice since we were all out. After that, I walked to the drug store right on the fringes of my neighborhood (the smaller drug stores within the neighborhood don't carry my meds). I didn't have enough money to buy the full prescription, so I was grumbling the whole time I had to walk to the drug store. All this effort just to buy two measly pills. 

By "effort", I don't mean the walk. In fact, I don't mind walking and I actually missed walking that far (my daily walk to work lasts all of 4 minutes). What I didn't like was being in the midst of all those people. Ugh. People. 

People bumping into each other, rushing to or from work, paying no heed to proper sidewalk etiquette (I MEAN SERIOUSLY, WHY WALK SIDE BY SIDE WHEN THE SIDEWALK IS CLEARLY WIDE ENOUGH FOR ONLY TWO PEOPLE?!?!), I hated all that. And then, just as I was about to bump into to the umpteenth person, I heard an almost too-familiar semi-scream.

"Ma'am Katz?!?"

There was a time when I would automatically think that this would be a student. Now that I'm older, I've come to expect the exclamation to come from all sorts of people (as I have become old enough to be "Ma'am-ed" and "Miss-ed" more frequently now...loud sigh). 

Anyway.

The guy in front of me was only vaguely familiar. So my brain did the usual process.

1. Is it a guy? Then it could be a student. (Yes.)
2. Is he well-dressed (specifically, is he dressed more office-y than you)? Then it could be a student from my earlier days as a teacher. (Yes.)
3. Does he look familiar? (Yes.)
4. Do you remember his name? (No.)
5. Eep. Do you remember his section? (No.)
6. Gah. Is he still smiling, not noticing that you haven't recognized him yet? (Yes, and I don't know. He could just be the most polite person in the world.)
7. Pant. Still don't remember his name? (No!)
8. Panic. 
9. No, wait. Smile.
10. Say something, stupid. 

"Hi!" I said.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm okay, thanks! How are you?" I asked.

"I'm okay po. I work in this building," he said.

Ugh, I'm so old. "Wow, that's great!" I say.

"Grabe, ma'am! Ang bata ng ichura mo! I thought you were a kid," he said. "Parang nawawalang bata, hahahaha!"

"Oh, haha," I said. I have to make a canned response to that. And practice delivering it with as much spontaneity as possible.

Since people were still walking about us (ugh, I had become 1/2 of the very thing I just ranted about), I said I had to go.

"Sige po, ma'am. Nice to see you po!" he said. 

"Bye! Take care!" I said. 

And then I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the shiny glass walls of the building in front of me and I saw what he saw. I was wearing a schoolmarm-ish dress, purple tights, my floral DMs, and a floral backpack. My hair had just about given up being straight and had started to curl (as it is wont to do in the most asymmetrical way which vexes me to no end). I looked like a lost, exhausted child.

I walked towards home and I finally reached the part of my neighborhood that didn't have as many people walking about. I looked up and actually saw a star. Like a freaking, shining star. And I looked up at the star and smiled. And it smiled back (swear). 

"You look so small from here," I said.

"You look so small from here, too," it said.

"Oh, but I know you're bigger than you look," I said.

"You are, too, you know," it said.

Ugh. Metaphors. "But I feel so lost," I said.

"Silly thing. Have you forgotten what stars are known for?" it said.

"Oh, right. And look, I'm almost home!" I said.

"See?" it said.

"Thank you," I said.

"You're welcome," it said.

---

The kid's name is Mikey. 

Damnit.

Wanted: Taco Shell

Lucia’s learning how to distinguish emotions: happy, sad, mad, etc. When she watches cartoons, she turns to me and tells me what the she thinks the characters are feeling and asks me to confirm her interpretation. Sometimes, I have to explain why they’re feeling that way.

Last night, in the middle of slumber, she woke me up, apparently from a bad dream. She said in a tiny voice, “Momma? I’m afraid.” She’s heard that phrase countless times from Marie, one of the kittens from The Aristocats, and so she said it in exactly the same way Marie said it. She nestled into my arms (which is what Marie also did to her Momma) and I taco shelled her the rest of the night.

I woke up this morning rather abruptly from a text message and I hate it when that happens. But when I woke up, I saw that she was still nestled in my arms, her face pressed against my chest. She stirred a bit and rubbed her nose in the space between my collarbones. 

But I wanted to tell her myself, “Lucia? I’m afraid.”

It’s been a rather bad week for personal reasons, and now as July ends and August begins, I am filled with even more dread. August last year was when things started to unravel and spin out of control, the month when I finally went to the hospital. And no matter how far I think I’ve come, I am now reminded that what I hurdled over was but a mere boulder; the rest of the mountain still beckons.

God? I’m afraid. Very afraid. And now it is becoming more apparent that despite best efforts, I am still going to go about this alone (on some level, on a very important level).

Abandoned. That is the predominant feeling this week, an emotion that I hope Lucia won’t be feeling for a very long time yet.

God? I need to be taco shelled. Because I feel very afraid and very alone. 

Barriers

Sssh.