Day one of the Scintilla Project!

Who are you?

This is a question that is tough to answer, of course. I don’t want to sound like every other person. You’re smart, so you know that I, like everyone else, am a snowflake. Unique, complicated and delicate.

What you only know from reading my previous posts is that I’m going through a renewal. I’m learning a new me. I’ve dated some men that are great for me in some ways, not so great in others. I’m learning about how to behave in healthier relationship structures. I do not define myself by who I am romantically attached to.

I’m the daughter of a codependant and an alcoholic. I love both my parents for everything they taught me, the good and the bad. I am a codependant trying to quit. I love people, though. That’s my addiction. I’m learning to be by myself. To pay my bills, to save my money, to plan for me.

For the first time in my life, I’m not stress eating. I’m not making excuses for someone’s behavior. I’m not trying to fix people around me. I am genuinely trying to focus my love and attention on myself. I show real concern for friends, but not excessive. It no longer causes me emotional harm if a friend is not well. I worry, but I don’t allow it to cause me trauma.

This all seems strange to read, I’m sure. I’m saying a lot about what I’m not instead of who I am.

All of that tells you who I was. I’m not entirely sure who I am. I know what characteristics I have. I am silly, passionate, creative, fun, smiley, dorky, stubborn, determined, nervous, and just a little scared. Life is taking me for a damned fun ride right now and I’m finding out that I’m capable of letting myself be treated well, of letting myself succeed in career and love.

I’m dating someone who is kind to me and considers my needs. This is strange because I expect it to be a trap. I’m going to let my guard down and BAM! out comes his crazy. This is my own hangup. I get it. I’m damaged, but I’m fixing it. Part of fixing it is learning how to let someone be nice to me. I learned that from my best friend, and now I’m learning it from this man.

I’m happy. Part of me is scared of that, because I’ve learned that happiness doesn’t last. The other part of me accepts that and is reveling in the joy I am wading in at this very moment. People can see the joy in me and I’ve had strangers comment on it. These past few months I’ve gotten more “Wow, you’re beautiful!” or “You have a great smile!” comments than I ever have. It’s lovely, because my smile made them smile. I like that. Plus, who doesn’t love being told they’re beautiful?

My main point is that I am joyful in finding out who THIS woman is. This woman that I’m growing up into is different than any other Leslie and I’m enjoying meeting her.

ETA: I suppose this also counts as a First for me. “Life is a series of firsts. Talk about one of your most important firsts. What did you learn? Was it something you incorporated into your life as a result?” This is the first time I’ve actively tried to be a better, healthy me and have succeeded.

ITS ON ITS WAY! I promise! Later today, I will walk you through the final steps!

I have a helper and everything. I’m legit like that.

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• Pork Pasty Part 1 (astateofjoy.wordpress.com)

So, I know I was supposed to post a follow up to my Pork Pasty recipe. I will. I promise. But I have to remake the filling. Cause I forgot about it in my exhaustion.

Why so exhausted? Because I just started an amazing new job, but worked two jobs for a week. Two jobs and very little sleep make for a crazy forgetful me. I forgot that I made it, then I forgot to put it in the fridge, so then I forgot to put it in the garbage, so now its in the fridge til I can put it in the garbage Friday. Yup. I’ll be remaking everything. Sorry, loves.

I’ll be back to write about a couple of things, one specifically about making dough and how to finish pasties.
SUPER BIG KISSES!

I get asked about my blog a lot by people I know. “Is writing your blog therapeutic?” It’s the most common question, but I think what they’re really asking is “Why do you write such personal stuff in such a public forum?”  So, I’ll answer both for those who are curious.

Is writing this therapeutic?  Hell yes it is. When isn’t releasing your feelings therapeutic? I get to talk about whatever I like for however long I like. I get to argue with the voices in my head. Its like journaling, but better, because sometimes you get comments. Comments are therapeutic as well, because its validation.

I write personal details because its MY blog. Its life as I see it, so it will always be personal. If I’m going through something, I’ve learned to write it out. I figure things out through writing. It makes me feel better, soothed. I like being able to own up to my own crazy. Maybe in putting it in a public forum, other people can read and feel less alone. Less crazy, better about themselves.

I’m not in this to hurt others, but sometimes honesty can hurt. Reading about how I feel, if you’re one of the people I mention, can be grating. That’s understandable. I try to put in as much honesty about myself as I do others. I rarely lash out online and I’ve never ever written something with the specific intent to hurt them.

My blog about abuse was equal, I abused and was abused.  Part of writing this is so that I can look back and know myself. To know where I was in life and to know how much I’ve grown. We all have this to some extent. Looking back and shaking your head, a wry smile at who you used to be.

Part of all of us who write is selfishness. We like talking about ourselves. I am the same. I like talking about myself because it gives me a clearer sense of myself. I like me. Maybe you like me too. Maybe you hate me. Either way, you read my words because they do something to you. They make you feel in some way. I hope to find that somehow I make the world a little smaller, a little cozier and that maybe you find that you’re not the only one out there with this craziness running rampant inside them.

A comedian I watched recently said something to the effect that the only thing she really misses about living with someone is the ability to be completely mental with someone. Just walk in the room and say TWO lights on? You need TWO BLOODY LIGHTS ON? and then leave the room.

I haven’t had a fight in months. Its weird. I’m starting to feel itchy, like I need to bloody my hands.

One thing about my ex and I… we savaged each other in our fights. We were bared teeth with screaming and spitting. It was like watching part of myself consumed with fire and relishing it. I was angry at him, myself and the world and sometimes that big roar that came from inside me, this well of primal rage was tapped and a little pressure released.  It wasn’t healthy, but sometimes it felt SO FUCKING GOOD to just rage at another person.

I don’t believe that anger is productive. I love disagreement, because it’s an opportunity to learn. I firmly believe that if two people are rational they can calm the fuck down and solve an issue. That being said, we’ve all had fights over laundry, or using the wrong spoon, or not turning the radio to the right station or any other of a hundred thousand stupid fucking reasons that have turned into these epic all out fights with the person we love. Because as we accept their crazy, they accept ours.

It’s a physical thing, really. If I can’t roar at someone, I need to beat myself into submission. I need to join a kickboxing class or something to get out the aggression that is building. It’s silly that after being so relieved that I don’t have to fight anymore, I miss it. I need that release. It feels as if I’ve fought through my whole life.

My brother was known as the Brain and I was the Brawn. When we were kids, my mom put us in Tae Kwon Do. We reached black belt, my brother 2nd degree. We only ever fought one summer. Other than that, my brother and I got along well. This one summer though, it was knock out drag out fights. I’m not proud to say that I made sure he always hit first. I’d push him to the point that he couldn’t control himself and he’d attack. I remember a slap fight. We must have slapped each other’s faces like 8 times in a row. I remember him shoving me into the front door so hard, I slid to the ground, he stood over me his hands in fists, breathing heavy. I kicked him and then tackled him and we punched it out. It was cathartic. Our mother was dying. Our father had left us. We didn’t know what to do with the rage that was building, so we took it out on each other.

The only physical abuse that I endured that I never hit back was from my parents. Oh, I fought with non physical means. I still remember the last time my dad hit me and the look on his face when he saw the look on mine.

My ex and I pushed each other to terrible points. I was more physically abusive to him than him to me, meaning that I punched him solidly about 3 times, and instead of hitting me, he pushed me, or locked me in rooms. We fought to the point that he held my neck against the wall, choking me. I punched him and wrapped my hands around his neck. We caught the look in each other’s eyes and let go at the same time. We walked away, not wanting to go down that path. He is 6’3″, a rugby player and was in the Army for a short time. He could hurt me if he wanted. I found out he was cheating on me. I asked him about it, directly. He lied to my face. I told him to do it again. He did, so I punched him. Another time, I was driving him home once from the bar, and he called me a Stupid Bitch, spitting it out at me with disdain and contempt. Now, there are few things that hit my anger button so solidly that I can hear nothing but the rage and blood in my ears. Stupid Bitch is one of those things. I punched him in the side of the head, because I was driving and I couldn’t tackle him and beat the ever-loving shit out of him. I kicked him out of my car.

The rage that I felt in that relationship was so uncontrollable . I would smile in front of others and rage at home. I’d pretend that I was okay, letting only a few people know a small fraction of what was happening. I don’t want to be an abusive partner. This frightens me for the future, but I think it was just that relationship. I hope.

So knowing that, why do I feel the need to rage again? Why do I want to roar and fight and prove myself strong? I watch fights and action movies and I get that warrior mentality. I just want someone to step in the ring with me and let me fight through the pain.

After my mom died, I cut myself for a while. I realized that I was just giving a physical manifestation to the pain. I gave my tools to my counselor on my own. She took them and I never saw them again. It was then that I really understood the need to have a balance to my emotions. I began over analyzing and trying to make sure I knew what I was feeling and why. I started intramural wrestling, I broke up fights between guys, fought one girl briefly. I never lost that need to feel physical pain when I hurt inside though. The rasp in my chest when I’ve screamed my voice raw, the strain of the muscles in my arms and back, the breeze that floats through my mind when my anger is spent, the feeling that tears are okay now.

There is a savage, raw part of me. Sometimes it scares me, sometimes it soothes me. Right now, I feel the need to let it out, but I have no outlet. I want my pain to be soothed by physical exhaustion. I want to feel every nerve ending screaming at me, overwhelming me. I want to give in to the animal instinct for just a little while.