I have a confession to make. I love Adam Sandler. I've seen every movie he's ever made. I've watched every Saturday Night Live skit he's ever done, and I own every song he's ever written. No, I'm not some crazy stalker chick (unless you happen to own the Indonesian Blog kewtawa lucu - because in that case, yes - I blog stalked you, but only that one time, I promise). I just think he's brilliant, and I love that he can make fun of himself and let us in on the joke, too. And though some people think he's low brow, his album, "What the Hell Happened to Me" falls squarely into the category of possessions you would only get because you ripped it from my cold, dead hands.
But I digress... The point is that this week was one of those weeks. You know the kind - where God keeps sending hate messages to you but you still somehow think you can "turn it around"... and you can't, so instead - you pull out your sanity toolkit and just try to survive it. Yeah, that kind of week. When this happens to me, I dig deep into my bag of tricks and pull out two staples: Krispy Kreme and (yes, you guessed it) Adam Sandler. The good news is that I made it. The bad news is that my pants don't fit. I look pregnant, which only makes sense, because the second I ate that box of doughnuts, I knew I was fucked. But that's still not the point.
The point is that, as I was driving and listening to "What the Hell Happened to Me," I began to wonder why God hates me and (more importantly) how I ended up as this person. How did I actually become MKROMD? Personally, I believe I should blame my large, codependent family. I firmly think they deserve it. When I ran the idea past my mother, she said, "You read too much into things. Maybe this world is just another world's hell." And while she's probably right, she still didn't answer my question. So I asked my therapist.
Given that I'm a squirrel on Jolt, it shouldn't surprise anyone that I have one.
You see, I got divorced two years ago, and anyone who has ever been in that boat knows you're so mentally and physically exhausted and so emotionally and spiritually depleted because of it that you simply do not have the wherewithal to deal with your own problems. You aren't ready to face your trust issues or answer the question, "Who am I?" So, you outsource it... much like you do your housecleaning and your pet care, and you let someone else do the work for you, at least for a while anyway. As Meatloaf said, “You can’t run away forever, but there’s nothing wrong with getting a good head start.”
And normally, this philosophy has worked pretty well for me… that is until I realized that my life is at a STOP sign, and I can keep looking left - into the past. Or, I can look right - towards the future. I simply cannot look both directions at once anymore. And I'm ready to move forward. When I asked my therapist (Dr. A) "How?" She said, "MKROMD, you're the most guarded person I've ever met. You don't allow yourself to feel anything. Every answer you give is one hundred percent logically processed."
At that moment, three thoughts went through my head:
1) As a highly competitive person, I thought, "Sweet! I just won the MOST GUARDED HUMAN BEING SHE'S EVER MET award."
2) I do too have feelings, because right now I feel EXHAUSTED! And trust me sister, it’s real!
3) My therapist thinks I'm “emotionally challenged.”
So, when I have these revelations or a crisis of conscience, I do what I always do... I call my best friend. Now, you should know something. TB is an amazing woman. And while there are literally thousands of adjectives to describe her (wonderful, gorgeous, logical, brilliant, athletic, funny, and sincere), there are two that have never been used: soft or vulnerable. She is as street smart as she is book smart, and she is the most determined soul I have ever known. And when I told her that I was diagnosed as being emotionally disabled, she said, "I don't disagree. I just don't understand why that's a problem, and I think it's ironic that you FEEL like she THINKS that you're an emotional charity case... Besides, why do you give a shit what anyone thinks about you anyway?"
Clearly, this is why we're best friends.
We also agreed that it was probably for the best that I didn't tell Dr. A, "I have feelings... it's just that when one occasionally pops up, I beat it into submission, shove it into a bell jar, and drown it with tequila. Then, if after ALL OF THAT it still has the nerve to bother me again, I kick it one last time for good measure." I'm joking... I don't really drink anymore.
Anyway, after hearing my best friend's perspective, I was very interested in hearing DB's, and when I asked him what he thought, in his calm, Buddhisty way, he said, "I don't agree that you're emotionally crippled, but you're very guarded. Everyone sees you laugh every day, but I may be one of the only people in this world who have ever seen you cry. Some emotional archaeology might not be a bad thing." Since my degree is in Anthropology, I told him it was my professional opinion that trust was good, but control was better.
Then I realized something... Maybe he's right. You can't trust people you can't trust, but you don't have to distrust everyone, and I actually don't. I do trust DB. In fact, I trust him with my life. He is the one person in this world where I can simply be myself. He is this amazing refuge from the world when it all starts spinning out of control. And for the record, maybe Kandinsky was wrong. Maybe control isn't the counterpart to chaos. Maybe calm is. And DB brings me to that. He takes me out of the storm and pulls me to the center where it's actually peaceful.
He often says, "Just because life gets crazy, doesn't mean you have to be." But he says it far more eloquently than I ever could, and I love and adore him beyond measure for it. And I'm ready to do more than sell two houses and have one home. I'm ready for us to have a life together. So, much to my family's chagrin, I'm going to do a little emotional archaeology. And Mel - you're finally going to get your wish. I'm going to write about growing up in Appalachia. And to my large codependent family whom I also love beyond measure, I hope you laugh as hard when you read it as I will when I write it. And to DB, let's do this.
Talk to you next week.