i think she honestly believes she's not that bad

"This is what she'll do." "Maybe I wasn't paying attention to her. That is where the quilt comes from." "I don't know what to do anymore, but if she knocks on my door I'm going to feed her."

Titles
My Condition
Some of Her Behaviors
From this Day Forward
Hit a Rock Bottom
Accountable
A Different Path
Tough Love
Never Get Better
Healthy Consequences

With all the power in the world, nothing could stop Ryla. No one but herself. Dan was the only one to help her to see that. With all the magic in the world, with all the earth shaking power God himself held, it came down to hearing Ryla say those precious words. Help me. So, he did.

I don't remember the pain as much as each day goes by and as each night's sleep washes through those tough and lonely memories I thought I would drown in. Now that I see those events could have been approached differently. I couldn't find the healthy way to deal with my pain and my loss. My first husband and I were in love at one time. We were in love and we loved life. We loved life so much we thought living it to the fullest meant partying until the sun went down. Sexual encounters in dangerous places. Leaving out cares and responsibilities to chance by running off. What we didn't know, but that I see now, was that we were self destructing. He and I were not looking to each other. We were not deeply lost in each other's gaze or in the heart of a soul mate. We were surrounded by all the things that would make us forget that maybe we made the wrong choice, maybe we weren't happy, and just maybe our searching gaze for the next high or the next drink meant running farther and farther away from our problems. When I would get angry I would accuse him of never loving me. I wish I could just say what I did was always due to a lack of self esteem. And if you ever asked me I would tell you I felt that sincerely. Feeling good about myself was impossible. So often addiction is blamed on the addict and blamed on self esteem. Just pick yourself up. That's what bootstraps are for. If you've never been an addict, then you will never know the source of addiction. Abuse. Family problems. A history of drug or alcohol abuse. Mental illnesses that can be stacked from here to the moon and back. Behavior. Economic situations. We forget to empathize. To look beyond our own tendency to blame. Shame is a strong emotion.

bebe

I Remember Saying...

I remember saying I want the ups and downs of life. I was a fool. I don't want the downs. The downs are so despicably lonely and cruel. They care not for what you love or what you dream of. The downs think everything you have is theirs and ready for their taking. The downs find what you cherish and ruin it. The ups may celebrate you, but the downs murder you.

The fact that life is hard is "supposed" to be a testament that life is worth living. I disagree. I want boring.

How can something so sweet and innocent be taken away from me, or should I be asking why? I am ready to just roll over and die. It would beat continuing to feel abandoned and deserted by God, by the universe, at the loss of my companion.

I hate the downs and all their terrible suggestive treatment that says I really should be grateful for what I still have. That would be fine, if I didn't mind all along giving it up for someone I love. Things mean nothing. Love means everything. Should I be grateful that is gone from me?

I haven't been divorced from my feelings. I have been smothered in them. I am drowning in them. I am dying in them. They fill my lungs with cold stinging release that may comfort me just a little as I numb to the pain I feel is so unfair and so undeserved. I shut down. People reach out, and as I reach back, I see myself shutting down. There is an opportunity, and I couldn't hear them because I'm drowning inside.

I once saw a woman on TV documentary showing her life as an alcoholic. She sat smoking in her backyard. She drank little vodka bottles. She cried and cried. She mourned and mourned. Her children were taken from her custody and no visiting allowed. She was overcome with the guilty knowledge that she was all to blame. Haze filling the torpid summer air, curled up in backyard lawn furniture, she sobbed, "Where are my babies? Where are my babies? Where ARE my babies? WHERE are my babies? Where are MY babies?" The sobbing went on and on. All sense of propriety and neighborly noise control forgotten. This woman had been disconnected, though by her own hands, from pieces of her heart and soul. Her children were clearly removed for a reason, for their safety and health. To save them from pain. The mother, the alcoholic was consumed with the pain of it all. She drowned in it as she did her wine. She pushed people away when they cared for her, when they worried for her. They provided opportunities. She turned them down. Why? Because, and I know now, it feels good. It actually feels good to hide from healing. It is like a drug of it's own. It becomes an addiction. Instead of feeding off of positive energy, you leech on it and create negative energy to dwell in. You seek out the negative.

I feel good just wallowing in the worst days of my life. I want to keep people at a distance. They won't understand. They say they do, but until they feel a loss, or remember a loss they had, they know I have to dwell. If only for a while.





So here I dwell. Leave me be.








Listen to Never Think.

Dear Stephanie

Dear Stephanie,

I remember first meeting you mere months ago in November when Matthew Restall was speaking. I remember the first thing you said to me after introductions was that you were going to try and make it to my panel paper presentation. I thought to myself, "Wow, why would she do that?" I know why though- you are such a sweet and generous person. Just hearing about me from Bob I'm sure was what made you want to view my presentation, but it made me smile a bit that Bob would even share about me at all. Then you were very welcoming at that Mesoamerican dinner you held and over the days of the conference. It was a tremendous help to me and probably more than you know, though I think I tried to tell you. I just knew from being around scholars just like you that this was an area of profession that I would be happy moving forward in. I was not jaded or oblivious to the trials and hard work it would require, but I thought if I could do it as passionately as you do then I would be happy. I was always testing the waters for my future as a scholar, and it had so much more to do with the people than the books and journals of endless information. Though I get a lot of enjoyment from reading and learning, it has been most rewarding when I am sharing them with you.

Then at the conference dinner, sitting at the president's table, I told Bob I recognized your name from the Wired Humanities Project website that I had actually visited a lot. I thought of applying for a position there. He told you, you did a fist pump and said "Yes!" From then on I was so excited about the opportunity to stick around you, learn from you, and gain some great experience.

I want to apologize for not giving more time in the end of the year. I hope, if possible to give WHP more time as the summer goes on. I really saw the internship opportunity you offered me as a safe haven away from the stress of getting good grades, of doing papers, and reading endlessly. Though that is all fun, it is stressful. I could just learn about Mesoamerican history on my own terms. I was reluctant because I didn't know if I would like Mesoamerican history, but the VMA gave me an opportunity to find the niches that made learning fun for me. I loved just coming in and getting some experience (whether you thought it was tedious or not, I liked it). I know the value of tedious work too. I still learned and never minded.

I love to hear your project plans for the young women and Oaxacan history. The folklore aspect made me realize I could still apply folklore to a history career. The lines between disciplines can blur in a complementary way, and though I'm all over the board in some ways, I see them all as crucial pieces. I see you doing the same thing and I follow your lead.

Your input on my thesis was beyond generous. I found all the little comments and revisions to be a really big help. Your comments were always opening my mind to other possibilities. Especially knowing how busy you were and how hectic life gets, it was a true gift to have your voice in my thesis project. I felt like you were the missing piece, since I had been studying women and you being a California native, I felt like you "got it" and it clicked. Sometimes it wasn't easy explaining all the jumbled mess that went on in my head, but I felt like you were instrumental in helping me articulate those hard-to-articulate ideas. Your insights and questions made me really think. I want you to know that the comments you gave that I wasn't able to incorporate I still researched on and found out all new information on. The added layers of meaning and comments only helped prepare me for my future. I feel confident getting ready for a graduate program. Though I'm nervous about getting in, I know when the time is right and I do attend a program I will be ready because of people like you who invested time, attention, and kindness in my education both as a historian-in-training and a person.

Thank you for your help with Katy too. She loved every second of WHP and talks about it all the time. I really think you honestly showed her a future career with maps and culture that she will pursue. She didn't know what she wanted to do or what she could be passionate about until she met you and worked at WHP.

You are so passionate about your students and about everyone you meet. I have never met such a generous person. You really give so much of yourself. You are also one of the busiest people I know too. You lifestyle is always putting in 110% of yourself, and I just want you to know, that although others at the university may not see it, I see it and I appreciate it. I am so glad I did another year of school and had the chance to get to know you.

T