I wrote this in a message to a dear friend awhile back. He told me this is one of the reasons he loves me. So I am posting it..............
_______________________________________________________
Right now I am in the car with my leg elevated while my mom is buying flowers in a greenhouse.
I am listening to the distant sounds of people's voices sprinkled with the songs of various birds as they fly around. The sky is hazy & clouds blend into one another. The trees are all fully-green and winds come and go to various tempos. There are intermittent cars that motor-by on the gravel road- the sound of the tires crushing and rolling over the gravel offers a texture to the audible landscape. Now a little airplane is flying overhead.
How can i or anyone else for that matter, feel that life should not be enjoyed in its simplicity from moment to moment?
~love always~
~tanya elizabeth~
Thursday, June 9, 2011
About Family, Children & Unconditional Love
8 June 2011 ~About Family, Children & Unconditional Love~
Everytime I spend time with the kids I nannied for, I become contemplative about where I’ve been, what I’ve come from, what I have wanted, and how I have changed. When I was graduating from highschool, I always thought I would find a nice guy, settle down and have the family, be a part of a community & so on & so forth. Hmmmm. My life path wasn’t meant to be the way I had dreamed it as a naïve seventeen-year-old. Apparently.
I daydreamed about the hockey players I had crushes on, as well as the ghetto boys that would make comments that flew way over my head. So I was naïve & good-natured. I wasn’t a bad girl, a party-girl or a slut in any way. I hid behind my religious upbringing, and figured life would just simply work out the way it was meant to be. I was brought up in a semi-strict household. My dad is a very controlling man- I will give him credit that he has mellowed out throughout my lifetime, but he was always very controlling, and my mother usually just did his bidding. There is a lot of alcoholism that has literally wasted the family away – more so spiritually and emotionally than physically. I guess we all have longevity in our genes. But I digress. So there is codependency, fucked up family dynamics and the hedge of religion to contend with.
I dated some, but no one either sparked my interest enough, or I convinced myself I was never good enough. I ended up dating a lot of jerks. The first guy I REALLY thought I would settle down with to get married to – we were an item before we went on an official date. It was understood. But vague. I think I was eighteen or nineteen years old. I was head over heels in what I thought was love. Fuck. This went on for a couple of years. Then one day a group of us went to get coffee. He told me he loved me. But he loved me in a way that wasn’t the way I needed to be loved. He moved halfway across the country the next day. I hadn’t even known he was planning to move. I was devastated. I was completely heartbroken.
The years had drifted by, I was twenty-one then. I didn’t understand how I would have done anything for him, and he left me. His family even loved me. His parents had told me on many occasions that I was their little girl. In the midst of my heartbreak, I threw myself into being the most fabulous party girl I knew I could be. I hung out at the local gay bars and competed in fabulousness with the local drag queens. I could throw together an outfit for any theme party and I put my best slut face forward. Even though I was still not a slut (I may have had a few “instances” where people may have thought I was a slut, but just because I was ACTING slutty, that did not in any way mean I was a true slut. I had many opportunities to be a slut, but deep down, I just couldn’t sleep with anyone and everyone. Until I started partying so much that I didn’t care so much, and my judgment became inhibited, and indeed- I made some really bad decisions.
All this time, I was just trying to figure out who I really was. It felt good to be able to walk into the club & instantly have a flock of men around me ENCOURAGING me to act a fool & be the most ridiculous girl I could be. It made me feel a bit narcissistic when I got offered a role in a fetish film because I was rocking out a bondage belt & was letting anyone lick whipped cream off my breasts as long as they bought me a shot. (that night did end up getting rather fuzzy. Thank GOD for all my gay men that surrounded me & got me home safe- otherwise I probably would have ended up in a snuff film, dead in some dumpster in an alley in this town. **shudder**
All this time of partying, I held together my day life. I would party hard all night long, but somehow I would gather myself together when I would hear the birds singing & I would either make it to class or to work with a smile on my face, I remember even going to work on Sunday at eleven- and I started having a trip-flashback. Holy fuck that was intense. Once again- thank GOD for my gay boys coming to the rescue. Sunglasses, OJ, & food to try to buffer all the chemicals in my system... That was the only time I have ever done acid. It wasn’t great, and it just made for a really freaky experience during daylight hours. Not my bag.
I held 3 part-time jobs during this clusterfuck of a rollercoaster. And I was a 4.0 full-time student. Somewhere around this time, “A” was born. Her parents went to the same Bible study group that my parents went to, and they wanted someone to take care of her 3-4-5 days a week. I figured I had taken care of kids since I was 12 (how else do you think I afforded eyeliner as a kid- my dad certainly wasn’t going to shell any money out for that) – so I agreed to the job.
I was a primary caregiver for ”A.” We were inseparable. I would find myself taking care of her on days I wasn’t needed, just because I loved her so much, and because it made me sad how inept her parents were at loving her. I wanted babies. I hadn’t really settled down yet, or found Mr. Right, and I hadn’t even gotten knocked up like so many of my friends…. I had failed, but I could still love this precious & amazing child.
I was “A’s” nanny until she was about two years old. She was already calling me Mama sometimes, and when I would leave their house, or put her in her parents’ car, she would sob & beg for me not to go. They were expecting another baby, and her mother lost her job, so it worked out that I could pull away from that heartbreaking experience. I loved her so much. But I wasn’t her mother.
I’ve taken care of this family on and off through the years. There are three kids now, and I love them all deeply. I think their father is a creep on more than one level, and their mother is… detached. But I cannot point fingers, or think I would be any better if I was in their shoes. I haven’t walked in their shoes. But deep down, I know I would do better.
Today we celebrated “A’s” eleventh birthday. She is a precocious child. Bless her. I love her, but cannot help but get so annoyed with her – she makes ridiculous comments, just mimicking her ultra-religious & right-winged parents. She has no idea what she is talking about except that she hears all that bullshit from her parents. They talk trash about me, and they are stupid to think it won’t be parroted back to me. Oh well. I know they don’t think highly of me because I sport blue hair & have no real boyfriend, I haven’t gotten married or done the right thing of breeding- which I never had intention of merely breeding- but really truly being a mom. I think I would be really good at it. But, I digress yet again. I don’t think highly of them at all either. I wish I could just walk away. But those three kids. As annoyed as I get- they have no real structure in their life, no real discipline- only threats & belittling. It isn’t really their fault how they are. It isn’t their fault that they have not had exposure of being able to play make-believe, to play house, to play with playdough, to make finger-paint art… I could go on forever. I won’t. IT’s not the point. The point is this. I love those children. I feel really shitty when I yell at any of them when they are doing something bad or naughty or disobeying the rules. The only way they get attention on a regular basis is getting yelled at. I cannot be that to them.
All the years I took care of them, I would play the same “I love you more than…” game that I remember my mom playing with me. Finding ways to outlove each other, and giggling at the ridiculous ways we could find to love each other more and more. Giggling & being able to be spontaneous and silly. Feeling loved. Feeling free.
I also would play this game with them where I would chase them around until I could catch them in my “arms of love” – I would catch them, and then hold them close, hugging them close to me, just to give them hugs and kisses. I think it is truly a basic human need to feel this limitless love. To feel so safe in the arms of someone you can trust to love you unconditionally.
Tonight the little one, who is five years old, ran to me, and hugged me. She hugged me so tight around my neck. I could barely breathe. We were giggling, and then she told me that she was holding me in her arms of love and would never let me go.
I end tonight’s blogfest once again, feeling totally vulnerable and raw. My shredded emotions are open to the air and I can feel the sharp pain of being open and vulnerable. I love these babies. Maybe I will never have my own… But I still have enough love in my heart that I can love others who need to be loved. And when I am least expecting any love in return, I will be so pleasantly surprised. I will be knocked to my knees and humbled in the simplicity of this basic of human needs…. Unconditional love. Even I can be loved… unconditionally.
Everytime I spend time with the kids I nannied for, I become contemplative about where I’ve been, what I’ve come from, what I have wanted, and how I have changed. When I was graduating from highschool, I always thought I would find a nice guy, settle down and have the family, be a part of a community & so on & so forth. Hmmmm. My life path wasn’t meant to be the way I had dreamed it as a naïve seventeen-year-old. Apparently.
I daydreamed about the hockey players I had crushes on, as well as the ghetto boys that would make comments that flew way over my head. So I was naïve & good-natured. I wasn’t a bad girl, a party-girl or a slut in any way. I hid behind my religious upbringing, and figured life would just simply work out the way it was meant to be. I was brought up in a semi-strict household. My dad is a very controlling man- I will give him credit that he has mellowed out throughout my lifetime, but he was always very controlling, and my mother usually just did his bidding. There is a lot of alcoholism that has literally wasted the family away – more so spiritually and emotionally than physically. I guess we all have longevity in our genes. But I digress. So there is codependency, fucked up family dynamics and the hedge of religion to contend with.
I dated some, but no one either sparked my interest enough, or I convinced myself I was never good enough. I ended up dating a lot of jerks. The first guy I REALLY thought I would settle down with to get married to – we were an item before we went on an official date. It was understood. But vague. I think I was eighteen or nineteen years old. I was head over heels in what I thought was love. Fuck. This went on for a couple of years. Then one day a group of us went to get coffee. He told me he loved me. But he loved me in a way that wasn’t the way I needed to be loved. He moved halfway across the country the next day. I hadn’t even known he was planning to move. I was devastated. I was completely heartbroken.
The years had drifted by, I was twenty-one then. I didn’t understand how I would have done anything for him, and he left me. His family even loved me. His parents had told me on many occasions that I was their little girl. In the midst of my heartbreak, I threw myself into being the most fabulous party girl I knew I could be. I hung out at the local gay bars and competed in fabulousness with the local drag queens. I could throw together an outfit for any theme party and I put my best slut face forward. Even though I was still not a slut (I may have had a few “instances” where people may have thought I was a slut, but just because I was ACTING slutty, that did not in any way mean I was a true slut. I had many opportunities to be a slut, but deep down, I just couldn’t sleep with anyone and everyone. Until I started partying so much that I didn’t care so much, and my judgment became inhibited, and indeed- I made some really bad decisions.
All this time, I was just trying to figure out who I really was. It felt good to be able to walk into the club & instantly have a flock of men around me ENCOURAGING me to act a fool & be the most ridiculous girl I could be. It made me feel a bit narcissistic when I got offered a role in a fetish film because I was rocking out a bondage belt & was letting anyone lick whipped cream off my breasts as long as they bought me a shot. (that night did end up getting rather fuzzy. Thank GOD for all my gay men that surrounded me & got me home safe- otherwise I probably would have ended up in a snuff film, dead in some dumpster in an alley in this town. **shudder**
All this time of partying, I held together my day life. I would party hard all night long, but somehow I would gather myself together when I would hear the birds singing & I would either make it to class or to work with a smile on my face, I remember even going to work on Sunday at eleven- and I started having a trip-flashback. Holy fuck that was intense. Once again- thank GOD for my gay boys coming to the rescue. Sunglasses, OJ, & food to try to buffer all the chemicals in my system... That was the only time I have ever done acid. It wasn’t great, and it just made for a really freaky experience during daylight hours. Not my bag.
I held 3 part-time jobs during this clusterfuck of a rollercoaster. And I was a 4.0 full-time student. Somewhere around this time, “A” was born. Her parents went to the same Bible study group that my parents went to, and they wanted someone to take care of her 3-4-5 days a week. I figured I had taken care of kids since I was 12 (how else do you think I afforded eyeliner as a kid- my dad certainly wasn’t going to shell any money out for that) – so I agreed to the job.
I was a primary caregiver for ”A.” We were inseparable. I would find myself taking care of her on days I wasn’t needed, just because I loved her so much, and because it made me sad how inept her parents were at loving her. I wanted babies. I hadn’t really settled down yet, or found Mr. Right, and I hadn’t even gotten knocked up like so many of my friends…. I had failed, but I could still love this precious & amazing child.
I was “A’s” nanny until she was about two years old. She was already calling me Mama sometimes, and when I would leave their house, or put her in her parents’ car, she would sob & beg for me not to go. They were expecting another baby, and her mother lost her job, so it worked out that I could pull away from that heartbreaking experience. I loved her so much. But I wasn’t her mother.
I’ve taken care of this family on and off through the years. There are three kids now, and I love them all deeply. I think their father is a creep on more than one level, and their mother is… detached. But I cannot point fingers, or think I would be any better if I was in their shoes. I haven’t walked in their shoes. But deep down, I know I would do better.
Today we celebrated “A’s” eleventh birthday. She is a precocious child. Bless her. I love her, but cannot help but get so annoyed with her – she makes ridiculous comments, just mimicking her ultra-religious & right-winged parents. She has no idea what she is talking about except that she hears all that bullshit from her parents. They talk trash about me, and they are stupid to think it won’t be parroted back to me. Oh well. I know they don’t think highly of me because I sport blue hair & have no real boyfriend, I haven’t gotten married or done the right thing of breeding- which I never had intention of merely breeding- but really truly being a mom. I think I would be really good at it. But, I digress yet again. I don’t think highly of them at all either. I wish I could just walk away. But those three kids. As annoyed as I get- they have no real structure in their life, no real discipline- only threats & belittling. It isn’t really their fault how they are. It isn’t their fault that they have not had exposure of being able to play make-believe, to play house, to play with playdough, to make finger-paint art… I could go on forever. I won’t. IT’s not the point. The point is this. I love those children. I feel really shitty when I yell at any of them when they are doing something bad or naughty or disobeying the rules. The only way they get attention on a regular basis is getting yelled at. I cannot be that to them.
All the years I took care of them, I would play the same “I love you more than…” game that I remember my mom playing with me. Finding ways to outlove each other, and giggling at the ridiculous ways we could find to love each other more and more. Giggling & being able to be spontaneous and silly. Feeling loved. Feeling free.
I also would play this game with them where I would chase them around until I could catch them in my “arms of love” – I would catch them, and then hold them close, hugging them close to me, just to give them hugs and kisses. I think it is truly a basic human need to feel this limitless love. To feel so safe in the arms of someone you can trust to love you unconditionally.
Tonight the little one, who is five years old, ran to me, and hugged me. She hugged me so tight around my neck. I could barely breathe. We were giggling, and then she told me that she was holding me in her arms of love and would never let me go.
I end tonight’s blogfest once again, feeling totally vulnerable and raw. My shredded emotions are open to the air and I can feel the sharp pain of being open and vulnerable. I love these babies. Maybe I will never have my own… But I still have enough love in my heart that I can love others who need to be loved. And when I am least expecting any love in return, I will be so pleasantly surprised. I will be knocked to my knees and humbled in the simplicity of this basic of human needs…. Unconditional love. Even I can be loved… unconditionally.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
6-7 June 2011: Sensuality vs Sexuality... my muddled musings...
6-7 June 2011: my ramblings. Let them all pour out out of me. As I write, I become free from my own burdens that have weighed heavily in my soul for far too long….
So here goes nothing, or everything… I suppose it is perception. Everything always comes back to perception. Everyone’s reality is only their own. The adage of “you don’t understand unless you walk in my shoes for a mile” – it rings true. Indeed.
I finally hit the trail yesterday afternoon- right before dusk. I hadn’t ran on my beloved Rivertrail since last fall. I have had complications with my ankle & I cannot run during the winter. I also was shorted workout time due to spending a lot of time on the phone with someone I at one point thought must be my soulmate. Hmmmm. That is another chapter though. I shall try to stay on task of writing what is on my mind & not jumping from subject to subject- all in a muddled mess.
I love running on the Rivertrail. It is such a balance of being in a city & being part of nature. I feel like I am home. I recite my own spontaneous poetry in my mind as I push my body to run faster & faster- breathing hard & focusing on all the sights & sounds around me. Running the trail is a truly sensual experience for me.
As I approached the trail, I smelled campfire. I smiled. The campfire indicated the gypsy camp is back- thriving, even though they lost some in the difficult winter this past year. I have only seen traces of their camp- in the fall when the leaves are not hiding the tops of their tents so well. And I have seen paths that lead into the woods. I have never ventured on the paths, because I feel it might be an intrusion. The woods is their home.
I continue running. I run under the train trestle –another of my favorite places along the trail. When the trail floods, I crawl up the steep hill, squeeze myself through the chainlink fence & climb the steep hill of rocks to cross over the train tracks & then descend down the otherside back to the trail. I always feel more adventurous when I have to do this. I feel like I am getting in an adventure hike incorporated into my trail run. I am happy here.
The trail continues, and I enjoy the sounds of various song birds singing to each other. I listen to the breezes & winds dancing & tumbling through the trees- singing a melody all of its own. My spirit is alive here. I sometimes slow my run to a walk to feel the air & to listen. Just listen. The earth speaks volumes when I am silent and alone.
The dappled sunlight filters through the green leaves. Spring has already turned to summer. Everything is green. There are grasses & trees & swamps along the river’s path. I see the bright purple of the flox flowers & smell their sweetness & I think of being up at my Gramma’s in the Upper Peninsula. I feel wild and free. I feel beautiful. No one can see me. I am here experiencing this nature around me & I feel connected. Life is so connected.
I continued to run, and was thinking about how all of my senses were being spoiled here on this run – maybe spoiled is not a good termt o use at all. I was being spiritually fed. Running is my zen. I can meditate while I run. I think this is why I prefer to run alone. I do not want to entertain mindless chatter. I want to regain my inner peace. I want to feel all my senses to the full extent. I want to be alive.
I reached the spot of the trail where I am at the bridge right before my half-way point. It is the place that I will write about again, while talking about other things. Not now. Last night everything was calm, I kept running. I was meditating on the differences between being sensual and sexual. Ahh, what a fun subject to be mulling over when pushing my body so hard- sweating from every pore, breathing hard, working my muscles to the max. Pushing myself harder and harder. In a way, running is almost like sex, right? So is being sensual.
I was mulling all of this over because I was recently asked some questions about sex. I will call him “Arizona” J For the first time in a long time, someone seems to be truly interested in me, not just fucking around. I owe him honest answers- regardless of what the future holds. I owe myself honesty. I cannot live in such a manner anymore that I am always trying to please others & be to others what I perceive it is that they want or need. For God’s sake- look at where it has gotten me. (long story- will write more on that later. And maybe not ever in a blog but rather a book when I can write under an alias.)
Sex. Hmmmmm. Such an interesting subject. Right?
I think I am a very sexual person. I mean- I’m horny most of the time. So that means I’m sexual, right? Maybe. Maybe not. I think I am, but I think I have hangups regarding sex… Which is probably more normal that I let myself believe. I cannot be the only fucked up girl here on planet earth, right?
I am indeed a very sensual person. I cannot choose which of my senses is most important to me. I have ADD/ADHD of the senses. I get soulgasms from music, I feel connected to mother earth. I believe in living fully- and when I cannot live fully, I feel like I am dying. Irony is I have spent years numbing myself by ways of binge drinking- just to stop feeling. Because I have not known how to deal with the madness in my head. I don’t drink anymore- and I am forcing myself to confront these demons in my past.
I think part of my hangups about sex (it is true- I have faked many an orgasm – because sometimes I just don’t let myself let go. I cannot let go. Because on some primal level I do not want to give into the person I am with all the way- I cannot let myself become that vulnerable. I enjoy it, sure- but very rarely have I truly let myself go to fully enjoy the experience. I honestly believe it comes down to trust. Trusting others, and maybe even trusting myself…
Sexuality. A dear friend of mine once told me I was “trisexual” –I would try anything at least once, if not twice- to rule out if I liked it or not. Hah. I suppose she is mostly right…
So. I have come to the conclusion that I am both sensual & sexual. I can live with this. So why the hangups? The hangup is letting myself go, and being able to be truly intimate & trust another person fully. Sure I’ve fucked around a lot. I have made jokes about all the random stories I can tell about sex with people & in random places. But they make for better stories than the actual memories attached. Deep down I am still the scared little girl afraid of being left behind, again. And again. And again.
I think people misconstrue my sensuality & sexuality. I think I am very full of light and love and energy that people sometimes misunderstand that I truly only want to be friends, I do not want to be lovers. Oy.
I was about 20 or 21. I was asked over to the neighbor’s to have a tour of the house because I might be housesitting for them later in the summer. They wanted to show me the basement. I don’t know how everything happened so fast. We were going down the stairs & all of a sudden my hands were back behind my back & tied with rope. They told me how hot I was. How beautiful I was. I was scared & didn’t know what to do. These people were supposedly my friends. I wanted to scream, but my voice didn’t work. My jeans were unbuttoned. My shirt was torn off. I must have had a look of fear in my eyes, because the woman interrupted this madness & let me go. She then told me that they were all going to get a hotel room later that night and really wanted me to come & join in on the fun. I left the house. I never went back.
Needless to say- I do not like getting tied up during sex. Never.
Another summer- there was a neighborhood party. We were all drinking. Several of the guys told me that they had been watching me for years. Apparently I was the sight to see when I would do yardwork in my spandex bikeshorts & little tanktops. I always thought there was something so wrong with me, because the two guys across the street never flirted with me. I must have been hideously ugly. Then they admitted to watching me, fantacizing about me. I was like the neighborhood Lolita or something. There was a lot of joking going on, and then the older man across the street said he often fantacized about me giving him blowjobs. I wanted to vomit. The younger guy who had admitted to watching me from his house all those years walked me home that night. In a drunken state of misunderstood feelings, I let him have me.
Hmmmm. Love & lust….
Flashing to just a time in recent years. December of 2008, to be exact, I agreed to meet an internet friend for a date of sorts. It was awkward at best. And I hate dating. I hate the awkwardness & would much rather be someone’s friend than go through the weirdness of meeting someone on a date. Yuck. Anyways. We went out for some drinks and local music. He drank jack daniels. A lot of it. I think I had a few vodka tonics. There was no way he could drive home, so I said he could stay on my couch. We’d watch movies. This is the really difficult part to write about. It still seems so vivid. So fresh in my mind. And then blackness. Nothing. I forced myself out of my brain to shut down. People maybe assume I’m a slut or something because I am a bit of a wild child. I am not. At least I do not mean to be. I was raped that night. I don’t even know if the guy really even knew what he did to me, because he was so wasted. I started drinking a lot after that. Just to be numb. I can still feel the burn of my face being shoved into the chair & then down into the floor. And then nothing. I force myself to forget.
Hmmmm. I think I cannot write any more today. I need to process some of this. Now that I have written it out. There is so much more, but I think I’m feeling small & vulnerable & frightened. I am going to sleep for a bit. Maybe have a good cry. I have needed a good cry for so long. I need to cry this all out of me so it doesn’t leave me sick and infected in my spirit anymore…….. ~t~
getting started
oh my. after years of this writing block......... i am back to blogging. i have been putting off writing for some time now, but i feel like i need to get back to writing- for my very sanity. I haven't blogged since the days of myspace. so, this will take some getting used to.
If you are reading this, thank you- & please feel free to comment on anything that I post here. <3
If you are reading this, thank you- & please feel free to comment on anything that I post here. <3
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