Saying Goodbye

Hi Dear Reader,

I wrote a post a while ago about the day my father died. I have sat on it until now, finally deciding to delete it. I won't publish it because frankly, some things are too sacred to minimize with mere mortal words. Never could I adequately relay that monumental day and it's impact on my life. So instead, I will talk about loss in general.

Losing things- from car keys to loved ones- causes disorientation in most of us. I think this is because we imbue our identity into those things. They are a physical connection to a world filled with abstract ideas and to lose even a small part of that- a part of ourselves- is cause for panic. And no matter the significance of said object, the repercussions are real enough.

I "lost" my father shortly after my 30th birthday. Two weeks later I "lost" the only grandparent I have ever known. Not long after, I literally "lost" myself as a nervous breakdown removed me from my old life and gave me a new life completely foreign and undiscovered. I am starting at zero.

Recently, I even "lost" my job. Not just a job. I worked full-time and attended school four nights a week to earn my Masters Degree. Then I began a career that spanned six years and instilled a large identity within me. I had knowledge, authority, my own office, even professional name cards! I had the ability to HELP people! Amazing. But I get it; lay-offs happen. It wasn't personal. It was a matter of numbers and I missed the seniority cut-off by a matter of days. I believe things happen for a reason. What I didn't need was another loss. I am starting at zero.

But, survival is all about perspective. You know, glass half-full kinda thing. I like to think of myself as a realist. I definitely don't wax Pollyanna but I also try to avoid the "dark side" as much as possible. So, in essence I take the good with the bad. I hate this "blind leading the blind" feeling, but I am extremely grateful for all that I DID have. Without the U of R, I wouldn't have met my best friend. And without Goodwill, I wouldn't have met my second family and nurtured my "adopted" children.

Loss happens. So be prepared. Love hard, forgive easily, and always thank God. No regrets. And if you squint hard enough, there is always a silver lining in the storm.

Off Topic... Sort of

I wrote this a few days before the death of Phillip Seymour Hoffman- an actor whose talent I enjoyed and will miss. His story puts my "addiction" in perspective and reminds me that the grass is NOT always greener on the other side...



Warning for the squeamish!



Dermatillomania- Fancy term for compulsive skin picking. Ew.



I have given up on making New Year resolutions. I just don't have the patience. Plus, I tend to go easy on myself in terms of structure. I like freedom and gray areas and fluid boundaries. But one resolution I should make (and stick to) is overcoming "Dermatillomania." Since time immemorial, I have literally SHREDDED my cuticles. And nail-biting comes a close second. Why? Because it feels good.



That sounds gross and it is! My fingers are raw, swollen, scarred, and hideous. And while I care, I don't care enough to really stop it. It is my comfort. It brings me peace and serenity. There is nothing more satisfying than a really thrashed cuticle that needs LOTS of attention. Ripping that excess skin off is the equivalent of taking a Xanax. Even the pain (in moderation) is enjoyable. Unfortunately, the side effects are not as much fun. Right now my right thumb and forefinger are screaming as I type- I had a really good tearing session this morning. And the blood. I hate blood. And when I make myself bleed, I am disappointed because I went too far- the challenge is to satisfy the craving while avoiding that bit of nastiness. Thirdly, my hands are embarrassing. I can't count how many times I tried to hide them from others while at work and in public. My dear secretary kept me well stocked in band-aids, for all of my "paper-cuts." Yet, still I pick.



I apologize for being graphic about this. But I read another woman's confession and was inspired to share mine. Because this is really no different than alcohol, drugs, cutting, etc. I am addicted to needing something to ease my anxiety and give me comfort. Thankfully, this won't cause serious bodily harm to myself or others, but the point is the same. It is easy to brush this off as a "bad habit" and something that I "can quit whenever I want to." Well, it's time to 'fess up. And it is seriously time to stop- how will I ever get a boyfriend with these hands?!?



(Joking aside, as a counselor it behooves me to encourage my Dear Readers to seek help if they are struggling to overcome an addiction- that is no laughing matter). And I promise not to share any more bloody tales if I can help it.