How Can Anything Be So Bad That You'd Rather Be Dead?

I ask the question knowing that I have been there before. At the time I couldn't admit that I was in an abusive relationship. I couldn't admit that my business was floundering and my debt was escalating. I couldn't admit that I was miserable. I had learned that when things weren't going well, I should try harder. So, I did more of what didn't work and when that didn't work I did more - never really changing the behavior that didn't work. I just had one solution to the problem and what may have worked once did not work any more. Eventually, I just wanted the pain to stop.

Saw this this morning:

Police: Death of Freddie Mac CFO may be suicide - CNN.com

VIENNA, Virginia (CNN) --David Kellermann, acting CFO of Freddie Mac, was found dead on Wednesday, police said.





I was OK with the pretend life I was living. I had made it up - literally - and it didn't feel like anything, I was numbed out, but, I thought I looked good. It was all about other people's perception of me and nothing to do with me.

So, maybe if your whole life is made up then it's not that big a deal to lose it when shit hits the fan???

When I look at it a different way, I can see that I was living for one thing; to look good. Once I didn't "look good" anymore, life wasn't worth living.

So, the one thing I was living for wasn't getting me what I really wanted - which was to be loved and accepted. In my family we never talked about love and acceptance - it was all "looking good" or "being good". Then you got as close to "loved" as my family could do. In my model of the world being loved and accepted wasn't even a possibility. My parents just couldn't do it. I learned to settle for "looking good" which really is the opposite of "being accepted". The message I got was "pretend to be who I want you to be and then you won't be in trouble". I got that message loud and clear and couldn't understand why no one loved me. I was doing everything you wanted me to do??!!

For me, being accepted means looking at my thighs and still loving me. It means when I am cranky and don't want to be bothered you still love me. Or when I am having a rough day, mascara running down my face from the ugly cries, you still think I am amazing. I can tell you all my deep dark secrets and most delicate fantasies and you love me all the more. I can show you my journal - the part where I thought you were a selfish f***er and couldn't wait for you to rot in hell - and you just laugh and pull me closer.

Being honest, being real, being angry, being stubborn, being me is ok, today. As a child it wasn't ok. As a child I was the "perfect" child, the hero". I went to Sunday School and got good grades and took care of everyone, everyone but me. There was no me. Only them. I knew exactly what they wanted and liked and needed. My own wants and needs were buried deep. Deep under the armor of looking perfect.

I wonder if "perfect people" are more apt to kill themselves or someone else - like their families. Maybe, when I see the husband that took out his whole family - cute little kids with big eyes - and then offs himself it's really looking at an un-recovered perfectionist that couldn't take the imperfection anymore.

Today's media hype is over this man that looked perfect as he did his pre-med schooling and stalked and killed women off Craigslist. He sure looked perfect. He smiled and looks great in photos all the while hiding his dark side.

I wonder if the scary kids - you know the ones with the tattoos and the piercings - have a lower incidence of suicide. I bet they have embraced their dark sides - or are at least allowing it. There is no pretending that life is wonderful, or that they get straight As, or that they want you to like them.

It takes a lot of courage to be honest. Someone much smarter than me once said "the truth shall set you free".

Is your life free? or are you pretending to be someone more wonderful than yourself? is that even possible?

Today, the life I am living is nothing near what I ordered. Who knew I'd be living in Dallas - and where's the rest of my house :-) Who knew to put me along a beautiful creek that Rebel loves and that calms me. Who knew exactly the right people to put around me. Who knew I'd have everything I needed - and always have - if I just slow down enough to notice it.

I hope your life today is one worth living. Even if the light isn't just right and we're not gazing at your "good side". I hope your life today is one you can look back on and be proud of. I hope your life today is perfectly imperfect.

Choosing Pain

Whatever is in my life today is what I chose to be in my life - and I continue to choose every day.

My folks didn't meet, look into each others eyes and say "yes, you are going to be 10 years of living hell, let's do it". That's not the way the fairy tales are told. My aunt gave me a picture of my folks when they happily together; leaning into each other and smiling. She was all passive and sweet, he was protective and strong. Is that the "new love" thing - feeling like this guy/gal is going to meet all my needs and desires and we'll live happily ever after?

My mother told me that she was looking forward to being out of my grandmother's house, my father probably thought he was replacing his doting mother. Then the reality of my father graduating and going into the air force - gone for long periods of time - like until I was 2 and my brother was born. My mom was left with an infant and dependent upon my selfish dad to send her money while she went to school. She always hated how tight he was with money - unless it was for him. She sewed our clothes and cooked while he went on hunting trips. We were living in Thousand Oaks, when I was 6, and he was gone most weekends so, while he was gone one weekend, she got a dog. Boy, were there arguments about that!

How do we get from "you fill all my needs" to "I'm gonna replace you with a dog you rat bastard" in 6 short years?

I was just chatting with a friend about how his "women friends" fell in love with what they wanted him to be - not what he is.

My brother had this funny saying about "who did you fall in love with if you want me to change?" He always said it with his cute puppy dog confused face which made me laugh.

When we are "in love" we overlook all the bad. It's nature's little trick. New love creates oxycodone-like drugs that leave the couple in a stupor. Even when the bad is seen, it's dismissed. Then as the drugs wear off, little glimmers of reality creep in and fear replaces the drugs. This is when honesty, self-esteem and communication skills are required.

Most people are not good negotiators in business then add the emotional roller coaster of a relationship and they are doomed. Maybe they just don't realize that relationships are negotiations, that it is time to show up and be vulnerable and respectful and playful and work things out with this person that they adore. They either defer everything and resent it, or use force, manipulation, crying, anger, victim-hood, the kids [which really means pulling their one source for love], etc. to control the other person into doing things their way - which causes gigantic resentment and a move away from love.

It takes a lot of courage and honesty to say "that hurt my feelings" or "I disagree" or "I need this and that to feel loved" and then to be able to discuss the issue without trying to "hurt" the other person.

My main weapons were; certainty - I know what this is and how to handle it, ripping into their character/pushing their buttons, and just doing what I wanted without consulting the other person.

It was a wicked set of weapons and they didn't get me what I truly wanted. What I truly wanted was to be loved, unconditionally. I didn't know how to say "I don't know", "I am scared", "can we really do this" or "I just need to be hugged for a while". In that dark hour they may not be there for me and then I'd have to face the truth; that I was really all alone in this relationship.

Instead of facing this truth, I used my weapons over and over, sinking deeper into despair with each use, until the pain was too big, the loneliness too deep, the despair too inky black to bear for one moment more.

My model for marriage was pain.

That's all I saw from my parents.

I never saw any tenderness between them. They didn't hug or kiss or even lean in toward each other. My mom took care of the kids and my dad worked. When they were both in the house together they were in different rooms. On weekends, mom was inside and dad was outside. When they were together is when the arguments started; at the dinner table, in the car on the way to church. My parents didn't seem to like each other. I didn't even think of them as friends.

So, why did these two people live in the same house? They were so unhappy that we did everything we could to make them smile, to lighten the mood. We put on plays and learned to be cute and charming. We cared for their needs, we cheered them up. The love flowed from the kids to the parents, instead of the other way around. When we weren't making them happy we modeled their behavior in our fights and control. I picked up reading early as a welcome escape from the heaviness at home.

I even made up the "story" that it was my fault everyone was in so much pain! It just didn't make any sense that these two people would ever marry each other of their own volition. They must have been forced.

I am the oldest of four kids and I was born when my mom was 19. My parents did not celebrate their anniversary so I never really knew when they got married but, somewhere along the way, I just knew that they must have gotten married because they were pregnant with me. It was the only thing that made sense.

Years later I found out the date of my Aunt's wedding and - since it was a double marriage with my folks - that confirmed the "shotgun wedding" theory.

We learned in Sunday School that we chose our parents so why would I chose the ones I got? I obviously chose parents that didn't want me and that's why they didn't love me. It made sense. It was my fault that my parents were unhappy. They had to get married because mom was pregnant with me and God knew and was punishing me.

In my 30s, I went to visit my Aunt, Uncle and cousins because my cousin Joanna was getting married. Over dinner one night, my Uncle told the story of their wedding. When I asked about my parents I found out that my Aunt had not been married once, as I always believed but had been married twice. The first time was only for a year or so and two years later she married my Uncle. My parents had waited over a year before they got pregnant.

All those years I felt responsible for the pain. I made up stories to explain their unhappiness and emptiness. The things that didn't make any sense to me. What I understand today is that they chose the pain.