Saturday, February 26, 2011

Toddlers.


Toddlers are fantastic. They are perceptive of feelings and emotions you had no idea that you even had. They make you smile and each hug and kiss feels as though it's the best you've ever had.

Toddlers are also freaking demonic. Fine, some parents are blessed with heaven-sent angelic creatures - mine however, just looks it. Anybody who knows me knows that I worship every hair on the child - this doesn't mean that she doesn't drive me insane.

Like tonight for instance.


What can I say? Parenting a toddler is even more difficult than parenting an infant, when the toddler at hand is verbal and manipulative, that's another story in itself. This cartoon or that cartoon, these PJs or those.. water or hot choc. before bed, their tummy hurts or it doesn't .. at least not bad enough to call the doctor.

My toddler has a knack for driving me insane several times per evening, once with worry, once with frustration and another time with complete awe (when she's finally asleep!).

And she says the most uncanny things - all the time! Such as this or that being an 'obligation of honor'.. or the way she can be too serious for her age, asking me in detail about .. well, personal things.

Parenting is seriously the craziest thing I've ever decided to do, and I go insane several times a day..but man, she's the best.


Friday, February 18, 2011

Tetris.

My head hurts so much that I feel nauseous. It's -25 degrees Celsius outside and promises to get colder tomorrow, I think lack of weather-appropriate clothing to wear is finally going to catch up with me, any moment now as I feel as though I'm about to get sick.

I don't want to go out of town alone tomorrow, but I don't feel like there's anybody that I could ask to go with me.

I guess I don't respond well to 'though love' or any sort of toughness really, especially if I'm already upset. Even if the subject at hand, or rather the things said are true, it doesn't mean it hurts any less hearing them again. Even if my idea of 'tough love' is actually possibly not tough at all, I just.. it's not for me. If anything, I actually long for the feeling of safety and affection, understanding - all the time, with no incidents that could classify as exceptions. I'm already sad, I know the truth and the truth is sad is sad to me, so why continue? Maybe it seems more drastic than in reality because I'm tired.

I'd do anything for just.. seemingly minimally different circumstances, that would make all the difference. I don't see that. I don't see that in the future or as part of the future - why is that? Is that a self-defense mechanism or worse.. a gut feeling?

I see everything changing, but not for the safer and more comforting.. is that just unjustified fear? I don't even want to think about these things anymore.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Taxis and Margartias - Valentine's Day 2011.

Valentine's day was such a disaster.



Half way through the day, whilst talking about the day itself, I realized I wasn't feeling particularly eager about the day. There was a reason for this - my boyfriend and I had agreed that Valentine's Day isn't a holiday for us. Being fair, my boyfriend gives me plenty of attention and affection on a daily basis, he often surprises me and we do go out to dinner without needing an occasion for it - he cooks for me all the time, and right now, he's planning a week long vacation for us.

I was at work and it was close to 5pm, I glanced at the desktop clock on the laptop every so often, excited at how fast time was passing.

I was upset at knowing that I wouldn't have ample time to get ready, and although the boyfriend and I had agreed on no presents and such a mediocre dinner outing, I had the distinct urge to look pretty, which in itself would have been heroic, considering I was only about to finish work at 9pm at best. I toyed with the idea of wearing a dress, but decided against it. Besides, that would have been the same dress third 'occasion' in a row, I've got more fashion integrity than that. I'm not big on Valentine's Day, but I had been celebrating with friends for the last several years.. and before, well .. there was one that's too insignificant to remember, in fact I don't remember it - then there's ..that particular one.  

Regardless, I rushed home and got ready at meteor speed. I was so pleased with the way I looked. I was wearing stockings, a pair of winter shorts, sapphire blue sweater, and black high-heeled boots, sparkling jewelry (which at first, to be honest I had contemplated about not wearing, but then remembered my decision that I had taken a few months ago - it's now just jewelry, not memories anymore, sparkling moderately expensive accessories I wear to appear more attractive). My lilac coat was inappropriate, given the mind-freezing cold weather we've been having, but it was pretty. Though my boyfriend somewhat scolded my choice of 'pretty' over 'appropriate', and three times in under 12 hours has asked if I own anything more suitable for the season. Heh.

So there I am, 10pm, got ready at record speed but taxi = no show. 15 minutes late. Then 30. Then 45. I called another service but got told I'd have to wait close to an hour.

...later that hour, close to 11pm.

"Will you hate me if we just forget all this?" I get asked. His voice tired, he - clearly frustrated, not with me but the way how events had rolled out.


I take a look at my own reflection and instantly realize that indeed, the smile just got wiped off my face. "Yes." I reply, unceremoniously disappointed. I insisted on proceeding with prior-made plans.

Reluctant and tired, still at his office, he agreed to hail a cab on the street and come pick me up. I hung up the phone, feeling as though I got what I want albeit absolutely rejected, and.. as if I live in Siberia - it's an 8 minute ride sans traffic, 15-30 min with traffic.

I grabbed my bag and threw it over my shoulder, took a deep breath and exited the door, on the way out assuring my mother that the taxi had indeed arrived, feeling guilty for lying but not wanting her to worry.

In the elevator I had decided that this was going to be another Valentine's Day with friends - I never show up where and when I'm not wanted, but as I was searching for the needed phone number, I decided to dial his instead. "I'm taking the metro" I announce and hang up, afraid of deciding otherwise, knowing the last thing I needed was being out with friends when angry and prone to making spur of the moment wrong decisions. 

I hear the snow crunching under my heels, as I nervously walk the freezing street, cars randomly slowing as they drive by, with a few unwelcome comments from passers by. At one point I slip on the icy pavement but manage not to fall. I wipe the single tear of frustration that ran down my face and tread further, all the while thinking that you know what, Valentine's Day or not, I kind of don't deserve this even on a regular day. I decided if I even so much as remotely slip again, or worse fall - I'm quitting this evening altogether and going home for a night online or on the phone with friends.

But I do make it inside the metro and feel relieved at the warmth. I step onto the escalator and struggle to check the damage to my make-up in the mirror. I no longer liked the way I looked. For the first time in the recent six months, I made a particular comparison. Which I  instantly decided wasn't right, so, sighing, I ordered myself to stop thinking down that path.

At 11:30pm, an hour later than the time we had initially agreed on - with Valentine's Day already almost over, I gave my boyfriend a kiss on the cheek. By the time Valentine's Day was over, we were sitting, enjoying frozen margaritas and good food, joking and laughing, kissing - what we usually do. He explained how he doesn't do well on Valentine's Days and that they always end up screwed up due to the pressure, in one way or another and that he doesn't even like this day if he were to be completely honest, he just wanted an excuse to spend time with me. He told me why and a few stories. I remained quiet. I have no bad stories or explanations. ..Me? I got engaged on Valentine's Day, because my ex-fiance was that way too, he didn't celebrate Valentine's Day and later said that proposing to me on that day was his excuse of making a holiday worth celebrating out of the day. I didn't share any of that though.

So although Valentine's Day evening was disastrous, the next morning was fantastic. We were together all morning, and he hadn't stopped apologizing for his momentary hesitation to go through with the night. I figured I had initially blown things out of proportion and decided not to bring the subject up again, turning it into a joke instead. Later though, we had another talk about my feelings and why I was so quick to overreact and such things.


You know what, that's what devotion and love are - caring about the other person's feelings and emotions, wanting to be with the person each chance you get.. Never losing sight of the fact that sometimes small mistakes are made or spur of the moment reactions are unjustified and infantile, yet being able to move past that without petty arguments that would spoil your time together. I don't need a single day in a year to encourage me to do this, and my boyfriend treats me so well that every day could constitute as Valentine's Day. 


"You're going to blog about this all, aren't you?" He asked jokingly the next morning, whilst holding me. "Of course I am!" I announced in response.

You know when you're in love, when you don't need to designate a day a year to be in love.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Harsh Hot Pink Tears?

Why do I cry? Why do you cry? Why do we all cry? We all do, just differently and for different reasons, hardly a secret.

So, what about?

Then there's the 'why' i.e what for, and the 'how'. Do you prefer to cry alone or when someone holds you? During the day time, or at night? Often? Can you manage not to, for a sufficiently long time, bite your lips through offenses or hurtful things said and/or done?

Are you ashamed? Do you leave the room or turn away, hide? Do you ever understand why you're crying exactly, and do you know how to stop? Is there a person who knows how to make  you stop? Do they know why you're crying? Do people notice when you cry? Are you good at masking it?

Do your tears burn your eyes and the skin around them? Do you feel cold when you're crying? Do you feel alone? Does your head hurt? Do you feel better talking about it, or better off not mentioning these things at all?

How do I feel? Like crying, I guess.

Somewhat alone, a little betrayed. Really scared, definitely upset. Tired, restless. Anxious, Sad.


Friday, February 11, 2011

Getting Personal.


I think to even have a blog, that in itself is vanity in one form or another.

Albeit, common sentiment aside, that blogging is personal, I believe that I blog about superficially external things. Often a cryptic and generalized summary of feelings and emotions, often excerpting or quoting occurrences, but never do I word and post the uncensored truth.


What I feel I can and should put out there though, raw and and as lightly censored as possible, are my struggles to accept my physical appearance, since altered by pregnancy, child birth and motherhood.

On the one hand, it appears that I've come a long way, and judging me physically, the bigger fraction of people never conclude that I have a 3 year old.

I often get compliments from complete strangers and a lot of positive remarks from friends, my boyfriend seems more than pleased and tells me I'm beautiful countless times on a weekly basis. Then, the question that should be posed is simple: what is my problem?

Even in dim lighting, I feel uncomfortable at people looking directly at my face.

I reach for the XS tops, XXS hoodies/sweaters, and the 34 (as opposed to my pre-preg. 32s) jeans at shops. Yet then, in disbelief I stand looking at the scale, as it blinks 46kg at me, at better times 45, at worse - 47.
 
I cannot understand how I used to be up to 6kg lighter, and conclude 'no wonder' at my old clothes not fitting. I used to be 6kg thinner.

I often don't believe the compliments, and decide people say them out of habitual politeness or awkward obligation, so I generally reply with a muffled 'thank you' and presume I've just been lied to.

I mentally obsess about better skin, healthier hair, toned body but have no means or incentive to achieve priorly set goals. I keep being told that some things I'll just have to live with, but in lieu of accepting what I've already got, I mingle with ideas to get a tattoo for the sole reason of covering my stretchmarks - the ones my boyfriend swears he can't see but to me they're not only evident but also the very reason I have avoided a bikini as though it's the plague, and continue doing so. A part of me, when my boyfriend left for a week long beach-side vacation, was relieved that given the circumstances, there was no way for me to join.

I wear impossibly high heels (for Moscow's ragged streets) to make me look more slender, and compulsively style my hair in such a way that it covers half of my face - my eyes are different colors. Side-swept bangs are sort of an ambition, a dream even, but I'll never be confident enough to pull that off.

A close friend of mine 'N.' is known to have something that could even be classified as a fetish for petite women, and on occasion has jokingly said seeing me in a dress or skirt brings tears of happiness to his eyes, however I instantly felt lied to, figuring he was doing me and my self esteem a favour by throwing a few white lies my way.
Not a care in the world, Kyiv, 2005

Moscow, early 2006











































Is there such a thing as really getting your pre-pregnancy body back, and if so, what's the cost? Is it only really possible with the help of surgical intervention, and if so, what will I do mentally and emotionally - there's no modern-day miraculous surgical breakthrough to fix that.

19th Birthday, October 2006 Florida




Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Indifference?

There's a difference between getting hurt and being hurt.

I seldom get hurt, even when people do try to hurt me, unless it's somebody close to me, in that case, I can manage to get hurt without the other person even trying to hurt me.

There are some things that are so difficult, difficult to share, difficult to talk about, difficult to get used to - not just things from my past I opt not to talk about. I suppose when I feel such a whirlwind of emotions, somebody's indifference .. it hurts?

I just wanted to hear, something I had previously been used to hearing. That was my mistake, I know. There's no reason for me to expect such things as all people are different. Yet I refused to believe that somebody otherwise so supportive and understanding.. no, what's the point of going over this.

I guess, all I wanted was to hear that if something happened that upset me that much, regardless of the events, I needn't go through any of it ever again. Was that unreasonable for me to want? My logic or ability to rationally think about this, it's distorted because there are things that bother and scare me terribly, I never thought for a moment that once I started talking about these things, that I'd get that particular reaction.

I suppose it's all about the effort it took. I wanted to talk about it. I did talk about it, I just.. I wish I hadn't said anything after all. I think I am not ready to face the notion that something that bothers me so terribly much can be so trivially misunderstood. I'm not blaming anybody, not even a little bit, I was just hopeful for something else. It felt safer at the time, to share, whereas now it feels as though it'd have been safer not to share - I have felt this way all my life, about countless people, why am I standing surprised then?

This is a reminder to me, why some things are best left unsaid. But sometimes it's so hard, does this mean it has to be like this forever now? I didn't know. If I hadn't said anything, t would have been the same. Is that wrong? Am I wrong?

I don't want to think about this, among other things, anymore. I've been on a downward spiral lately, so no wonder this is yet another thing to upset me, I get this way. I'm wrong for that I know. I just feel so alone right now.

Arrivals.

I don't know what exactly I had been expecting and why, I was just thinking about all that when the guy standing next to me shouted in my ear, through the train's noise 'you are so beautiful! Glowing, so rare nowadays as everyone is so gloomy'. I smile and thank him, 'but you should have seen me these last few days, poster child for 'life gone wrong', but my boyfriend is coming back from a long trip tonight' I beam. He smiles, and exits the train at the next stop. I keep beaming.

And he has come back. Although there's still a part of me that doesn't comprehend some things, he's back. I guess that's what matters ultimately? The way my minds thinks, I can't help seeing present life through a prism, my own vision. This isn't an excuse but it's true.

I'm back too by the way, back to holding on to little moments of happiness in an overall feeling of complete desperation and entrapment. I don't how long I can keep doing that. My daughter makes me happy, he does .. But otherwise, I'm ready to give up. Not talking about something does not equal its disappearance, that much I have learned.

I cannot keep doing what I have always done because then I will keep getting what I have always got - I am unhappy, tired and incapable of continuing this. Is it time for my own departure?

I'm afraid of staying where I am, but I'm more afraid of finding out there's nowhere I can go. I fear I have made a mistake, but that cannot be true as I would not go back or change anything.

I don't know what to do.
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Friday, February 4, 2011

Do I want to know?


I haven't made up my mind yet. I probably don't.
Generally, wicked things start with curiosity.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Dido - Thank You



My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why
I got out of bed at all
The morning rain clouds up my window
and I can't see at all
And even if I could it'd all be grey,
but your picture on my wall
It reminds me that it's not so bad,
it's not so bad

I drank too much last night, got bills to pay,
my head just feels in pain
I missed the bus and there'll be hell today,
I'm late for work again
And even if I'm there, they'll all imply
that I might not last the day
And then you call me and it's not so bad,
it's not so bad and

I want to thank you
for giving me the best day of my life
Oh just to be with you
is having the best day of my life

Push the door, I'm home at last
and I'm soaking through and through
Then you hand me a towel
and all I see is you
And even if my house falls down,
I wouldn't have a clue
Because you're near me and

I want to thank you
for giving me the best day of my life
Oh just to be with you
is having the best day of my life

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

If I had you.

Today, I'm ready to hang up my 'trooper' jacket. I'm no longer sorry to disappoint anybody. I can no longer go on second guessing my own actions and decisions and it's today that I am ready to admit that I've made mistakes taking the decisions I did, irreversible ones.

There are two people I have to at least remain strong for, or try my best to. They need me. But I cannot go on pretending being stronger than I really am, it just leads me to getting hurt, and evidently I'm too weak to take that.
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Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Be careful what you wish for.

Last night wasn't great. I wished I could fall asleep, and after a struggle, I finally managed, it was 2 30am, but not after 3 as it's been recently.

I forced myself out of bed, wishing, if only for a few moments.. to feel as if this week was coming to end, though it was only Tuesday. My mobile flashed at me and I smiled for the first time, as my boyfriend's name flickered on my screen in an sms.

By the time I got to work, armed with coffee and breakfast - conceding to my more-or-less crash diet that's been going on due to being ill.

I wish I could hear his voice, if only just for a little. About a quarter of an hour later, a number flashed across my mobile phone screen, I answered it, it was him. Even a three minute, static ridden phone call.. it was enough to keep me smiling for the rest of the morning. I can't believe I've grown to take for-granted the ability to phone him, even if for three minutes, and the way I usually decide not to for one reason or another, even if I really want to .. I'll try differently when he comes back.

Afternoon was ridden with dread. I felt lethargic and upset. I have been feeling this way for several weeks now, every Tuesday. And though, initially I had decided not to share what happened with anybody, I did tell. I suppose it's difficult to get across my emotions when, well, when the standing conclusion is 'some people are just bad people', I had no choice but to agree and not talk about it again. I tried but then the conversation always diverted onto something else. I guess this being my problem, my childhood fears, my life of course I take it more personally than anybody else would, I didn't really expect anything different.

I was hoping and wishing, before I knew it, dodged yet another Tuesday evening. My heart stopped beating at an unbearable rate, and I wiped my cheek. I have another week again. This is just so typically me. I often remember what was said to me once, that my happiness effectively lies not in liberty to do what I want, but actually in living in a way when I don't have to make difficult choices. So many years have passed, and I have yet to agree or disagree with that.

But this would not be a fair example.

When something happens to you once, and it's so bad that you believe there's no such thing as more harm that a person can cause you - of course I will both consciously and subconsciously avoid any situation that reminds me of such an incident. It's like a deafening warning siren, I can't just ignore it and hope for the best, give somebody the benefit of the doubt - then what will I say if something happens, what excuse will I have to give myself? It's all really simple, I'm scared.

It was difficult to share what happened, the few times I did, but I'll say this much, though I would never enjoy being labeled as any sort of victim, when I plucked up the courage to share what happened, with that one person, I felt better. I was lucky, because the person at hand didn't let me remain quiet, he knew something had happened, and he made the choice of almost forcing me to share, taking the chance that the positive aspect of him knowing and how he'd help would outweigh the discomfort I felt whilst I shared what happened. Never did I so much as even hint at what happened, but it seemed like a part of him already knew.

Only then, I was surrounded by a shroud of my own history, and when I reached a point when I felt well enough to leave what happened behind, I felt like he still looked at me through a prism of past events, and thus his view of the then present me was distorted. But he gave me absolute safety, and there was no choice making, the choices that I wasn't making I didn't miss at the time. I almost long for that again. I suppose it's a 'no wonder' case, everybody grows tired, becomes afraid sometimes; I wish I could have that, but in my life today.. the way it is, but that. Not forever, just for a bit. I wish I knew whether that would really make me feel better.

On the other hand, it's difficult not having at least one person who knows in my life right now. Because right now, a part of me panics a lot, and I often get scared, and nobody can understand, not even the person who's now closest to me, closer than anybody has ever been really, but I haven't told him yet. Sometimes I begin to, or I purposely decide to and then all of a sudden, I find myself doing what I always do - quickly seeking refuge in the things I'm good at, my sense of humour for example, suddenly I resort to being witty or funny just to steer away. I think another part of me wants to keep going this way, because it feels like personal progress, now I don't say 'because of what happened' every time I'm put into a confrontational situation and get scared, but yet, is being quiet the right choice? Choking these emotions, feeling alone with them, fighting everything from scratch.

I don't know, I wish I knew.

I wish some things were different. And I wish I hadn't spent the past week thinking the things I've been thinking - some of them don't belong in my mind. I wish I believed it, when I say everything is going to be okay and I wish somebody would tell me, that a year from now, at least a fraction of the things I wish were different, will indeed be different.

I wish I were braver, or less stubborn. I wish I could find at least one decisive bone in my body, and if I wish I weren't scared.

I wish I could hide behind his shoulder. Not because I deserve it or because it's right, but just for a bit, because it's okay. I wish I knew whether it's okay and I wish that somebody would tell me that it's alright not knowing what to do.

Most of all, I wish I didn't have to feel this way at all.

I'm really tired.