Today's Flushable Post: Facebook Fails & Regurgitated Pain

Facebook is the devil. I'm fairly sure I've said that before. I mean it. I've been lucky in that, sure, I've found / been found by old flames and ex-crushes and people I just liked to fuck...but that doesn't mean that I would have anything to do with them presently. Mostly, those reintroductions just make me feel pretty good about myself and my current situation, as fucked up as it is. I can always look at them and say, "Well, at least I'm not like them!"

A couple of weeks ago, my old best friend from high school and many years beyond found me. I was taken aback. We'd parted due to her ongoing drug fixation (remember - i was doing all i could to stay clean and i was actually winning at that point), and I basically told her I couldn't hang out with her if she was going to continue to use drugs in my presence. She picked the drugs, and all her drug using buddies, over me. I was fine with it at the time but, like most other things, I didn't truly deal with the feelings of being abandoned. After all we'd been through, I couldn't figure out how she could just let me go that easily...I would have done anything in the world to defend our friendship. Especially if it were something as simple as to just not smoke out of a 4' bong when my buddy was visiting - for just a few hours.

After some time had passed, I tried finding her. In another life, I was a skiptracer for collection agencies and auto repossessions. I used every tool available to me and I still couldn't find her. Not a big surprise, seeing as how her name is so incredibly common.

At my 10-year reunion, I ran into someone who still talked to her on occasion. Word on the street was that she was living the full hippie lifestyle in a community/commune/colony/compound type place that was totally self-supporting and sustained. Not my kind of shit at all. I LOVE my indoor plumbing and shampoo! So, I kinda gave up.

I'd never actually forgotten, but I'd given up. I still thought about her every day, I still wondered how she was doing, and I just missed her. She was the closest thing I'd ever had to a sister; the only woman I truly got along with and there was no backstabbing; someone I really loved and thought of as family. Past the initial hurt, there was just a sense of loss. I just missed her, plain and simple.

The ugly truth of the matter is that she never cared to look for me. My name is unusual. I live in roughly the same place I did when I was a teenager. If you Google me, I pop up all over the place. I'm even still listed with 4-1-1 because - holy shit - I still have a landline at my house! Years and years went by and she never made an attempt to contact my parents, my friends, or me directly. She's been back to our town several times, apparently, to see friends, but she's never tried to see me. I accepted this fact a long time ago.

And then, I get the message asking if I would add her as a friend. How ridiculous that phrase sounds when it's typed, although I know how Facebook means it. There was no personal message included in the add, just the request. Of course, I approved it, and spent a few minutes looking through the pictures she'd posted of her new family. I left her a few nice and genuine comments, and she thanked me for them. And that was it.

I'm happy for her, because she looks very satisfied and content. It's very clear that we are two completely different type of people at this stage in life. Maybe all those things that bound us as friends have completely disintegrated by now. She doesn't seem to be hankering for any conversation, or perhaps she would have asked me something as innocuous as 'how have you been,' but she hasn't done that.

There is no way to reflect on my life, my accomplishments, my adventures, my mistakes, and my triumphs, without thinking of her. She was there for all of it. She helped me discover my own strength, my own identity, my own voice. I wish I could say that I can get over this, that this is all 'high school shit' and it's time to move on, but it wasn't. She was a fixture in my life from the first week of freshman year well into my 20's - a decade of friendship. It was, arguably, the most important friendship I've ever made. So yes, it does hurt that it's of no consequence now. I can even deal with us not really communicating and just having an icon on a page.

I just wonder if she ever thought of me.

Screw the Crawling...Let's RUN!

I tell my students, "There are no shortcuts in life. It's kinda like Monopoly. You still have to go around the board. Some end up hanging out in Free Parking or get thrown in Jail (yeah, i know...you're innocent), but you still have to go all the way around. You can't cut a path across the board between Community Chest and Chance, skipping from Connecticut Avenue over to Marvin Gardens!" Of course, half the time I have to explain what a Monopoly board looks like, because Lord knows they grew up with themed versions of Monopoly, like SpongeBobOpoly, if they even played 'bored' games at all. But that's a different rant.

And it's true. You pay your dues, you move on. You've got to crawl before you walk. You've got to walk before you can run. Erik Erikson wrote a lot about the stages of human development, and you can't skip one. If you do, it will resurface as a problem requiring much medication and therapy later in life.

I'm writing this particular entry, however, not on the life stages, but on one particular aspect of human development: adolescence. During the teenage years, development revolves around identity. The Intimacy vs Isolation part isn't supposed to come into play until the age of 19 or so, but I think it's happening at a younger and younger age. Case in point: it happened to me when I was still a very young teenager.

There were many horrible things that happened to me as a young teenager, coupled with the fact that I was already dealing with juvenile depression (which didn't 'exist' when i was kid...). Many of the very adult situations I had to deal with were beyond my adolescent capabilities of processing, so I simply didn't deal with it at all. I passed it off as, "Oh, I'm okay. It was no big deal. See? I'm fine..." and either everybody bought it, or nobody wanted to be bothered with it. Either way, nobody in my life actually stopped me and made me take stock or see a professional or whatever.

At one point, I was hospitalized for months on end. I was totally misdiagnosed. For starters, it was an insurance scam (that's a whole other entry), so although I had a real opportunity to get some assistance for the problems I did indeed have, because of the intentional misdiagnosis that would get them more treatment money, that opportunity was lost. I did not get the help I needed because they were too busy trying to treat something I didn't have. And I was on the defensive, frightened, victimized, drugged up, and humiliated so often, all I wanted was out of there. I wasn't going to say, "well, no...i'm not an alcoholic...but i do need help for x, y, and z! since i'm here, why don't we get to work on that?!"

I was released and the rumors had circulated. People thought I was either crazy or an addict or damaged; they didn't understand what had really happened. So my more 'normal' friends sort of abandoned me. All that I had left was to join the ranks of the rejects: the drug-addicted, sometimes-homeless, failed a few times, raising themselves, goes-to-school-when-they-feel-like-it kids that I, apparently, had a lot more in common with than I thought.

I put myself in more situations that caused me pain. Then I began doing it to myself because, hell, I'd rather be the one in control of it rather than having someone do it TO me. And all that time, I was slowly breaking myself down. I just skipped over dealing with the feelings, the issues, the root of the problem. "Oh, I'm fine..."

If I had to print a motto on a business card, that's probably what it would say. "Oh, don't worry...I'm fine!" with a little caricature of me with Alfred E. Newman features to the side of it. The truth of the matter, however, is that I really didn't have anyone in the world I could talk to. My 'friends' weren't really friends. We thought we were, but I see now how wrong we were. I'm not entirely sure they ever really cared about me, despite how loyal and true I was to them.

So, the point of this horrible ramble is to say this: I became an addict and an alcoholic to escape the painful emotions of emptiness, unworthiness, being unloved, being used, being ignored, and everything else I was experiencing. For years, I abused myself through self-destructive and high-risk behavior because I was just in pain.

The straw that broke the camel's back was when I was in a very bad car wreck. The car I had spent thousands on restoring and was almost done with was totaled. It was a road rage deal, although I couldn't prove it. I had thousands of dollars in medical bills and, although the other driver was at fault, his insurance wouldn't pay up. That resulted in a lawsuit. I did win - eventually - but I barely got enough money to cover my medical bills. I was in so much debt and I was traumatized and I had no control...and I tried to take my own life.

It was an absolute fluke that I was found and saved. Someone I hadn't seen in many years happened to stop by my parents' house and could tell something was wrong, so he found the hidden key, let himself in, and saved my life. And then disappeared out of my life for another couple of years.

Finally, as a non-traditional student in a 4-year university, I recognized that I needed help. I tried for months to obtain that help. I had little to no money, so I either needed a free service or a sliding scale service. The university offered psychiatric assistance...if you could get them to stick to an appointment. They canceled on me 4 times and I finally just gave up.

I slipped farther and farther into alcoholism. I'm not going to say I was a sex addict, but I was definitely addicted to the power I seemed to have over men. How I managed to graduate is beyond me. I don't remember much. It's all a haze of bottles, essays, lingerie, loud music, thick textbooks, smoky bars, and lots of skin. Seriously. It's like that weird montage from the movie "30 Days" with Sandra Bullock.

Now. After all of that...do you think I've learned to confront things head-on? Fuck no. Don't give me that much credit.

Alcoholics Anonymous is getting another go in my life. I've been sober now for...I don't know...around 4 months now. I really don't know. I kinda stopped counting many tries back because I kept messing up and getting drunk again and it would make me start my date all over again. So I'm not sure. I bought my most recent project car the day after a terrible bender and I had such a bad hangover I had to keep excusing myself while examining the car because I thought I was going to start dry-heaving. So, I guess I could technically track down the day. But whatever. I got off on a rabbit trail again.

The key to maintaining sobriety and finding peace is to unearth all those triggers. What happened to make you feel the need to numb your entire emotional self? Seems like that is yet another discovery process I'm just not really willing to undergo. I don't want to talk about why I drank, because that's going to lead me to discuss why I did all that stuff. The truth of the matter is, really, I don't know if I really know why. I think I know, but that's not really knowing, is it? And I don't want to drag my parents back into this.

First off, there's a lot of stuff about my life they don't know. They don't need to know it. It would hurt them unnecessarily. It just doesn't need to come up, yet if I asked for their help in some clarifications of things, that information would come out. Secondly, they think I'm fine right now. If I start asking questions again, they're going to freak out. Mom calls it 'recovery mode,' and she refers to it like it's some kind of hypnotic state I fall into. "Uh-oh. She's going into recovery mode again..." She doesn't mean it in a mocking way, but she means it in a 'oh no, my baby's in danger of falling off the edge - again' kind of way, because I only go into 'recovery mode' when I'm about to do something stupid.

So, an alcoholic can't just 'get better.' We know this is a lifelong struggle (i refuse to call it a disease), but there are certain steps you must take to reach the summit. For some reason, I seem to think I can skip some of those steps. You know what happens if you reach the top of a mountain too quickly? Your body doesn't acclimate. You get very sick. You get disoriented. I can't expect to reach enlightenment if I'm not ready and willing to tackle all those things that have been barriers for me my entire life.

I'm just not ready.

I Hate Weeds

My house backs up to a drainage ditch. There is always water in it and there are fish and birds and turtles, so it's kind of like having a creek behind the house. The easement is maintained by the County, which is nice, because that means I don't have to mow outside my fence! And, on occasion, they spray some incredibly nasty herbicide that kills everything. I heart that herbicide.

The last time they sprayed was back in April. I called City Hall who referred me to the County, who sent me straight to voice mail. Nobody ever did tell me just exactly what it was that killed the most annoying weed known to mankind: the Campsis radicans , also known as the Trumpet Creeper Vine. Remember how there was that scene in the Lion King where that animal shivered at the mere mention of Mustafa's name? Yeah. That's me and this god-awful Trumpet Creeper. *shivers*

I've tried just about everything I can think of to kill this shit short of dousing it with diesel and striking a match. Even then, I've been told that the roots and runners that are still under the soil will eventually become fertilized by the degrading diesel residue and will actually grow faster! I just can't win.

The vines grow up over my fence. The stems are often split by the fence. They are slightly protected by the fenceboards, I guess, so it's harder to eradicate them right there. I guess if you mow often enough, it can keep it at bay. If you stop mowing, they'll pop up all over the damned place. They send out runners that pop up all over the lawn. They have little seeds with little papery-wing things (kinda like seeds in a pinecone) that fall out of the pod and fly their way to a new location. They particularly like to land next to the slab foundation of my house and creep their way up my brick, attaching their little brown viney feet to my mortar, which I know isn't good for it. Even the clippings will root if you don't pick them up after you chop them off.

The garden we built at the beginning of spring is a raised planter. It's 3 feet high off ground level. Those fucking vines grew up through 3 feet of soil to pop up in our garden, even after cutting down the sod to the topsoil, laying down weed cloth, and leaving plastic garbage bags over it for a week before building. Zombie plants...that's what they are. The Undead.

My personal favorite thing comes from Texas A&M's research facility and they put this warning on the actual document that the USDA and NRCS has on file for this plant: "Warning: Contact with the leaves and flowers of trumpet creeper results in skin redness and swelling among mammals. It is also slightly toxic if ingested." Great! Well, let's just plant them all over the muhh-fukkin place, then, shall we?!

It doesn't help that the vine is invading my neighbor's yard via her fence as well and she's not doing a thing to stop it. I look at this vine kinda like fleas: If your neighbor has 'em, you will too, and it's a pain in the ass to keep them from crossing over into your yard without being extremely diligent about poisoning, which is kinda bad for every other living thing.

I've tried RoundUp, I've tried Remedy. I've tried every over-the-shelf product available to me legally at any kind of garden center, home store, hardware store, or pesticide provider. I've even used some very old chemicals I found in my grandparents' storage shed that, I'm sure, the EPA banned decades ago. There was a hole in my rubber glove and the pump sprayer was dripping at the squeeze trigger and some of the chemical dripped into the glove. My entire body - especially my head - tingled for awhile, but the tingling lingered (heh) for a week in my arm. Who knows what kind of genetic damage I did myself. If it had worked, it would have been worth it. But it didn't.

Anyway, the County came by and sprayed and managed to stave off this Illegal Alien of the Foliage World and I was elated. I thought maybe, just maybe, they had put it to death for good. We had a huge drought over the summer and the frequent mowing kept the vines from showing themselves for awhile.

Two weeks ago, we began getting rain. Then it rained for several days straight, and blessed me with a tornado that hit my house. It keeps raining off and on and then, sure enough, I see green popping up over the top of my fence.

Dammit. They're back.

This Leafy Devil is sometimes sold as an ornamental plant but, beyond that, has absolutely no intrinsic value whatsoever. There is no evidence of it spreading from other parts of the neighborhood, so someone had to have planted it; either my neighbor's previous owner, or one of my house's previous owners (which i wouldn't doubt at all, because all of the last 3 were total fucking idiots). You know what's so incredibly ironic, too? My mother bought one of these 10 years ago. Killed it. Bought another one a few years later. Killed it. Bought another one right before I got this house. Killed it. She can't get it to grow at ALL at her house, and she lives less than a mile from me! With the same crappy soil! But for some reason, I can't stand it, and I have more than I know what to do with. I've asked her to come take all of it, to remove it and replant it in her yard, but she's yet to take me up on it. I think my experience with this plant has scared the bejeezus out of her from ever wanting to grow it herself.

Anybody ever seen "Little Shop of Horrors?" Yeah. That's what I'm living. Feeeeeed me, Stillllliiiiieeee! I wondered why we never saw any stray cats around here...

I have contacted my local County Extension office, but they never responded to any of my emails. Even THEY don't know what to do about this shit, I'm sure. I'm about ready to contact Texas A&M directly, or the NRCS or USDA and beg them for help in eliminating this invasive species.

Now that I have my mortgage crisis taken care of (oh, that's a long story), there's no reason why I can't start putting some money into my yard. But I refuse to do it if I'm just going to have this horrible, terrible plant covering and choking out every single native plant I try to grow.

Grr! Now, I have work to do for work (i am SO tired of working all day and coming home and working some more), and then I have a ton of paperwork to do for Wells Fargo so they can now officially own my ass.

Love to all,