“Isn’t It More Exciting, When We Don’t Have Permission?”

Hey blog realm, happy Friday’s eve!
I hope you’ve all had wonderful Thursdays, mine’s been an extension of Wednesday; however, it has been truly fantastic and I wouldn’t change a thing (besides maybe the snow that’s beginning to fall…). Vega came home from recording last night around 11, and we spent a few hours just enjoying each other’s company on the couch with Visa; me reading Reddit and he playing YouTube DJ with some fantastic metal tuneage. We eventually moved on to him showing me some of the basics of what his job as a producer is (the technology is fucking nifty and it seriously fascinates me…he’s wickedly good at what he does (albeit too humble to admit it), and we had some musical nerd out bonding time) before we realized that it was 3 in the morning and we were starving. He made a deee-licious pork and veggie stirfry and we noshed watching Buffy, as always.

The Buff-athon lasted until this morning when he had to return to the work-realm, and I whipped up brekky, made lots of coffee, and cleaned some. It was nice, to spend the night just talking and snuggling and enjoying each other’s company and to begin the day on a high note. After the dishes were done, I rocked out a hellish workout, took a shower with my masn (not too sure if I emerged cleaner or dirtier following that one), and am now snuggled up on the couch with my netbook, the pooch, and the Vega, who has just finished work for the day. I’m in a fantastic mood. This has shifted to being the norm rather than the exception, and I am loving every damn minute of it. In  fact, I’m looking forward to a lifetime of it, and I consider myself exceptionally lucky to be able to say so.

So that’s where I’m at; however, I do digress, as I’ve been promising some more meaningful Mia-musings as of late and have yet to deliver. I just want to make a cup of coffee first, so while I do that, enjoy this picture of an adorable seal pup.

Don’t you just wanna snuggle him? Don’t club him, snuggle.

Ok, ok, so I should know by now that I should just end posts when I say shit like that. It’s just after noon here on Friday now..I got distracted last night with a walk down to the hippie grocery store for dinner-making supplies (Vega cheffed up spaghetti bolognaise, t’was fabulous), and by some Buffy before we passed out at 9:30. This morning started at 10:30 with Visa whining for brekky, so I hauled my lazy bones outta bed, fed ze poochie, and set about making coffee and brekky for Vega and I. It’s a beautiful sunny day (little chilly, but hey I’ll take it), so after I finish this post I’ll be taking Visa for a stroll then attacking my WOD (fun little kickboxing circuit today methinks) while Vega works a bit. This weekend…well, who the hell knows for sure, but I think it’s safe to assume that there shall be good times ahead. I woke up on the right side of the bed again today. Such a good feeling.

Now once again I digress, and should get back to the true point of this post, which was to elaborate a bit on the things that have been giving me soupy-brain. I should preface this bit just by saying that I don’t want you, readers, to assume that any of this is inherently a bad thing. For the first time in a long time (even moreso than I felt in the 506) I feel that I have both very little control over and at the same time, complete understanding of the thoughts in my head.

I think the majority of this garbled thought stuff commenced last week around this exact time when the KFP sent me that Facebook message. Instantaneously, it was a fight-or-flight moment, but that shock wore off rather quickly and left in its wake a very unsettling jumble of nonsense in my wee head for which the immediate cure was a decent amount of beer, which effectively allowed me to forget for the evening. That said, since last week I’ve been trying to make sense of the realities of my past, of the years I spent with the KFP lying to myself and to everyone who cared about me that yes, I was happy. I don’t know how the fuck I did it, I really don’t. I was miserable under his control; too young to even be able to realize it, too stupid to do anything about the situation until it was already too late. Now, it wasn’t all bad..I do believe to this very day that he did care about me somewhat, and there were the happy times in-between the chaos; however, in the end those happy times were what made it easy to leave (besides my dog. I miss my dog)–I wanted the happiness to be the defining factor in my life, not the broken bones and the fear and the overwhelming depression that eventually made it nearly impossible for me to get out of bed for weeks at a time. I’m still a little bit shaken over the fact that he’d even try to get me to talk to him again after everything he put me through; which does, in fact, make me a little bit ashamed of myself–I’m so much more than justified in telling him to fist himself with a cactus and never bothering to even open his messages ever again, but the fact that he got under my skin like that? Disturbing. Part of me almost wishes that he could see me now; in love and loved truly and for the right reasons, happy from the depths of my soul. Call me vindictive, but that would be the best revenge. Clearly, my silence and absence has not drilled the point into his thick skull yet.

The second thing that’s been bugging me this week? Welp, Maother Wallace is back up on her underhanded “let’s piss Mia off” podium with one of the most obnoxious tactics I’ve seen yet to date. One of my (many, many, many) cousins got married in Panama recently, and while I had wanted to go, I simply couldn’t afford the trip, accomodations and et cetera involved, so I did the adult thing and regretfully, didn’t attend. She, my father, Brother Wallace and Brother Wallace’s girlfriend (we’ll call her Little Lady from here on out) of course went; which actually makes me happy as hell, I wouldn’t expect nor want anything less for my cousin on her big day. All fine and good by me..until Mother decided to send me not only one but THREE emails full of pictures from their vacation. Sorry Mother, if I wanted to fucking see it, I’d head on over to Brother Wallace’s Facebook and browse his pics. We haven’t spoken more than her prodding via text and my sarcastic replies in fucking months..why she’d assume that I’d appreciate these emails is so far beyond my realm of comprehension that I can’t even begin to tell you how annoyed her display of vulgar narcissism made me. It hasn’t been something I’ve been willing to think about much lately (I’d much rather live in the here and now and revel in my happiness); however, even throuhg the happiest of my childhood memories, this exact feeling is what I remember the most of. Every happy family vacation has the overtone of me somehow being this massive fuckup–somehow, I always managed to piss her off, to drag the tone of the trip down from relaxation to hell. In all honesty, I would rather wait another decade and vacation on my own terms than to ever go along with them ever again–there really is no way to relax and unwind when you’re constantly perturbed by the sensation that you’ve somehow already fucked everything up. Again, call me vindictive, but I look forward to the day when I can send her unsolicited emails full of pictures of my happiness, to which she was never invited in the first place. Silence is powerful; this much I’ve learned, but I’m just about ready to throw my successes in her face. I am weak that way and I’m the first to admit it. I want her to hurt as much as I have been made to over the years–in fact, I want her to know firsthand what it feels like to have to deal with a pathological narcissist. It isn’t funny and it isn’t fair; it’s made me stronger having been through it, but it’s also worn me down to the point of desired retribution. The sick thing is that no matter how fucking hard I try, I’ll never be able to make her bleed like me, she’s so damn sanctified in her own head that whatever I try to accomplish in “showing” her what I’ve felt will always and forever be overshadowed by her ability to spin things in her favour and never take responsibility for her actions. It’s sad, really, that this much older than I woman will never be able to truly act her own age. How we share genetics, I will never know. What I do know for sure; however, is that I will fight every day for the rest of my life to consciously never become even a shadow of the woman I call Mom. It’s a damned shame and it hurts like hell, but it hurts a LOT less than when I used to bend over and take it.

It’s funny to me how these two prevailing trains of thought have left my head in such a spin. I was trying to explain it to Vega a few days ago–it isn’t like there’s one specific thought that’s bugging me in particular; moreso, it feels like all of these fragments, these half-thoughts, these years old experiences that I shoved down down down into my soul are finally starting to make their way back up into the conscious part of my being. The thing that’s weirding me out isn’t necessarily any one of these thoughts or bits of memory; rather, the sheer volume of things making their way back up. I always knew on some level that one day I’d be slapped in the face with the shit I didn’t bother to handle at the time, but it’s happening in a much different manner than I always thought it would. Maybe, just maybe, I have gotten to the point where I’ll finally just be able to let this shit go. As much as I fantasize sometimes about what I’d say or do differently in those situations if I could go back knowing what I know now, I’m much happier knowing that I can’t go back and that they’re over and done with. I have some mass graves to dig and some major grieving for the people and places and times I’m laying to rest in my head; and I’m hoping that with time, love and support from Vega, and just a little more strength than I think I have in my soul, I’ll be able to do just that.

Life is good, and I can say that with absoluite certainty and even more pride. Thanks in large part to Vega, I’m starting to not only see myself in a different light, but to accept that this isn’t just a passing, fleeting phase in my life; rather, this is who I am and how I should be seen, treated, and accepted as. Somewhere deep inside of me, I’ve always known this (otherwise I wouldn’t have spent the better part of my existence trying to find it and fighting hard for it), but it’s a strangely difficult thing to accept as the truth. As much as it pins me to admit, I’m afraid. I’m piss my pants terrified that I’ll fuck this part of my life up now that I’ve accomplished what I’ve always longed to achieve. I am 99.99% sure that this is just the remainders of the nagging voice my Mother implanted in me trying to (once again) break my brain and make me crawl back to that shell of a person I used to be; however, there is that 0.01% of me that I have to consciously ballgag and ignore on a daily basis, and I can’t wait to stake that through the heart and rid myself of it, too. I’m kind of done with that bullshit in my life. In fact, I’m kind of done with a lot of bullshit in my life, nowadays it’s alllllllll about moving forwards and forgetting the nonsense.

Sorry for the rambling, readers. I’ll step down off the soapbox now, and admittedly I do feel a shitload better having gotten all of that off my chest. The crazy thing? I’m still in an absolutely spectacular mood. Vega has been working away while I blog, we’re enjoying my YouTube DJ skills (on the docket today, plenty of ’90s alt-rock and some early ’00s metal for good measure) and Visa’s been giving me plenty of puppy snuggles to keep me warm and smiling. This was truly the point that I wanted to make–prior to the recent swing over to overwhelming positivity in my days, all of this thinking would have absolutely broken me down (in fact, even in the 506, I spent many days huddled up in bed paralyzed by uncertainty when I’d get all think-y); and now, here I am in the depths of some major processing with a massive grin on my face and some crazy happiness going on. Things do come around and make sense, eventually (Kid Cudi reference anyone?); you just have to exert some patience and fortitude of spirit in order to get there. I’m seeing things from a very different vantage point as of late, and I like the view from here.

On that note, I’m gonna go and run a brush through my hair and take Visa for a stroll before the weekend begins for Vega and I. Have a fantastic remainder to your day, readers–and make the point to take some time for yourselves this weekend. We all deserve that much!

For now,

Wallace, out.