6 BULLY FOR ME Part 1 VICTIMS NEED VILLAINS

Hi.  My name is Annie.  I’m ten years old.  And I’ve leaped off the time line to tell you my story.  However, before we get started, I'd better clarify this:  You may think me older than my years, because I’ll be talking through an adult, whose voice has a tendency to pop out.

For example, a kid would not say:  Don’t ya just hate it when ya meet someone, and the first thing ya hear is a story of woe?  I mean if misery likes company then why do people go on and on about themselves instead of letting you top their sad tales with a whale of a tale of your own?  In truth, misery just wants listeners to agree that life should not be so unfair for someone as caring, personable, hard working, and fun as—you.


I guess misery needs listeners to agree with 'woe is me' for this reason:  We know that life can be a slippery slope.  But when the person sliding downhill is oneself, we choose to believe that the reason for our slide is someone else's fault, because—

Every victim needs a villain to blame when misery just won’t quit.

        

When fear twists a child's self-confidence into tongue-tied knots, the child—Whoops—I forgot that this particular child wants to speak for herself.  So begging your pardon, let's welcome Annie back and listen to what she needs to say ...


At five, I'd patted crying classmates on the back, reassuring them that our moms would pick us up at the end of our first day in kindergarten.  At ten, I'd stamped my foot and refused to play until my friends eased up on bullying the new kid on the block.  Though I’d been unaware of budding leadership skills, Mother Nature had empowered MY VOICE to ring out with whatever I’d instinctively felt at my core.  And clarity was mine until a storm blew in, darkening my life in such a terrifying way that reality felt too hard to bear.  So here starts the misery—I mean mystery—concerning the dizzying aspects of my relationship with myself:

The sky held no dark, foreboding clouds on that balmy, spring day in 1953 when my family moved out of our third floor, two-bedroom apartment and into the spacious, three-bedroom-two-bath, dream house that made Dad’s spirit soar.  And as my sense of adventure was eager to hold hands with Dad’s, our future seemed too secure to fret over friends left behind.


I can still feel the surge of positive energy, buoying my smile, when my new teacher introduced me to her fifth grade class.  Without a worry as to what fate might write upon the next page of my life, I settle myself at my desk.

As my eyes sweep the room, first I spy an uncommonly pretty girl.  Then my gaze lands upon two blue eyed, blond, ten year old—guys.


Since children are egocentric, I assume the pretty girl with the long, dark ponytail and brown, almond shaped eyes will be my best friend.  However instinct suggests that choosing a boyfriend may take more time.  But, boy am I wrong!


At the first sign of mischief dancing in one pair of blue eyes, my heart starts to dance in a strange but pleasant way, and that contest is won.  As to the other cute, blue-eyed boy—well, Mr. Nice-Quiet-Shy-and-Studious pales by comparison, so in short order, he fades back into the herd.


When the final bell rings at the end of the day, I collect my sister, Lauren at the door of her first grade class.  And while walking her home, I imagine myself stepping into the center ring of the fifth grade circus where The brown-eyed creature and mischievous Leader of the Pack dub me benevolent Ring Master, over all.  Then our classmates circle round, paying homage to we three.


Alas, that unrealistic expectation is not to be.  You see, while my mind is spinning day dreams, fate is writing every kid’s worst nightmare onto the next page of my life.


When next we meet you'll watch a rude awakening take place, which I'd never expected to happen to me.  Then, as seeing is believing, I'll show you why my pipe dream is bound to go up in smoke.


Once this mystery unfolds and misery weighs heavy on my spirit, you'll watch me unknowingly victimize myself—repeatedly—in story after story—until I figure out where my mind got messed up.  At first, as you watch, I'll wander down a dark, fearful path, which will turn into a tunnel-like maze, where no window or exit will appear for decades to come—until, low and behold—insight will hit, and and show me how to leave that mind maze behind.  And once I hold the key that opens my mind to clarity, my life will change, again ...

5 WE DON'T ALWAYS GET WHAT WE WANT

        We don’t always get what we want.  I’d planned to begin my first story, today.  However fate stepped in, proving, yet again, that when it rains it pours.  A kidney stone is on the move.  Ouch.
Though care-giving continues to divert my attention, please remember that:
Each person's story is a tale of mystery.  Why?  Because no one knows what delight or trial tomorrow will bring.  Even so, you can trust in the fact that I do not give up on achieving my goals.  So if you'll check back frequently,  BULLY FOR ME will pop up on your screen.  As for now, I hope fate has a peaceful day in store for you and yours, and I'll look forward to seeing you, soon.  Annie

4 CATCHING INSIGHTS IN A JAR

Hello.   I’m glad to report that the healing process is moving forward.  And as I imagine you're eager to ‘hear’ my first story, let’s pick up where we’d left off.

In hopes of clarifying why my marriage seemed to plunge from better to worse, I chose to dive into the deep end of my mind—not once, not twice, but repeatedly.  And as seeing is believing, I'm writing this blog to show you what happens each time I dive, here and there.  In short, each time I reflect over the past, a little deeper than before—a school of classic insights swims straight into my ear.

As insights light up, like fireflies flitting around in the dark, I catch them in a jar—otherwise known as my mind.  And as these insights swarm round and round inside my jar, they whip themselves into steadying beams of light, like sunbeams streaming down through a clear, blue sky.

Over time, as insights layer up and stream through our minds, sunbeams slice straight through dark clouds of confusion until—low and behold—bigger pictures—to which we'd been blind—emerge.  In fact, let's visualize this:  Whenever I sit down to blog with a bent toward clearing confusion out of my mind, each sudden burst of clarity, resembling a sunbeam streaming through a blue sky, will look like this:

During the heat of conflict our problem solving skills were nil.

You see, rather than learning how to resolve conflicts in a self controlled, lucid manner, it's classic for families to fight, freeze, or flee—repeatedly.  Rather than solving lucidly, we are patterned to shut down, run away or yell right out loud.  As a final result of pushing power struggles under the rug, resentment piles up, negative energy coils up, and explosive insults boil over until burning retorts leave searing scars, all around.  As defensive hides thicken over time—sensations of trust, friendship, and love feel walled out of our hearts.  Then one day, we awaken, feeling nothing at all ... other than dread, despair and trapped.  Not a healthy way to weave lasting connections through the hopeful fabric of family friendship.


When defensive patterns control our minds, we fight, freeze, feud, flee—forever.


As a result of moving into Denialand, we shove the truth under the rug and pretend our problems don't exist.  In this way does pretense allow conflicts to simmer on back burners until tension bottles up and—suddenly—corks pop.


Once repressed resentment bursts out, a wild ride through Crazyland devours all sense of logic on the spot.  Then, if nothing is openly resolved, we stuff conflict into Denialand, again, and this broken record plays the phantom of the opera, infinitum.  In short when conflict remains unresolved, we tip toe on egg shells while problems, festering within, grow quietly hard boiled, over time.  Eventually
Defensive patterns, which layer up around the heart, are tough to peel away—on both sides.


Recently, this next insight lit up inside my head:
When a relationship feels too painful to bear, love grows angry, then numb.
Once love angers, it's fireworks time.  After love burns down, scars up and grows numb, it’s anyone’s guess as to where defensive resentment—too long repressed—may explode in the form of displaced anger, next.  Pretty classic stuff—or should I say painfully classic—not pretty at all.


In recent years I’ve made it my business (literally) to understand the negative impact of numbing up to explosive responses during times of conflict. When conflicts remain unresolved, families may fall prey to taking sides.


One day I made mention to a close cousin that I've come to understand how defensiveness darkens love (in spite of the fact that we believe we're busting our brains to cast sunbeams, here and there).  Upon hearing what I had to say, she coaxed me to send this series of stories—where one unresolved problem creates the next—into cyberspace.


Next thing I knew, a dear niece encouraged me to push the pedal to the metal.  Even so, I hemmed and hawed until readiness to bare my personal life ignited from within.  So guess what readied me to scratch that match?


One night just before drifting off to sleep, I imagined each stream of insight turning into a lightsaber, which empowered my conscious mind to illuminate yet another dark spot of anger, fear, and resentment buried deep within my subconscious.  As I pictured myself slaying my own defensive dragons by swinging these lightsabers, glowing with insights, around, laughter bubbled up at how corny I can be.


Then this dawned on me:  We laugh at the truth.  And once clarity was mine, inspiration fueled my desire to sit down and write the first post in this blog in hopes of offering you and yours warning signs, redirecting traffic away from head on collisions, which had been sadly missed by me and mine.


Next thing I knew, a sweet friend got busy setting up my website, while this simple plan shaped up inside my mind:  As each story unfolds, you and I will stop to gather and assemble clues as though we're piecing a puzzle together.  In this way your sense of clarity and mine, concerning love gone wrong, may deepen, simultaneously.  And here is why this plan may make as much sense to you as it does to me:  Along with clarity comes peace of mind, and we can all use more of that!


As one story rolls into another, I believe we'll gain insight into how quickly misperception sweeps loving relationships into the rapids with no raft in/sight.  You see, when two people have no clue that they're trying to row a life raft through inner turmoil—against the rapids—they paddle in opposing directions until confusion overwhelms logic, they start paddling each other, trust slams into defensive rocks as tall as The Grand Canyon's walls and defensive outbursts smash the raft to smithereens.


As trust comes undone, friendship turns black and blue—Once.  Twice.
Three times and everyone’s out!  Game over!  Tie score.  Zero to zero.  You go your way; I'll go mine.  Fine!  Fine!  No skin off my nose!  Bitch!  Prick!  Pretense, all around.  Both blame the other for 'no fault' divorce.  Change partners, start the music and dosey-doe every bit as blindly as before...


As a result of internal combustion, our rafts splinter, smash or snap in half, and while strong swimmers may eventually set their compass on the shoreline, those who insist they can swim, but just paddle in circles, have no clue as to why they remain all wet in the dark.  (Perhaps with umpires or referees in the room everyone would learn to see the light, stop fighting and 'play fair'.  But judging from basketball’s flagrant fouls, perhaps not.)  Once my blog shines spotlights on creative problem-solving tools, you shall see why lasting love holds each person accountable for identifying and changing deeply ingrained patterns by consciously strengthening these traits: courage, humility, patience, over time.  Why?  Because:

If love is to deepen and emotional support is to be extended when 'for better or worse' gets worse (and it will) then patterns of self control must continue to develop within.

In keeping with swimming out of emotional rapids and toward thoughts filled with clarity, I'd like to say this:

Our brains are hardwired to make spontaneous judgments.
Thus, we tend to leap to wrong conclusions, which twist stories into something they're not.


As my first story is about to unfold, please keep this thought in mind:  I’ve just begun to reveal essential details about my life.  Therefore, the little you know is riddled with holes.  So in hopes of keeping misperceptions to a minimum, you may want to reread my first post more carefully than before.


Once my stories get underway, you'll watch my brain fool me into believing that I understand what's going on in my life when, at times, I'll have had no clue.  By and by, you'll come to see that a defensively focused brain, which has not been trained to differentiate between assumptions and facts, will be inclined to misread the thoughts, feelings, words, and actions of others.
Two people, who misread each other too often, may assume to be friends when in truth, they are strangers.


So let’s say that your experience, fighting with a certain loved one, has capsized in rapids so often that you no longer believe a lasting (trusting) friendship with that person is possible.  Or perhaps you’re still rowing through rapids with a loved one, hoping to find shelter in which to cuddle around cozy campfires—forever.  Or perhaps you're blind to the ways in which you continue to duck from confronting conflicts that just won't quit.  Any way you look at it,  I'm about to clarify classic ways in which defensive thought patterns fool us into 'seeing' certain friends, lovers and relatives in strange ways.  And now that I feel ready to bare the most personal aspects of my life—it’s storytelling time.


The next time I pop up on your screen, we’ll jet back across the time line to those happy, rock-n-roll days of the l950’s, where a self-confident child has been waiting to welcome you into her life.  And if you’re intrigued as to how a cheerful, little girl may offer insight into solving that age-old mystery of love gone wrong, well, the only clue I’ll reveal, today, is the timely title of her story: BULLY FOR ME. :-)Annie


P.S.  Whenever time permits, I edit older posts.  For example, today I chose to change the colors, symbolizing lightsabers, flashing across the blue sky.  Why?  Somehow, my original choice of colors didn't feel 'bright' enough.  As you shall see, I've come to embrace the concept of 'expanding my choices' as needs be.  In fact, in due time you'll see that when I'd not felt free to brainstorm and choose for myself, I'd blindly followed outdated 'rules', which had stifled my spirit's zest for life.  However, once my mind opened to insights, swarming around until light sabers empowered me to free myself ... well ... quote the raven:  NEVERMORE ...


Once we get the story in which my marriage breaks down you'll watch me face up to this choice:
Live inside Pandora's Box, where inner conflicts swirled round and round ... or open it up and deal with all of the furies, which I'd unknowingly locked inside ... 

3 MAN PLANS AND GOD LAUGHS

     As we all get frustrated when life does not go as planned, these words will always ring true:  Man plans and God laughs.  For example, I'd hoped for continuity from one post to the next; however illness in the family altered my plan.  So I'll make good use of this interruption by clarifying several points.
     First of all, life is a mystery and so is love.  As my blog concerns both, my stories may be considered mysteries, too.  In keeping with solving mysteries, certain details will not be revealed until somewhere down the road.  These details will be withheld, not because I'm cagey, but rather because that's the way it is with life.  We jump to wrong conclusions, based on the little we know or recall, and after leaping into hot water, we blame others for our pain.  In short, we believe we can control a lot that we can not.  So—

One reason for baring my stories is to show how the blame/game hurts all.

     You might also like to know why I've changed every one's names, including my own.  In this way I can write freely about deeply personal aspects of my life.

     You see this blog is not so much about who I am as it is about the fact that anyone can redirect one's life from within.  And having shared this brief moment with you, today, I'll be eager to take up where my last post left off when next we meet. :-) Annie  

2 LIFE IS FULL OF SURPRISES ... SOME SWEET, SOME NOT

     Hello!  I didn't expect this much time to pass before popping up on your screen.  We've had some illness in the family, and I've been running back and forth to the hospital, suggesting reason why my priorities changed.  However once the healing process gets underway, I'll pop up, more often.
     You see my head is so stuffed with insights, the poor things, reacting like jumping beans, barely have room to breathe.  So if I release too many at once, please caution me to slow down, take my time and say less.  I mean if the truth be told, my tongue has been known to wag at both ends.
     As for now, I'll hope to have more time to 'talk' in a day or so.  So until time is my own, please take good care of yourselves, my friends.  Bottom line:  Our bodies are our primary mode of transportation.

When the body runs out of fuel, the only place our legs take us is to bed.

And life is way too entertaining for that!   :-) Annie

1 ITCHING TO TELL YOU A STORY THAT TAKES COURAGE TO REVEAL

         Hello.  My name is Annie, and I’m itching to tell you a story that takes courage to reveal.  This true tale of love gone wrong is made up of a series of stories, extending over many years.  And each story relates to how I learned to repair my battered ego after having been emotionally brow beaten by a mean-minded band of prepubescent bullies—repeatedly.
         My purpose in baring these stories (some funny, some serious, all deeply personal) is to highlight classic reasons why my husband and I broke apart though we'd vowed to love, honor, and nurture each other 'till death do we part'.  In short, I believe that with insight and hindsight as my guides, these stories may serve as warning signs for you and yours, which had been sadly missed by me and mine, as in:  DANGER—head on collisions dead ahead.  In short, I aim to show you what happens when defensive reactions drive two smart people close to crazy.         
         Having mentioned that every story is true, it seems wise to protect the privacy of those who've touched our lives.  So in lieu of writing a profile, I'd like you to get to know me as I've come to know myself, little by little.

         Also as each story unfolds, I hope you'll keep this insight in mind:  A story is like a puzzle in that essential pieces must be properly placed.  When essential details are ignored or misplaced or distorted, stories, like puzzles, remain confusing or incomplete.  However, if a storyteller works painstakingly to retrieve forgotten details, which fill in a story's holes, the whole truth of 'the bigger picture' may be revealed to all who'd felt stymied by—human nature, which has two sides—before.

  As my stories unfold and missing details emerge, you'll see how bigger pictures transform confusing misperceptions into moments of—clarity that may inspire change for the better to take place, as though all on its own for this reason:.

         With clarity, eyes open in surprise; perspectives expand and heartfelt goals, which had once seemed unattainable, may suddenly dangle within reach.  And with thoughts of bigger pictures turning lost causes around, I'll entice you to ride sidekick through my stories by offering this glimpse of what's to come:

           Once upon a time, my husband joked that people are born with a finite number of words.  And after we’ve used those words our lips are zipped—forever!  Then he went on to say that while I jabber away, he’s saving his words till every last one of mine is gone.  And once my lips have zipped—forever—he’ll say everything that’s ever been on his mind and watch me go crazy when I can’t answer back!
          Knowing myself as loquacious, I laughed really hard and said, very funny.  Then laughter turned to tears, because his theory came true, and my words actually dried up.  Upon finding me speechless, this man of few words spoke his mind; a moving van pulled up; an apartment lease was signed, and everyone who cared—most especially our kids—felt rocked to the core to hear such shocking news.  If that was the bad news then here’s the good: Though my voice dried up, my core belief in myself did not, which is why—after we’d split, a whole new game plan for my life shaped up inside my mind.

THE END

P.S.  Oh wait—here's a detail that may be helpful right from the start:  Going crazy’s not my style.  So instead of losing my cool, I conjured up Walden Pond and dived into the deep end of my mind where memories, too painful to recall, float just beneath the surface of conscious awareness.  And though I’m eager to clue you in as to what happened once subconscious memories emerged, well, we’ve only just met, and I don’t want to outstay my welcome.  So thinking to give your ear (and my newly revived voice) a rest, I'll bid happy trails to my family and friends, both old and new, until we meet, again.  :-) Annie