Sunny days

Every person in the world has good and bad moments. Sometimes without even wanting to have one or the other, people feel either happy or sad.
Today is one of my sunny days, and I don't really know why. Could it be because is actually a sunny day or... just because. I won't spend much thought on it. The point is that I would like to extend this sunny day to other people, but how do you become a cheerful contagious person?
I would start by saying that today is one of those days in which I really want to thank EVERYONE who has been in my life for better or worse, for a minute or for a while. THANK YOU EVERYONE!!!!
Thanks to my family to support my dreams and help me achieve them, thanks to my friends to make me open my eyes when I close them tightly, thanks to the people who are not in my everyday life, but for a moment from time to time, thanks to the teachers who are not formally teaching me anymore, but have become a helpful source of wisdom every time I need it, thanks to the teachers I do have (and suffer sometimes) now, because they are strengthening my character and preparing me to go to the work life (and well-prepared), thanks to my boss for being such a kind person, and to my immediate superior for not being such... at all.
I'm thankful; I feel I can scream my happiness. Maybe I have too much sugar in my blood. Maybe I'm on a state of denial. Maybe, maybe, maybe...
I said I don't want to spend too much thought on it, but I cannot cope with my necessity of rational meaning in everything I have, live, achieve or receive. A good question might be: WHY?
Is it because of four years of therapy? Is it my shrink's fault? Or is it that I couldn't overcome (yet) this tendency of putting sticks on my own path?
Am I crazy? Am I delusional? Why am I doing this to myself? Why is it that I cannot enjoy my moments? GOD what am I doing?
No, no, no, I have to feel better again. I have to feel better again. I cannot fall. I cannot show a sad face anymore. I cannot, no; I cannot show a sad face again.
Family, I need you. Where are you? Friends? People not always present? Ex-Teachers? Teachers? Boss? Immediate superior?...
I'm alone...
But I'm not lonely.
I have myself.
What else do I need?
Anyway...THANK YOU EVERYONE!!!! And enjoy your day as much as I am enjoying mine!

Nothing to say

Feeling speechless,
I’m empty,
No words.
Time flowing,
Hollowness,
Ideas running out,
No sound,
Grieving,
Thoughts refusing to appear,
Ordinary feelings,
Sadness,
Ants marching,
Youth disappearing,
No connections,
No ideas,
No happiness,
No sorrow,
Just the “nada”.
Black,
Deep,
Emptiness.
Useless world,
Worthless efforts.

On the edge of burning myself out

These past few days I've been feeling extremely tired. It became a really difficult task to be on time with everything.
I know I have to learn how to deal with everything and work under pessure, but last week was unbearable and exhausting in several ways. I'm one of those persons who always want to solve other people's problems, and feeling unable to do it (especially with my family) makes me feel useless. If we add to this the fact that I cannot help myself to solve my own issues, the feeling is stregthen.
The worst part is that up to this moment, I've considered myself a super-heroine, who could handle many things at the same time without even feeling an inch of tiredness, and suddenly, "out of the blue" I had to accept that I'm nothing else but a human being. What's more, I realized that as such, I feel tired, sick of everything, betrayed, and disappointed by people around me.
I know I'm (in some ways) an obssessive person, who always wants to be the best in everything, but is annoying when you discover your own limitations, especially when you are the only one who refuses to see them.
At this point, I'm in the process of learning many things, and one of the most outrageous one, is learning how to deal with my students' parents' complains. Nobody told me that parents could be such a "pain in the neck".
Since my self-esteem has always been minimal, I've always felt that I'm not good enough in whatever I do. But I hope I could change it some day. All my willingness is put at it. By now, I'm opened to positive criticism, which doesn't mean that I don't feel all the time I could have done everything better. I'm not sitting relaxed waiting for someone who tell me "you can correct this or that".
Although, even when sometimes I feel that I cannot do some things, in the long run, I end up surprising myself when I find out that all my aims have been achieved. The problem is during the process of achievement.
By all the things previously said, I know that sometimes I cannot enjoy the beautiful gift which life itself is.

Their destiny

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"The circle of life moves us all, and even when we are alone, we have to look for it, until we find that great gift of an endless cycle".
This little story, useless for writers to sell books, and to soap operas to gain audience, started on a very cold July morning of 1976, when a pair of young people's illusions decided to create their own circle of life.
On May 15Th, 1951, he was born as the third child of a traditional family. Six years later, on January 19Th, was her turn to have her first world's sight.
He was a traveller who enjoyed every second of his life. She was a princess locked up in a tower.
Twenty-some years later, after her many girlfriends, and her rejection to get married to a doctor, almost by chance...they married to each other. In the meantime, she gave up her medicine studies and he got his accountant's degree.
The first son arrived, with a pair of crooked legs and the freshness of April afternoons. Then, the daughter, with the hurry of those who desperately seek for happiness. Finally, the little boy, as a fresh air breeze, with golden threads crowning his prince's head.
The children grew up without noticing, started school, had their first communion, and were outstanding students in their classes.
One unexpected day, the twenty-one-year-old daughter got married, and the first grandson arrived with a pair of changing little eyes, but overflowed of love.
When time went by, the grandson also grew up, and started school.
Today, almost 31 years later, they can look back an witness the wonderful life they have been living since that day in which they dared to stand up in front of the priest and said: "I DO".
Their house holds now three empty beds, but their home is still intact. Their children make them prouder every day, and never forget checking out if they are OK. The two sons are finally finding their way in life (working in Usuahia at the moment), and the little one is even thinking about starting his own family soon.
They recognize their life as a roller coaster, full of good moments, but also stained in occasions with bad ones. What's more, they have the satisfaction of realizing that they have supported each other's self-development, sometimes being a shoulder to lean on, and sometimes risking everything to find out that everything has been done for the sake of love.
In sickness and in health, for better or worse, they know that they have built up a very special family, which has strong ties and who can count on each other whenever needed. That's why they can sit back, and feel the pleasure of saying that they have done it without any other help than themselves.

My short-sightedness

I was six years old when my 1rst grade teacher discovered that I had some problems copying things from the board. I remember vividly that whenever I had the chance to arrive at school before my classmates, I went straight to the first row, and I used to cry a lot when that unknown woman (my teacher) made me sit at the end of the classroom (I was as tall as an oak tree).
It took only a week until my dear "Miss Mary" realized that I had a sightseeing problem. At the beginning, I couldn't understand clearly my parents sad faces when they talked to my teacher. In fact, the first thing that came to my mind was: "What have I done wrong?".
As days passed and everyone treated me as if I were about to die, I was really happy because I was the only one with glasses in my class.
I still save my first pair of glasses, which happened to be undestroyable, and whenever I see them now, I think how ugly they are!! The thing was that they were the only ones available for my size, glasses thickness , and my parents wallet (mainly).
It was funny how I used to feel that I was a special little person, just for being handicapped in some way.
When years went by, I experienced all kind of feelings towards my short-sightness. From feeling special, I started to reject my glasses when I was in my fifth grade. One day, without noticing, I sat on my glasses and they were destroyed. Since I didn't want to use them, I said to my mother that I didn't need them anymore. Two years later, I have doubled my myopia and astigmatism, and my parents (obviously) wanted to kill me.
The doctor ordered many studies, and the results were undeniable. Due to the effort I had to do to see something which was far from me, I could have lost my sight. From then on, I have always wore my glasses.
When I finished secondary school I tried contact lenses, but even when I had them for four years, I could never get accustomed to those intruders in my beautiful bright brownish eyes. That was when my parents asked about surgery, but since it was really expensive, my mother's practical mind spoke the moment she said: "Get married to a wealthy man, and ask him to pay your surgery".
I did not marry to a wealthy man, but I know for sure that given the case, he is willing to pay for my eyes to be fixed. The issue here, is that I'm not really convinced (yet) to abandon something that is part of me, and it has been my style mark for twenty-two years.

My life limited by two pink stripes

Five years ago, a cold, but sunny day of July, I found out that I was pregnant. I started calling my husband, then my mom and I wanted to scream it out loud to the world.
When I called my father, he was not at his office and I left a message on his machine saying: "Hi grandpa, prepare yourself to have two grandchildren". He called me back twenty minutes later...crying. MY FATHER WAS CRYING. He was as happy as I was, he couldn't speak at all, he tried lots of times to express himself with words, but it was a really overwhelming emotion that wouldn't let him speak. In the end, he managed to say, "I'm so happy, I cannot speak now, we have to celebrate the news". Of course, I was crying as much as he was because I never imagined such a reaction.
The point is that all our illusions vanished twelve days later, when my doctor said that I had an ectopic pregnancy (the baby was not in my uterus, but in my left fallopian tube) and I neded urgent surgery to remove the fetus. The worst part is that at that moment, I was actually seeing my baby's heartbeating.
Even today, I cannot explain to myself how is it that many women lived what I lived, and could overcome it in almost no time. Why not me? Why is it that I cannot let it go?
After surgery, my doctor recommended me not to get pregnant for the following six months, and I had no problems because at that time I wouldn't like to live the same thing again.
More or less one year later, my husband and me decided to stop using birth control methods and try again to have a second child, but we didn't have any results. I changed doctors so many times that I cannot remember even their faces, and none of them could found a "problem".
Now, four years have passed, I have a doctor who makes me lots of studies every month, but we cannot find any significant obstacle. He said that even when I have only one fallopian tube working properly, I can get pregnant as every other woman in the world.
Since July, 2006, I've been doing a low complex treatment, which included taking some pills every month to stimulate my ovaries, but I had to stop it because I had ovarian cysts due to their over-stimulation.
Another door was closed, and I could only think about life unfairness. Why is it that so many women kill their babies with abortions, and I cannot get pregnant? Why we can find women with more children than they can take care of, and cannot? Why, why, why?
Every month when I have my period, I suffer my illusion's death, and even though I'm exhausted, I cannot stop thinking about it. And the two pink stripes refuse to appear in every pregnancy test I take.
Last month I bought an ovulation test called "evaplan" which has the same procedure as pregnancy tests, but it can tell you when you have your major fertility period. This month I cannot find the two pink stripes, and is depressing to be just a witness of my monthly incapability to get pregnant.
I always have hope and wait to see good results, but as I clearly said before, the real problem is the anxiety that I feel while waiting.
Life smiles at you, until it stops...and then smiles again in vicious circle. Every day, I'm just waiting to see my life smiling at me in relation to this topic, because I'm fully aware of the many smiles I received in other aspects of my life.

Smile though your heart is breaking

Sometimes we feel that desperation is stronger than any other feeling, thinking all the time that there’s no way out.
Well, it’s not always neither as tragic nor as never-ending as we believe. In my opinion, everything is a matter of time. The real problem comes while waiting, due to the anxiety produced by the waiting itself.
Phrases like “don’t worry, it’s not that bad” or “the problem is that you are losing perspective” seem to be annoying, but even when we cannot see it, they are (almost 99% of the times) true.
For so many years I’ve been a professional “worrier”, I’ve been “pre-occupied” in things which might have never been an “occupation” at all, and of course, that’s a tiring way of living. The thing is that I was with a huge smile drawn on my face twenty-four-seven, and in the end, to smile though my heart was breaking, was not as good as Streisand’s song says.
Every person has to release in some way the pressure that they feel. It’s unimportant if you do it by crying, screaming, or just saying what you think. The key factor is that you have to give up hanging on while trying to be a superhero. After all, every superhero has a frailty or a weak side, Superman with his kryptonite, for example.
I used to think that I could do everything, and help everyone with their own search of happiness, without feeling tired. I suffered a humongous frustration the day I realised (psychotherapist in between), that even when I gave my best effort to support the idea, I was not an octopus, and I couldn’t please anyone if I wasn’t happy with myself.
I’m still working on that, because it’s not easy. After living (4 years ago) a harsh year, I started suffering from stress, due to the fact that I thought I had to be “ok” to put my shoulder to the situation (I was seeing my family falling apart). I reached to the point of suffering from anxiety attacks when I had to face someone’s judgment about me. At the beginning, it was all related with exams at university, but after some time, it became a dreadful fear to go outside my house.
Now, looking back, I think that all this happened because I smiled though my heart was breaking, and I was truly unable to face the truth of being nothing else but a simple human being.

Writing the wrong word endless times

My mother has always been one of those persons who tries too hard to be good at something. It never mattered what was the thing, because from the day she was born, she's been suffering from the "middle-child-syndrome" (it is believed that those children receive less attention than their siblings).
After getting married with a man who was not approved by her family, she found the perfect way of receiving recognition for her achievements... when she became a mother.
She was absolutedly determined to have the best-educated, cleanest and perfect-at-school children, and of course she devoted herself to that job.
She started penalizing us (my brothers and me) if we had our clothes dirty, she didn't allow us to eat sweets when we were with our "fancy clothes", and if we happened to fall when running, she was more concerned with the fabric of our pants not being torn, than with the injury we had in our knees.
Of course, she was a really proud mother when people mentioned how nice children we were, but we never paid attention to that.
When we started school, things got worse.
My older brother was a hyperactive monster at home but a saint at school. I was a rebel four-eyed-princess with pony tails on both sides of my head and my younger brother was a beautiful baby that I didn't like, just because he had the bad idea of "arriving" two days before my birthday (I asked my mother to send him back to the place where he came from).
The thing is that my mother lost her temper, quite easily, every day when my older brother and me came back from school. Her punishment was exhausting but fruitful. Every word or phrase that we wrote with a spelling mistake or was hardly understood (for bad handwriting) we had to write it endless times. Depending on my mother's mood, sometimes we had to repeat the word up to the middle of the page. Although, when the mistake was an error, we knew that the repetition became much longer (on both sides of the page).
Now, twenty-two years later, I can see myself sitting with my legs hanging from the chair, and drawing imaginary circles on the air, crying my eyes out while writing the repetitions. By my side, my brother was doing the same as me... but he was also trying (at any cost) to console my sad childish soul.
In any case, I have to accept that even when the punishment was tiring, my brother and me have always had an understandable and neat handwriting, with almost no mistakes, which is not the case of my younger brother, who (being 23 years old) still writes as a six-year-old-child, and has to ask many times before writing a word to avoid making mistakes.
The only problem is that my mother (now grandmother) still sustains the hope of saying one day that her children are perfect, longing to experience the satisfaction and receive recognitions for a well-done job.

50-word piece on myself

Married with one son, working, studying and without much domestic help, I am trying to discover how am I going to fullfil my expectations this year. The good part is that I have already achieved four (out of five) goals before my 30's. Just as I thought ten years ago.

Wednesday, April 4th, 2007

Not knowing how to write something is workable, but not having anything to say...could become your worst enemy.
Sometimes we feel that a blank page is threatening us because we don't know how to start writing, but in the end, thoughts start flowing from "somewhere" and we can only feel the satisfaction of having said what we wanted to say. The problem comes when we cannot find ourselves writing about anything, either because we are not accustomed to, or just because we have never been good at writing even in our native language.
In my case, writing is not an every day thing, but a stream of inspiration that strikes me from time to time. For example, my last birthday was memorable, because I was like sailing through the sky (I still don't know why, because I became one year older and I find it reeeeealy depressing) and I truly wanted to share my thoughts with the world. I recalled what my mother told me about the day I was born, where my father was, and how I was feeling when I looked back to the life I've lived so far.
When giving a moment of reflection to the reason why I don't write every day, I have to recognize that sometimes I don't write, just because of lazyness, and I've discovered that writing is the only thing I don't do due to that reason.
Writing a journal can be helpful at times, but it can also become a routine, and that's why when all of my friends had their beautiful Barbie journals, with a special lock to keep away nosy brothers...I always prefered to read a book or do whatever I wanted, without thinking that at the end of the day I would have to write it down in paper. Besides, my mother was so obsessed with having "perfect at school" children, that she used to make us (me and my brothers) write the same word many, many times (one word with a spelling mistake= one full page of repetitions) until we "internalized" the correct way, and at the end of the day I was tired enough to avoid, at any cost, having to touch a pencil or a blank page.
I really hope that one day, with my blog's help, I will be able to untie my thoughts completely, giving myself the chance to express everything I store in my heart and mind at a minimum cost... and more important, without having to go back to my therapist to seek help for my (now sporadic) anxiety attacks.
This is nice...I hope I can enjoy the ride