Mental vomit about grieving

I don't think this post will shatter any worlds or break ground, but I'd like to write it for myself, to help with my own grieving.

Firstly, I think everyone grieves differently. I realize that there are stages of grieving and all of that jazz (See here), but oh how it irks me when people try to tell me when and how to experience grief.

Go to 2:40

 I used to be a "major weeper" (see video selection above), but then I got some sort of hormonal imbalance/robotitis or something and stopped crying. Anyway, I didn't cry for more than a moment when my grandmother (one of my favorite people who ever lived) died (her obit), though I did cry a few weeks later for about 5 minutes more. When my brother died (his obit) I didn't cry either. I felt sad, but mostly I felt very relieved for him and happy he was out of pain. I didn't cry at his funeral, though I teared up a few times (when this happened I took several deep breaths until the feeling passed). In contrast, 4 years ago I bawled like a baby at my father's funeral.

I knew I would cry for Jeremy, but I knew it would come when I allowed it to. I didn't want to cry at work. I didn't want to cry in front of a lot of people. I wanted to cry alone and in a place and with people I trusted in a certain way. When I felt I was in a safe enough situation I purposefully triggered my emotions in a successful (approximately 10 minutes) attempt to cry.

Some people would view me as unfeeling or unhealthy, covering up my true feelings or some junk like that. I just see myself as guarded and careful with my feelings. It should be no secret to anyone who has ever read my blog that I have trust issues. As I've gotten older I've become more open and free in so many ways, but in others I've built up walls too high for anyone to traverse.

This song may not seem like a grief song, but with the Smith kids, it is.

I've found that I can grieve best by trying to continue with my life. I don't want to have tears pried from me, and even if someone did pry them from me it would be tears of anger directed towards them. The correct feelings and thoughts will come in their own due time. I'm not a description in a psychology book, I'm Laura (yes I do realize how very high school punk rawk/teenage angst of me that sounds and I don't give a damn).

My grief comes out of me when I feel frustrated with my romantic situation, or lack thereof. My grief comes out when I need a ride somewhere and I'm too southern-overly concerned with imposing/acting like my Nana and dad to ask for help, and I'm frustrated. My grief will come out when I step on the scale. My grief will come out when the kindergartners wont listen. My grief will come out in it's own due time and way.

It will come out my muscles and in stomach aches. It will come out in music and movies. It will come out when I do the dishes and when I take a shower. It will come out in song and in dance, and sometimes even in tears (crap, I'm starting to sound like a Martina McBride song).

Seriously, Brain?

Soon after writing that last post I realized how wrong I was. Sometimes I let my mind convince itself that it's weaker than it is. Those similarities are just that similarities. I don't think they mean anything. I think a few of the guys I've been attracted to just happen to like alone time...which is a quality I'm attracted to. Go home 1 am blogging, you're drunk*.

*i wasn't drunk, it's a meme

Mind vomit.

Sigh. I think I've figured out something, in part, that is terribly depressing about my brain.

Recently, while talking to a friend I used to be romantically attracted to, I realized some commonalities that the men I tend to be attracted to have. This part didn't really bother me- it just kind of made me laugh. It was thinking out the reasons that I might be attracted to these qualities that worried me.

Brown hair, blue eyes, sure sure.

Similar music and movie tastes, sure sure- makes sense.

Social recluse. Okay, so I'm hesitant to write this, because it will make some things a little to obvious to past and present love interests. Love interests who have no love interest in me. Whatever, it's 1:02 am, here we go.

Social recluses. Men who are a little too comfortable being by themselves. Okay, I'm all for alone time and I want a man who is too. I've joked (but I'm actually pretty serious) about wanting a man who maybe works a lot or doesn't mind his share of alone time. I like alone time and I like my space. I don't think I could handle a man who always wanted to be together. I'd be like, "Hon, go out with yo' friends, ima do me."

But as I listened to my beautiful Adonis-like friend, who I now see I could never be with, I realized the men I've been interested in are a little more than your average kind of hermit. Not leave their bedroom for a week, sure sure. Not leave their bedroom for a month, sure sure. You get the point.

Now most people like a little alone time, but I'm talked serious isolation. And I thought that was odd, that I most of the men I've been really into since high school were like this. I don't know, I guess it makes sense. I had a hard time making friends in high school, and I spent many a night in the closet under the stairs (where our computer was) making Lord of the Rings/Enya slide shows and googling music stuff. Maybe I just want, on some level, a man that I feel I can relate to...even though post high school I became uber social at points.

But I started to wonder. Maybe I want them isolated because I'm afraid to share them. Other people present a danger. They can take my love interest away from me. What if he thinks they're cooler than me? What if he thinks they're prettier than me? What if he thinks they're funnier, wittier, better, smarter, better, chiller, better than me? Maybe it's the competition I'm afraid of. Maybe I'm afraid that basically everyone on the planet is a more desirable companion than me, and maybe I'm attracted to men who have terribly small social circles because then there's less competition.

I facebook stalk them, like everyone else on the planet, and I create competition in my head. That girl he's FB friends with (and met one time in a college class 5 years ago) becomes an ex-girlfriend whom he still has a burning attraction to. It's like old horror movies- your mind always creates a far more chilling story then any fancy visuals ever could.

Your mind knows all of the things you're afraid of, present or past, conscience or sub-conscience. My mind makes all of those girls into Goddess Heras, even if they are his obscure and creepy cousins (no one is a cousin, they're all single and ravenous, and a threat). My mind even makes all of those guy friends a threat- I'm sure he'd much rather hang out with Joe then pitiful me.

I'm so tired of being afraid and insecure. And then I get insecure about being insecure. Men don't like insecure girls. Forever alone...time to go to Betos.

Is unconfidence even a word? What the hell does diffidence mean?! Effing google images.

So what do I do? I don't know. Maybe it's time to work on my confidence or something...Or I could eat more nachos and get more plants. Plants will always love me.

Lessons from my Grandma Patsy

My Grandma Patricia, or "Patsy BAMF" as I like to call her (just now, I just started calling her that now), was a magic lady. Seriously, she was one of my favorite people on this planet. 

We were both Tiger Geminis, and she was a friend and an example to me.

She taught me to be a bad-A. One time at Girls Camp some priesthood leader killed a rattlesnake, so what does Grandma Patsy BAMF do? She cooks the dang snake and feeds it to the girls. Badoosh! Be a bad-A.

Sweatsuits Grandma painted for me and Hillary

She taught me to always create. My grandma was an artist for most of her life. She painted sweaters, canvases, and anything else you'd give her. She took art classes when she got older, and right up until she passed away she was painting. Her hands coiled up from arthritis, but that didn't stop her from creating. Even when we played cards she was scribbling in the margins. I can only hope to create as much as she did. She created a ginormous family, a wonderful legacy, and oodles of art.

She taught me to have fun. My grandma was such a joker. She was always kidding around, laughing and saying the funniest things. Whether she was dressing up, flashing us, or just playing cards- grandma knew how to have fun.

She taught me to love music. Grandma loved music and singing, and even when her pitch went, you could still hear her whistling a tune all the time. 

She taught me to love nature. My grandma loved the outdoors, whether it was on her parents old farm, at the beach, or with her cow, Bessie, grandma loved nature. She might have had some intense right wing beliefs, but that lady was a hippy if I ever knew one. One with nature, magnets, pumpkin seeds and curious natural remedies. She even let her juice sit out and ferment a bit, haha!

She taught me to be faithful. Now I know that they may confuse some of you, seeing as my beliefs have changed a bit this year, but faith isn't necessarily about what you believe- it's about passion and believing in something. She taught me to hear and see spirituality. She taught me to find happiness and believe in good things. She might have believed in different things then I do right now, but she taught me to live what I believe and be true to that. 

She taught me to be yourself and say 'forget the rest.' Everyone wont always like what you say and do in this life, but that's okay. You've got to be yourself and follow your heart. My grandma stood up for what she believed, even when no one around her supported or believed her. She did what she wanted and went out the way she wanted. She lived a full life and I'm sure wherever she is, she's kicking some major toosh.

I know I learned a lot of those things from my mother and father, and a lot of other amazing people in my life. I am a part of everyone I've ever met and everywhere I've ever gone, but dang it, Grandma Patsy BAMF was the seed and I'll miss her. 

Fun facts about Patricia:

- She had a blue ribbon cow as a teenager

-She birthed 10 children

-She eloped when she was 16 and stayed married to the same man until the day she died

-She served 3 LDS missions with her husband, Charles

-She was a kick-A square dancer

-She had indestructible fingernails

-She was born in a log cabin that her father built

-She, like my mother and me, was practically allergic to peppers. They make us super sick!

-She was a Tiger (Chinese Zodiac) Gemini, like me

Umm What Ya Say: Faith and Respect

Since my decision to stop attending the LDS church, several people have asked how I think my father or my pioneer ancestors would feel about my debaucherous new lifestyle. Well, here you go.

In general I can only hope, and assume, that they would still love me and respect me.

When my father decided to join the LDS church his parents were heartbroken. They gave him a small cardboard baby coffin, as if to say, you’re dead to us. They did not attend my parents wedding (they couldn’t), or my parents reception and other wedding festivities. Until my grandparents dying years, they fanned anti-church literature in my father’s face at every visit.

I’m pretty sure that my father just wanted was to live in a way that he thought was right. I think he just felt so strongly that the church was true and, while I’m sure a large part of him wanted his parents to join the church (first principles of the church), he probably just wanted them to love and support his decisions because he felt the church made him happy (and I would certainly say that the church and its accompanying life style did help my father to have a more fulfilling and happy life).

I would hope that in the same way that my father wanted to be loved unconditionally, supported in what he felt was right and in what he felt would make him happy and respected regardless of/for his beliefs, he would afford me just what he wanted so dearly from his loved ones.

I think of my wonderful Uncle Rick Smith- after he read my blog post about my father’s conversion to the LDS church he simply said that the choice my father made was the right choice for him. My uncle knew the church made my father happy, and even though my uncle doesn’t believe in the church, he supported him. I suppose that’s what I’m looking for.

I hold no bitterness towards the church or my loved ones who believe in it so fervently. I don’t seek to tear down the church, or dissuade members from believing. Honestly, I feel uncomfortable when people try to push the church on me (that twinkle in their eye when they think I’m finally returning to my senses), and I wouldn’t want to create that feeling in somebody else who is possibly questioning the church. I think people should pray with a “sincere heart” and all that jazz in regards to their moral code and beliefs, and then make their own choice- AND THEN I think people should love and respect their choice. It’s a personal choice, not up for vote or popular opinion- and so far as I know, even the LDS scriptures and leaders would agree with me here.

My pioneer ancestors crossed the plains in search of a place where they could live and believe as they pleased. The general populace thought they were a strange people and went to horrible lengths to make them renounce what they believed to be true. I can only hope that those pioneers, and most especially Joseph Smith, would respect someone who had different opinions on religion.

My great-great- great-great-great grandmother, Lucy Diantha Morley was fired from her job, pillaged, a driven from her home and comforts to the harsh land of Utah, where she built a BAD-A life believing as she wanted. HECK YES, I still love and respect her. Heck yes, I still feel connected to my faithful ancestors and relatives.  We’re all just trying to do what we feel is best, and live our lives in a way that correlates with our beliefs. Just like my father, I can only hope that Lucy D.M. would love a respect me, regardless of my attendance and belief in her church.

I know it’s hard. Things seem so black and white, and I suppose they are, but that doesn't mean we have to be at odds with one another. I think if we all just take a step back and look at the fundamentals, things could be pretty swell. You want freedom of religion, and so do I. You want to live and believe as you please, and so do I.

I know my father wasn't perfect, but I loved him and I can only assume he would still be proud of me. He would see that I haven’t made any of my decisions lightly. He would see how passionately I have sought answers, and he would love the person I am today. 

P.S. Did anyone catch my Imogen Heap reference?

*

I couldn't articulate what I wanted to say, and so- Pinterest.

2013

I was going to send out Christmas cards, buuuuuuuuuuuut this is cheaper and easier. So here we go. I suppose I should write some sort of verbose and grand letter, but whatev.

2013 was a great year and a tough year. I don't want to go on and on so here we go,  IN LIST FORM!

What happened:

1. Ogden Prep Academy- I still work there. I love it and I am excited for the changes that have happened, and the ones to come. It's a great place to work and I love the kiddos, most of the time!

2. Oakcrest Girls Camp- It was great. It was awful. It was camp. I loved being outside and I loved my fellow counselors. I loved singing. I loved being outside. I loved being outside. I loved being outside.

3. Adventures- I went on them.

Goals/plans for 2014:

1. FINISH MY DAMN MASTERS- but really, I start my lit review paper class this January, then my project over the summer and if all goes according to plan, you may call me "MASTER LAURA" starting August 2014.

2. Sleep- I need to do it more.

3. Continue to work on my physical health, duh.

4. Pay off all debts, other then my horrendous student loans.

5. THE MOST MAGICAL GOAL OF ALLLLL TIME: Get a cat and name him Steve Bee Hawking.

P.S. the handsome cat in the my pictures is Yahtzee, beloved cat of the men of Elgin Drive. The fantastic pictures were taken by Josh, of Elgin Drive.