Keloids

ke·loid (kē′lo̵id′) noun: an excessive growth of scar tissue on the skin

I'm invited to a wedding next month, and as usual, I have had a bit of a melt down. It happens every time I am looking forward to something fun and exciting: weddings, celebrations, gatherings, etc. It happens just about each time I have to think about how I look. And every time, I hate myself for acting so ridiculous.

The more I think about it, what angers me today is not what I grew up with. My parents may have had less tact than some parents and thought they were helping us improve ourselves. That is not how it turned out. I was always thin skinned and sensitive. Being compared to others made me seethe with rage and jealousy that my parents thought other children were better than me. Their comparisons never motivated me to eat less or study more, I just hated myself more. I was sure there was something hopelessly, incurably broken about me. My poor parents had to love me because I was their disappointing child and they were stuck with me. Their methods didn't work out too well on my brothers either, even though neither are as sensitive as I am.

I should have grown out of my sensitivities. I've lived away from them for almost two decades. Their cutting words have become less frequent, a combination of distance, less contact and their having given up on fixing my faults. And yet, the scars remain. Much like keloids that stay behind as ugly reminders of past wounds, I see the effects of their words and ways each time I prepare for something I look forward to. Each and every one of their words flood my mind as I stand naked in front of a mirror trying to prepare. I'm reminded that I won't look good in anything, that it's a waste to buy anything decent before I lose weight and 'fix' my problem spots and on and on. And every time, not matter how hard I try, I break down. I ruin things for myself and everyone around me--which makes me hate myself even more.

Today was basically the last full day I had to try to look for a dress to wear to the wedding. I wanted to find something within my 'budget'--a number so low that even I know I couldn't find anything decent with that price. I had already gotten into an argument with M over this, but today was more than I could take. I was asking a friend to come and help me find something, but I refused to go to the mall where she suggested we start our search at Nordstrom--almost always her first stop. "Nordstrom?!", I said to M, "I can't go to Nordstrom! I can't shop there." And that was the beginning of my breakdown. With each word, I was beating myself up more--I was thinking and saying everything I have ever heard and hated. The worst part is, no one needs to do anything to me any more, I've been trained well and am on autopilot. I would never treat anyone else like this; why would I be more cruel to myself than I am to strangers?

Despite the angst ridden morning and my still burning eyes, I have found some dresses--almost all of them from Nordstrom. I'll only keep one and will go to the wedding to celebrate my friends. But I need to stop this. I'm too old and too exhausted to keep beating myself up in this way. I try so hard not to repeat their ways when I deal with my brothers and husband--something that took me a while to realize and let go of. I have to have at least as much respect for myself as I want others to have for me.

This may have to be my next project.

My Edumacation: Part II

I was reading the comments to my last post (My Edumacation), and was going to respond when something funny happened. I got distracted with using my random knowledge for something that mattered. And I enjoyed it thoroughly. However, I still want to respond to the comments since reading them helped me figure out why I was so frustrated:

Deep down, I know I have all of the formal education I need. Unless I one day decide to go to law school, which at this point I'm too tired to do, I think I have enough degrees. The problem isn't lack of knowledge, as much as it is lack of opportunity to apply this knowledge to something that has meaning. Or even applying it something that doesn't have meaning. I am bored out of my mind and not using my brain. While every job has a level of frustratingly mundane something or other, that is all my job has become--frustratingly mundane. I don't learn anything, I don't grow, I don't contribute anything of significance and I don't have the opportunity to shine. If there is anything I need, it is a place to shine. Deprive me of that and I will in turn be frustrated, pissed off and depressed about my very existence. At this point, I feel I have forgotten how to contribute anything of meaning even if the opportunity came along. That scares the crap out of me.

I don't know what I want to do with my life. I dream about writing a book, but don't feel I have anything significant to say. And even when I find something to say, I can't express it as I want. And I still need to support myself on daily basis (tragically, bills don't pay themselves). So what will my day job be? What will I do with myself now that I am all grown up, and aging quickly? I can't very well copy, paste and organize-lunch my way to retirement. I could, if I weren't so determined to do something Significant.

Which brings me to the topic of regrets. I don't regret passing on Pharmacy school. I put a lot of thought into rejecting that road. I may wish for the financial security it would bring, but I would be just as unhappy with the actual work. So, it's not a regret of not acting, it's the fear of not doing something meaningful. Egotistical little nut that I am, I want make a difference and matter in something of my own making.

So if you have any ideas what a person with my background can do to make a splash, let me know. Otherwise, I'll be the one banging my head on the keyboard hoping for greatness:

My Edumacation

I was the first woman in my family to move away and live on my own; the first to 'see the sunlight and moonlight'*. I was the first woman in my family to go to college, and graduate. I am the first woman in my family to get a graduate degree. None of these are necessarily my accomplishments; I would be lying if I said my family didn't have something to do with it.

However.

My motives to get an education were not that noble. I was filling a void that had consumed me most of my life. I started reading like a child possessed around the time I was six, because as I explained to the school librarian, I felt like an empty bowl that needed to be filled and only books could fill it. Unfortunately, I never read anything useful that would help me make money (an astute observation only a father can make). Nor did I read with the intent to put my knowledge to material or social use (there is little to brag about when your favorite genre is the history of the French Revolution--when you're 12). I just read, because it brought me joy and made me feel the tiniest bit less empty.

My college education was a bit of a fiasco, considering I stayed in the US promising to study pharmacy and get a respectable job in that field in Iran after graduating. I am not a pharmacist and I live in the US, so that's one of the promises I have made which I failed to keep. The majors I chose instead were a compromise (in my mind) that would please my parents (science is semi-respectable) and myself (I had to read British literature, how bad could it be?). Unfortunately, imaginary compromises fail to please anyone. My parents still remind me of the broken promise (and financial fall-out of not being a respectable pharmacist) and wonder why I wasted my time on an English degree that I can't do anything with. At this point, I had wasted years of my life, thousands of dollars and the opportunities life had granted me for for nothing. Yay me.

My graduate degree was another ill-planned compromise. I chose a field that virtually guaranteed me riches (at the time) and I was interested in because it would allow me to support myself and find outlets for my less lucrative interests. With the dotcom bubble bursting and my degree taking significantly longer to complete than I had originally planned, that didn't work out so well either.

Now, I am the proud owner of a B.S., a B.A., a M.Sc and a professional certificate. NONE of which can help me find a respectable job that requires me to do more than copy, paste and order lunch. All of this education, and I will barely be making more than a high school graduate doing the same thing I am doing. At this point, I don't even trust myself to make any decisions about anything.

I am not very proud of myself today.

*An old expression in Farsi, used to refer to women who were no longer innocent and often used their experience against men to get the upper hand. Generally not used as a compliment.

I Should Have Said 'Yes'

I'm spent. After four days of anger and frustration, I'm bone tired--and nursing the same headache that enhanced my bad mood a few days ago. And I got a call from my father.

It is safe to say that my parents are very different creatures, and my relationship follows the rhythm they set. I joked with them a few years ago that when I was a child, my mother's nickname for me was pishi (kitty) and my father's nickname for me was mooshi (little mouse)--if this didn't doom a child to a lifetime of confusion, I don't know what would.

Seeing as our relationship is so different from with my mother (in addition to the emotional and mental exhaustion), I was polite and tried to keep as light a tone as possible. I know when he is alone, he tends to be nostalgic about a past we may or may not have shared (we lived apart for so many years that he saw himself as an guest in his own home). He was talking about how he dreamt of having us by his side now that he is older and tired, which despite my own tumultuous thoughts, always makes me nostalgic for our time together as well. Of course, then he had to turn philosophical.

"You know, when I was younger, I never even looked before I crossed the street. There was an opportunity on the other side and I couldn't wait to reach it. There was never a challenge I didn't jump at. Now, I'm so cautious and tired, I second guess every decision I make. I keep hearing these voices telling me all of the things that could go wrong. It's almost like..."

I finished his sentence for him, "...you're turning into me?"

He laughed in approval. When I was a child, even when I barely spoke Farsi, that is how he would test to see if I understood what he was saying, by making me finish his sentences. It is an unfortunate habit I still maintain, despite my best efforts. But he was also glad that I had spoken a truth he was not in the mood to utter. My father has always maintained that I am too anxious and full of fear to go out and fulfill my potential. What he has never understood is that much of my anxiety has been based on my family's approval or lack thereof. While I cannot say in honesty that I have followed the path they wanted for me; neither did I follow the path that I wanted for myself. I compromised--and learned that no one is a winner in such compromises.

There was a quiet lull that could have turned awkward, dangerous considering my mood these few days.

"The good news is, maybe as I grow older, I'll become more like you as a young man. I'll start crossing the street without looking. I'll make a decision and ignore all the voices around me."

"Daughter, you just need to accept challenges. You just need to say 'yes'."

Of course. From this perspective, I had spent my entire life saying no to my dreams and opportunities; rejecting possibilities.

I should have just said 'yes'.

I Never Said "No"

I hear you are not supposed to call an ex, or other people you have strong opinions about, when you're intoxicated--the 'don't drink and dial' rule. My intoxicant is rage, and I am not at fault if someone dials my number when I'm white, hot angry.

I should have known that I wouldn't have a nice, quiet weekend Friday morning, when I finally let my boss know that his decisions were ridiculous and that his vaunted communication skills only made everyone feel hostile. Once I get to the point of telling people I disagree with that much how I feel about them, the aftermath just won't be pretty. Which is why I warned my husband of the fallout, my way of protecting him from any unintended consequences.

I should have known the real explosion was yet to come, when I finally went to bed with a headache that was practically choking me; and when I finally opened my eyes, resentfully because after less than six hours of sleep, the headache had grown larger. I realized I was a small keg of dynamite in the form of a woman, waiting for a spark.

That's when my mother called. My flat tone had not changed since the last time we had spoken, and even though I warned her and she knew the source of my discontent She. Just. Couldn't. Let. It. Go. Unfortunately, this is a curse of the women in my family, myself included. When we know someone is unhappy we have to try and 'fix' it. No matter that we may be the problem, or the problem may not have a solution. We just have to keep picking until something happens. And this morning, something did happen.

It all started innocently enough, talking about her travel plans and her friends. But things started quickly going downhill when she mentioned a situation that my brother hadn't handled well.

I'd like to say I reacted primarily because I was defending my brother, but the question I put to her had little to do with him. "If the mother of a family accepts a bad situation and suffers for it, then the daughter tolerates the bad situation and suffers the consequences, do you really think it's a good idea for them to be advising someone else to follow in their crooked footsteps?" And that was just the beginning. I launched into my angry discourse of how I had never been allowed to make decisions, had obeyed what everyone around me had told me--not just ignoring my own ideas, intelligence and instincts but doubting their validity at every turn. I told her how everyone's 'help' and advice had put me where I am--miserable with my job, and constantly reminded of what a disappointment and failure I have been.

Her response when she could get a word in edgewise? "You're lost. You don't know what you're talking about. Stop blaming everyone for decisions you made. I let you go when you were 18 and you could have done anything you wanted to. Anything. You could have become an addict and gotten 10 abortions but you didn't, you chose to listen to your parents' guidance. You know why? Because you're good. You did this to yourself. And by the way, everyone loves you. People back home, people think you're so good, you're untouchable."

Never has a perceived virtue been used as damnation; never has there been a better argument against virtue. I was stunned into silence, and even angrier. I would never be able to get out of this hell because I was damned to 'goodness'. My mother has no greater pride than how highly people back home think of me. And nothing confuses me more. They think I'm dignified and 'good' because on my rare trips home, I sit there politely and say little. I don't tell them I find their hypocrisy rank; I don't tell them I have gay friends; I don't tell them my choice to demure from drinking has little to do with virtue, and greatly to do with lack of taste for the stuff; nor do I say that I rarely dance because I am self-conscience of my jerking motions but desperately want to be there making as much a scene as the next girl And so on. The reality is, if people back home really knew anything of me, they would probably see me as anyone else who knows me , the wallflower few notice or pay much attention to. I never correct their perception, because their idea of my virtue is my only alternative to oblivion.

When I could finally hear over the sound of blood rushing to my head, she was saying, "You could have said no to your father, or me or anyone else who was telling you what to do. You could have been like X or Y who did what they wanted to. But you didn't. You never even said no. So stop blaming everyone else for your decisions."

With that, the whole argument was over. She was right in a way. People cross boundaries and interfere in others' lives everyday. Parents intervene and advise their children, because that's what they think is best. Smart people say 'no' and put their foot down. I could have cut the string that stretched over continents and oceans, keeping me in line years ago--but I didn't. I could have taken a risk and jumped into my dreams with both feet, but I couldn't. I allowed that string to become a rope, and then a noose that would choke me.

I should have just said 'no'.