Pandora’s Box – Who Am I?

Me 2

Who am I? I think I know. I mean on paper I’m a lot of different things.

Nurse; mother; daughter; sister; aunt; friend; writer; blogger; confidante; girlfriend; white; American; bipolar; depressed; anxious.

The list goes on. To dig deep down inside would mean opening Pandora’s box I’m afraid. Hell, even I peek up under the lid every now and then. I see things that make me want to keep looking further and then I see things that scare me. If we weren’t scared of who we really were then something would be wrong with us. That I firmly believe.

I’ll make it easy for you for now in the beginning. Think of it as our match dot com type of get to know each other.

I’m 36 years old. Divorced for the past 5 years after being married for 12 to a man who is on the cusp of 60. Yep. I have a daddy complex. I will never deny nor will I pay a professional to tell me that. I’m not stupid. Careless, yes. Stupid, no.

We have a wonderful, hormone ridden 17-year old son who is just now starting his journey in this world. I’m scared shitless by the way.

I am a pediatric home health nurse at the moment but my heart for nursing was nurtured and grown in the hospital. I nurse by the creeds and standards of Florence Nightingale. Actually you may laugh to hear that I often reference Nightingale and her quotes quite often in my job. Yes. I’m a nurse geek. I like that though.

I love to laugh. If I don’t laugh at least once a day and I mean a gut busting, snorting laugh, I’m having an awful day. You should be worried. I also talk a lot. A LOT. If I am ever quiet something is wrong. Unless I’m sleeping. Actually I probably talk in my sleep. I certainly have woken myself up laughing.

I love goats. An unnatural obsession. I’ve never owned goats for a long amount of time but have been around them and they make me EXTREMELY happy. A friend once told me that I hide behind goats when I’m depressed. I think he may have been correct.

I was raised to cherish family. The whole stupid blood is thicker than water. LIES. I firmly feel my family sucks. Except for my 90-year old Aunt. She rocks. Do I care if my family reads my blog and the things I say about them? No. I don’t. It’s truth. I do not ever write anything that is false about them and how they have treated me and each other. They are like piranhas feeding off of  each other and the drama they create. I have finally found my way out of that toxic lake. I still have left over resentment and disdain for them all but it was their decision to leave me in the cold because they chose to cast stones. Jokes on them though. I go to bed at night with a guilt free conscience. I have no regrets for my words or actions toward them which means cutting them out of my life.

Basically I’m a down to earth woman who still communicates with the little girl inside of me. The one who holds that box of Pandora’s secrets. That little girl beckons me to dig deeper into my psyche and find the real me. Truth be told, I’m afraid if I found my real self…the whole me…I might not even be able to handle who I am. I may be so awesome that it would be like trying to look into the sun.

I still color, have stuffed animals and watch cartoons. I nurture her. It keeps her from shoving that box in my face. I talk to her. I tell her it’s OK and it’s not her fault, what happened to her so many years ago. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. After all, the me now wasn’t there for her. She didn’t have anyone but a father who was doing his best to raise her right. He did. He raised a successful young lady before he left this Earth, but there were things even he couldn’t stop. Things he can’t even be blamed for. You only know what’s happening when you are told about it or see it.

So when I comfort her, she softly places that box back down and smiles. She knows I’ll be back. Knows I can’t help but peek one more time. She’ll beg me with her eyes to open it up full on. I won’t though. Not yet. I’m not ready. We’ll color again together and giggle with each other and hold hands and let the grasp go slowly until the next time I come visit. I will go to sleep picturing her in bobby socks, on her bike smiling at a camera which in reality is my minds own eye.

I’m unique. I’m me. I’m open and honest with everyone but myself. And that’s just the way I like it right now.

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