posted by katefolsom at
2:47 PM
0 Comments
March 19, 2009
February 1, 2009
January 18, 2009
flying upward over the mountain
My father and I did not get along very well when I was growing up.
I inherited his quick wit, but also his quick temper and stubbornness. I got his ability to think things through rationally, but at 6 or even 16, I hadn't quite grown into my powers of reasoning. He always won our arguments, and sometimes the threat of physical force was used as a last resort. He always won, whatever it cost the both of us.
I was a naturally rebellious kid, although looking back, it could have been a lot worse. I tested a lot of limits, but I was not the sort of kid to sneak out or shoplift or hang with a bad crowd. I may have been mouthy, but I rarely disobeyed. Other kids have the fear of God put into them. I had the fear of Mark.
It wasn't all bad, of course. Part of my relatively good behavior comes from the fact that I knew that, no matter what, my dad wouldn't come down on me too hard for the "normal" teenaged exploration. When I got drunk on champagne at at a friend's house when I was 15, he wasn't angry. He was probably glad that I'd been safe in a home with adults when it happened, probably glad I wasn't trying to hide it. When I wanted to get on birth control, he and my mother seemed relieved I was taking precautions. He understood that to give me arbitrary limits would only drive me out somwhere less safe, where he couldn't keep an eye on me. And dad wanted to keep an eye on me.
He almost always had my back, too. As vicious as his temper was, as much as we clashed, I knew that my dad was fiercely protective of me and would be there if I needed him. He was a generous man, loyal to his family and strong in the face of crisis. My whole life I saw my father take people in, help relatives out, give people another chance to get things right. Because of this I never felt as hopeless as I might have otherwise. I knew that if shit got bad, no matter our differences, my father would be there for me.
But the anger! The fighting! To be a teenager in a house where the one who won the fight was the one who yelled the loudest meant that I often felt like there was no way to get my point across, and sometimes I really did have a good point. We screamed and screamed at each other for years over things as small as forgotten grocery items or a pizza box left on the counter. My horrible attitude and his inability to yield an argument made life in our house volatile and sometimes hellish. More than once my brother or I would try to leave the house just to get away, and he wouldn't let us out the door. He'd stand there, with that "I dare you" look on his face and neither of us ever dared. We were terrified of him.
About ten years ago, when I was about to turn 18, my dad and I got into one of our fights. It was over something incredibly stupid, as it almost always was. He yelled, I yelled, he yelled back, I yelled louder, and then he said "God Damn It, I'm gonna hit you."
I waited a couple of minutes, and then turned to him and said, as calmly as I could, something a lot like this:
That was probably the smartest, bravest thing I've ever done. I don't know what came over me, how I was so bloody calm in the face of his rage. I'm even more astonished that it worked. That was THE LAST TIME. That was it.
Still, things between us weren't exactly super. I lived at home for the next few years, making frequent abortive attempts to leave, always winding up back home after a laughably short period of time. The summer I was 20, two days after my brother's wedding, my mother told me that my dad wanted a divorce.
And all of a sudden, my dad and I had a relationship. All of a sudden it was clear that, of all the people in the world, I was one of the few he felt comfortable talking to. And for a few months I enjoyed a close and caring relationship with my dad.
Until one day I realized: This has not been earned. My father has not earned this relationship with me. Remember how horrible he was? Remember what he did?
And I told him I needed some time to not talk to him. And I wrote a couple of emails detailing all the wrongs he'd committed against me, which went over about as well as you'd probably expect. Dad and I didn't talk for months... was it six? Eight? All I know is that one day in September, 2003, I woke up and wasn't so angry anymore.
Scratch that: I was not an angry person anymore.
My whole life I'd been screaming. Not just at my dad, but at everyone. Screaming at the world. I was full of pain, and that made it so that I was also full of rage. And I never let things go, and I was always angry, and I wore my wounds like battle scars and I pushed some people away while clinging desperately to others, and sometimes I pushed and pulled at the same time on the same person, because I was in pain, and I was enraged, and I didn't know what else to do.
I woke up one day, when I was 22, and it was if a weight had been lifted. I wasn't so angry anymore. And a month or so later, I started talking to my dad again.
In the past five and a half years, my father and I have finally gotten to know each other. We have mellowed with time, and maybe we've realized how much we need each other. I had hidden my depression from him for my whole life, thinking he wouldn't understand, or worse, would scoff at my misery. But he's been a great help to me in understanding my pain, and more, how to survive it and thrive despite it because, OH MY GOD, REVELATION, he's been there, too. He gives great advice. When he tells me something's a bad idea, it usually is. When he gives a thumbs-up, he's rarely wrong. And no matter how bad things ever got, I always knew I was loved. And I have always sort of worshipped the old man, despite his faults. Even my ex-boyfriend, who never got along with Dad, has expressed his admiration for him as a man. He's the smartest person I know, and he has earned my respect and my love. And I know that he is proud of me for who I am becoming, and that he loves me too.
I am so much like my daddy, and the older I get, the more I see it. The man who I grew up resenting is now my greatest ally, and I love him more than words can possibly express. So much my heart hurts. I love my dad.
I inherited his quick wit, but also his quick temper and stubbornness. I got his ability to think things through rationally, but at 6 or even 16, I hadn't quite grown into my powers of reasoning. He always won our arguments, and sometimes the threat of physical force was used as a last resort. He always won, whatever it cost the both of us.
I was a naturally rebellious kid, although looking back, it could have been a lot worse. I tested a lot of limits, but I was not the sort of kid to sneak out or shoplift or hang with a bad crowd. I may have been mouthy, but I rarely disobeyed. Other kids have the fear of God put into them. I had the fear of Mark.
It wasn't all bad, of course. Part of my relatively good behavior comes from the fact that I knew that, no matter what, my dad wouldn't come down on me too hard for the "normal" teenaged exploration. When I got drunk on champagne at at a friend's house when I was 15, he wasn't angry. He was probably glad that I'd been safe in a home with adults when it happened, probably glad I wasn't trying to hide it. When I wanted to get on birth control, he and my mother seemed relieved I was taking precautions. He understood that to give me arbitrary limits would only drive me out somwhere less safe, where he couldn't keep an eye on me. And dad wanted to keep an eye on me.
He almost always had my back, too. As vicious as his temper was, as much as we clashed, I knew that my dad was fiercely protective of me and would be there if I needed him. He was a generous man, loyal to his family and strong in the face of crisis. My whole life I saw my father take people in, help relatives out, give people another chance to get things right. Because of this I never felt as hopeless as I might have otherwise. I knew that if shit got bad, no matter our differences, my father would be there for me.
But the anger! The fighting! To be a teenager in a house where the one who won the fight was the one who yelled the loudest meant that I often felt like there was no way to get my point across, and sometimes I really did have a good point. We screamed and screamed at each other for years over things as small as forgotten grocery items or a pizza box left on the counter. My horrible attitude and his inability to yield an argument made life in our house volatile and sometimes hellish. More than once my brother or I would try to leave the house just to get away, and he wouldn't let us out the door. He'd stand there, with that "I dare you" look on his face and neither of us ever dared. We were terrified of him.
About ten years ago, when I was about to turn 18, my dad and I got into one of our fights. It was over something incredibly stupid, as it almost always was. He yelled, I yelled, he yelled back, I yelled louder, and then he said "God Damn It, I'm gonna hit you."
I waited a couple of minutes, and then turned to him and said, as calmly as I could, something a lot like this:
I'm not going to do this anymore. I'm not gonna scream at you or be screamed at. We have fought my whole life. My brother and I have been scared of you our whole lives. It stops now. If you ever threaten to hurt me again, I will pack my shit and leave this house. If you ever raise a hand to me, you will go to jail. We are done. No more.And we never screamed at each other again. That was the last time.
That was probably the smartest, bravest thing I've ever done. I don't know what came over me, how I was so bloody calm in the face of his rage. I'm even more astonished that it worked. That was THE LAST TIME. That was it.
Still, things between us weren't exactly super. I lived at home for the next few years, making frequent abortive attempts to leave, always winding up back home after a laughably short period of time. The summer I was 20, two days after my brother's wedding, my mother told me that my dad wanted a divorce.
And all of a sudden, my dad and I had a relationship. All of a sudden it was clear that, of all the people in the world, I was one of the few he felt comfortable talking to. And for a few months I enjoyed a close and caring relationship with my dad.
Until one day I realized: This has not been earned. My father has not earned this relationship with me. Remember how horrible he was? Remember what he did?
And I told him I needed some time to not talk to him. And I wrote a couple of emails detailing all the wrongs he'd committed against me, which went over about as well as you'd probably expect. Dad and I didn't talk for months... was it six? Eight? All I know is that one day in September, 2003, I woke up and wasn't so angry anymore.
Scratch that: I was not an angry person anymore.
My whole life I'd been screaming. Not just at my dad, but at everyone. Screaming at the world. I was full of pain, and that made it so that I was also full of rage. And I never let things go, and I was always angry, and I wore my wounds like battle scars and I pushed some people away while clinging desperately to others, and sometimes I pushed and pulled at the same time on the same person, because I was in pain, and I was enraged, and I didn't know what else to do.
I woke up one day, when I was 22, and it was if a weight had been lifted. I wasn't so angry anymore. And a month or so later, I started talking to my dad again.
In the past five and a half years, my father and I have finally gotten to know each other. We have mellowed with time, and maybe we've realized how much we need each other. I had hidden my depression from him for my whole life, thinking he wouldn't understand, or worse, would scoff at my misery. But he's been a great help to me in understanding my pain, and more, how to survive it and thrive despite it because, OH MY GOD, REVELATION, he's been there, too. He gives great advice. When he tells me something's a bad idea, it usually is. When he gives a thumbs-up, he's rarely wrong. And no matter how bad things ever got, I always knew I was loved. And I have always sort of worshipped the old man, despite his faults. Even my ex-boyfriend, who never got along with Dad, has expressed his admiration for him as a man. He's the smartest person I know, and he has earned my respect and my love. And I know that he is proud of me for who I am becoming, and that he loves me too.
I am so much like my daddy, and the older I get, the more I see it. The man who I grew up resenting is now my greatest ally, and I love him more than words can possibly express. So much my heart hurts. I love my dad.
Labels: family, love, mental health, not sleeping
posted by katefolsom at
5:23 AM
0 Comments
January 16, 2009
Oh, so very true...
I’m half Italian and half Irish. The most important quality in a future mate is the ability to take a punch.
-From Pajiba
-From Pajiba
Labels: blah, love, oh my god that's so true, quotations
posted by katefolsom at
5:30 PM
0 Comments
January 10, 2009
You asked for it, motherfucker
"no i didn't. i did not. no i did not."
Labels: cute geeky boy
posted by katefolsom at
10:06 PM
0 Comments
January 9, 2009
this is the song that doesn't end
Weird shit people have said/done during/after sex (with me):
- "It gets better."
- Put in the score of "The Matrix" and narrated
- "Best 15 seconds of your life."
- Told me I had a nice asshole. To which I replied "not on the first date, man."
- Playing Barry White.
- No, I'm serious. He put on BARRY WHITE. And I think he may have been serious...?
- "I hope you know that this doesn't mean we're in a relationship."
- Oh, come on. I'm not six.
Labels: blah, lists, not sleeping
posted by katefolsom at
11:19 AM
0 Comments
I know that it is freezing, but I think we have to walk.
From an e-mail. I don't know about ya'll, but I think I'm hilarious.
"...the fact remains that you were warned that I would fall in love with you and you did not run screaming in the other direction, which was the course of action I recommended at the time."
Labels: crushing, cute geeky boy, listen to your auntie kate, love, mental health, not sleeping, oh my god that's so true, quotations
posted by katefolsom at
7:59 AM
0 Comments
the law of averages
For good or bad, better or worse, I fought hard to become the person I am. I have walked through the fire to get where I am, to live to be almost 28 years old, to rescue myself from myself.
My mother thinks I'm wise. Maybe, maybe not. But I fought like hell to get here. I did a lot of things the hard way when I didn't have to. A lot of hard things happened to me and I didn't deserve it. I fought, and I fight, to stay alive and stay hopeful and keep going.
I have gotten tired of wanting what I cannot have. So now I'm wondering what I can have. What's available to me? What would it be reasonable to ask for or expect?
K and K, November 2008. I was a bit drunk. I think this is the only picture in existence with both of our faces in it.
K said "You can blow me off. I'm used to it." And I said, whatever would give you the idea I'm blowing you off? I'm reassessing, sure. But I'm not walking away yet. And this is what I should have said:
Chris and Kate, January 2009
Things with Chris are good. But he's going to New Zealand for three months starting in March. This gives me a bit of time to figure out what the fuck I want. I wasn't expecting to get so cozy with someone, and it's a bit of a conundrum. But for now, we've agreed, we'll just enjoy what we have and worry about definitions and shit when he gets back from across the world. I'm okay with that.
Chris is the nice guy, the good guy, the one I could see myself spending some serious time with. Strangely enough, I'm attracted to him despite these loathsome qualities. He's awesome and he thinks I'm awesome.
And maybe, and this is important, Chris is someone I can have. If I play my cards right. If he ever comes back from across the world. Maybe I finally get to be loved back by someone who isn't intent on destroying me. Maybe I can finally have the one I want.
My mother thinks I'm wise. Maybe, maybe not. But I fought like hell to get here. I did a lot of things the hard way when I didn't have to. A lot of hard things happened to me and I didn't deserve it. I fought, and I fight, to stay alive and stay hopeful and keep going.
I have gotten tired of wanting what I cannot have. So now I'm wondering what I can have. What's available to me? What would it be reasonable to ask for or expect?
K and K, November 2008. I was a bit drunk. I think this is the only picture in existence with both of our faces in it.K said "You can blow me off. I'm used to it." And I said, whatever would give you the idea I'm blowing you off? I'm reassessing, sure. But I'm not walking away yet. And this is what I should have said:
There's only so long I can live off the table scraps of your affection. There's only so long I can do all the talking before I get tired of the sound of my own voice. And it's cold here standing perpetually just outside the walls you've erected around yourself. Whatever reasons you might have for not letting me in are becoming irrelevant in light of the fact that you won't let me in.
So maybe I'm moving on. You're welcome to come with me.
Chris and Kate, January 2009Things with Chris are good. But he's going to New Zealand for three months starting in March. This gives me a bit of time to figure out what the fuck I want. I wasn't expecting to get so cozy with someone, and it's a bit of a conundrum. But for now, we've agreed, we'll just enjoy what we have and worry about definitions and shit when he gets back from across the world. I'm okay with that.
Chris is the nice guy, the good guy, the one I could see myself spending some serious time with. Strangely enough, I'm attracted to him despite these loathsome qualities. He's awesome and he thinks I'm awesome.
And maybe, and this is important, Chris is someone I can have. If I play my cards right. If he ever comes back from across the world. Maybe I finally get to be loved back by someone who isn't intent on destroying me. Maybe I can finally have the one I want.
Labels: blah, cute geeky boy, love, mental health, not sleeping, self-esteem, stress, t.o.p.
posted by katefolsom at
2:55 AM
0 Comments
January 8, 2009
i never did anything to you, man
me:
[taken from an IM conversation that took place last night. names removed to protect the innocent and that fucking cunt. i was very serious at the time, but now i find this hilarious.]
She's a fucking cunt. She's rude and nasty and crass. And it makes me, if you want to know, wonder what the hell sort of crack you're smoking, letting someone who seems to be so fucking NASTY have such a big part of your life.him:
well, she never called you a fucking cuntme:
Well, that's because I'm NOT.
[taken from an IM conversation that took place last night. names removed to protect the innocent and that fucking cunt. i was very serious at the time, but now i find this hilarious.]
Labels: anger, cute geeky boy, opinions about stuff, rants
posted by katefolsom at
3:15 PM
0 Comments
January 5, 2009
About Me
- Name: Kate Folsom
- Location: Portland, OR, United States
Maybe if I open up, you'll open up too. And then we'll all be open. Wouldn't that be neat?
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Previous Posts
- So that happened...
- flying upward over the mountain
- Oh, so very true...
- You asked for it, motherfucker
- this is the song that doesn't end
- I know that it is freezing, but I think we have to...
- the law of averages
- i never did anything to you, man
- So happy together...
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