It makes sense that the one thing that could shake me out of my writer's block would be Eric.

Eric's lately found and old friend on Facebook. Tja has been friends with him for years...since his wild partying days. They have history....they have stories...they have a great friendship. They've been chatting non-stop for the last week. He went hiking with her at Staircase on Saturday while I went to Seafair with Kelly.

I could like this girl. She's open, friendly, engaging, funny and honest.

And every time I tell myself that this woman isn't a threat to us I remember a few things:

Eric and I weren't exactly in forever mode before Greysen came along. In fact, we'd never made a decision much more future minded than whose house we were staying at for the weekend. I'd only met his dad twice and never met his mother. I'd only met his sister a few times and probably never would have met Nathan if Eric hadn't lived with him.

Plus, he's had MONTHS to propose...and hasn't. We have to get married in order to live with his mother. So we have to at least put on the front. And really, the only reason we're ACTUALLY getting married is because...well...I hate lying. And I'm not good at it. So...Eric's not marrying me because he wants to...he's marrying me because the situation demands it.

I know that he's happy. I work very hard to see that he is so. and logically, he has no reason not to be. I'm supportive, understanding, he has a nice, long leash (I'm riding the bus home for the next two days so he can go to Seahawks practice with his brother and he went hiking, two hours away, outside of cell range, with another woman this weekend). I can't think of any reason for him to be discontent and I've done all I can to give him an environment where he feels comfortable saying something if he is.

In short, I've given this everything I have. I've been the best girlfriend I know how to be.

And I'm still sitting here, wondering why he doesn't want to marry me. Apparently, there's just some little...something...missing.

I've spent the last week being threatened by a woman who, under any other circumstances, I would probably be awesome friends with. Wanna hear my final conclusion??

You can have him, Tja. Because he obviously doesn't want to marry me. And, really, as much as I love him (and my GOD do I love that boy...) I'm frustrated at all the time I've been wasting, worrying about whether or not I should be worried. I'm done. I'm over it. At the end of teh day, I know that I gave Eric every single fucking thing I have. Every tear, every inch of worry, every shred of understanding and support. I held NOTHING back from that man. And if it's not enough then he SHOULD go where he can be happy and be with someone he can't wait to propose to. If I'm not that girl...it's going to suck. It's going to hurt like none other for a while.

But I'll survive. I'll continue to breathe without him. I'm still loved, I'm still cherished...I'm still me. I'll have my friends, my career and my son. And I'm okay with that...because if Eric doesn't recognize how valuable I am...I know. And someday...someone else will, too. There's no way they couldn't.

So...I'm driving into work today, listening to Pandora (I freaking LOVE my I-phone, ya'll!). Michael Jackson's "Man in the Mirror" was on and it set me to thinking of MJs need to reach out to others with his music. Say what you want about his personal life (because it was hard to understand and outside of established social perameters), his music was brilliant and changed lives. The beats draw you in but the lyrics...the lyrics can (and sometimes do) make you take a deeper look at who you are and at the world you choose to see. This, my friends, is art at its best.

Anyway, I've discovered something remarkable in my musings: my whole life, I've wanted to be one of those people who wasn't afraid of anyone. I wanted to know that I was open minded enough to accept all races, creed, colors, orientations and cultures...even those I didn't understand. This is not an easy goal in our country. Quite frankly, Americans take nationalism to a level previously only established by Bismark and Hitler. We are fanatical about being Americans (go to Texas...you'll understand) and our media supports this. And, after 9/11, it took all of my higher intellect not to join the fervor of the morons who decided to forever after block all things Muslim and Middle Eastern from thier consciousness. Or worse...harm them.

I am not proud of this part of my being. And because I don't like it, I've tried very hard to change it. I've had wonderful help along the way. My dear friend Elena, who has spent sooo much time in the Middle Eastern countries and has adopted the Muslim religion as her own, Mary, who is deeply connected to the Muslim world through her dear friends, the Nazirs and Marina, who lets me see the world, every day, through the eyes of someon who didn't grow up here but spans two cultures beautifully, effortlessly and with intelligence, wisdom and humor. I am deeply lucky in my friends and I'm grateful, every day, for helps they probably aren't even aware that they give.

And Grey has given me one more. You see...it struck me as I was driving in, today, that the connections I'm looking for between myself and others who live lives that are not like mine is nestled in my tummy. Become a mother and you will know what it is to have a connection with every other woman on the planet. Feel your child move for the first time and then think about the fact that on the other side of the planet, there's a woman your age who is feeling the same thing...with the same wonder and awe and joy. Because, statistically, it's true. Somewhere in a culture I don't understand, in a country being run by madmen, there's a young woman who only wants her child to be happy and safe and loved. And under her Burka or Sari or beret is a heart that cares only for the ten tiny toes and ten precious fingers she's helping to create. As her stomach swells all that will occupy her mind will be her hopes and fears for that child. As my hopes and fears for Grey are all that occupy mine.

We are as different at can be...and yet not different at all. Because we are also connected to something so much more primal and powerful and so much...bigger...than politics and borders and all of the other things that the men on this world find important. And because our greatest power doesn't have physical force behind it, we have to be far stronger for far longer than those who do have force at thier disposal. And we are. We heal wounds, mend hearts and sicknesses, we send out countless prayers to various Gods. We are constant, faithful, loving and steady. And yet...we'd rip the still beating heart out of the chest of any person who hurt our children.

We are mothers.

We are amazing.

And we are exactly the same, all over the world.

Breathtaking, isn't it?

I am addicted to logic and reason. I reach for rational thinking like a desperate junky reaches for a needle. I feel myself relaxing the exact same way as objectivity starts to flow through my consciousness like heroine through a vein. It feeds me, this impericism. The rules, the order, the understanding...they are vital for me to continue to find a psychological center.

I find myself frustrated beyond all reason, today. I am dealing with legal matters on behalf of my one and only. I don't mind doing this for him because, as I've stated many times...I take care of the big things, he takes care of the small ones. I am not good at remembering to hang up my bath towels or putting the cap on the toothpaste. Eric is. And he lovingly does all of these things without reproach. Along with helping me through dizzy spells, being endlessly patient when I make him late (which I do often...and HE HATES BEING LATE!) and laughing instead of screaming when I dump lotion all over the car floorboard (which I TOTALLY did this morning...UUUURRRRGGGGHHH!) I, for my part, deal with legal matters, doctor's appointments, bills, budgeting and remembering birthdays and such.

Eric, like all of us, made dumb mistakes when he was younger. It didn't help that a vicious, vindictive ex-wife decided she was going to make him pay for every blessed thing she could. She took a young man of less than 22 and pasted him to the wall financially and made it impossible for him to see his children at all.

I am having issues because, quite frankly, it is impossible for me to find objectivity in this. It took a metaphorical act of God for me to settle down and find something more important to me than my career and my own inner musings. Eric was that act of God. Objectively, he is a perfect compliment to my mercurial, complicated mind. We love each other deeply and passionately, without reservations or conditions and that is apparent in everything we do. I hurt more than I'd ever have thought possible on his behalf. And looking back at how unfairly he was treated, how guilty he still feels over what transpired with the twins when they were born and watching his hesitant, tenative steps to have a relationship with them now (when usually he's sooo confidant and self assured!) breaks my heart in ways I don't even have words for.

I don't know how to handle this. I'm desperately grasping for the handhold of reason. I've done everything I can think of. I've supported his time with his children wholeheartedly. I've tried to walk that fine line of being involved without intruding. I want his kids to know that they are welcome additions to mine and Grey's lives because they make thier father happy...and all I want in this life is his happiness. I'm calling attorneys to attempt to restructure the child support and parenting plans so that they aren't so damned one sided and I'll do whatever is necessary to convince anyone I have to that, yes, he may have made mistakes once...but who he is NOW was indelibly shaped by them...and he'll never, ever make them again. My husband to be is a good man. And he should not have to pay for his youthful mistakes forever. Every pennance should have its end.

"I cannot do the God-like things I would like. If I have learned nothing else, I have learned this." ~Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood (paraphrased)

Please, all of my friends, angels and higher powers...help me to learn this thoroughly...so I can let go of some of my sadness for a little while.

It is an impossibly early hour on one of the few days I am allowed to sleep in. I should be nestled closely to my honey, sprinkling kisses on the shoulder I consider mine and sinking blissfully into that deeply contented rapture that is the trademark of our weekend mornings.

Instead, I am here, trying to stave off for just one more day the demons which stalk my soul and the ghosts that whisper in my mind. For those of you who aren't writers, I must explain: writing isn't merely a communication medium. It's far more powerful than that for those of us who use it as our art form. Between my mind, fingers and keyboard there is a flowing line of secrets, thoughts, fears and hopes. I know of no other way to BE in my writing than honest. And in return for my honesty, the medium gives me a safe, judgment free place to unburden my heart and let the chips fall where they may after it's all done. We are deep confidants and friends, my one small gift and I...and because of that friendship, I am allowed to know my own mind and be my own person.

I've had a lot to be troubled about over the last couple of weeks.

My sister and I set aside our tenative relationship this week for a time. This has left me wondering if there are things that are just too big to be overcome. My decision to leave my step-grandparent's home and family was one that I made, in large part, to spare her from what had happened to me. Looking back, I realize that I probably did it for no reason. I was not of thier blood and they knew this...which is why what I suffered at thier hands was justified in thier minds. For my grandfather, it wasn't incest....it was just a little underage sex. and for my grandmother and step-father, looking the other way was okay because, well...I was always studying and reading and thinking lofty ideas...I really needed to be taken down a peg. My sister was probably always safe.

It's amazing, the things that are said when you know a mind so well that not a word has to be spoken. I was a throw away child for them. Worth nothing. And looking back on the situation, realizing my sister was probably never in any danger, I find myself understanding everything with a sudden clarity.

They all knew. Of this, I've never had doubts. The grooming that goes into sexual molestation cases is loooong and arduous and increasingly less discreet. How many times, exactly, did they watch that man pat my butt and let his fingers linger there...at the age of fifteen? Or the push up bras and thong underwear given to an 11 year old (that she was later forced to model for him). The kisses that lasted too long and were in questionable places (how many times has your grandfather nibbled on YOUR ear?), the "encouragement" to watch soft core pornography and go commando around the house, the countless videos of my sunbathing or swimming in skimpy suits that he picked out for me...all of which, later, led to far more dangerous and damaging things.

There is no way one could not have read the signs. No way they could plead ignorance. So I've always wondered why it is that my leaving (and the subsuquent criminal charges/jury trial) were such a shock. Until I realized the overiding feeling in that family. I owed them. My mother was a meth addict, my grandmother thousands of miles away and my only other realatives besides those two wanted nothing to do with me. They took me in "by the good of thier heart" even though I wasn't theirs and that action should give them certain priveleges. If keeping my grandfather sexually sated was the price they demanded, I should have just shut up and let it happen. My betrayal to that family was in telling a secret they already knew all about not because it was a shock to them...but because I had no business speaking out after all they'd done for me.

I opened my mouth when I shouldn't have and ruined five other lives. My sister and brother being among them.

And here's the kicker: I've been conditioned so well that a tiny portion of my mind still feels guilty about that. My leaving that situation is seen by them as purely selfish. And the conditionaing I fight with on a daily basis...the rhetoric that tells me every morning that I don't deserve the life I've worked so hard for...agrees completely.

These are my demons and my voices. Dark, unforgiving and eternally noisome, they plague me at moments when I have no business being anything other than blissfully happy. I am deeply grateful for my life. A career I love, a man I adore and can lean on, a family of my own that I've built, friend by friend, piece by piece. But in the deepest hours of the night...I ultimately feel like it will all be taken away and given to someone far more deserving and worthy.

Because throw away children have no rights to expect anything.