anger management

I think I really do need anger management.  They say that depression is only anger turned inward.

That would make sense in this case.

The foreshadowing of the next three months here in the frigid, teeming weather in Vancouver hit me when my back went into spasm upon leaving the Dominican Republic.  Unfortunately, carrying my bag definitely wasn't a smart idea.

The anger hit when I realized that can no longer use my medicinal cannabis once we got home.

To us, in this hemisphere of the orb for we, who have 1st world knowledge, this will sound crazy, but I have to get back on pills, or the Dominican Republic won't let me live in their country.

They'd prefer I take morphine for the pain.  Seriously!!

I can't have the natural pain killers in my blood stream, as they will test my blood upon entry as a landed immigrant, so it's back to mother fucking pills.

Once more, they'll destroy my stomach and rob me of energy and happiness.  Hence, I got a little bit pissy in anticipation of taking them.

So much so, that as we were leaving the Dominican Republic, I had to relieve the angst by joking with the custom's officer about my bitchy attitude, and matching malicious face.

In Spanish, I told him I'm tired, hot, and added in, "La perra," the bitch.

He smirked, then looked at Papi as if to say, "Oh, you poor, poor soul."

However, to be honest, it was not just because my bitch of a back was biting at me, it was also because I didn't want to go home to deal with people who trigger my social anxiety, preventing me from leaving my home.

This one moment of returning home was just an appetizer of what's to come for the next three months.

There I went, the Limping Lesbian, to the washroom.  I sat on a toilet and sobbed, hoping nobody would come in to hear me.

I especially didn't want anyone to come in because I started talking to myself, begging to nobody in particular, "Please!  I don't want to go home!"

After a while, my ass got a little numb sitting there, so I decided to return to Papi.

Upon leaving the washroom, I saw the rows of Dominican rum that whispered very seductively to me, "You could have some pain and stress relief, right over here!"

Oh, sure I could, but then I'd be dealing with pain of another level, so I cried some more.

There I was, amongst all the happy travelers, in tears.

I pouted and gave people the stink eye when they'd stare at my state, and for a moment, was grateful that I actually had those miserable pills in our bags.  I took those, plus the anti-anxiety pills Papi stuffed down my yack.

I know I'm not alone in these feelings.  Vancouver is heading into it's depressive state, where a lot of us tend to be affected by it.  S.A.D. is real, and in Vancouver, it's in abundance.

My challenge for the next 3 months will be to stay positive while having horrid chemicals roaming through my blood, poisoning my mind and destroying my stomach.

Positive.  Stay positive.  Don't fall into the Pit of Doom, please!  Let's not have any Hurricane Andréa sightings, for the love of god!!!

I'm pretty sure right now would be a really good time to get on to my food plan 100%.

I brought Dominican chocolate home, but perhaps, this is going to be for giving away.  It's necessary to keep my body physically well, to keep my mind emotionally stable.

I really need to do this, because unlike some fortunate others who don't have a chemical imbalance, I need to work very hard to be happy.

I'm going to put a massive calendar on the wall to cross off the days until we leave, and know that eating very well every day is for a specific reason, not just a flippant 'diet'.

I need to get serious about my physical and mental health.

Not to mention, there's a third part of this equation; spiritual.  I'm pretty sure that thinking about stuffing my gun down potential predators' throats is not spiritual.

I could have better thoughts roaming through my brain.

i choose nourishing and healthy foods