Peeping Juan is back.

While The Guard was here, he noticed Peeping Juan staring in on our yard.

Normally, I would consider Dominican Daddy to be a sweet man, incapable of intimidating anyone.

With the exception of kids in the village that is.  Oh, but how they listen to him.

So, while he was looking at Peeping Juan staring into our yard, he gave the man the best stink eye I've seen in a while.

I was shocked.

Not just stink eye.

'Staring him down' stink eye.

'Barely blinking' stink eye.

That Peeping Juan never looked in our yard again.

That is of course, until he figured out we don't have The Guard anymore, and while Papi and I were in the pool, he realized I was topless.

We sorta thought we were free of the bastard, so we tried to enjoy our freedom.

I had wrapped my leg in plastic bags, put it up on the ledge and allowed the rest of myself to finally melt into the cool water, reclined on our seating area with my head resting poolside.

It was absolutely lovely.

I thought maybe I could do this more often.  Just have many plastic bags ready.

When Papi told me we had an issue, I damn near flipped out.

Papi said, "Don't freak out.  He has a gun."

I decided, "Fine.  Then I'll chop my mother fucking coconuts with my mother fucking machete and show him I'm capable of chopping his mother fucking dick off if he tried to come near me."

Off I crutched to my coconut chopping area, angrier than a stick poked hornets nest.

Every chop I did I said something that sounded good with exertion.

Didn't matter if it was in English.

"Can you!  Get me!  The!  Ant!  Killer!!!!"

There were ants everywhere.

It didn't matter.  He doesn't speak English.

For all he knows, my anger was saying, "I will!  Chop your!  Dick!  Right!  Off!"

It was my intention anyway.

Even though I was on crutches with a cast, I thought, if this is how I can yield this right now, give me a week, bitch.

You will not be messing with me.

He caught me on a Hurricane Andréa day.

I took all my anger out on that coconut, and the best part was, when I was finished, I had some lovely coconut water to enjoy from my labours.

I imagined myself as a cannibal serial killer, drinking his fucking blood.

I watched his perch as I drank the beautiful healing water.

I'm so angry now about this prick.

When the new people move in, I will tell them what their guard does and request they find someone who isn't a creep.

The new neighbour will understand.  He's an Canadian ex cop.

He won't want a person staring into someone's yard like a predator on his dime.

Anyway, I'm feeling much better now.

Mother nature gave me a nice fucking visit, so now I am not an old bag.  Yet I'm still cussing out my uterus for doing the only fucking thing it knows how.

I stopped eating the wheat so my brain is much more manageable.

I have accepted this fucking cast and crutches and am trying to tough out the pain like I did with my bitch of a back for 4+ years until we finally got here to Casa Paraíso.

I managed to play my piano yesterday and just sucked up the pain in order to give my heart some well needed practise, learning the new song MusicMan and I are working on: Jesse & Joy - ¡Corre!

And I showed myself I can still cut a fucking coconut despite my current situation.

Guess what tomorrow's task is?

Coconuts galore!

i am badass

gravity work your magic.

Oh, the ebb and flow of emotions.

Looks like that wave has crashed into the sand today.

Hurricane Andréa is upon us and she is one massive shitstorm.

I have the feeling I'll be wearing the cast for more than the 3 weeks they told me.

I'm still having a lot of pain.

So, having pain means, I'm trying to rest with my ankle up.

Resting too much means my bitch of a back acts up, because it does NOT like to be lying down with all my organs pressing on it for too long.

Fuck you back.  Like I need your fucking bullshit right now.

Then there's the meals I'm being fed, which are increasing the weight of fat pushing against my back as well.

Papi isn't much on cooking healthy food, so whatever is easiest for him is my meal; hot dogs, pasta, cornchips, chocolate.

I'm rolling around like a bloated manatee and having a major issue with my chemical imbalance.  Wheat makes me a little freaky.

Fuck you food allergy crazy brain.  How about we lay off the fucking wheat spaz-out, OK!?!?

Then, add in the fact that my cycle is a week and a half late.

I'm NEVER late.

I highly doubt Papi got me pregnant.

But I'll tell you, this is the PMS people use as an excuse in murder trials.

Perhaps it's due to stress?

Or, perhaps, all that sweating I'm doing has nothing to do with the crutches and the exertion it takes to get around.

Maybe I'm just going to stop that monthly womanly hell all together now and I'm having hot flashes sent directly from hell itself.

I'm old enough to be freed from my womanly duties.

You know what I don't understand?  If my fucking uterus won't give me a fucking baby, then why the fuck do I have to suffer through womanly hell every fucking 3 weeks?!?!?!

Huh?!?!?!  A big fuck you to my uterus.  If I could, I'd rip you out myself you fuckwad!

Not to mention, when I don't exercise, my brain gets a wee bit off kilter.

Anyway.

Put it all together, and I'm a fucking mess today.

I got up and cursed Papi's name a few times when I saw my bread wasn't put back in the freezer.

I'm glad he wasn't up, because after that, I really lost it.

I found our new cutlery in the cutlery drawer on top of all the old cutlery in a colossal clusterfuck of silver.

Swearing his name, I ranted, "What!?!?  Am I living with a fucking child?!?!?  And those fucking dishes!!!  I'm wobbling around in pain and you can't help with the fucking dishes?!?!?!"

When I finally had my coffee I calmed down a little, and remembered that there are many factors adding to my bad attitude today.

That it's not the cutlery or the bread.

I'm not myself today.

I started feeling messy yesterday when I couldn't get the mother fucking free video website to work so I could watch a fucking show and take my mind off the fact that I'm not able to play my fucking piano and ease this fucking insanity.

... excuse the run on sentence ... just felt right ...

I signed up for a free month of Netflix to watch Breaking Bad.

It was a good distraction to watch violence and anger played out by someone else, instead of spewing pea soup with my head rotating a few times.

I'm fucking sick of this.

And like I said, I'm pretty sure this fucking cast is staying on for longer.

I'm not impressed and I'm losing it.

However, what goes down, most definitely comes back up again.

Today's mission is working on patience.

everything happens for a reason

here comes the fight ...

Bed.

All day yesterday, all day today.

Shots of pain in my foot and leg, and it didn't help that The Donkey did her best to knock me over again today, and I tried to save myself by using my ripped ankle to get her off.

Furthermore, I suppose going out Saturday night wasn't the BEST thing for me.

Housemaid looked at me like I was a wimp and kinda laughed at me when I said I just couldn't come by for the invite for a Sunday party in the village.

Yeah, well, my body isn't quite as strong as it used to be.  I gave up being strong after the motorcycle accident.

I accept these shots of pain as a warning.  I allow them to tell me I've done 'enough'.

I had told her I wanted to lie down for a few days until Papi got here, and I should have followed my intuition instead of allowing for someone to persuade me otherwise.

I feel so bad for the dogs.

I hear them acting out.

I read the sadness in their eyes that they can't be near me.

I sense the confusion.

"Why are these other people feeding me, but we're in the same house?"

It's OK my little loves.

Papi comes home in ONE MORE SLEEP and you'll feel things are back to normal.

I'LL feel things are back to normal.

The cats will be miserable again, because the dogs will be in the room.

That's OK.  They had a lovely week with some isolated time with me.

The inverter went out last night.

It wasn't the best sleep, listening to the white noise of the fan to try to keep me cool.

It was pretty hot, but Papi comes home in ONE MORE SLEEP to fix everything.

Papi's coming home tomorrow!!!!!  TOMORROW!!!!!!

At least I'll have my love to take care of me.

I'm staying in bed another day.

I think it finally hit me, after I realized that I truly have a nasty injury last night.

I can't just up and run about with a cast on my leg.

Housemaid will just have to find someone else to party with.

I know that she enjoys my time, as does Our Fave's Mom, as she called me a total of 16 times yesterday.

I understand, she's back in town and would love me to see Little Angel, but when you're tired and hurting, you kinda just want some quiet time.

I'm just too exhausted to even try to speak Spanish, so I studied it instead.

I spent the entire day filling out flashcards in the awesome new flashcard program I found: StudyBlue.

When I switched from iPhone to Galaxy, I had to make a whole new batch, and that's still considered studying.

An entire Sunday, filling in flashcards, instead of talking.

I'm tired.

I hurt.

I have a lot of healing to do.

I didn't even go downstairs for a healthy dinner.

Chocolate was on the menu, as I didn't have to get out of bed for that.

The novelty of my first cast has worn off and now I'm into the injury depression.

Chronic pain will do that.

I anticipated it, but hoped I could stay busy enough for it not to hit me.

No matter how much Housemaid tried to entertain me, there's just no escaping the injury depression.  It really is unavoidable.

It has arrived and Hurricane Andréa is just around the corner.

Time to mope in my bed, just in time for Papi to return.

You poor soul, Papi.

I am grateful for prozac.

Oh, but I'll fight that bitch tooth and nail, all the way down to the Pit of Doom.

i have the ability to choose happiness

the creep

your sunday sillies

So, I really wanted to sleep in today, but Papi was up to talk about what happened to me the other day, still processing the anger he feels, and the need to defend me.

I can't get back to sleep once I've started talking, so here I am.

Up.

Thinking about my experience.

I knew the guy was a creep, but I had to deal with him to teach piano to his daughter.

He was always commenting on what I wear.  I wear clothes that keep me cool.

Apparently, it's not right for a gringa to wear clothes that are to help with the heat here.

He would say, "I like your shorts," or "I had to laugh when you came in, because the wind lifted your skirt."

I would just take it, because I know that Dominicans are very forward that way, but thought that if I didn't give any indication that I was interested, he might get bored and cut it out.

Then the other day, I went to go in to teach, and when I let myself in the front door, there he was, sitting on the couch with his 'man zone' standing at full attention, sticking out of his pants!

I averted my eyes, thinking that the 'poor guy' would be embarrassed that I saw 'his issue'.

Looking down at the dog, I diverted all my attention elsewhere, giving him a chance to put that thing away, and went straight in to teach the child.

However, I learned the other day that his boner was NOT an embarrassment.

It was intentional.

Friday, having finished teaching his daughter, it was time for me to get paid and go home.

He walked me to the gate, with his usual comments about what I was wearing, "I like THAT dress you have on."

I tried to take it as a compliment, "Aw!  Thank you!" the way any polite Canadian would.

That was the wrong thing to do.

He immediately pointed to his crotch, "Look!  This is because of your dress," and there it was; his fucking pecker pointing straight out of his nylon pants that are meant for the gym.

I suppose they're great for an erection too.  They show the full meal.

Then as I shook my head and walked away as quickly as possible, he pointed to it again, saying, "This is all YOUR fault!"

I drove away as fast as I could, but I realized that I still have a lot to learn with my P.T.S.D.

I freeze when predators come too close, and can't defend myself.

I get this ridiculous nervous laugh and I can't control it.

I've always done it.

I get nervous, I laugh.

Some fucking defence mechanism!!!!

"Hey Andréa!  What's your super power?!?"

"Giggling."

Yeah.  Really good.  Couple that with the flashbacks I've been having all weekend and we're close to a Hurricane Andréa sighting.

Now, I see him as a full on predator.  That's what predators say, "It's YOUR fault I raped you, because of what you were wearing.  I couldn't help myself."

I can't go back, and I feel bad for the kid, because she was just getting somewhere with our lessons.

Then what we learned from the people on the DR1 Forum is that because I'm white, I can't wear tank tops, shorts or skirts above the knees.

If this was Canada, I could report the guy and be done with it.

Here?

They'd laugh me out of the office and do the same, or worse to me.

We are not in Canada.

I am a white woman.

I am fair game for the huntsmen.

i take comfort in the fact that i can always leave this situation

happy anniversary my love

There's supposed to be a tropical storm that could turn into a hurricane.

No, not Hurricane Andréa.

I'm doing fine for a change.

An ACTUAL tropical storm.

Papi has been talking about it for the last week and I just keep rolling my eyes and pooh-pooh-ing him when he mentions it.

One of the perks of living on the North Coast, is we don't get hit by many of the storms.

So, I just keep giggling at him and smiling when he goes on about it.

Then, Jersey Girl wrote me an email giving me all kinds of tips on how to stay safe during the storm that is supposed to hit.

Well, she's been here for a while, so yeah, I'll listen to her.

We scrambled about, bringing in anything that could fly around and take out Pathetic Puppy's other eye,  closed the all the windows, then went to bed.

I got up this morning to a beautiful day.

Sun shining, waves calm, and then with no warning, it all went away and the rain started.

That's one thing that makes me feel at home here.

It's just like Vancouver in the sense that if you don't like the weather, wait 10 minutes and it will turn on a dime.

Only the rain here in the Dominican Republic puts Vancouver to shame, making Vancouver's rain seem like just a spit compared our monsoons.

Anyway, the thunder is rolling in and I love it!

But it meant that I had to come in from the outdoors.

I came in to find a chicken scratch note from my love.

Pathetic Puppy was at it again last night, only in an activity that could have killed her.

The tumultuous cane toad.

She was playing with it.

It could have killed her with it's defence mechanism of spewing poison.

So, my love had to give the baby a poison kit.

Having a gut of steel, this dog can take anything.

She seriously is from hell.

She's a bit like me.

You can't kill me, or her.

In Papi's note, he mentioned it's under a dog bowl by the pool.

Dominican Daddy is here doing his fancy yard work and I told him about the problem, but obviously not knowing the word for 'toad' in Spanish.

So, first thing in the morning, there I was doing charades.

He laughed, then merely lifted the dog bowl Papi had trapped it under and threw it into the ocean, shaking his head at the silly gringa.

We are so not used to this world.

One day, it will be second nature and I'll be tossing out the cane toad without a blink, ready for any tropical storm that threatens us and nobody will laugh at our dramatic ways, because we'll be relaxed.

One day.

Today is not that day.

As I watch the storm roll in, and Dominican Daddy work his magic in the yard, I'm still amazed that we are here.

We're actually here.

And today?

Today is our anniversary.

We were not ready for it, so next weekend we'll be celebrating.

We're going to go see a part of the island that had us dizzy in circles once.

This time, we're going to google it and get there and back without a problem.

We're actually going to have a mini-holiday and see this fine island that is now home.

Happy anniversary, baby.

We did it.

We really, really did it.

my friends do not judge me, nor do they influence what i do with my life

never a day without learning

Wow.

Mr. Lumpy is actually shrinking!!!

All I'm taking are amino acids and Vit. E., however, in high doses.

But he's gone down.

The pain is less.

The itching is less.

The wall is fixed.

... sorry to switch topics on ya like that ...

The kitty litter boxes now have a box on top.

Cheesecloths, pot holders and anything else that could possibly have the scent of ANY kind of food on them are raised above donkey level.

Major puppy-proofing is in order.

Next, chicken wire for the ground.

This is a serious project.

You should see what I did to the balcony railing upstairs.

We had puppies on the terrace rooftop.

Not anymore.  A little bit of string is now cobwebbed through and there are no more puppies on the roof.

I also found out today that I have less time teaching at Dream Project than I thought, which pleases me.

I have a tendency to take on more than I should.

I get a little too gung-ho and take everything on at once, then realize it's not really possible for one person to do it all.

Yet, somehow, I do.

I thought this trait left me after the motorcycle accident, but in so many ways here in the Dominican Republic, I'm learning that I'm not completely healed.

I thought I could lift a 5 gallon bottle of water into the water cooler.

Because I am healed, right?

Nope.

I'm still fragile, it's just that I don't have to take pills every day to ease my pain.

So, I have to remember, still, that I can only do so much.

Because lord knows, once that stress kicks in, my brain won't function and NOT A THING will get accomplished.

So, upon hearing that it's not going to be full time work this month and September, I was pleased.

More than pleased.

I need my time for my own creativity too!

That's the trap I fell into when I was teaching for a living.  All work and no creativity gives us a Hurricane Andréa sighting.

I never did get that digital piano from Santo Domingo on the Mr. Lumpy tour.

Papi and I couldn't find the store.

So I ordered one online.

It should be here this week and the MusicMan has me practising Jazz standards, which will give my brain a run for it's money!

Accelerated review of all that I learned in college that has completely left my mind!

I have to learn it all over again.

Anyway, the other part of having more time, means more time for training these demon dogs.

And puppy-proofing the house.

They are like having triplet toddlers who get into everything at the same time, and I only have 2 hands to catch them with.

That right there is a full time job.

I'll love them a little more when I'm not mad at them all the time.

They sure look cute when they sleep.

Maybe I'll put a little whiskey in their water.

i love to learn

i can do this.

OK.

So I'm a sick puppy.

I never said I wasn't.

Papi said it's not right of me to speak publicly about just how deranged I can get at times.

Hey!

What kind of entertainment would you have if I didn't?

Anyway, I'm feeling a lot less self-destructive today, although I now have to deal with the Anorexia Monster who took over 3 days ago.

Still, this is a substantial start.

We spoke last night, long after his 'normal drinking' didn't lead to doom and destruction, and he told me it's also not right of me to talk about his business.

Fair enough, I apologized.  I'll do my best to keep this to my problems.

However, I'll tell you something.  Someone out there, right now, is going through the same fucking emotions as I'm going through right now.

They're dealing with the same pain.

They need to hear that they are NOT alone and can get through it too, by being honest.

I am not ashamed of my lunacy.

It is who I am.

I was born this way.

Trust me.

I put my mother and my baby sister through hell when my utter unsound mind kicked in at the age of 10.

I was given the gift of music to help me through these times, only I can't use it right now, because my recording system is so fucked up.

So, I have to do what I can to survive these emotions.

My best technique is to write to 'you', who are either here to enjoy the madness, here to see that I'm ok, or here to relate.

But hey, the crazed cleaning was pretty nice.  I've never had a house so in order.

Judge me and call me crazy if you like.  It's the truth.

I know WHO I am.

I also know I'm married to someone who shares similar mental illnesses.

Having those that are slightly different is what makes it difficult.

I will trust his 'normal drinking' for now.

All he asks, is that I trust him to only want it for hanging loose in the beautiful Caribbean and not for the annihilation of his spirit.

All I ask is that I'm shown he loves me.

I felt that his drinking meant he didn't love me enough, and was trying his best to rid me of his life.

He does love me, and there's no way for me to tell you how he proved it, because you could never understand the connection we have.

As long as I have his love, I can pretty much get through anything.

I will get through this with some trust and a lot of love.

Many people have sent me their angels.

Thank you.

They have been received.

I am out of the Pit of Doom today.

Just because I am loved by mi esposo, I am not crying today.

Just because I am loved by so many friends, I have some peace today.

Just because I begged the angels to get me through this, I am trusting my love.

He had his 'normal drinking' last night and he didn't die.

I will do my best to trust that he can do this.

I know he loves me.

That's all I need to get through this.

For now.

i release any desperation and allow love to find me

i need help.

Your Sunday Sillies YouTube show:

I wish life were as silly as it seems on these videos.

I tend not to tape a lot of the real deal for these videos, but I will start to.  No point in calling it the live version of the blog if it doesn't reflect it, no?

If you're a Facebook friend, I'm stepping away from the toxicity for a week or so, but I'll be back to post next weeks YouTube show.  I need to only speak to close friends right now while I try to get better.

If you're an avid blog reader, you know I can't stay away from getting my emotions out here, so I'll be writing, but there won't be any posting to Facebook for the time being.  You can add me on G+ or Twitter if you want reminders, or feel free to come back on your own accord with your own memory of me here.

... i want to fade away ...

I have great gratitude for my texting system on this computer to get a hold of my baby sister and my Eternal Friend, and I'm adding a few more who have iPhones so that I can have someone to contact when I feel I'm falling again, or when I need to be honest about the thermonuclear meltdown that is Hurricane Andréa.

Fitting, that there is an actual Hurricane Andréa as we speak.

When I have bad energy going on, the whole world gets to experience it.  Sorry about that folks.  I have SOME power, don't I?

Yesterday was the most difficult as I was in panic attack mode for about 6 hours straight.  Hyperventilating, I couldn't walk very far, because my lack of breath stole my strength.

But that didn't stop me from getting to the kitchen.

The day before, cutting my arm stopped my tears.

It didn't work yesterday.  I tried on my leg, but to no avail.

I even went as far as using a serrated knife in hopes that it would go deeper and I would bleed out the pain of tears.

It didn't work.  All it left me with are a bunch of painful cuts and welts.

Papi got a little angry when he saw them.  He hadn't seen the first ones because I wouldn't really let him get close enough to me to see them.

But he grabbed my arm in anger of the realization that I'm a hell of a lot sicker than he thought.

Well Papi, if I have to watch you harm yourself, then you get to watch me harm myself too.

I took more of Papi's clonazepam to stop what felt like lung convulsions, because I came to the conclusion that hurting myself isn't helping matters.

I'll try not to hurt myself anymore.  I just need some peace.

Today, I thought I would water my fruit trees and garden at 8 a.m. without any chance of kids finding me, but Our Favourite was at the gate.

I was able to hide behind the new casita until he got bored and left.  I made the house look like we were not up, but that the dogs were in the yard without us.  Yes, once again I am held hostage in my prison away from the beauty of the outside world.

Even in my tears yesterday he wouldn't leave.  I was crying so hard and he just tugged at my arm wanting my attention.  I said, "No friends today!!!  Today is a very bad day!!"  Which is an understatement.  I am in full throws of the Pit of Doom.

Children don't get it, but at least he didn't see me while I hid behind the casita today.

Papi said he was moving into the casita, then changed his mind.  "Why should I have to?  This is my house too."

Then I found his stash of alcohol he had hidden.  I threw it on the bed and asked for a divorce.

Later, I asked him if he was drinking and using pills because he WANTS me to leave.  "Do YOU want a divorce?"

No he didn't.  So I told him that I would suffer through his drinking, but there were going to have to be some 'rules' in place.

You drink?  You do it outside, never around me.  You are alone or you can knock yourself out with the other alcoholic, Mr. Gummy, in the village.

You are drunk?  Do not bring your stench of musty, rotting, repugnant, day-old alcohol smell into the bed.  It's enough to make me puke.  Sleep elsewhere when you are offensive and fetidly rancid.

You pass out in the pool?  I'll still drag you out, because I love you too much to lose you to death.

You kill yourself from drinking?  I'll pull your dried, brittle bones from the ground and lie in them every night so that I'm never away from you.

I look at the dried blood on my cuts and wish that it were simple enough to bleed out the tears that feel like they flow through my veins.

All I'm left with are welts and scabs.  No relief.  I need some peace in my heart.

I've begged the angels to help me with this, but I'm not feeling like they're responding.  So, could someone please send me yours?

I really need help right now.

i forgive myself for any and all past mistakes

if i could pop you like a zit ...

Communication in the Dominican Republic doesn't need to have a language barrier to make it difficult.

It just isn't their strong suit.

Mind you, it's not the strong suit of some friends who seem to have gone dorment since this all started, echoing the experience after my motorcycle accident, when people just didn't know what to say, so instead of supporting me, they merely vanish along with their awkwardness.

All I can say is, I'm grateful for the few that have said words of strength.  YOU lift me up.

"Come back on Monday for the biopsy, the doctor will be ready," said our attending.

So, I freaked out all weekend, having never had a biopsy before.

I had panic attacks.  I cried.  There were more than a few Hurricane Andréa sightings as I was at the bottom of the Pit of Doom once more.

No matter how hard I tried to calm down, my mind just whispering, "Monday, you're mine.  Monday, it all comes down.  Monday ..." like some stalker calling me on the phone every hour to torment me.

Only, I couldn't hang up.

Well, Monday came and I was a mess.  I had done so well the day before with everyone telling me it was just a cyst and I actually felt that I believed it, but the day came and I was hooped again.

Off to the hospital we went, and after 2 hours of waiting the appropriate Dominican Time to see the doctor for our 2:30 appointment, he asked us, "So, what can I do for you today?"

Really?  You're for real right here?  Papi and I looked at each other with disbelief, like he'd just barfed shards of glass through our already thin skin.

We started from the beginning of the story, sounding monotonous, because the story now FEELS tiresome.

He had me disrobe right there, felt Mr. Lumpy for a moment then said, "It's probably benign, but we should do the test anyway because it's on the lymph node.  Come back tomorrow after fasting for the blood tests and after the results we'll book you a biopsy."

You're fucking kidding me, right?  I panicked all weekend for you to push around Mr. Lumpy and tell me to go starve myself?

Now I have to deal with this bullshit for a few more days?

Well, we did what we were asked, and the blood tests were ready for that afternoon and he went over them and told us to come back tomorrow for the biopsy at 9 a.m.

We were there, he wasn't.

He showed up around 11.  Dominican Time.

The biopsy was finally done at about 12:30.

It really didn't hurt all that much, so really, I was afraid of nothing.

Again, he said, "It's probably benign."  The only problem is, there's a mark on my mamm where the needle went in, but that's not where Mr Lumpy resides.

Mr. Lumpy is about 3 cm lower, and my damn tit is still just as itchy as it was the day I started complaining about it.

Now we wait for a week to find out that the results say, 'benign', then we go for a 2nd opinion.

After that, I carry my ass off to Canada to get the cancer gene test, where I get to go be in pain from the temperature difference.

I'm so sick of all this that I just don't even care anymore.  I honestly don't.  I'm done crying, I'm done being afraid, I'm done worrying.

I'm fucking pissed off.

This was not what moving here was about, but all of a sudden it's all about Mr. Lumpy.

Well, you know what Mr. Lumpy?  You can just fucking sit there and do whatever you have to do for a week.  For a month.  I don't care.

Grow if you want to, go away if you get bored now that I refuse to be entertained by you anymore, but Mr. Lumpy, I'm done.

The depression Mr. Lumpy has put me in has robbed me of all strength and energy.

This is not living.  If you're going to kill me, get it over with.  If you're not, then fuck off.

If I could pop you like a zit, you'd be MY victim.

Go bug someone else your own size.  Like a cockroach.

At this point, I feel if this really was something sinister, I doubt my angels would put me through the wringer to find out.

I'm through with your pestering.

loving myself heals my life ... i nourish my body and soul

thermo-nuclear meltdown

Meltdown.

Not because of the lump in my breast, per se.

The doctor relieved a bit of my fears by telling me that a lump wouldn't hurt to touch, plus it can move around, so it may be ok.

However, it is RIGHT on my lymph nodes, so it's worth investigating.

Calmed my fears a bit, but still, the stress is difficult.

It's not just the stress of the breast.

There's just so much to deal with and sometimes, it's overwhelming.

I can only do so much and with Papi having debilitating depression, I'm kinda left holding the ball.

When I have enough energy and time to clean the house, it's still a disaster no matter how hard I try.

I have people calling my name at all hours until the sun goes down.

We've got people trying to make our lives miserable by threatening to call the police on us for cutting down some trees that are impeding our electricity lines.

The land isn't theirs, but they saw the banana tree first, so they claimed it.  The land belongs to an American who hasn't done anything with his acres, but they decided the banana tree was theirs.

Bananas grow like weeds here.

I'm not kidding.

I just removed 5 from my yard that popped up and already there's two more to get rid of.

Did you know they are actually weeds?  Yeah.  I didn't either until now.

I'm constantly running around pulling them out of the ground as fast as I can.  I don't like bananas, and if I let them grow, they'd push out my mango.

I am in love with my mango tree.

You don't fuck with my mango tree.

Anyway, when our 'friend' threatens to call the police on us about a tree that ISN'T on his land, it makes us a little more than upset.

We apologized profusely, stating that we didn't know the tree was his, because it's not his land, then bought him a beer of regret, and told him I'd give him MY bananas when they're ready.

Then he went ahead and cut down more stuff in the lot that doesn't belong to him and told us WE have to pay for it.

When his family and friends got involved in supporting him that we needed to pay, we caved and gave him the money to keep the village from forming a mob attack.

Yeah.

This is living with the people that my one 'friend' judged then dissed me about for putting up a wall.

Well, she's not really a 'friend' anymore.  She's part of the cool kids now.  On the 'hate the Hector-Browns' bandwagon.

Put that all together with never ending work and the fear about how we're going to eke through with what little money we have, and you have Hurricane Andréa.

It's not just the lump in my breast, but I'll tell you, that definitely put the cherry on top.

I lost it last night.

I rib Papi for taking too much clonazepam, but sometimes, I'm just so happy he has it in his possession, because when I can't stop crying out of fear, exhaustion, anger and frustration, those little gems just knock me out and I sleep through the night.

Well, after my sleep and my meltdown, today all I'm left with is depression.

That's a little better than all-out, hysterical, hyperventilating crying.

After 2 pm, we'll find out how everything is with the mammogram I had yesterday.

Which, I might add, was VERY uncomfortable having a male nurse push my little teets all over the place.

I know he's a pro, but damn, can't they find a woman for these sensitive times?

He was nice enough, but I'll tell you, I was grateful I was stinkin' to high heaven with smelly armpits so that I didn't have an ounce of 'sexy' in me and he ran for the door when finished.

Since my visit to the doctor, I'm pretty sure it's just a cyst.

It's just that until I get final word, all I do is obsess.

Obsession is bad for my brain.

Not much I can do about it until we get this day over with and hear the good news from the doc himself.

Meltdown.

hardship helps me grow into a better person

there's always an opportunity for a new beginning

He already came.

His spirit already appeared to show that he was well and loved us.

He still needs to do a little more cleaning, but give the guy a break!  He's only been able to clean himself for less than 2 days.

Point is, he already came, meowing in full force!!!!!

I went to the garden and placed my hands over his energy.

Then I plucked out all the damn weeds that were invading my happy soil for my veggies!!!!

Today, I will plant more.

Anyway, back to me.

I had a meltdown yesterday, in full force, scale 5, Hurricane Andréa.

It's difficult, because when Papi grieves, he needs to be alone.

When I grieve, I need to be held.

I don't get to have that option.  I have to be alone in my pain, because I don't have friends here I can just call up and say, "Can you come over and just let me lie on your shoulder while I cry?"

Instead, I hold the Jake-a-Like.

True to his doppelganger, The Galloping Gazelle, he is the world's best cuddler.

When I needed him to just let me hold him, he didn't move.  He allowed me to do what I needed.

I was grateful.

I realize that I've fallen.

My depression has left me without seeing anything of worth in my life.

I know this is a lie my mental illness whispers to me.

I know there is so much in life to be grateful for, but when you fall into the Pit of Doom, sometimes, it's really hard to get out.

My Friend of the Angels helped.  She sent energy, and the next day, I had someone who I had been searching for, find me.

I was at the hardware store, like I seem to be every day with one or more of the workers, and he appeared.

He could see the pain in my eyes.

He told me, that living in this country is all about learning, that I'll never stop learning while I'm here, and to be prepared for that work.

He also told me that I have to keep my heart open, even when the worst is happening.

I told him I understood, and that my philosophy has always been, that when you stop learning, you die.

This morning, I want to live.

I have plans in place today to start finding my strength again.

To try to dig myself out of the Pit of Doom.

To find paradise in my soul.

I stopped working on myself, when friends abandoned me back home, then I became so busy trying to care for all the workers who needed me.

I forgot about me.

I also forgot, that when you have a chemical imbalance, a mental illness, it never rests.

It's never really 'cured'.  It lies waiting.  Every once in a while, it tests the waters to see how much power it can pull from you.

If you have enough in place to fight it, it can't come in.

Let your guard down for a few days, and dammit, but you're fucked.

I'm fucked.

But I am beginning again today.

The visit from my sweet little departed soul to tell me he's happy will help me.

He's an angel now, and he will be my strength for my first steps today.

I'm doing 10 days of hard working gratitude.

I do my gratitude every night, but I need to step up my game.

All day long.

Writing it on the walls.

And here.

Will you join me with writing yours here?

It would really make me happy.

the more grateful i am, the more reasons i find to be grateful

GRATITUDE LIST, DAY 1/10
1. I am grateful for this blog to help me work through my emotions.
2. I am grateful for 'you' being here to support me, even when 'you' are anonymous.
3. I am grateful we now have a healthy bed to sleep in.
4. I am grateful for the hard work I did yesterday, washing laundry by hand.  I now have underwear.
5. I am grateful the heat heals my physical pain.
6. I am grateful I have friends who show me how much they love me.
7. I am grateful for friends who remind me, that if I ever left this planet, they'd be hurt.  I stay for their hearts sometimes.
8. I am grateful for people who stick with me, even when I'm at my worst.
9. I am grateful the angels brought me messages that all will be ok and that they are here.
10. I am grateful that the puppies make me laugh, to counter-balance when I want to kill them for destroying my underwear.

Paradise is NOT a 'place'.

The party.

Unlike any baby shower you'll find in Canada.

Canada?  Ladies only for the most part.

Silly games to keep us entertained, refreshments with a few tame drinks.

Music on, really only for ambiance.

Baby shower in Dominican Republic?

Co-ed, rum being chugged before it's poured into the glass.

Music so loud, there's no point having a conversation.

I filmed people dancing instead.

Our Fave's Mom looked so damn beautiful.

I've never seen her look so good, because the poor thing is so damn pregnant, she doesn't have the energy to fancy herself up.

Damn she's beautiful with her hair down and those massive breasts spilling out of her Spanish style top.

I actually didn't recognize her at first!

I had a tour of their fruit trees, pigs and chickens.

We're talking at least 20 fuzzy, baby chicks too.

Holding them to give me so much love that I need right now.

They chirped in my ear, "I love you, it's really good to be alive!"

Yeah, you're not old enough to know how bad life really gets.

Oh, but you won't be saying that when it's YOUR turn to be in the pot of food they were cooking for the party last night.

I was also the tester of the food to see if it was good.

Good?!?!

Oh I can't even tell you the flavours they use here.

I was grateful to be the tester.

Papi kept disappearing.  Understandable.  His social anxiety is worse than mine.

He was supposed to be behind the camera to keep himself busy so he didn't feel uncomfortable, but people were shy in front of him.

He handed it back to me.

The 2nd time he disappeared, I went to the house to get the flash for the camera.

I saw it.

A pint of beer poured.

My heart stopped, my stomach erupted through my head and the tears were being held back with all my force.

I was supposed to go back and take pics of Our Fave's Mom opening her gifts.

No time to cry.

As soon as I was done however, I went home to find that Papi didn't drink the beer.

Not because he came to his senses, but because he was caught in the act.

His way of dealing is to relapse.

My way to deal with depression is to get so angry that my yelling actually scares away all the animals, for fear that they will be pulled into the eye of Hurricane Andréa.

Normally, they see me as all love.

I'm hurting and scared and feel so isolated, so when there were no friends to speak to by way of internet, well, I lost it.

Papi's grieving.

Today we put down Psycho Kitty.

Poor little critter has had enough.  I keep begging him to go to the angels on his own, but he's just too much of a fighter.

I've had enough of watching him suffer, not being able to even open his mouth enough to eat.

Papi's had enough of watching his little love slowly die before him.

Beyond the dying cat, there is so much exhaustion and trouble to deal with that we're at the point where we half heartedly spoke about the convenience of there being two guns for a double suicide.

This is not paradise.

Paradise is not a place.

Paradise is in your heart.

A beautiful view of the ocean does not cure a mental chemical imbalance.

i offer a sincere apology to those affected by my anger

dog mania

I need a vacation from my baby sister's vacation.

We're quite busy.

Not to mention, I'm eating the worst foods.  All my allergy foods, and now I'm kinda in addiction mode.  No problem.  Veggie day today.  All day.  Only veggies.  That will take care of that!

So, it wasn't a surprise to me when I found there was a bit of a Hurricane Andréa sighting in the house this morning.

It didn't help that I had the Housemaid come trying to get more money out of us this morning.

We had made the mistake of feeling sorry for her, and decided we would use her to get the rocks we so desperately need for our front area to protect us from those waves.

Those waves are CRAZY today!  Our yard will be washed away if we don't get a barrier.

But again yesterday, she tried to tell us we need to pay off the authorities in order to do it.

I just looked at her and said, "Fine.  No more money.  No more Marina.  No rocks."

I find it 'interesting' that she returned this morning, saying there was no need for Mr. Extortion now.

Somehow, she got 'permission', which was explained to me while I was trying to do my morning routine today.

I think I need a sign on all the doors.

"Do not disturb the gringo while she's eating breakfast.  There will be swift consequences.  It is her blog time."

So, I'm doing my blog after the fact, but, like I said, makes for a bitchy, Pissy Face.

Anyway, I'm also a little tired from trying to keep up with my baby sister and family.

Today, they're on an excursion, so we're going to pick up another dog.

I mean, what else should we be doing other than picking up another dog?

She's only 4 months and should prove to be a GIANT hound.

She's an Irish wolfhound crossed with a rottweiler, so, imagine a really tall, bearded rottweiler.

She's another rescue.  Well, here in the Dominican Republic, almost all the dogs are rescues.  Not too many people buy their dogs from breeders.

Except Mr. Richy Rich next door.  He OBVIOUSLY got his 3 rottweilers from a breeder.

Fine dogs those ones.  They walk like a school of fish.  Their rottweiler asses switch back and forth, in an equal, graceful gait, with every gargantuan step they take.  Mouths open in a half smile, heads turning in tandem from any noise that might be grabbing their attention.

Gorgeous!!!

Anyway, we're good with mutts and Dominican dogs.

So, while my sister is out giving candy and school supplies to the Haitian village kids, we'll be bringing home another dog.

The people at AAAS were grateful that we tried out Mr. Majestic.  Now they have excellent information about him, so that they could market him for the right family.

It made me feel so much better.  It felt like we weren't just dropping off a dog because we gave up.  We were giving some family the proper information so that he could be placed in a home where he gets the right attention, and perhaps doesn't have to feel like he's failing all the time.

How horrible it must be to always be told you're doing the wrong things?!?!

He'll go to a family where he'll be the greatest guard dog, be told he's wonderful and live happily ever after.

Old Ghost Face is doing so much better now!  She's come up for cuddles, and even came into the house for 10 minutes.

Well, not really on her own.

Papi sorta 'lovingly' dragged her in to let her know she's allowed.

The visit didn't last too long.  I don't think she's ever been in a house.

But here we are.

Dog mania.

Dogs.

Nothing but dogs.

I'm in heaven.

healthy foods taste better

leave me alone.

The puppies are free.  The doors are closed.

We have one man coming back to fix the filter on our house water, but that's really it for today.

I woke up and opened every window and door in our house and smiled at Casa Paraíso and it was a bright shiny day.

It was at that moment, that I realized just how uncomfortable I am with strangers in my space, and just how much I've learned not to trust people.

I know that when I had roommates, it was hard for me to keep Hurricane Andréa under wraps, and the demon horns from sprouting up every time I didn't like something.

Maybe it's because I grew up in small spaces with my mother and sister?

I remember the first time I was the happiest was when I lived in a dark, dank, mouldy basement suite in East Van.

I didn't care how awful it was and that there were mushrooms growing out of the walls in the bathroom.  I was happy because I had my Dearly Departed Gypsy, my piano and my very own space.

Now I see it.  I can live with Papi and animals, but that's about it.

Can you imagine what a crabby old bitch I'm going to be in the old folks home?  I'll probably be that old fart hiding in my room yelling, "Get the hell out!" when someone knocks on my door.

That's if I make it that far without doing myself in with all the stress I put myself through.

Yesterday, I obsessed all day long about the rest of the chocolate that was in the cupboard.

It called me.

I kept ignoring it until the little voice in my head said, "You know, if you eat the chocolate, it won't be here anymore and you can stop obsessing about it!"

So I ate it.  Then berated myself.

However!  I did exercise and that made me feel stronger and gave me hope that I will feel good in my skin once more.

There was also one image that I remember seeing in the past that came up on Facebook yesterday.  It seems to help me every time, and somehow, comes along at the moment I need it.

Leave it to Marilyn to save my brain from insanity.

She reminded me of a time when I was close to 150 lbs and I was completely made of mighty muscle.

I was boxing then.  I was strong.  I had such big biceps that the sleeves of my t-shirt were tight against my arms, yet I had no unnecessary fat on my body and loved myself for working so hard at being so sturdy.

My friend asked me very sweetly, "Just curious, but how much bigger do you need your arms to be?!?!"

I had a reminder from one of my great Blogger Friends yesterday, that he loves his lady no matter what size she is and that nobody really likes to look at a skinny old bag.

All the strangers are gone from our yard.  Our doors and walls are up.  Our pool is still being treated for the mud water, but soon, very soon it will be functional and my life will be filled with exercise.

Today, I stare out at the ocean as I write every word in this blog in my serene space.

Today, I felt like we were actually going to have the life we desire here.

Today, I woke up with a new beginning, and more silliness to continue editing on our YouTube show for its Sunday airing.

I keep being reminded of who I am and what I need to be comfortable.  I'm learning so much about myself in this move.

I am grateful for the lessons, and the fruit ice that I made yesterday to keep my sweet tooth curbed.

What a difference a day makes, how amazing is it to be reminded by mi esposo and my friends that being loved has nothing to do with my size.

it is easy for me to stay on my food plan to maintain a healthy weight

let the chaos begin

The 2nd puppy has arrived!!

I'd love to take pictures of her, but damnit if Papi hasn't hidden the camera on the bandidos.

Or perhaps, me?  Always when I bring it out, I hear, "No, not right now."

Yes, Papi!  People want to see our chaos and I have more YouTube shows to make!!!

Anyway, she's going to be an ugly little girl, but that's the way we want her.  She's short one eye, has a huge scar on her head and an unattractive underbite.

We have NO idea what she's made of, only that she has black lab in there somewhere.

Man what a cutie though!!!  So damn sweet!

But I'll be lucky if this blog gets written within 4 hours.

You can call me Cinderella, because I'm mopping the floors more than I ever have in my life, and between mopping and running to the john, I'm a little short on time.

She's a good girl, but so little at only 8 weeks that she couldn't get off the bed last night and peed on it.  Which didn't upset me so much, considering we're getting rid of it.

But how grateful am I to have a 2nd one?!?  She won't be coming on this one that's for sure.

The humping has ceased for me since I showed my alpha, but not for Papi.  He just can't bring himself to do it.

Yet, there is no humping of the new puppy, because now SHE is humping the Jake-A-Like.

There is going to be so much puppy safing in the house.  The litter box is her favourite thing right now.

Not to mention, we can't let them run in the yard, because the fence is being built, so there's nothing to keep them in, so there's not much time to get her outside in time for accidents.

Wow, these people mean business!  I've never seen anything like it!

Here's the problem though; no fence = easy access for bandidos.

Our DR Family instructed us to get a guard.  More precisely, a body-guard.  The Dominican Daddy has a cousin that is about 10 feet tall and missing a few teeth.

He came and stayed outside on our hammock last night.  He looked like a scary amazon, but upon meeting him, he was really just a gentle giant.  However, being as massive as he is, nobody was going to mess with him.

Anyway, yesterday when I got up, I thought all the people who were here were actually here to work on the wall.  I realized in the afternoon that there were more spectators than workers.

Casa Paraíso drew a crowd.

When I brought the babies out for an attempt at potty training this morning ...

... excuse me for a moment while i go pry kitty-roca from the puppies mouth and move the litter box to a higher level ...

... the crowd was already starting to form.  It was 7am people!!!

I guess their roosters woke them and the decided to get front row seats.

... excuse me while i pry the puppy pee training pad out of BOTH of their mouths ...

It was still a little dark outside, which made me a bit nervous, so I didn't stick around long enough for them to get the poop out.

No matter.  They both found a nice spot on the floor in the kitchen to take care of business.

Both puppies are having so much fun, and I'm so grateful.

So is Sir Bark-A-Lot.  He's not so cool with the new arrangement.  He's looking a bit like Cujo these days.

The good news is I'm eating, because I decided there's no point trying to stop the nastiness, and starving wasn't working.  So now I have energy to run to the can.

More good new is I found my Prozac.  No need to worry about Hurricane Andréa showing up anymore.

The best good news is our stove is fixed!!!  We now have 4 burners, as opposed to one that we had to light with a match.  They all work with the flick of a switch.

Tonight I'm going to make a meal for Papi and I.

Probably only pasta with meat sauce again, considering we haven't found much more in terms of ingredients to cook with.  We'll have to go into the big city to find more staples.

Besides, we don't really have time to investigate food, because there's always so much more to do.

Like fix a flat on a tire.  That was nice for Papi to have to deal with yesterday.

Now I know why there's a tire store on every corner instead of Starbuck's.

all the things i want and need come to me

bedlam brain

"Honey?  Can you get me a Pepsi?  I want my breakfast in bed today."

No, I'm not kidding you.

You think I exaggerate?

I don't.

He's fine with living off junk food, but he doesn't understand I can't do that for 2 weeks!

He made me give away all my kitchen stuff last night, in another round of The Great DR Purge.

He's so mean.

He says I don't need them.

Ha!

Because of my food allergies, I can't just go grab a burger or pizza, so I'm forced to actually COOK my food.

At home.

So, getting rid of all my kitchen stuff means I can't cook.

I'd like to say it means I'll be losing weight, because I may be starving to death, but it won't.

It will mean I will be eating staples for the next few weeks.

Staples always includes way too many carbs for this body.

There may be some candida issues, not to mention a few Hurricane Andréa sightings and definitely some bloating.

It's bad enough that The Countdown is down to 12 days and we're freaking out, but a bad diet definitely won't help issues on my part.

I say WE are freaking out.

Yes, we.

On two different occasions yesterday, as per usual, we were asked, "So!  Are you getting excited?!?!"

Every time someone asks that, Papi and I just look at each other for the pause of 'they really don't understand' silence.

Like clockwork, I will spurt out, "Overwhelmed," and Papi will reply, "I wouldn't use the word, 'excited'."

My Eternal Friend knows what it's like.  She packed up and moved to Guatamala.

Everyone else just treats it like we're going for a holiday.

Well, I guess to some we are going on a holiday that lasts more than 2 weeks.

We're not allowed to leave for 2 months if we want residency, so even if I wanted to come home, I can't.

I guess if I only wanted 2 weeks of pain relief, I could do that.

But going back and forth so much during the winter probably won't do me any good.

It will just make my bitch of a back think it's bipolar and drain the bank account pretty damn fast.

On a side note, I just thought I'd let you know I drank an entire cup of coffee without spilling it on my t-shirt.

Not that that has anything to do with this blog.

But then again, this blog kinda started out a little scattered anyway.

That's pretty much how I feel these days.

Scattered.

My brain feels strewn across the city.  I suppose that's the reason for the migraine.

It's still threatening to come back at force.  It seems I can go half a day without pain killers for it, but at some point, it just gets to be too much.

I guess I may be putting off the withdrawal for a few more days.

Anyway, there I go again.

I can't keep any conversation on one thing for more than a minute.

Perhaps it's because we're living amongst chaos.

Bedlam brain.

i follow my dreams, no matter what

That's pretty much it.

We are not amused.

New years resolutions are way too much pressure.

I no longer see the point.

It seems that it's just another opportunity to get mean to myself.

If I want to change something, I do it today.

Not Monday.

Not the first of a month.

Not New Years day.

Today.

What I've found is, that there's less of a burden placed on it as well.

Not to mention, then I can get to berating myself for not doing it much faster.

Yup.  I'm my own worst enemy sometimes.

What I've also found, is there are more opportunities to try again.

Less build up.

Less let down.

This year, my only resolution was to make it through the holiday season without a Hurricane Andréa sighting.

I did pretty good.

The only sugar and wheat I had was Xmas day, and the crankies stuck around for a good few days, but I'm feeling much better now.

I learned last night that my niece is the same as me.

She's a lunatic with sugar.

Everything gets blown out of proportion and she winds up in tears.

That's kinda the reason I don't drink alcohol either.

How many tears in my beers have I seen in my life?!?!

Not to mention, how many times did I look like a leprechaun fighting Irish?!

Instant asshole, just add alcohol.

I still see people cross the street when they see me, thinking I haven't changed.

I feel for all of you out there that feel the need to get your drunk hat on, just because it's New Years.

How many of you will be regretting your actions tomorrow?!?!

Not I.

No, I'll be sitting here nursing my 10 day long migraine.

10 days man!

I'm about ready to pop.

Stick a fork in me, I'm bloody well cooked.

However, being New Year's Eve, I won't be heading to the ER for another Pain Med Party.

No, Papi and I will be sitting here watching the ball drop in New York via TV.

I'll be fighting to keep my eyes open until midnight.

We'll probably have to listen to all our neighbours get as rowdy as possible.

Sound exciting?

Oh, but yes!

Papi and I are nothing but entertainment!

We lead such interesting lives, eh?

That and I'll be filming more of The Countdown.

Did I tell you I'm making a YouTube documentary of our travels?

I will let you know when the first episode is up.

That's partially why I've been writing less.

Learning more about making my doc!

I will film, edit, star and write the music for it.

Papi says he doesn't want to be in front of the camera, but it's mostly been him anyway.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go close my eyes again.

10 day migraine.

10 fucking days.

i have confidence in my body's ability to heal

grant me the serenity ...

Ah, the holidays.  A chance to be with ones you love, and practise tolerance for the ones you don't.

Alas, both we and them are human, and we can only tolerate so much.  Especially when they say things like, "Why do you have to move all your cats when you go?  Can't you just get more there?"

... love and tolerance andréa ... keep it together ...

The only thing that got me through that one was the grace to give my mother a nice evening and not start an all out brawl.

How do you explain to someone what family is, if they don't have any concept of love?

Every day, I write my gratitude list to My Gratitude Buddy, the Sweet Ex and my MC Guru.

At the end of the gratitude list, we give forgiveness, which most of the time includes ourselves.

After last night, I've decided that the once in a while forgiving isn't going to work on this guy.  I'm going to have to do it every day to try to grant myself peace concerning him.  Every day, I will forgive this person, in hopes that I will let go of my anger towards him.

It's very hard, especially when they belittle your mother, but you know you have no option but to let her be in that relationship.

She wants to be there.

So, here I am, just on the cusp of learning what it is to 'pray' in my own way.

I won't call it 'pray', because it reminds me too much of my upbringing and makes me wanna toss my cookies.

I'd say it's more like talking to the angels that surrounded me the day of my Soul Activation.

So, I started with, "Please, do you think you could help him be a better person?"

Then it went to, "Please, do you think you could help my mom see that she deserves better?"

And then, it started getting really un-spiritual, "Do you think you could just kill him off?  The world would be a much better place and my mom would be free."

That's when the anger set in and I had to get out of bed and hang out with Papi watching television re-runs.

"I'm having anxiety."

"About the DR?"

"No, about Mr. Homophobia."

Seriously.  Papi stuffed a clonazepam down my yak pronto.  The 'talking' to my spirits caused me to roll out of bed and feel my migraine come back to haunt me.

This morning, I remembered that when I talk to the angels for anything, it should be strength for myself, so that I don't allow my anger to brew.

Anger only hurts me.

I also remembered a saying in that group of anonymous drunks that came into play: the only person I have control over is myself.

I need to be stronger and not allow people's crap to infiltrate my well being.

I suppose my lack of peace also came when I ate my allergy food.

There I was, snacking on ginger bread angels, snowmen, candy canes, then moved on to the shortbread and finally finished it all off with a great piece of apple pie.

That binge had my poor little brain inundated with the poison running through it once more, and Hurricane Andréa was in full swing.

Especially when someone said Papi and I looked alike in a recent photo.

I lost it!  I hate it when people say that, and now that's 3!!!!  How could we look alike?!  Papi's all handsome like, and I'm all femmed out!

But I calmed down after I did a poll and found more people don't see the resemblance than do.

I'm going with the majority.  I'm on their side.

Papi just says, "Well, if we look alike, then I guess we really dig what we look like."

I didn't get it at first, but after it made me chuckle when I realized it means we look in the mirror and we each say, "Damn, I'm hot!"

Then when we found each other we said, "Damn!  You look like me and I'm HOT!  Wanna fuck?"

I guess it's sorta funny now.

Certainly wasn't when I had the evil sugar and wheat pumping through my veins at high velocity!!

Anyway, I'm feeling much better now, and all I want to do is ask my angels for strength.

Strength to stay away from the sugar.  That's really all I need.

The rest will fall into place after that.

i release all anger

Ah! The Joys of S.A.D.

For some of us, December is a dire month for our emotions.  It seems the demons trap us during this time.

For some of us, the only exposure to the outside world is to merely peek through the curtains with one eye, in hopes that the world doesn't spot us.

We hide, we suffer, we count the days until it's over.  I see those who join me with this ailment are already experiencing the re-surfacing of their yearly torture.

This year, I'm making a difference for myself.  Maybe, if you suffer with this, you'll want to join me?

We've already had a Hurricane Andréa sighting, but it wasn't an Xmas Meltdown.  Still, while I'm feeling back up from my fall, I'm ready to fight my Pit of Doom off with all my might.

I'm going to do my very best to create a stronger dark season for myself.  Here's how I'm going to do it:

I'm staying off the processed sugar.

I'm drinking enough, or maybe more, water.

But hey, I'm no angel.  I'm having my one cup of coffee per day dammit!

I'm staying on my food plan of only a cup of grains per day, and at most a slice of wheat free toast and a handful of rice crackers.

However, I'm having my bag of popcorn while I watch Dexter with Papi.  That's a given rule.

I'm keeping my blood hearty with a little more protein than usual, but also keeping my blood clean.  I intend on sweating once a day.

Our blood is what feeds our minds.  It needs to pump ferociously to wash out the negativity we so wish to purge.

I'm keeping my veggie intake to MUCHO!  Minus those delicious little carrots and potatoes.  They should really be under the 'carb' list.

I'm keeping my fruit intake down to one serving per day.

This does include those lovely li'l Mandarin oranges.  I normally gorge on them every December, to ward of the envy of everyone else eating all the masses of sugary, carbed treats that seem to inundate our lives during this time.

Of course, being clean 'n sober, I have a one up on the demons as well.  If you're suffering, perhaps this is the month to try out what it's like to live in sobriety?

I have only one mission in mind this dark season; Peace and tranquility.  I don't want to hide and fret about the pain of ghosts past.  I already did that last week.

The most horrid part about falling is it allows the Anorexia Monster to start whispering in my ear as well.  Seriously!  Fuck off with that!!  I'm sick of looking in the mirror only to see hell!

Something I learned from my emotional fall was quite nurturing.  I've never been protected.  I've always felt alone in this world.

I've felt that all battles must be overcome by me, myself and I.  My Gemini battle.

I have my protector to see me through until I can protect myself: Papi, my fearless lion.

I also learned I've closed my heart to a lot of the world, keeping it only concealed by ribs and muscles.

Flesh and bones can only safeguard for so long, until something evil burrows it's way in and poisons my blood once more.

Even though, as I write this I feel the breath of P.T.S.D. stalking me, I know I'm strong enough to allow my heart to be open.  I allow myself to experience the fear, pain and all other negative feelings I've avoided for so many years, along with the joy, love and strength along with it.

I didn't realize that if I'm closing my heart off to the bad, I'm also closing it off to the good.  I don't want to do this anymore.

It seems, that when I've kept my heart closed, the only feelings that got to my soul were the painful ones, because evil is like a weed that has its tendrils wrapped around my veins.

I closed myself off to the good that can fight this intruder.  Good prevails!  Good fights bad always!

My heart is ripped wide open right now.  It's a big gaping wound that has to be healed by love, and I'm the one capable of healing it.

I want to feel my spirituality.  I want to live in the existence of joy.  I want that feeling of magic in life.  I've had it many, many years ago, and it's time to bring it back.

I am ready.  I am now open to life, good and bad.

It's starts now.

i choose to exercise regularly

i'm trying ...

She hasn't had time to really find out how I am, so she said what everyone else thinks, "Sorry you're so sad about losing him."  She, as does everyone, thinks I'm only mourning.  I wish that were all it was.

I know in the past, writing has helped.  It's just that I haven't been coherent enough to write.  However, today, this little page called to me from my bed.  I felt I needed to purge my words of all I've felt since Saturday.

After our ridiculous fight, I tried to go to the synagogue to find some healing.

I play a hand drum they have there.  I play because I don't know all the songs, and sometimes, it's nice just to play to be a musical addition to their energy, even if I don't use my words.

The problem is, I was told it was the wrong thing to do.  Apparently, I made The Guardkeeper spirit angry at my Rabbi, because way back when, there was a rule about nobody playing drums while people are singing.  Good g*d!  I make trouble everywhere I go.

Anyway, because I was in a place of weakness, in my embarrassment, I cried.  Everyone there thought I was only crying because I was told not to play the drum.

I had to explain that my dog just died, I had a fight with my spouse about me being 'wrong', then I came to the synagogue for healing, but was told I was 'wrong' again.  All of this, with the compounding stress of the disappearing days on The Countdown has me in a bit of a tizzy.

I told them, "If this had have been any other time in my life, I would have blushed about the whole 'drum thing' and gone on singing."  Not this time.

That evening, Papi dealt with his grieving about The Golden, and witnessing his way of dealing with pain broke me.

I went into a physical meltdown, whispering through my drooling, hyperventilating tears to the 'g*d' that doesn't exist to 'please help me get off the floor!'  I was begging to The Golden, to my Dearly Departed Gypsy and to my Great Grandmother to please help me.

Anybody!  Please!  Help me?

With shaking limbs, I was stranded on the floor in fetal position.  It was over for me, I was sure.  I was going to die from emotional pain, just like I thought I would when I was a tiny little girl when my P.T.S.D. first arose.

When I was that child, I was afraid to go to sleep.  If I were to sleep, I may never wake up, because my debilitated heart would stop beating, and I would die.

In this adult moment of a mental collapse, every single horrid experience life handed me flooded my mind in one massive tsunami of P.T.S.D.  Since that moment, I've had 6 days of not being able to find my breath, fearing I may choke.  Not to mention, pass out from the lack of oxygen I'm pulling in.

I've had 6 days, where every time I close my eyes, everything comes rushing towards me; my motorcycle smashing into that car ... a fork aimed at my head as it sliced through air, because I wasn't home in time for dinner ... the fist of a former lover smashing my chest in anger, because I said something wrong.  You name it, it came straight toward me, re-injuring my fragile mind with fresh wounds.

Sometimes, there is nothing I can even identify coming at me.  These 'things' come so fast and frantic I don't even see them, but every single time something rushes towards me, it sends bolts of electricity through my body and I flinch.

My breathing won't calm.  You know when kids have those after shocks from crying?  That breathing in short choppy spurts?  I'm getting it all day long.

All ... Day ... Long.  Long.  So very long.

I'm moving through quicksand.  Even as I try to pick up a glass of water from the side table, it feels like lifting a 25 lb weight.  It then takes all my strength and I'm down again.

I can barely keep my eyes open, yet I don't sleep.  I just stare at the little silver rings.  They're strong enough to hold the white, floor length curtains on brushed nickel rods in Our Closet.  I wish they could hold me.

I shouldn't say I don't sleep.  I lost a day there.  I slept a cool 17 hours from Tuesday to Wednesday evening.  Papi came in to wake me up, afraid that it was true; that I could die from emotional pain.  I ate a few bites, listened to Papi's history of the day and went back to bed, sleeping a full night again.

Still, here I am, staring at the mock silver rings that can't hold my weight.  Here I am.  Speaking words, that come out of my mouth even though they don't sound like they're mine.

I'm on another plain right now.  This is not sadness, nor is it grief.  This isn't even Hurricane Andréa.  I'm much too silent for that.  This is one mother fucking spate of P.T.S.D. that hunts me like prey.  I have to stop running and allow it to take me down and swallow me whole.

This Pit of Doom is nothing I've ever experienced.  This is physical.  I don't move from the La-Z-Boy, lest I collapse from weakness.

None-the-less, I must be getting better.  I'm writing.

i am willing to release all fear