move that body!

Don't know what got me.

Since last Tuesday, I've been rather sick.

Enough so, that I've seen a slight decline in the weight I put on after the 3 months of lying around like a bloated manatee from the whole ankle 'thing'.

Virus?  Food from a foreign country?  Parasite from the water?

The sick part of my brain, that good old Anorexia Monster, is telling me this is great, because I'll get back to feeling my normal weight!

But the healthy person in me would rather eat better and exercise to take it off the right way.

However, up until yesterday, every time I tried to move was an immediate invitation to run as quickly as possible to the bathroom.

My phone has been glued to my hands.  You don't want to be stuck in there for half an hour with no puzzles to play.  Ya know?

Yesterday, I just stared out at our beautiful yard we are fortunate to have and fell into an anxiety attack like I haven't had in a long time.

Looking outside.  Stuck near the washroom.  Feeling so weak.

Frozen, because the anxiety had immobilized me.

Like I said before, I am NOT good at staying dormant.

Today I feel a little more strength.

I feasted on an entire bag of Dorito's throughout the day yesterday, minus the scant amount I shared with Papi.

That and all the lime juice I could drink.

For the tail end of the ankle 'thing', I watched to the end of Breaking Bad.

For this stomach 'thing' that got me, I've started on The Walking Dead.

Never really been a fan of zombies, because they don't scare me.

It's reality that scares me.

Yet, everyone seems to like the show, so I thought I'd give it a whirl.  Love it!

Anyway.

I go back to Dream Project tomorrow.  In the next 2 weeks we'll be driving the children full speed toward a performance at the DR Jazz Festival.

They're pumped!

I'll just fill myself with plenty more Pepto to make it through my 4 hours of teaching.

MusicMan told me that he'd be asking the BigWigs for my gas allowance.

I was so grateful that he said that on his own accord.

I wasn't going to ask anymore, but he brought it up, so I feel a little like he really is happy with me being there helping with the kids.

He got a real kick out of me telling him the story about how I thought he no longer had a job there.

Funny enough that he decided to tell more people the silly story.

Oh, how I make a name for myself everywhere I go.

Now I'll be the silly gringa at the school.

Which is OK.  I know who I am.

I've really have nothing more to prove to anyone.

I'm just spinny Andréa, and it makes me a much more approachable person when people know that, and we all know I just want to be loved.

I remember being the Andréa that had a permanent cloud of doom hanging over my head.

I'm just grateful I can laugh at myself and not take myself too seriously anymore.

I have meds to thank for that.

I'm looking out at the ocean today.

I'm sitting at the table, instead of the La-Z-Boy, my favourite tool of the Pit of Doom.

My ankle doesn't hurt from sitting in an upright chair anymore.

The ocean doesn't sound like white noise when you're actually watching the white caps crash against the shore.

It's beautiful.

I am strong enough to walk to that ocean now.

Perhaps today I'll allow the feeling of that gorgeous salt water to wash me clean of these past 3 months of stagnancy.

Move.

With the waves.

Ebb and flow.

i am willing to change my eating habits and i do so easily

i can see clearly now

I ebb and flow.

Today, I love my life.

Maybe it's because the nerve pills the doc gave me are working and I'm not in as much pain?

Maybe it's because I'm abiding by his 'rules' and resting more?

Maybe it's because the Prozac has really kicked in and the fog has lifted, allowing me to see the good in my life.

Apparently, to some, all I do is sound miserable lately.

It's possible that for the past few months I've been 'a tad' on the negative side.

OK.  Yes.  It's true.

But that's OK, isn't it?

I'm human, and I can't always be happy.

Wasn't it OK to fall a few years ago when I couldn't pull myself out of the Pit of Doom because my love went through a sex change?

I figured out something last night.

Change is hard for me.

Change of a new country.

Change of having finally been an ambulatory person, forced back into a hobbling, crutching, Limping Lesbian for 2 months.  Not to mention, a country that refuses to administer pain relief.

Change of losing friends who have resentment about us moving somewhere were I wouldn't have pain and Papi could finally heal from his emotional wounds that nobody has ever really seen.

Yeah.  I've been miserable.

Chronic pain and loss do that to me.

And just to be clear, yes, losing friends has hurt me.

You who have abandoned me have achieved what you set out to do.

You win!  You hurt me.

I'm sorry I had to move for my well being.  And I'm also sorry I am the type of person who will hold that resentment for a long time.

I feel the need to say fuck you for dumping me for bettering my life.

You who have stuck around to listen to me whine?

You are angels!  You are true friends and I only wish I could move you all here to be with me.

Want to come live in a Casita?  It's real cute!

I'll make you eggs and toast every day and you can have unlimited coconut water.

Anyway, eventually, I'll find friends here that mean a lot to me.

After I speak Spanish better, maybe?

Or perhaps when I find people, who are good to others, who speak English?

They're few and far between here, I'll tell you.

But hey, my bitch of a back doesn't hurt as much.  That was the whole point, no?

Yet, now I feel sad because things are not as we thought they'd be.

I'm here so that I could be out of pain and do music.

However, music has been scarce.

This life is not what we thought it would be.

Still, today, I feel the tide has changed.

The rain is gone because the anti-depressants are doing their job, and I have a gorgeous view in my life once more.

Just because you live in paradise, doesn't mean you're in heaven.

At least there are still angels.

i love and approve of myself

i want to be an angel

How did 2 days go by without doing a blog?

For that matter, how did a week go by without being able to get to editing my Sunday Sillies?

It's Sunday, and there won't be any YouTube show sillies today.

I'll be working on them, but I think that with the amount of insanity this household and life brings, I will be publishing every 2 weeks now.

Really, right now, I'm supposed to be at a birthday party.

It's basically right outside my door.

But Papi said I'm not allowed to go, because I've been treating my ankle too horribly.

He says that most people with this injury are laid up for at least 3 months, that I have to rest more and do less.

We all know how much I like to rest.

I'm a work-a-holic outside of the house.

In the house?

I'm some kind of depressed lunatic.

I don't know what it is, but as soon as I'm out of the house, my depression lifts.  Yet I can't relax in my yard, or I'll have every child in the neighbourhood screaming for me through the fence.  Relentlessly.

It doesn't help that I'm bitchy from pain.

I also have a sneaky suspicion that I got fake Prozac.

They do that here.

They make fake pills and it's Russian Roulette as to whether or not you're going to get the real thing.

Don't they know better than to fuck around with Prozac?!?!

Assholes.

Do they really want a crazed gringa roaming the streets?

I've been extremely agitated these past few weeks and I could blame it on the chronic pain, but there's something more.

The ideation of suicide is coming more frequently.

Normally, it's a fleeting moment before I go to sleep at night.

I've had it every night, for longer than I can remember.

I envision myself blowing my head off.

Every night.

I don't know why, but it just is, and there's not much I can do to stop the vision.

However, through the years, I've just learned to live with the vision and shake it off with a 'what the fuck??!?  Must we do this every night?!?!?'

These past few weeks though, they've been coming throughout the day.

Everything seems so difficult to do.

Everything seems like I just want to give up.

I'm still doing my gratitude list every day with my newest Gratitude Buddy.  I still know that EVERY DAY there is something to be grateful for.

But still, as I go on through my day, I can't help but feel the aftershock of all the hurt I've received over these past 9 months of living in what we thought would be 'paradise' and who we thought were 'friends'.

I feel exhausted from fighting to stay out of the Pit of Doom.

Everything feels like a battle, and both Papi and I had the thought at the same time last night, "This life here is not what I expected."

The vision I see in the mirror is disturbing as well.  The Anorexia Monster is in full force and the weight I see in the mirror is the weight that presses on my mind.

I'm having anxiety for no apparent reason at all.  I just feel terror and I don't know why.

This is not rational.

This is the underlying depression eating away at my heart, and I'm a fucking bitch when I'm depressed.

I'm having a really hard time hiding it from everyone around me, and I'm wondering if it's because I haven't been getting enough medication in to my system, having been sold fake pills.

I feel the pull of demons can't find my strength from the angels.

Instead, yesterday, I begged the angels to take me with them.

I want to be an angel.

it is always too early to give up, so let me give it some more

get back up

No, I have not handled this ankle thing very well.

My cast is off.

I'm still hurting a lot, but at least I have 2 feet on the ground to assist my balance.

And let me tell you, that shower I had yesterday was almost orgasmic.

However, washing my hair took almost an hour.

I had a mat in the back that looked like I'd been living homeless for a year.

I am not at liberty to complain about anything, anymore.

People think I'm ridiculous.

Papi thinks I'm pathetic.

I am so hurt that he holds resentment about having to take care of me for 4 years after the motorcycle accident.

There aren't a lot of times I wish I had just died in that crash.

But this is one.

To know that Papi has held in so much all those years of taking care of me is too much to handle.

I hear about it a lot now that I'm capable of doing more.

I hope I never have a problem again that I need help for.

I'll have guilt upon guilt if I do.

I am going to teach today.

It will make me happy to see some sweet, smiling faces.

I have a friend who is in the Pit of Doom.

I have the feeling I've taken on some of her negativity.

I need to find my positivity again.

I saw a quote this week, "Don't let others pull you into their darkness.  Pull them into your light."

But what happens when my light has been dimmed?

How do I pull myself back out again when the one person I'm in contact with on a daily basis is fading and the love of my life is angry for having to come home to a cripple again?

I'm pretty low right now.

I guess I know how I got here.

Frustration, pain and hearing someone I care for want to die every day.

I guess I'll have to step up my gratitude again.

One in the morning, one at night.

If you're feeling low too, maybe you want to join me.

So, I will have to go prep for teaching now.

Smiling faces.

Happiness.

Love.

And most of all, no name calling.

Just music.

And now that I don't have that ridiculous chunk of plastic on my leg anymore, I can sit at the piano with less pain.

That will help lift me as well.

I'll hide in my place of music.

I'll ignore the fact that I know how much my love is upset with me.

I'll do whatever it takes to get out of feeling like this.

I'll also do whatever it takes not to have Papi think I'm pathetic.

i choose to let others opinions of me be their responsibility

Gratitude Day 1/10
1. I am grateful I can take baby steps.
2. I am grateful the cast is off.
3. I am grateful I have someone to clean the floors.
4. I am grateful for the children I teach.
5. I am grateful for music.
6. I am grateful I didn't spend a day in bed for 2 days.
7. I am grateful I know how to get out of depression.
8. I am grateful I work hard to get out of depression.
9. I am grateful I can shower.
10. I am grateful there is rain today. 

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

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

and down i go ...

How do we wake up with faith and hope, then slide into despair and the Pit of Doom by the end of the day?

Or rather, how does my chemical imbalance continue to pillage my mind, stealing my light?

I don't know about you, but my emotions can change for the worst with one phone call.

That's what happened yesterday when that one phone call represented loss.

It has nothing to do with Mr. Lumpy, because of course, true to Dominican Time, the week wait has come and gone and there's no word.

In Canada, if it was serious, they would have called right away, but I have to remember where we live, and their idea of 'prompt'.

No, this phone call was a long awaited one that I didn't want to make, but bit the bullet and did it anyway.

It's my former recording studio/engineer mentor.   He had given me books to use for studying, and during the sewage flood in 2011, they were destroyed.

I suppose he has another person to mentor, as he had called 4 days into us moving here asking for them back.

I had tried to call him when the disaster hit and we had word about the loss of his books, but he's not too good at returning phone calls.

So, I left it, a few years past by and here he is calling me looking for them.

Well, we chatted yesterday.  I finally put some money into Skype and use that as my phone to talk to people back home, and called him.

But there was so much strain in hearing his voice and the reminder of all that is withdrawn from my life now.

The pain of knowing that the motorcycle accident took away so many possibilities, is sometimes too immense for my weak spirit.

He said, "You sound scared," but I couldn't tell him why, I just replied, "I am."  I flippantly blamed it on how hard things are here in this new world.

He didn't need to know I'm fretting over Mr. Lumpy, nor that I was on the verge of tears for having to hear the voice that helped me so much that I had to let go after my accident.

Letting go.  Asking my angels for more support.

My angels were so abundant in the morning, and by the evening, I was asking them to take me with them.

"Why can't you just take me now?  Why can't I go to a new life and try again, because seriously, what the fuck am I here for anyway?  Can't you just take me?  I want to be with my Fuzzy Family that are so lucky to have moved on to a new hemisphere."

When my emotions were submerging me under that colossal blanket of agony, I stared at the gun that lies on my bedside table for a little while.

I touched it with curiosity, thinking about how easy it would be to make it my last and final friend.

I won't do it, not because it's cheating myself of a life I was handed, but because I know how much pain I would bring to those who love me.  I would never intentionally harm anybody who loves me.

I need them too much.

To put them through that pain would be the worst act I could ever inflict upon another.

Instead, I cried until I couldn't breathe, then asked Papi for one of his magic 'put me to sleep' pills.

I guess, when I asked my angels to help me 'let go', they gave me a doozy.

I don't know why yesterday was the day I decided to call him, it just kinda happened.

Letting go of loss, people who have moved on, my prior life.

I had moments yesterday morning where I felt that I was really here for something, that I was here for benefit to this world in some way.

Then the night came and with the darkness brought the shadow in my heart that tells me there's no goal in my life.

Papi woke up late in the day, and told me all the things I'd done wrong while he slept to add to my already shattered state.

He even got mad at me for crying.

The way he speaks to me right now is unbearable, but he says the same about me.

Maybe he's really serious about trying to cut down on the pop and his withdrawal is making him mean, or maybe it's because he's in pain from falling off the ladder and has no more pain killers.  This also means he cut them cold turkey.

Maybe it's many things that I don't know about, but his tone made it all the worse.

I need love and trust from myself and from him if I'm going to make it through this life.

all my relationships are loving and harmonious 

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

waves crashing

The angels DO have a sense of humour.

I was at the hardware store, yet again, where I'm becoming part of the scenery, and I was waiting patiently for The Carpenter to get his wood, concrete, nails etc. that he needed.

I'm really only there to pay, as I'm just a walking wallet.

Anyway, I was waiting for him to return and was missing my HECTOR cohort, wishing we could play some music together now that my bitch of a back is being friendly.

The ticket to get here is quite expensive, so I can't just see my Drummer Boy just hopping on a plane to come make music.

Nor can I see him leaving behind The Turkey, my first godson, so I was just wishing that someway, somehow, I could have tons of cash to fly him here to the Dominican Republic to play some shows.

My Bluelight ex-buddy has enough cash to come here, and I miss her as well, but chances are that she's mad enough at me that she will NEVER forgive me enough to visit.  Chances are I could never trust her friendship again anyway.

But there I was wishing I had money.

I went into the hardware store to pay, and the first amazing thing happened, that worker that I said I'd win the heart of, gave me a hug, saying, "I like you.  You're my friend."  Accomplished!  Won his heart!  Bad Spanish and all!

Then within moments, the PanMan came in.

He's the one the angels sent me the other day, when I really needed to hear some words of wisdom.

I bought a bunch of snacks for for Papi, as he asked how we were doing.

We spoke a while about the ups and downs, how hard it is to live here.  He understood fully when I spoke about having lost our cat, and that Papi is really down.  Really depressed.

Mostly from grieving, but also because we're both stressed the fuck out about money.

He told me there would be an opportunity for Papi to work for him if he liked.  It would be in sales for the land he has, not to mention, the eco-tourism that he needs promotion for.

I explained that it would be a job for me, not for Papi, that Papi doesn't like sales, but I'm a natural born hustler.  I'll work hard, and try my best, even if I fail.

I told him I'd email him again and look at options for working with him.

I strolled back to the car with my bag of bread in hand, looking to the sky for my angels, saying, "You really are funny, you know that?"

So, maybe I need to ask them to help Papi a bit more.

He's really in a rough state, in his own Pit of Doom.

He knows everything he needs to do to get out of his depression, but he just can't do it.

Not to mention, I'm not able to persuade him to do those things, or he'll get upset telling me, "You think I don't know that?  You don't remember I worked in mental health and told people that every single day of life?"

Yeah.

I know you know that Papi.

I just want so badly for you to feel better.

Just like the PanMan said, "You have to ride the waves.  They go up, they come down, but you are never in one place.  If you're down, the law is you have to come up.  But when you're up, you also have to come down."

Couldn't have said it better myself.

Papi and I had gone to the beach yesterday, because it was the country's day off of work.  A day to celebrate workers and they got a day off with pay.

We went to the beach with the masses.

It was my first time to the Sosúa Beach.  As I floated, I looked to the sky and spoke to the angels, "Thank you for this opportunity to play in the waves.  Thank you for giving me a break today and letting me just float here.  Thank you for the ocean."

I have more to thank than for just the relaxing day we finally got to have.

I have to thank the waves for allowing me to ride them.

Come back up Papi!

Your wave has to come back up.

It's crashing a little.

i am passionate about doing what i need in order to increase my fortune

Gratitude List, Day 7/10
1. I am grateful the angels keep sending me words.
2. I am grateful I keep looking for the angels words.
3. I am grateful I worked to get myself out of my depression.
4. I am grateful for the ocean to help heal my back.
5. I am grateful for people genuinely liking me.
6. I am grateful for people who have been mean, so that I know what good people are to me.
7. I am grateful for friends who support me.
8. I am grateful to feel loved.
9. I am grateful for the small opportunity that may be to make an income.
10. I am grateful for Papi to ride these waves with.

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.

attitude adjustments

Argh.  My favourite scarf.

It wasn't actually in the wash, but the house maid saw it on my bed and took it upon herself to the best job ever and clean it for me.

You don't wash this scarf in a barrel washing machine, or it will ruin.

Between the puppies and the house maid, they're in competition to see who can destroy my clothes the fastest.

I suppose I now have to stop being attached to my clothing.

I loved all my pretty things, but they really are just things.

I'll try to adapt to the attitude I had when I lived years ago as a starving artist.

Everything was 2nd hand, there were holes in most of my clothes and I wore nothing sparkly, except for the items I wore on stage.

Maybe I'll borrow the house maids clothes.  Her's are still pretty, sparkly, brand new and in one piece.

It occurred to me last night that I'm so depressed, it sounds like I'm hating it here.

It occurred to me, because Papi told me that's how I appear.

Well, I've never moved away from my city, never mind to another country, where I don't have my comfort and ease.

I never realized how much I need stability and comfort before.

I'm learning more about myself in these 3 weeks than I have in a long, long time.

So, yeah, I'm sorta out of joint right now, but like my Eternal Friend told me, it will take about 3 months to adjust, then you're good.

Papi thought I was saying, "I'll give it 3 months then if I'm not happy, I'm outta here."

Nope.

We're here for the long haul, and I wouldn't change anything, except my attitude.

I'm going to try to find as many things I can to be grateful for today, instead of focusing on the negative.  I'll ask my angels to guide me and help me out of my Pit of Doom.

I realized that I allowed the judgemental people back home to play too much of a part in my emotions and set me off into depression, because I was triggered by being hurt by a group of people.

I can handle one person at a time disliking me, because that's just life.  Not everyone can like me.

However, since I was a young girl, I've had cliques of people bullying me, and I believe I have a lesson to learn that I've not learned to my best ability yet.

Never, ever, ever trust a group of people who move like a school of fish.

I had a moment of letting them go yesterday.

Today, I will work at it even harder, though I still hurt and have the urge to cry over loss of friendship.

My Trust List has changed again.  It has dwindled, and what I've learned is that is ok.

Quality vs. Quantity.

Besides, we're making new friends here.

They're all a lot older than Papi and I, but none-the-less, they're friendly and know what it's like here, so they don't judge us as horrid beings for wanting to protect ourselves.

I found a bread maker!!!

I'm going to commission him to make me wheat free bread.  Then I'm going to BEG him to teach me how to do it.

The pool is almost done.  We were told that perhaps today, we could be swimming!

We probably could without them putting in the river water they promised us.

The torrential downpour has almost filled the damn thing up!  But there's nothing like swimming in water when it's warm and raining.  I'll enjoy it just as much.

Did I tell you we got our gun?

Fired it off a few times to check it was working, and spread the aural rumour that we're not going to be easily violated.

Go bug someone else.

We're getting so much closer to having our dream space, and every minute that it gets closer, my heart nears the life I wanted.

Quiet, serene, pain free paradise.

With the exception of the puppies.

They are trouble on paws, but they keep each other entertained.  If you ever want a puppy, get 2.  Seriously.  It's not much more work and they don't use your arm for a chew toy, because they have each other.

And now, I'm starting my first moment of gratitude for attitude adjustment.

I am grateful to be so very lucky to be living in a climate which eases my physical pain.

i see the perfection in all my flaws, and all my genius

sometimes, you just need a hand up

I'm feeling so much better today, and it's really because of those I spoke about having gratitude for.

The phone calls from my Eternal Friend, My Gratitude Buddy, texts from the MC Guru and the Sweet Ex, not to mention a handful of others, really hit home that I have such amazing people in my life.

I received messages on Facebook from new people outing themselves as readers, sending me love and a new face leaving me a comment of support here on my blog, plus Blogger Friends reminding me they are still here to give me esteem when I fall down.

Then there were the hugs in person from yet another goodbye celebration.

All of it added up to a strong hand pulling me out of the Pit of Doom and the band-aid on my boo-boo.

I'm given positive energy by people I appreciate in my life.

I'm grateful for YOU: Readers and brave senders of private emails and comments here, G+ and Facebook.

I am grateful for people who actually make an effort to send us off on our adventure with love.

I am grateful for people who are honest about their feelings of us leaving, even if they're not excited for us, expressing their sadness or worry.

I realized that any advice I gave to Papi yesterday about his depressive state, I could use for myself, and it really did tie in with yesterday's mantra.

I told Papi he would find MANY people to help that will help him feel like he's needed.

I too, will find people to love me in our new land.

I had a nightmare last night that all the new people I found were abusive, abrasive, dishonest and hateful.

I walked away saying, "I don't want to be friends with these people!"  Off I went, preferring to be alone.

It's true in the conscious world as well.

If I'm not 'good enough' for some people, well, I don't want to be friends with them either.

I find good people everywhere I go, because I have great faith in fellow humans.

I won't have to worry about 'cliques' in any 'community' there, because really, I can't speak sufficient Spanish to be part of the cool kids.

Who knows what their politics are anyway.  We all know I'm not a political person.  Not to mention, I would rather think for myself than follow the herd.

All I want are good hearts around me and people that will enlighten my life.

I've had some good practise the past few months with letting go of users and negative souls quite quickly.

I've taken some brave steps and let go of people that I wanted to be my friend, but found out that it wasn't mutual.

So, why on earth would I let a spattering of inconsequential people trigger my feelings of 'un-want'?

In my moment of weakness, I fell in to the old standby; "I'm not good enough."

That's the one I run to when I'm feeling overwhelmed with my emotions, because it's the one that's been there since I was a child with a deadbeat dad.

The other one is seeing that girl in the mirror that nobody else can see, and panicking.

I've stopped looking at her.  I've decided to trust everyone is telling the truth and that what they see is reality.

That Anorexia Monster is really not something I need to deal with right now.

Here's what I need to deal with: Getting ready to use the 2 month visa we just received today.

We just received it today!!  We are now allowed to go for 2 months of pain free life.

Does anything else really matter right now?

I look at the picture of Casa Paraíso every day now that it's a permanent fixture on my computer screen.  It's the first thing I look at when I turn on this laptop.

It's still really hard to believe it's OURS.

It's still really hard to envision our smiling faces inside those walls.

I see the rooster.  That seems realistic.

If I was any good at Photoshop or any other photo editing program, I'd superimpose us in that villa.

Instead, it sits empty with the only life in it being the rooster in the yard.

Waiting.

i adopt the mindset to praise myself

accept it. this hurts.

My g*d I hate this time of year.

The Xmas Meltdown is nipping at my heels and I'm not even celebrating it this year!!!

I'm just grateful I haven't fallen into the processed sugar pit.

At least that way I'm not taking up residence in the Pit of Doom.

Without putting that nasty, white death into my system, all I do is periodically go have a seat in the La-Z-Boy I've set up there.

It's much better than living there, but it still hurts.

I have to admit, I'm having so many unresolved feelings come up that obviously need to be taken care of.

One thing I'm learning, is Facebook is really not a great place for me this time of year.

I'm also learning that I need to be true to myself.

I have so much difficulty being in gatherings, because I'm always afraid of not being accepted, so I tend not to go because of my social anxiety.

But here's where the irony comes in; then I sit and look at all the people who have pictures of their gatherings on Facebook and feel so unloved, because they didn't think to invite me.

It hurts to feel uninvited, but sometimes people don't invite me because I don't fit in.  Not to mention, because of my anxiety, I don't accept the invitation that often, so they don't bother anymore.

I know that in small settings, like one on one, most of the people in those pictures would love to see me, they just don't invite me to bigger groups.

Hey, you never know who is on the hate train with the Hector-Browns either.  Best to be safe and leave those two at home.

I am learning that I don't fit in with cliques.

OK.  Wait.

If I'm being honest, I haven't fit in with cliques since I was a child.  I'm not just learning that.  I'm just coming to terms with that.

I'm a good person.  I'm just not someone who follows the herd.

I say what I want to say, never intending on hurting someone, yet it always seems I've offended.

I do what I want to do, and sometimes, people don't agree with my actions.

I do things to keep ME happy, but that doesn't make everyone happy.

So, here I sit for another hollow day season and hurt.

All I've ever wanted was to be accepted.

It's time to start learning that acceptance of myself is all I've ever needed.

I need to accept that I'm a loner, not a person who follows the herd.

I need to accept that I'm never going to be that popular girl that everyone flocks to.  I'm a victim of polarity, love me or hate me.

I need to accept that I'm loved only by those who matter.

I need to accept that this time of year, my head gets filled with all kinds of bad thoughts that aren't always true.

I need to accept that even though I'm home with only Papi, and our Chanukah lights are only being lit by the two of us, that it's ok that we don't have family or friends to show us what to do.

We're making our own ritual.

We sing 'Happy Hanukkah' to the tune of 'Happy Birthday' and do our silly Chanukah dance that we somehow made up on the spot.

Not to be confused with The Happy Papi Dance.

It's nowhere near what we're 'supposed' to do.

But then that's our journey together.

We never do what we're 'supposed' to do.

I suppose that's going to have to be OK.

i accept myself completely

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

and the phoenix has risen!

So, anyway, Papi and I were blessed by the Rabbi a couple of weeks ago.

Here were my opening words:

I've always searched for the place where I belong.  What I've learned is, that I'm a wanderer and I have been exploring since childhood, but never really realized it.

The greatest adventure that crossed my path, was when I fell in love and married another wanderer. 

These opening words are really all I need to know about life to this point.  I know that no matter what anyone says, like for instance, "When it comes to losing your dog, the way you're feeling is really only selfish."

... seriously! some people's kids! ... ok, that 'kid' thing is an inside joke ... that you'll never know about ... but that's ok, because i don't have to tell you everything, got it? ...

Or how about, "There are people suffering more than you, so you really have nothing to cry about.  You just have to move on."

Yeah.  Those words are really going to help me feel better, bitches.

Anyway, I'm learning that nothing anybody says or feels really has anything to do with me, because they have no fucking idea what it's like to be me.

I just laid for a week trying to breathe my way out of a 4 day stretch of choking on my own breath because of flashbacks of every trauma that has ever happened since I was 7 or 8 right up to my fucking motorcycle accident.  All of which just so happened to be triggered by the loss of The Golden.

Those people will never understand what it's like to have major P.T.S.D.

Well, fuck you and your fucking self help 'wisdom' mother fuckers.

I'm back.  And I'm feeling like I'm ready to take on that nasty mother of a world again.

I had some fierce little pills that took me for a scenic little stroll of La-La-Land for a few days.  You see, if you're so zonked out that you are close to a coma, you won't choke on your breath from a 4 day long panic attack.

There ya go.  You learned something new.  Glad I could help.

Anyway, I'm back and I'm pretty sure, bitchier than ever.

With a little hint of gratitude.

What can I say?  I'm a fucking Gemini.  Only this here Gemini has more than 2 sides.  You don't wanna mess with me.  I can wreck your whole day.

Good fucking g*d I got off track.

... what else is new, brain injury girl? ...

I wanted to share about 'what really matters'.

All that really matters is I'm on track in my life.  Where I am is where I'm supposed to be; with my wandering spouse who has taught me about love.

He has taught me that love isn't about cuddling up to a couple of funbags, or stroking a soft chin, chest, thing or stomach that has no hint of hair.

Love is mi esposo, who nursed me through my lack of oxygen for all those days and helped me come to the conclusion that it was time to stuff some pills down my yak.

That or bring me to the loonie bin for a little 'respite'.

I chose the pills, but I know he would have come to visit me if I was in my 'special' place with padded walls.

And that!!  Is all that matters.

He's cool with that psychosis of a Gemini that periodically pokes her head out to stir things up a bit.  I think he finds her a bit entertaining.  You know?  That someone could possibly be as crazy as him?  Or dare I say, crazier?

Yup.  I'm his girl and he's my guy, and we're makin' plans to wander a little bit further.

We're on an expedition on this eternally bumpy 4x4 ride, each on a sexy little quad.  Mine's all decked out in sparkles and boa feathers and his is decked out with faux tattoo shadings and great metal fangs on it's front bumper, ready to chomp the fuck out of the next hill that tries to tell us 'no'.

I suppose now that I'm back from the depths of my Pit of Doom, it will be Papi's turn to take a nose dive.

Hey.

At least we share.

i am valuable

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

what doesn't kill ya, stinks.

How is it, that when we get sick, we smell like something died?

Seriously.  I can't stand myself right now.  If I had a hot tub, I'd jump in and make femme stew.

Well, maybe not.  I actually don't have the strength for more than sitting here on the La-Z-Boy in my pseudo solitary state.

I'm sure Papi can smell me from the couch while he sleeps off the Graveyard Coma.  That may account for the mumbling I don't understand.  "Maxc, mvrvfjfjlkhg! Kajlkhaoiudrknha!" could be translated to, "Please, stop the smell!  I can't take it!"

I'm sure the animals love it.  You know.  They like stinks.  Dogs roll around in miscellaneous odours they find in the grass, and the cats like to stink things up as fast as they can on any surface, especially beds.

Speaking of stinks, The Bastard Prince has a reeky, kitty poo box right behind the La-Z-Boy, which is beside his cat tree pedestal, which is crammed in front of the crates the Fuzzy Family will be in for their flight to the Dominican Republic, that are in the corner of Our Closet of 454 sq. ft.

This placement is so that he can get into the biz box, work his magic turds out, then scoot out and up the tree faster than Psycho Kitty can get to him.  I can also protect him with a spray bottle as I lie here like death.

You see, this is because Psycho Kitty has decided that ALL the stink boxes are HIS and he will protect HIS property to the death.

So, there's more than just my putrid stench that emanates, as I listen to The Bastard Prince scratch at the sides of his very own fetid bin.

I'm just too weak to go mining for gold in the stink box.

I also don't feel like getting into the shower.  I don't have the strength to get up, never mind the energy to de-stink-ify myself.

I'm very grateful for Papi, who was sweet enough to go buy me a soy latte.

When I slithered out of bed at a weak noon hour, I asked him to make me a coffee so I didn't have to suffer a caffeine headache on top of a flu.

He's always too uncomfortable to make my Dominican coffee, so he decided he'd go stand in line on a Sunday morning instead.  Off he went in his pajamas, hanging with all the hipsters waiting for their fix, so they can commence being 'seen' on the wooden patio at the Main Street JJ Bean.

I guess it's still warm enough for most people to sit outside.

Not for me.  I'm in flannel pajamas, wrapped in a flannel housecoat, with a blanket covering all my layers.  I'm seriously making my own sauna.

I suppose that could explain me winning the stench puppy award.  However, there's no point in taking off any layers.  I'll just complain about being too cold, and the stink.

We all know what comes next; boredom.

We're too sick to get up and do anything, but we're finally tired of bad T.V. and wish we could partake in any kind of activity that makes us feel alive.

We stand up in a delirious huff of, "Fuck this shit," and head down the hall to the washroom.

The closest we get to doing any activities is checking out our new hair style in the bathroom mirror, then peeing out the virus we've watered down with orange juice, water and ginger tea.

Well, maybe YOU don't drink ginger tea when you're sick, but you should.  That's the only preaching I'll do.

Come on!  It feels good on the throat!  And builds your immune system!

OK.  That's definitely the last preach, I promise.

So, as I watch another free, bad movie and try to figure out how Papi can snore in tandem with The Golden through all my shows, not to mention, as I have to listen the whining of Psycho Kitty wanting dinner, I wonder, "Why do we stink so much when we get sick?"

More than anything, I await the energy that finally helps me arise from my Pit of Doom and walks me into the shower to cease the smell.

For now, I'll just cuddle with The Bastard Prince.

He likes l'Aroma d'Andréa.

every day i'm getting better and better

please be specific.

When we ALL said, "It won't fit," we weren't very specific.

Seriously.  You have to be specific.

My love is used to his prize possessions, one being his couch, the other being his TV.

The TV isn't here yet, but shortly, it's gazillion inches of screen will be right up front, literally in our faces.

The couch is here though, and like I said, we weren't precise.  We should have said, "It's not going to fit, because it's going to stick out the side of the wall and into the hall and that's just wrong."

I had already expressed my fear of this, stating that I wasn't too keen on my usual, 'bounce off the walls like a pinball' mornings.

My brain injury still has me wonky in the morning.  So, imagine staggering around like a drunk first thing to go make my coffee.

Once, I torn a knee ligament tripping over a couch.

I didn't want that to happen again, but my love wants his couch and considering the fact that he moved practically everything alone on this move, I suppose he can have his couch any damn place he pleases.

The Mrs. likes it, because she can see everything in Our Closet from this spot. 

The Golden could care less, as long as he can fit through to get his attention.

 

Anyway, the couch is in and all it means is we have a little bit of a bottleneck leading into our living room/kitchen/office.

Oh, there should also be a 'slash dining room' as well.

Our dining room is pretty much anywhere we place our little wooden TV trays.

Which we'll use while we watch Papi's gargantuan TV from.

But hey!

He also fit in his La-Z-Boy.  Can you see it in the upper right corner there?

It's good thing it's here, because he's having a case of the Pit of Doom.  This whole journey has been a bit rough for him.

G'ma in the care facility with Alzheimer's, moving from his home he's been in since birth, his old one eyed Golden showing his age and having troubles getting up the stairs, fighting to keep his sanity after a very recent relapse, and the stress from moving for the first time.

Papi is in the Pit of Doom and those demons are nipping at his heels.

Still, his couch and La-Z-Boy are here and that's all that matters.

You know the most exciting part?  We can watch his colossal TV from the bathroom!

No more missing a show because of a piddle emergency!  Good thing.  I wouldn't want to boogie as fast as I can down the hall and trip on a couch.

home is where the heart is

my name is andréa, and i'm a tranny chaser.

Nope, I'm not dead.  Nor am I in the Pit of Doom.

I had 2 days of vocational evaluation for my legal trial, and my poor body couldn't take it.  So, I was either sleeping or too stupid from pain meds to write.  Today is not fun and yesterday was worse.

End whining.

We've also been busy finding our new place to live!  It's our brand new closet!

5 animals and the two of us in a tiny, itty bitty, smaller than our living room, one bedroom apartment.  It is super accessible for me to get to everything I need without the 'short bus'.

Good thing, as I'll have to be out of home a lot, fighting off the fear of claustrophobia.  This means I'll leaving the animals to fight for their immensely miniscule domain.

We've tried putting Psycho Kitty and The Bastard Prince on valium.

No, I'm not kidding.

After the near miss of losing an eye, there have been more injuries and there doesn't seem to be a 'working it out' phase for these crazy cats, even with all the suggestions we've followed.

So, valium it is.

However, the problem with that is, Psycho Kitty becomes more psycho and could actually take on a coyote.

I'm going to find him natural relaxants and see if that works.  He may be like me and can't handle the pills.

End cat rant.

Next!

I realized that after mi esposo relapsed, that I didn't actually get to tell you about Gender Odyssey.

Well, I'll tell you about those 2 days I actually did go.  Sorta go, that is.

My Person and I didn't actually go to any of the workshops, except for the tango workshop.

I tried to move around with them, until it came time to balance.  No go.

However, what I did get out if it was way more important.

I remember once, when I first came out and started dating people, my baby sister asked why I'm attracted to butches.  "You date women who look like men!  Why bother?"

I explained that they're a beautiful combination of both energies.

Sweet, sensual energy from a woman and rugged energy from the male side.

Yin Yang.

She got it, and it's pretty much how I feel even more now.

What My Person and I did the whole time was hang out with some of the founding attendees.  There's a whole gaggle of them that have been going since My Person started going with her love over 10 years ago.

It was so good to be around a bunch of trannies who called themselves trannies, and not have to worry about the immoderately politically correct Vancouverites, who take everything as an insult or a threat.

I got to just be with people who say it as it is, and I got to be around people where I could call my love a 'he' and didn't have to feel the knee jerk reaction to explain that I'm not straight.

I got to see that I am indeed attracted to transgender people.

There was this cutie.  Of course he's that 'bad boy' that I like, not much unlike mi esposo.

I do like the 'bad boys', because I'm a redneck at heart, and now I like them even better when the come in the form of a tranny.

After hanging out with the wives of trannies, I felt I fit in just fine and embraced the fact that I am indeed a Tranny Chaser, and damn!  That's a whole other level of queer.

Here's the part My Person and I giggled about.

If people think trannies are a freak, then hey, what about us Tranny Lovers?

Yup.  We're all in this together.

i feel about myself pretty much what others think of me