non-consensual flogging

We only wanted to have fun.

We wanted to experience a cultural celebration called 'Carnival'.  It is a month long celebration of Dominican Republic independence.

We took a chartered bus to La Vega with locals for the excursion.  That was fun.

The people we traveled with were lovely.  One man, whom I'm sure is in the closet, needed a hairband for his braids.  I obliged.

Moments later, he gave me his bracelet, simply because I told him I liked it.

There was singing and carrying on, and of course an en route visit to an outhouse so I could practise my Dominican squat.

When we arrived, I noticed vendors selling footballs of varying colours, filled with water giving them solid pressure.  I couldn't understand what they were for, so I simply shook my head when anyone tried to sell me one.

Many people had them, but to me they seemed pointless, until we meandered through the crowd, and I would randomly be hit in the ass by them.

It really hurt and I was stinging from the floggings within minutes of arriving there.

But it was time to go to the parade where my eyes were treated to colours of costumes that were incredible!

Gorgeous!  My only intention was get every costume on my video to show everyone the detail that went into these outfits.

I found out later why every single costume had an evil face.  They were the Diablos Cojuelos, and demons they were.

As I tried to film these demons, it donned on me as to why I was occasionally hit by these strange footballs by various men in the audience.

I began to be brutally belted by the Diablos Cojuelos.

When I was hit by one, I would turn around from the pain to protect myself, only to be hit by another man standing waiting for his turn to beat me.

They hit me with those rock solid footballs with all their strength.

This I know because I saw how hard they hit other women as well, and in a country where you're born with a baseball bat in hand, the swing is strong.

Yet, the women around me only received a seldom hit.

I stood out in the crowd because I am a gringa with blonde hair.  I was a target, and my beatings were repeated well beyond 20 times.

No matter where I went, children and men would attack me with these balls.

At one point, I found a tree and stood in front of it, pressing my ass up against it with my arms fastened tightly around the back in hopes I would be safe.

There was even a point where I was being chased by a few of the Diablos Cojuelos through the crowd, and people parted to give them access to get to me.

Then they cheered as I was assailed repeatedly.

One of the hits I took was so painful I came close to vomiting and passing out within seconds.

Someone told me to sit down, but I was in so much pain, I couldn't even sit to save myself.  I explained this only to have them laugh, thinking I was kidding.

I was in tremendous pain, so much so that it hurt to walk and I could feel the swelling of welts through my shorts.

Inflammation of blood created pressure as it bled beneath my skin, and even the lightest touch from someone brushing against my ass sent pain shooting through my mid-section.

There was one more problem:  I still had to get back to the bus for 6 o'clock.

As I darted through the crowd, I did my best to keep my backside protected by grandmothers, food carts, walls and trees.

I was in full panic anticipating the next beating, looking over my shoulder in fear for 2 hours.

During the weaving in and out of the crowd, still being occasionally hit by anyone who had enough space to do so, we found our group.  The tour guide for the day was sweet enough to give me a barrier to watch for anymore sneak attacks.

Our group on the bus really didn't understand the gravity of the attacks I endured.

Girls told me they hurt as well, but they sat on her bus seat pretty easily, and jumped around with energy.

It took me quite a bit of time to finally settle into my seat.

I had to do it millimetre by millimetre until my entire ass was placed.  I sat, breathing through the pain.

We finally got home from our long day at Carnival and I went straight to the bathroom mirror to look at how badly I was violated.

Here is the 'end' result:

However, yesterday, it was even worse.  The bruising has spread down my legs and the the sides of my hips, and it's almost impossible to find any white skin back there.

I don't think I'll be going back to 'Carnival'.  I'm done.

I'm also not too sure about being in large gatherings with men here anymore.

It's too unpredictable and I don't feel safe.

my life has value and others appreciate who i am

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

dropping weight

When I write in my blog, it's stream thinking, and I allow the weight to be lifted from my mind.

As I write how I'm feeling, answers to problems come out.

When I write, it's public.

When I write, it's honest, and I leave details in that other would not, for fear of how they might be judged.

When I write, sometimes it gets me into trouble.

Usually, when I write, I am able to take those words and deal with the issue.

This time is no different.  I'm feeling much better today, however still feeling on the edge of tears and feeling quite a bit of anxiety.

It hurt my friend that I mentioned her here instead of talking to her first.

On the flip side, it also gave way to receiving support and love from friends.

Papi and I worked things out for the most part.

After talking about why we hurt each other with words, I learned that I said things that were hurtful too.

Like saying that what he was working on the new fans for himself.  When really, he was working on it for us and the cats.

I implied that he's selfish, when I know he's not.

He's very giving, sweet and compassionate.  When he's not depressed, that is, not unlike myself.

He apologized, as did I.

I took a few more steps today.

Now I'll behave and not get too overzealous with the thrill of it.  I vow to take the best care of my ankle I possibly can.

I would do it for the dogs.  I take care of their health issues with love.

So, I will take care of my own with the same attention and care.

After this weekend, I think I should be able to start making healthy food again and take off the weight I've put on lying about eating really bad food.

I'm having grave issues with what I see in the mirror.  It's not pretty.

I limited my food intake yesterday to try to calm my mind.

This is the worst thing I could do to myself while I'm trying to feel better.

This does not fix my heart.  This hurts me further.

Today, I'm starting my day with coconut water.

I hacked them open with a machete and was donned the beautiful, healing energy from those fuzzy orbs.

I don't have any coffee.

Let's hope the coconut water keeps me from lashing out.

The dogs are needy and making me crazy.  They can feel my energy.

They want to help, but they're not helping.

They act out, because my emotions are in a whirlwind.

They feel me.  They act accordingly.  They are my indication.

I've been quite aggressive with them, telling them to leave me alone.

The Thug was actually depressed last night.  That broke my heart.

My pain and anger has prompted a sweet, loving soul to hurt at the sight of me falling.

If we think our emotions are our own and don't affect others, we have got to give our heads a shake.

We affect others greatly when we are in this space of depression.

Depression makes us selfish.  We only think about ourselves.  We can try as we might to think of others, but we just can't do it when we have that fog.  It comes out forced and forged.

I don't want to be selfish.

I want to think of these little loves that I adore so much, and not push them away because they're trying to help.

They are trying to protect me.

I suppose I should do the same and start eating better for my mind.

I need to lose weight.

In my heart.

i dissolve all blocks to reaching a healthy weight

Gratitude Day 2/10
1. I am grateful for coconut water.
2. I am grateful my friend forgave me.
3. I am grateful Papi and I love each other enough to work things out.
4. I am grateful I took some steps today.
5. I am grateful for the rain to feed my garden.
6. I am grateful for my Fuzzy Family's love.
7. I am grateful for gratitude lists.
8. I am grateful we have electricity.
9. I am grateful I can use a machete.
10. I am grateful I can find gratitude. 

a VERY unwanted visitor

How do you say, "eating disorder" in Spanish?

I don't think they really get it here.  Mental illness is not on the docket.  It's not spoken of.

Oh, you can go into Google Translate and find the direct translation, 'trastornos de la alimentación', but it doesn't mean they're going to 'get' it.

Why would anyone who's starving from lack of money have a 1st World problem so silly as to cry about not being perfect?

I've been stress/depression/anxiety eating.  Corn chips.  Chocolate.  Pasta.  Gads of rice with butter and bacon bits.  All things I would normally eat sparingly as a treat, I've been gorging on, with the back of my mind begging to stop the madness.

When I eat like this, it's like I'm on autopilot and my hand won't stop going to my mouth.  I haven't even swallowed the last bite and I'm stuffing more in my yak with fervor.

I barely taste the food, other than 'salty', or 'sweet'.

Well, the other day, I went to put on a pair of my cozy pants, and dammit they were uncomfortable.  That evening, I was almost in tears, because it was confirmed that I had put on weight.

Papi knows better than to be honest with me if I have put on weight, "I don't notice anything.  You still look good to me," is his usual response.  Sweet of him, but I can't trust those words, just like I can't trust anyone else who tells me I'm thin.

I don't use the mirror to tell me, because no matter what size I am, that reflective demon always tells me I look bad.

But my pants?  Yup.  Direct indication.

I had troubles sleeping because I was obsessing about the fact that I can't stop eating and I'm putting on weight.

Then probably the worst thing possible could have happened yesterday morning.

Let me just set this up by telling you that the first week we were here, Our Translater told me what a beautiful body I had and that she really likes it.

It was a very sweet compliment.  It gave me confidence and was nice to hear, even though it was hard to believe.

Well, yesterday morning she said, "You look like you have more fat."  When my face turned into something akin to the devil, she added, "It looks good."

Good?!?!?!  Really?!?!?  This is my own personal hell!!!!

Oh, but it definitely was worse when the Housemaid chimed in, "You were much more fat in November when you were here."

Good fucking g*d people!!!!!  Have you memorized my every curve?!?!?!

Can I tell you what that has done to me?

I immediately started obsessing about limiting my food, putting on clothes that would hide my body and last night it was very difficult to get to sleep without feeling like I would go into a crying fit.

I kept venting to Papi about it and his response?  "You're obsessing about this!!"

My response to my sweet esposo who worked with mental illness as his career in Vancouver?  "You do know what an eating disorder is, right?"

Pure obsession.  100% demented thinking about nothing but food and my body.

Our Translator and the Housemaid have thrown me into a tailspin.

This is not good.  The whole day all I did was think about what I would eat next that would help me lose weight.

All I did was think about how much I would exercise to fight off the Anorexia Monster.

Going to the bathroom was torture, because I had to see the horrible image in the mirror that seemed even more distressing than it was the day before.

It's hell, and all because I got so over-stressed that I ate non-stop to deal with my emotions.

But the most horrendous part of this experience, is that now I KNOW people actually pay attention to my figure.

This will have me paranoid every second of every day as to what they're thinking about me.

It's ridiculous, because I shouldn't care, but an eating disorder is an eating disorder.

A fucking disorder of thinking.  I'm not in control of my mind.

I CAN be in control of what I put in my mouth, and yesterday I didn't harm myself, but ate as close to my food plan as possible, only a little more limiting.

How do you explain an eating disorder to people who don't really have this absurd dilemma of mind fuckery?

My only mission today is to continue to eat so as to not harm my body, and get some exercise.  Now there are no more strange men in our space today, because everything is done.

Yoga, fruit, vegetables, water, and loving, gentle talk to myself with as few tears as possible.

i see myself at a healthy weight and i achieve it

what's your normal?!?!

Papi's manic.

His eyes are crossing while he's trying to stay awake, but he's insisting on doing more.

"Maybe you want to help me?" he asks with the snark level on high.

No, I want to finally write today, because I haven't been able to write for a few days.  However, I helped him anyway, because I really just want him to go to sleep.

It's been so busy.

Really busy.

I saved as much food as I could because I needed to eat, but damn!

Every time I turn around, I'm going for another hang out, which usually includes food and I'm not starving.  Let me just say that.

I'm not liking what I see in the mirror, so it may be time to cover up those reflective demons.

It seems we have lunch and dinner booked for the next 9 days.  Today is my last Thursday Lunch with my mother.

My Eternal Friend warned me, "Just wait until you get closer to the date.  It gets even worse."

I have friends that stopped having anything to do with me when I said I'd like to say goodbye.  They may try to catch up now, but I'm too far gone.

I realize now that my migraine is 100% due to the anxiety and stress.

The other day, I thought it vanished and I was excited that it would be a day to live without pain killers.

Then I spoke about everything we need to do, my mind started racing, my heart started squeezing and BOOM!

It was back, creeping up the left side my cheek bones until it landed throbbing at my temple.

My doctor was hoping to hear a miracle when I saw her the other day, but unfortunately, she wrote me a script for more morphine.

She also doesn't understand the stress.  "But it's a good thing you're doing!"

No, she doesn't get it.

I tried to explain, "Well, all my comfort is gone.  All my things that keep me happy are gone and I'm living in chaos.  It's really hard."

Not too many people understand.

I had awesome words from one reader who said how she gets stressed out when she's running 10 minutes behind if her dog takes too long to poop and I realized, any stress I've ever felt is only relative.

I've felt that stress before.

Now that stress seems like nothing, but to her it's everything, because she's living in it.

It is probably how people who don't understand view this.

It's really nothing to them, because they can't relate.

Man.

Try having every corner of your life either in boxes, gone or changed.

We humans hate change.

As I write, I'm looking at Papi, and wishing he would start the Graveyard Coma because he just looks so damn tired.

I made the mistake of saying, "Hey, Papi, maybe you should just go to sleep?" because his face was getting quite pale.

"Honey, I'm trying to do this, don't stress me out!!!"

Niether of us has really had 'normal' for weeks.

There is no more 'normal'.

Not right now, and I suspect, there will be no 'normal' for a long time.

We've abandoned our lives for a new one.

Our lives changed when we made the decision to strive for a better life.

There will come a point when all of this does become old hat.

Can you imagine?

When life with goats, a veggie garden, chickens, gads of dogs and island living (and perhaps a donkey?!?!?) becomes 'normal'?

Hard for me to fathom.

But it will.

my angels are helping me with every step i take.  they are always here

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

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

don't blame the guns. please.

This whole bullshit about 'guns' being the problem in this world is ridiculous and it fucking pisses me off.

Yes.

It's horrible that people were killed in Colorado.

Yes.

It's horrible that gang violence kills the innocent.

Fortunately, in the case of gangs, they also kill each other off, which is a positive.

But 'guns' being banned is not the solution.

Do you really think for a fucking second that violent people who blow others' heads off will obey a fucking LAW that says they can't carry them?

No, only law abiders will follow that rule.

It's not the fucking guns.

It's the fact that the world is going insane.

Look at the Dominican Republic.

Jesus!

They don't need guns.  A dude was decapitated by a machete shortly before our trip there, because he and another guy were fighting over a girl.

That guy didn't die from a gun, he died from a sick human being.

Well, I wouldn't actually call him 'human'.

Here in planet earth, our inhabitants are going crazy.

It's hard not to with the pain and suffering life hands us.

I honestly believe that every person on this tiny planet is suffering in some way, shape, or form.

We all have troubles, but the problem is, there's not enough help for people in crisis, and not enough people to recognize those who may go off.

We've got kids in homes being harmed by the hand of their own parents in the most horrifying ways you could ever imagine, creating the cycle of abuse.

Those assholes don't need guns to fuck people up.

How about we put down those bastards like the rabid dogs they are?

How about the people being killed by cars every day?

Not a hope in hell that our countries are going to ban cars.  Those are lethal weapons that people take for granted while they speed down our streets after the driver has had a few to drink.

Or for that matter, make an illegal U-Turn without looking and hitting this femme on her motorcycle.

Don't get me started on the brainwashing of religious zealots and their self righteous attitude about how they think it's OK to kill.

We're all losing it, and we feel have no control in this life.

People actually believe the right religion or politician will fix things.

Really mother fuckers?!?

The anger I feel for our current Prime Minister, and how one by one, he's taking away all options for help with mental health in our country, sickens me.

Of course, not enough to go nuts and go into a movie theatre to shoot people, but I understand the emotion of not feeling like there's anything I can do about watching our future world go down in flames.

There are too many tragedies right now in this world to start pinpointing 'guns' as the problem.

Guns don't go off by themselves.

Let's help our peoples' mental health.

That will stop the guns from going off.

In the meantime, don't mind me while I run away from the terror of this world and hang out with chickens, goats and donkeys.

i appreciate positive people

stay calm

I did it!

I orchestrated a change that pleased a group of people, instead of letting my anger get the better of me, then losing it and making myself look like a lunatic!

You see, every week, I've been going to the only yoga class that this bitch of a back will allow me to get through, without going into spasm.

It's lovely.

It's glorious.

But unfortunately, it's got a berserk woman in it, and this time, it's not me.

The class would normally have you sign up for certain spots on the floor, only some of the numbers have been rubbed off and most people will just go where they want to.

We're all used to that system in other gyms.  You know?  First come, first serve.  You want that special spot?  Then get your fucking ass there on time.

I have told her I don't appreciate being yelled at before a yoga class, so she moved on to berating other people, because I stood up for myself. 

The class starts with stress, and it's not a nice way to start a yoga class.

Well, I got through to someone who could make changes and said that perhaps for the better of all clients, we could either a) have a sign up sheet without assigned floor numbers, b) remove the numbers from the floor or c) make the numbers more visible and be sure that everyone adheres.

When I got to the class today it was changed!

The sign up sheet was just first come, first serve and let me tell you, there was a sigh of relief from everyone.

A girl that I would stay at the back of the class with, to avoid the crazy one, said, "Did you see?  They changed the class!  Now there's no numbers to deal with!!"

I whispered to her, "I did it.  I spoke to management and told them how abusive and passive aggressive she has been about the system, and asked them if we could work on it together."

Her eyes widened from happiness, and we smiled huge smiles of relief.

Then the yogi came in and had happy words.  "We don't have numbers anymore, so it's first come, first serve and there will be no more fighting!"

Everyone was so happy.

Our class went so well.

There was laughing, there was positive energy, there were smiles.

Not to mention, the offender in question wasn't there.  Not sure why, but that also added to the good energy that was flowing in the room.

I was surprised that I didn't go off on this nut, to be honest, because my journey to learn peace hasn't been attained.

You could say I'm 'a little' hotheaded at times.

... i'm sure you've figured that one out for yourself ...

I tend to get off on the wrong foot when I feel like I have something to get off my chest.

Even yesterday, I saw the most hideous, racist bastard at a store, and instead of releasing my inner demon on him, I simply sighed a very obvious breath, followed by a throat clearing that let him know I was going to lose it if he said one more horrible thing to the elderly Asian lady in front of him.

He looked behind him to see who was making a fuss, and the look I gave him was, "Go ahead, buddy.  Take me on."

He chose wisely.  He didn't continue to say repulsive, small minded comments.

Again, I surprised myself for not blowing a gasket on the guy.

I know that I need to be more subdued in my reactions, as I tend to piss people off.

However, having said that, some people only hear the loudness, as opposed to the rationale. 

It doesn't really matter though.  Point is, I'm on a mission to learn what the word, 'calm', really means.

What does it mean?

Peace, even amongst chaos.

today's mantra from my gratitude buddy: if plan 'a' doesn't work, there are 25 more letters in the alphabet.  stay cool!

Sit In Silence

Music is my only way to transcend into a place of inner peace.

Even if I'm playing music some would consider 'heavy/dark', it doesn't matter.  Every note I play runs through my veins with love.

Every finger that moves, brings in a sound wave from the fret board of my bass, or the ivory keys of my piano, straight through my chest cavity and into my heart, where it feeds my blood and eventually, my mind.

That's when my mind becomes calm.

My thoughts are on nothing but the instrument and the notes themselves.

It truly is the only time I can say that I can even come close to what other people call 'meditation'.

Problem is, I can't be bringing my bass or my piano around with me all over the damn city.

Especially on the 'short bus'.  Those bitches leave me stranded at the side of the road too much.  It would suck being stranded and stuck holding my oh so heavy bass.

Yeah.  It doesn't work that way. Especially with HandyDart.

You see, they're now owned by a for profit, American company, called MVT, who pretend they're from Canada.

It's not that I don't like Americans, especially The Yank.  I just don't like American corporations.

MVT just can't seem to understand that waiting at the side of the road for an hour increases pain, which is the whole reason I use them!

Anyway.

My whole point is music.

I remember before I got on anti-depressants, I would go into really heavy valleys.  It was almost impossible for me to get out of the Pit of Doom.

Those demons were licking my heels with every breath I took.

One day, I was crying horribly, but I had to practise for my cello lesson. 

As soon as I felt those notes floating through my bones, I stopped crying.

Until I had to turn the page.

It's quite the job to turn the page playing a cello.  Do you use your bow hand and flip that bugger all over the place, hoping that you don't rip apart your bow hairs?  Or do you use your fretboard hand and lose your place?

There are no frets on a cello by the way.  If that means anything to you.  It did to me.  Unlike my bass, I had troubles finding my place a lot. 

Anyway, turning the page would take a moment, and for that moment, I would begin to cry again, until the page was turned and the sound waves were directing my blood once more, and the tears would stop.

The past week, from the grief of losing The World's Loudest Snorer, I've been very touchy with my emotions.

The past two days, I've had the freedom to play as much music as I want.

The same thing has been true as the cello epiphany.

Music heals my heart.

I've always wondered, are musicians born a musician, and the emotions follow?

Or are emotional people drawn to music, because it heals our hearts?

Either way, I'm ok with it.

At least I have something that I can count on to help my get through hard times.

As my drummer from HECTOR/best man at my wedding/father to The World's Loudest Snorer once said, "It's ok when you have bad things happen.  That's when you write your best music."

So, then maybe I have had an 'interesting life', because that's my journey.

To write the best music.

Yesterday, as I practised my bass, I played along to the BlueLight song I wrote, Sit In Silence.

I realized, I have to listen to my own advice.

if you are passionate about something, pursue it, no matter what anyone else thinks.  That is how dreams are achieved.

Broken.

In some capacity, we are all broken.

Some of us, more than others.

Being a 'fixer', I've always had the feeling that I want to help others.

I forgot about myself for many years.

There's so much that is broken within me, that I needed to stop focusing on others.

I can give my friends love.

I can give my friends support.

I can give my friends words of encouragement.

I can also give stories of proof that everything gets better.

None of this is any good to anyone, if they're not ready to take care of themselves.

However, one thing that I've realized through living a rather, ummm ... eventful life, is that by looking to help others, I've wound up helping myself.

I help myself by listening to the words that I tell others.

They're all true.

Yesterday, I found out  yet another person has been harmed by the 'mean girls'.  Crazy, isn't it?

I told him how beauty has come to me because of my struggles these past 5 years.

... oh i haven't even gotten into anything before the accident ... good god i've got a lot i've lived through ...

I told him it can happen for him as well.

But you know what?

I think the 'mean girls' around the world are broken and don't know how to fix themselves, so instead of helping others, they harm them, because it's all they know how to do.

We are truly responsible for our own happiness.

Someone else I know is having a very low time in their life, but what she doesn't see at this very moment, is the same thing I don't see when I'm stuck in the Pit of Doom.

I can get out.

We can all get out.

We can live with anxiety, depression, demons and fear, yet still smile, if we're ready to.

I'll tell ya, when the anxiety hits and my stomach is turning, my head is floating and I can't think about anything else, I'm not smiling.

Point is though, that every single time I get knocked down, I come back up swinging.

I am a leprechaun.

I am the honey badger

I'm sure of it.  "C'mon!  Is that all ya got bitches?!?  I'll take ya on!"

There are people in my life who have fallen, and they can get back up.  I've seen them do it.

It's just a matter of telling that part of our brain that refuses to let up that we won't listen to it anymore.

We really do have the 'mean girls' living in our own heads.

The people who hurt us are just an extension of those thoughts.

For instance, somebody can tell me something they think I am, that I know I'm not, and I'll laugh at them.

But when they say something that the peanut gallery in my mind could believe is true, it hurts.  It really hurts.

In some capacity, we are all broken.

My hope is to be fixed.  For me.

My dream is that for all those I love to be fixed.

You can do it.

I love you.

no matter how much progress we make, there will always be the people who insist that whatever you're trying to do is impossible. ( fuck 'em.)

my sobriety day

Yesterday was my sobriety date.  Only problem is, I forgot.

However, I was given the opportunity to remember.

His name is Danny.

As I limped with my cane, slowly to the front of the store, I was greeted by a smiling man who was panhandling.  I've seen him outside that door before.

I've said 'hi' in the past, when I've been a little more able bodied as I passed, but yesterday, he chose to engage in a conversation.

"Hi!  You look like you're in a lot of pain," he said as he came to help me with the door.

"Yeah, it's not my best day that's for sure," I confirmed.

"I hope you feel better soon.  I'm sorry you hurt so much."

I felt like hugging him, so instead I did it with energy and had a conversation with him, regardless of how much it hurt just to stand.  Crazy part is, I actually forgot about my pain for a moment.

He was excited to tell me that we had something in common.  "I had braces too, you know!"  I smiled a great big smile as he told me this.  My smile ended when he continued, "But all my teeth got knocked out so it doesn't matter anymore."

He opened up to me about his addiction.  "I don't normally tell people this, but for some reason, I felt like I was supposed to tell you."

He was supposed to tell me.

He was supposed to tell me, to remind me that this was my day for celebration.

I told him that it happened to be my sobriety day, and that I am 13 years sober.

I told him that I am an alcoholic, who has found peace.

I told him that I have a chemical imbalance that goes for a ride when I put that liquid devil to my mouth.

I told him that I struggled with drug addiction and we bonded about the drugs that were my drug of choice, which happened to be his as well.

I told him that Papi, too, was living a good life without his choice of drugs and alcohol.

He hung his head, "It's just been so long that I've been using and I can barely remember any of my life."

I assured him, "That's really ok!  Do you need to remember pain?  There's always time to make new, positive memories that you will remember."

He recognized that I needed to get going.  The pain was increasing with every minute I stood.  After we exchanged names, I placed my loving hand on his shoulder and left him with words of friendship.  "Danny, I wish for peace for you in your life.  Whatever that means to you, I wish for you to find it."

I went down to my favourite wheat free muffin stop, and put my pain killers in my soy latte.

When I left, feeling a little relief from the pain killers, I bought him my very favourite muffin and hobbled back up, hoping he'd still be there.

He was!

"I brought you a gift," I told him.  "All I ask in return is that while you're enjoying my absolute favourite muffin that you tell yourself, 'I am at peace'."  All I want is for him to plant the seed.

We spoke more about the fact that he knows what he needs to do, while he made sure I got to my bus stop.  He wanted to be sure I got there, because to him, I was in worse shape than he, so he was my attendant to get me to safety.

While we walked, we spoke about how he knows that the only person who can help him is himself.  I just reaffirmed that all I want for him is to be well.

He looked into my eyes and said, "You have the bluest eyes I've ever seen."  Funny part was, so did he, and I told him so.

For a moment, I realized that it was completely possible that this person with the same eye colour could very well be the brother I've never known about all my life.

Stranger things have happened and addiction runs in the family.

He looked to be the right age, mind you being an active addict, he could be younger.  The facade of age comes when we destroy our bodies and minds with that rotting poison.

But you never, ever know who that person is standing in front of you.  We are all connected.

Danny was put in my path to remind me of why I'm grateful to be sober 13 years.

if i make mistakes, i am able to give myself the benefit of the doubt

Are you happy?

Yesterday, I had quite the day at the building of teeth.

I tripped through the whole bloody concrete tower with my old lady cart.

First, the orthodontist to take out my wires and elastic chain for the dentist.

Next, the dentist to put my crown back on that fell off during my last visit to the orthodontist.

Then up to the surgeon.  This was fun.  Brain injury looked at the floor in my contacts list about twenty times and couldn't figure out which floor to get off at, so I just bounced from floor to floor until I recognized the door.  So, then I had my surgery check up and he showed me my exercises for opening my mouth more.  OUCH.

After that I went back to the orthodontist to get my 2 back brackets put back on, my little hookie thing that holds one of the three elastics I have to wear, and then my elastic chains and wire were put back in.

I fucking hurt. 

I woke up with huge chipmunk cheeks.

I do not feel pretty.

I'm bitchy.

Hurricane Andréa is kicking up a storm and I don't feel like writing anything today.

However, I am going to therapy again today.  Let's see what she pulls out, shall we?

Doesn't feel like it's going to be the best day for me to stay positive.  Today will be work.

When I wake up in pain in both my mouth and my bitch of a back, I know there's going to be a Pain Med Party later on.

Yesterday I didn't need to take any pain killers.  I'll make up for it today.

Right now, I'm just trying to get through my coffee and eggs without screaming.

At anybody.

At anything.

Anyway, enough whining.

I have to go get ready for my 'short bus'.

Then it's off to talk about all the nasty things I've had to deal with in life.

It fucking sucks that we have a bad thing happen, then it's up to us to barf out the demons later.

I hate puking.

I don't want to deal with all this shit.

I was perfectly happy ignoring it and looking to the future, not the past.

However, I suppose if I want a healthy relationship with Papi, I need to work on this stuff.

I really am only doing this for our marriage. 

My love said, "I wish you were doing this for yourself."

Yeah, I'm not really.

Yet, in the end it will benefit me, no matter what.

Even if it feels like crap right now.

Hell!

I got clean and sober to try to make someone else look bad, ...

... long story ... different blab/blob ...

... but after all was said in done, the only person who benefited was little ol' me.

So!

Even if I am only doing this for Papi, it will be good for me none-the-less.

Ok.

My cup of artificial positive thinking has kicked in and I'm ready to fake my happiness until it truly comes back.

i deserve to be happy

Words hurt. Don't kid yourself.

"You want me to call a wambulance I'll pack you some cheese to go along with your whine"

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me?

Bull-fucking-shit.

Words hurt.

Anyone who has felt the pain of abusive words can tell you this.

The abusive words that my family hurled at one another have made me the loonie-toon I am today.  These are the words that have kept me feeling unworthy of existing.

When someone is reaching out and saying how much they're hurting, they don't need to be told, "Suck it up.  Quit whining."

They need to be supported.

If someone is hurting, chances are they do it in silence, for fear of the above attitude being hurled at them.

When we suffer in silence, our minds will tell us all sorts of lies to keep us in the rut of torture.

Those who have never felt suicidal or depressed have absolutely no idea what it is like to endure this excruciating angst.

The person who is writhing in pain stands on the edge of a very steep cliff.  It doesn't take much to push them even an inch closer to their threshold.

So, when someone tries to reach out, followed by someone telling us we're whining, it doesn't heal us.  It just allows us to berate ourselves a little more.

I have had friends in my life that can't handle my emotional breakdowns.  Fair enough.  Not everybody can.

But if we are telling you that we're hurting, be honest and tell us your shortcomings are that you don't know how to support someone who is feeling this way, because you don't understand.

Please don't try to silence the person.  If you don't have it in you to support, it's ok!

Plenty of people aren't supportive and they get along with all the others who don't need any.

However, we who suffer deserve to be set free to find the support we need.

We do not need to be put even further down into our Pit of Doom, so that we listen to the voices that tell us we don't really deserve to be here on this planet.

You never know what stage someone's depression is at.  You could never know, because you're not that person.

But I'll tell you one thing, if someone is at a point in their life where they're telling you how much pain they're in, telling them to quit whining, even as a joke to lighten a mood, is hurtful.

You never know if that person will finally have enough of the pain that they're considering stopping it by vanishing all together.

You never know if those words will be the vehicle that drives us 6 feet under.

Word hurt.

Don't kid yourself.

These words were the very reason I was so afraid to open my mouth just over a year ago.

I was terrified that I'd be told, "You have nothing to cry about," like my mother always said.

Please.

If someone is hurting and you don't know how to support them, tell them.  You'll probably hear from them that they just need you to listen.

Sometimes, all we need is to get those words out of our mouths, so they will begin to leave our brains, and eventually leave our souls in peace.

You never know what stage someone's suicidal idealism is at.

Do you want to be the one to push them over the edge and watch them land in a heap of broken bones?

Probably not.

So, please, choose your words wisely.

i release desperation and allow love to find me

Peacefully Drowning

It's been a few months since I've needed the non-judgement of 'you', my imaginary friend.  I'm embarrassed and need to work this through in truth.

I had a moment of Hurricane Andréa last night, but you know what?  It was for good.

I didn't have the fist on the ground pounding, fetal position insanity, but I did realize that I'm not being honest about my struggles with the Anorexia Monster.

Well, I have to say it out loud now.  I've told Papi and now I have to be honest with myself.  For the past 2 days, I limited my food to 'feel' thin.

I have had an excruciatingly hard time seeing how I could keep from feeling 'not good enough', when I saw that person in the mirror.

I broke through a major layer last night.

People have seen as me as being very hard on myself all my life.  I realized that this is not my intention.

I now see that I'm frustrated at what I see in the mirror and need help, because she just won't let up.

I tried to appease her, but then I remembered that it is not such a great idea.  There's no winning with this bitch, because the less I eat, the worse she shows me in that reflective devil.

So, I'll just shut off her heat valve and cover the mirror.

Bitch.

Also, I think another part of the problem is, the nerve medication I take to help me sleep through pain is giving me that good ol' pharmaceutical puff.

This is my next venture.  Get off these disgusting pills that are puffing me up like that Orange Angry Bird.

The whole idea of thinking positively and chanting positive mantras is so that I can get past the things that hold me in fear.

Well, now that I'm getting to the nitty gritty, I had an awful flashback.

Because there were tears about my Anorexia Monster overstaying her visit last night, my nose got stuffed.

yeah yeah yeah ... i'm one of those messy cryers ... snotty and all consuming ...

Once I'd spat her foul, abscessed venom out of my mouth, I was trying to drink loving water to cleanse my tongue from her poison.

Well, because I was all snotty, my nose couldn't get air to swallow, and the water felt suspended in my throat.

In less than a second, I was transported to when I was a kid and was drowning.

I was trying to show my mom and dad how I could do a back float, but they didn't watch, ...

... smoke another one pops ... thanks for caring ...

... and I floated toward the sea.

It took longer than usual to hit the sandy shore, so I tried to stand, but there were no little pebbles to greet my feet.

Over the drop off I went.

Water forced it's way down to my lungs, because in panic, I tried to breathe in.  At the same time, my other life support, my sinus cavity, was already filled with water.

Nothing was going in or out and I became one and the same with water.

I watched the line of air above me float further away, and I calmly gazed at the boy who was standing near me, frozen in fear, do nothing to help.

However, It was tranquil.

I felt I could give up, and I would really be ok.

I had peace.

Part of healing our lives, so we may live without our demons, is getting things out of our mind and through our mouths so it can let our souls be free.

Still, these are the things that scare me.

These are also the times I think, who the fuck keeps trying to kill me?!?!

Well, 'they' just keep trying, whomever 'they' are, but somehow, I manage to stay one step ahead of 'them'.

I sleep with one eye open.



even when the road is rough, steep and slippery, I can keep moving forward.

Where's MY fucking 'peace on earth'!?

Depression and suicidal idealism.

Anger and frustration.

Fear and worry.

Anxiety and panic attacks.

All of the above help create a terrifying body image when this eating disordered, injured brain looks in the mirror.

time for demons to play that game of, 'hey! if you got no food you'll get thinner!

It's that 'special time' of the year when my demons come out to play.

I had a really good run there!  I thought I'd make it through this season without any of the above.

But hey!  Only 2 more weeks and this year is over.

I usually get all these symptoms the moment the sun lays low, however they really didn't erupt until yesterday.

Yesterday I realized that I only have a few days of pain killers left, and no money to restock my shelf.  Goddamit!  It's going to hurt.

I also realized that the cat's food is running out and we need to get more, and don't really have the funds to do so.

Here we are.  2 people off work and not a penny coming in.  It's getting stressful, even though I rationalize with myself that we have food and shelter.

Papi has a cat to care for today and we'll be getting money for the kitties food.

Normally, I can hold on and relax with the truth of:

Everything always works out.  Everything.

But, somehow this day has kicked me in the ass and my demons are pulling me into the Pit of Doom.

It really could have something to do with the fact that Papi was in emergency, yet again yesterday, or it could have something to do with the fact that I'm responsible for taking care of every little aspect of the life of 2 people, because my love is down for the count.

It really was not a nice drive today to feed a cat for Papi, when I intentionally didn't wear my seatbelt in hopes that a semi-trailer would just come barreling around the corner and take me out.

For those of us who are chemically imbalanced, sometimes death seems like such a great rest from life's terms of survival.

I tried to be pro-active and call the person responsible for my financial health right now, only to be greeted by a Dragon Lady who spit out, "I have your case right here on my desk, but I'm not making any promises."

That was in response to my plea of, "Do you have any idea when I'll receive income?  I haven't had any for a month."

That was when I toppled, and my 'I can't believe I've made it this far without my Xmas depression' left me without optimism, taking on every stress available.

It's hit.

It really was a good run there, but now I just want to hide from the messy house, the lack of cat food, my ever piling 'todo' list et al.

It doesn't help that I can smell dog shit somewhere, but don't really want to look at the bottom of my shoe, or the pads of the dogs' feet, because it just means there's more for me to do.

Yeah, it's hit, and it hurts.

2 more weeks and this horrid 'special time' of the year will be over, and hopefully all will be restored with hope.

I am thinking and feeling for every person out there who is also waiting for this 'special time' to end.

Oh, how I know what you're feeling.

I hope you find peace today, as much as I hope I will as well.

If you ignore it, it will go away ...

Well, you know how you wake up and the first thing that you need to do is have that morning pee?  It's kinda like we go on autopilot and walk like zombies with a penchant for brains.  We take each bleary eyed step to the throne, and while we're sitting there contemplating what business needs to be done, ...

... or like me, you wonder who will be the one to clean the bathroom floor ...

... and our ritual is over before we know it, coupled with our eyes being a little more open.

Well, I didn't get my morning 'hello' to the all powerful can on time today.  Here's everything I did before my piddling:

• Brought The Golden up for his morning pee

• Explained to the 96 year old why my face looks like this

... because i just woke up you crazy old coot! i get to say the same thing every morning when she asks me, "what's wrong?!?!??!?" in that panicked old lady voice, while she's secretly hoping the answer is something horrible so she can either say, "that's the bunk," or, "there's always something to take the joy out of living," followed by asking about the most recent disaster every 5 minutes ...

• Called to make an appointment with the Dr. for the G'ma

• Asked the zealots at the door, "Are you here to talk about your god? Because I don't believe," followed by a slam in their face when they confirmed my suspicions

• Explained again to the old fart why she's not allowed to put her own pills in her pill box and took them away from her

... this one has been a great repeating record this week ...

• Gathered the old bird's laundry so I may do her bidding

• Brought in The Golden who's bladder was more relieved than mine

• Fed the clan

 ... minus the sleeping patient papi ...

• Yelled back up the stairs to the task master that I don't care if the wild bird seed has run out, then muttered under my breath "Fuck off!" in the loudest whisper I could

• Called HandyDart to cancel the old poop's ride to the senior center, where all the blue, white and grey haired ladies talk to each other about different stories simultaneously, because nobody can hear each other talking.

I desperately jumped onto the latrine, so I may start my morning routine.  It was at that moment that I realized what my 'rough around the edges friends' told me yesterday.

I went out for a beautiful breakfast hang out with a couple of lovely friends, not to mention awesome greasy food that I'll be paying for for a few days.  They were checking in to see how I was doing around Papi's male transformation.

Throughout our conversation, there was a common theme that was abounding: I don't take care of my needs around this.

I'm busy making sure everyone else around me is ok, but I haven't really looked at myself lately.  It hit me while the tinkling was sprinkling that they may be right.

I have been pretending that I'm just doing fine around Papi's transformation.

But honestly, I'm not.

There are some key issues that need to be taken care of around the transformation, and Papi and I got to talking about it while tears were rolling down my face.  Not to mention, snot was adamant that it would roll out at the very moment I tried to speak.

classy! didn't i mention how classy i am?

I've been trying to pretend that I've just slipped into Rah-Rah-Tranny mode and everything is fine.

The other half of the equation is that the sun is pulling it's light and warmth away from our planet.  It's during this time of the year that I am subject to what a lot of people deal with: Seasonal Affective Disorder.

It's a little more difficult since the accident, because of the added pain from the cold and the rain, but I now grasp what these two Trust List friends were trying to get me to understand.

I need support.

Papi and I are going to find someone to be a mediator to help clean this up.  We need to have everything worked out before we get to the Dominican Republic.

It will be no good if I don't have a support group and am isolated with my shit.  Mind you, I'm sure the goats will be good listeners.

However, now that I see it, I can't ignore it.

S.A.D., unresolved transformation issues, the neglect of myself.

Yeah, I took a little breather from reality for a few months there.

... denial ...

Now I'm at a door I can't slam shut.

This monster just strolls right in without my permission.

Fuck I hate it, but it's here.

Guess I can't ignore it anymore.

Bring it on already!

Papi was going on line to a forum or some other social site and asked me, "So, now what am I?  I don't wanna say straight, because you're not straight and it would imply that."

i'm back to losing my identity.

My love said he needs a t-shirt that says, "My wife is a lesbian."

People would just look at it and think it's funny.

They wouldn't think it's serious when they see two 'straight' people walking down the street.

The other day when I had my, "Are you gay?!?!" freakout, it is really what I was getting at.

Now that my love is changing gender, both of our identities will change.

Not internally, but from the outside world's judgement.

Papi just finally ended up saying, "Well, i'm not straight because you aren't either, and I'm bi-curious because I'm attracted to F-Ms, but I'm not gay either."

Finally my love came up with, "I'm Gender Queer."

Sounds good to me, but no matter what we feel on the inside, the world will label us to fit into a perfect little box so that they have a way to identify us.

That's the part I hate.

I was terrified of coming out of the closet, and what people ...

... family ...

... would think of me.

When I finally found the support I needed to help me come out in a safe place filled with love, I took the plunge.

I was proud, because the people around me made me feel that I was loved, no matter whom I loved.

Well, looking back, I see that pained young lady who was stuck in a closet with her 'secrets', and I never wanted to visit there agin.

I suppose it's why I'm so adverse to having people think I'm straight.

A lot of people who stay in their closets will never know the freedom they could have when they are finally able to love whom they want to.

I guess some people just deal with it best they can, and stay put in their misery.

I can't do that.

But now, it's like I'm being forced back into that place.

It's fucking amazing how my love's male transformation has inflicted me with old Ghosts and Demons.  It's crazy that I am now obligated to look at the pain I had at a younger age, and finally deal with it.

You know, that old saying is so damn true.

If you don't work it out when you should, it will come back and bite you in the ass.

My ass is feeling rather raw right now.

Those teeth are having a feast back there.

I really have to look at why I'm so afraid of being seen as straight.

I honestly can't put my finger on it yet, but judging from how Ghosts and Demons have reared their ugly, skanky, pussing heads, I'll be finding out soon.

Everything in life happens for a reason.

Everything.

We can look at all the affliction we've dealt with in our lives and see how it worked out.  It makes us stronger.  It teaches us lessons of life.

it prepares us to deal with harder moments ... they never seem to stop coming ...

Well, just like how my body being in 'near perfect' strength saved my life in my motorcycle accident, my moments in life that were so difficult bred backbone to deal with life's curve ball now.

It always works out.

So let's just bring it on and get it over with, shall we?

No more running.

One of the questions from my award yesterday was, "If given the chance, which one would you choose: Your life now, or past?"

My answer was, "I definitely choose my life now.  My past is what I run from."

It was the first thought that came into my mind.  The next thought was a memory of being in self-defense.

When I went through a course to learn how to not be pegged as a victim by offenders, I gained some great tools to keep myself safe.

One was to walk like a boy.  Offenders don't look for that in a victim.  They search for a meek soul that they can overpower.

Yet, one of the most important weapons was to stand tall against your attacker, and make yourself heard as you scream, "I don't know this person!  I need help,"(or some variation of the two) while your adrenalin is pumping so fast, that you kick and scratch, surprising even yourself!

You could probably blurt out something else, and it wouldn't even matter.

The point is, these pussing bags of scum can't handle it when you voice your distress and they usually take off, looking for someone more passive and timid.

I realized yesterday, after writing that I run from my past, that the time has come to scream back in it's face.

My own offender of Ghosts can't hurt me if I choose to face it head on.

However, it doesn't take away the feeling that is human nature.

shaking ... heart pounding ... tears fall today ...

This morning, I woke with endorphins rushing through my blood, as my first thought of the day was of the sweet teenager who hid under the kitchen table whispering to the kids' crisis line.

I needed to speak to someone about the fact that I was attracted to girls.

I was a drug ridden, suicidal young girl who believed that to be a lesbian was (very vocally) viewed as 'disgusting' to my family of religious zealots.

I was called disgusting a few times.

Not because they knew I was gay, but because I kept myself completely obliterated to deal with my 'secret'.

"You're disgusting.  You're no better than your father."

I hid under that kitchen table, confiding in the ear of a stranger.  I cried as I admitted this shameful, covert information.

Then it hit me: Could I trust them? They would have my phone number!

They would trace it back to where I live and tell my hopeless, single mother that was stuck with two kids, just how 'disgusting' I really was.

I hung up the phone as fast as I could, remembering from T.V. shows, that tracing takes a few minutes of talking before they could find you.

Maybe I got off the phone fast enough?!?!

I shrunk under that table, as if it was a refuge from my very own earthquake.

I repressed it even more.

I kept it down by refusing to open my mouth, even to food.  If I could fade away, along with those numbers on the scale, then I wouldn't have to try (and fail) to kill myself again.

just ... disappear.

Every day I would write my weight on the top of my diary page and think to myself, "Just 5 more pounds and I'll pass away."

shrinking, shrinking, falling away with the weight ...

One night, I was willing my heart to stop.

It felt like it did.

I was scared that I actually could die, and finally went back for some help.

Well, this is just one of the memories that I have felt the need to run from.

No more.

It's time to take care of that sweet teenager who never got to bask in the light.  She was a pretty young girl who would walk with her head down, hiding the world like blinders on a horse.

if you just ignore it, it will go away ...

I think I can see now that it never really goes away, so now I need to face it, like Momma Bear. 

fake it till you make it ...

Shaking in my boots ...

It's hard to see what someone else is experiencing if you haven't been there already.

My love wanted me to read more of the myths and transgender information.  Papi asked, "Do you want to look at them some more and see if there's anymore questions you have?"

I'd really had enough when I thought my love was trying to hint that he was gay.

"No, not right now.  Maybe another day, but not right now."

I have enough to chew on at the moment.

My heart is trying to deal with the fact that I need to revisit old demons.

I never would have thought this would come up.  I've already done so much work around it.

None-the-less, my love just can't understand that when there was phony penises before, they didn't bother me.  Now that they're attached to a person who's giving of an air of male-bodied-ness, it is a different story all together.

Papi could never really see why I am triggered by this.  Mi esposo is one of the lucky people in this world who hasn't suffered the trauma of another person's offense.

However, it's not much different than me not understanding being transgender.  I could never really get it.

I am learning though.

We were discussing how I don't really know much about the process.  For example, I didn't know that the whole process takes 5 years to complete.

I really thought that there would be a new person in my bed in a heartbeat.

It's slow enough that I can work out the changes one by one.  They affect me, and I need to deal with them, but so far I've gotten through.

Then my love told me, "The most ignorant thing you've really thought was that transgender people are a third gender."

I just couldn't get past this thinking.

I suppose I really am a black or white person.

Male.

Female.

Third gender.

It's the only way I could process it, but it's not true.

Every person is not a cookie cutter of the next.  There's no way to generalize with every person.

However, I am now seeing why I've had an aversion to being in a relationship with an F-M.

The whole male thing really gets to me.  Being in the closet for so long has taken it's toll on me.

If I wanted companionship, then I'd have to appease my homophobic, religious family.

I had to date males.

It was very difficult and I spent those years obliterating my mind with drugs and alcohol just to deal with the fact that I didn't really want to be with male beings.

When I finally decided to come out of the closet, I thought I was home free and never had to deal with a male being in my bed ever again.

Here I am.

I get it now.

I understand why I am closed minded to the transgender world.

I need to feel safe, and the only person who could help me get through this phase is Papi.

I wouldn't have been able to get there with anyone else.

My love has made me promise that I will work on this to get past it.  Mi esposo wants me well, and in turn wants our relationship to be well also.

Of course, I would do anything for Papi.

That includes working with my ghosts so that I may have a relationship without fear.

It makes me shake.