obligation

Perhaps it's possible I'm becoming acclimatized.

When in Alberta, land of the ice and snow, my bitch of a back was in agony.

Utter agony.

I had no pain killers, but those that my lovely brother in law gave me.

They made me puke all over the place.

Plan B: No pain meds at all.  Limp about with a scowl on my face like an angry troll.

I took it out on my niece who has a sugar addiction and gets wired on the substance.

It hurt her.  It hurts me that I even hurt her feelings for a second by jabbing at her about the amount of sugar she eats.

I should know better.  I'm the same way with sugar addiction.  How can I expect a child to control it?

I do know that by eating horrible sugary, wheat induced foods, my troll face was definitely a little more than extreme.

Anyway, I came back home, to depression, and to find that my body isn't responding to the heat quite like it did last time I came back from the utter BRRRRRRR.

I came back to the Dominican Republic 'winter'.  It's still warm, but occasionally you need a sweatshirt or heavy t-shirt.

When the sun does come out in all it's glory, I'm like a child running to the ice cream man.

Screaming out to the yard to capture a few moments of heat.  "Please sun.  Please warmth.  Take away the pain."

I know it can help with both physical and emotional pain.

But last night I was up most of the night with the throbbing icy pain that shoots down through my leg.

I woke up to a little bit of a bad mood due to lack of sleep and the stress of coming home to creeping fear.

Papi admitted to the Facebook world of his wrongs.

Deadly wrongs.  Drinking and driving, while texting at 4 in the morning and driving off the road is nothing to take lightly.

True to the nature of Facebook, or rather FecesBook, Papi was greeted with less than desirable comments.

Zap!  A few more 'friends' deleted.  Neither of us needs bullshit right now.  I won't tolerate it anymore.  Life is hard enough without crap from people.

After speaking with a few friends about my feelings of this, I'm greeted with a resounding, "But I'm worried about YOU too!"

I'm only worried about Papi.

He has vowed that the drinking will not be coupled with driving, and that there will be no more texting while on the road either.

I've been harping on him for years about the texting.  He is finally seeing the results.

All I have is the gratitude that mi esposo didn't die while I was gone.  It's all I have to stay in the now.

I hold him, because we just never know when someone we love will be snatched from us, either by a bad choice, or life and all it's daggers it throws at us.

Life.

Sometimes, I am just so tired of trying to get through it.

I know where suicidal tendencies come from.

This place where we are just so exhausted from what's handed to us that we feel we just can't endure another day.

Then we do, and we continue.

Some of us don't make it out alive.  Some of us give in to the voice that says, "That's enough.  Let's just go now, OK?"

Yesterday, the only thing that got me out of bed was the fact that 8 little creatures are depending on me.

I lied in bed shaking.

Stomach turning.

Blood curdling.

Toes curling.

Muscles buzzing, feeling like they're separating from my body.

Today, there are tears, but I know I have obligations, like the children's Christmas celebration at Dream Project.

I'm so grateful for these things that get me out of bed.

I'll endure another day because I'm in a never ending fucking ring match with life.

I'll just get up and keep taking the fucking blows.

i know i am braver than i can see

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

pass the prozac

There is always a new day to look forward to.

Today is so much better than yesterday, which was better than the day before.

I'm grateful the angels have patience for me, never answering my plea to come join them, allowing me grace to fall, followed by the sprinkling of magic pixie dust upon me to help get me back up again.

I'm grateful my true friends have patience for my screwy brain that isn't like 'normal' people, and send me the good energy I need to find my own strength again.

I'm grateful for friends who have been in our position, speaking their words of advice because they know what the fuck it's like to live in a developing country.

I'm grateful I don't have to hear from the sheep who judge us because they're following the crowd, have seen a documentary or read a book.  Yeah, I'm still fucking pissed at you all.  You know who you are.

Anyway.  I feel better today.

Expats on the DR1 Forum, who have been here a long time, have a lot of advice to give.

Some good, and some so horrid, that it's hard to believe the level of people's racism, homophobia and plain old evil ways.

But I digress.

One piece of advice that I may adopt, is something Papi has already put into action.

In this climate, the speed of this life, this culture, you should only choose to do ONE thing a day.

One.

I have to remember I'm not in Canada anymore.

I also have to remember I'm not the person I was before the motorcycle accident, just because I don't need to take pain meds for my bitch of a back.

I've been spending these last 5 years trying to get back to the girl on that motorcycle.  The girl who could do everything in one day.

I still haven't accepted that that fatal day was the day it was time to slow my life down.

I'm going to continue to work with MusicMan and prepare ourselves for a few gigs here and there in a moderate speed, but that's not for a few weeks.

I was just told by an orthopaedic surgeon that I'm not allowed to do ANYTHING until further notice.

Bed ... fucking ... ridden.

Good thing I found the good Prozac at the hospital.

Always, when you know what the problem is, you can immediately feel a little lighter.

Knowledge is always the first step.

It's no secret that I have a chemical imbalance.  I've been a 'special' person since I was 11 when the hormones kicked in and my battle with the eating disorder ensued.

I need medication to survive, and now that I'm forced to rest again, I damn well need the good stuff.

These fuckers and their phony pills are fucking around with peoples' well being.

No, we're not in Canada anymore.

Not too much is akin here.

Not me.

Not Papi.

Not even the dogs.

But what is the same, is the fact that the only thing that matters is happiness.

What is the same, is there are beautiful people with huge loving hearts that I am finding an abundance of.

They deserve happy Andréa just as much as my friends who love me do.

Just as much as I do.

Pass the prozac and nobody gets hurt.

Including me.

i am in control of my thoughts

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. 

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

taking care ...

Doggy guilt.

Worst guilt out there.

They cry at the door.

But I can't be around The Donkey.

Man.  She is strong.

Yesterday, she jumped on me, knocking the wind out of me for 20 minutes.

But not only that, if there wasn't a wall behind me, myself and my crutches would have been down on the ground with a possible concussion.

Nobody better fuck with her.

She's strong, tall, and fast.

I just can't be around her.  She's too much for me right now, and she knows I'm vulnerable, so she's taking advantage of the fact.

I stay locked behind the iron door, and she stays outside crying.

Crying!

How can I live with myself!?!?!

Well, Papi comes back in 5 sleeps.

In 5 sleeps they get to come back upstairs because Papi can let them out.

You know what's really funny?

Before Papi left, I told him, "When you come back, I'm taking a week off and not doing ANYTHING!"

He was saying I didn't do much more than dishes and laundry here.

The best way to show him how much I actually do would be to not do anything and he can see everything I do then.

Well, would you look at that.

I wasn't kidding.

I won't be doing anything.

He'll be stuck with it all.

So sorry, my love, it's like the motorcycle accident all over again.

Only this time, I'm more aware of my surroundings and can have a decent conversation.

Like for instance, "Papi, can you bring me water?"

Or how about, "Papi, can you make me my salad?"

Or better yet, "Papi, can you please wash my back?"

I have had a few showers since the cast, but having a cast means I have one foot out of the shower.

I'm not feeling as clean as I would normally.

Today, I decided I'm staying in bed with my ankle up.

I've been taking pain killers for a few days, and today?

I'd rather just lie here and allow gravity to help with the pain today.

I need rest.

Rest is what heals us.

The Housemaid took me out to see some beautiful sights yesterday.

I think she's trying to keep me occupied.

She knows how it feels.  The same thing happened to her.  She refused to go to a doctor and limped on a bad ankle for a week and wound up in a cast as well.

So, she's really taking good care of me.

However, today, I need to rest.

I'm so sorry, dogs.  I really am.

It's so hard to see them so depressed.

5 more lonely nights for them while Dominican Daddy takes care of them.

Now?

Nap.

Definitely nap.

Heal.

i am learning the art of self love

it's simple

He is American and talented.

He sang his American national anthem.

From the stands, those who have been taught racism rang out, "BOOOOO!!" because of the colour of his skin.

Why?

Today, important once again to search for simple joy.

Puppy nibbles on toes.

His little body twists and turns with exultation for no reason other than to express his merriment for living.

A walk with Papi and the Fuzzy Family down the beach as we giggle at their antics of jumping in and amongst the waves, rolling, tumbling.

We floated around in the pool, I drinking lime water for my stomach that seems to have come into contact with some bug, from somewhere, Papi drinking soda, of course.

We taught Pathetic Puppy and Jake-a-Like how to swim and exit, so that they could save themselves if they ever fell in to the pool.

This, while The Donkey swam laps around them.

I taught children piano, watching their pride glow as they felt the strength of playing the line right.

One little soul pulled on my heart strings.

We both wore glasses.

She liked mine, I liked hers.

She helped me with my Spanish, I helped her with her staccatos.

I felt connection to her awkwardness, and the wanting so badly to be loved and have approval.

Something as effortless as encouragement in her fledgling musicianship made us both feel strong.

It gave us an acquaintance where nothing mattered for that half hour, but the lesson and sharing the music.

MusicMan gave me a great hug when he saw me yesterday.

He had gratitude for me being there, I had gratitude that he was happy to see me.

Simply joy.

He told me he spoke to the BigWigs and it looks like I'll get paid for my work in September.

I'm already being paid in my heart, but a little reimbursement for my gas will be the cherry on top.

I was tired and weak when I arrived at Dream Project.

I left energized and ready to make more of my day than I had in a few days, from feeling so weighted in my heart.

When I arrived home, The Carpenter followed me in to our driveway with an offer: if I pay for the wood, he will make seats for the children of The Garage Band no charge.

It's happening!

People are starting to help with the children.

I only took the first steps.

But now, I am seeing others follow for their support.

Soon, they'll have a place to sit as they sing.

Simple joy.

This is only the beginning.

I'm so happy for them, and yes, for me.

It means their energetic, wiggly little bodies won't be squirming all over the place.

They'll have somewhere to plant themselves to listen a little better to instructions.

Seats.

Something so uncomplicated, yet another step toward more jubilance, love and gratitude.

It's simple to find, when you focus on the good.

Joy.

i feel good doing things that improve the well being of others

butterflies

... your sunday sillies youtube show ...

I couldn't figure out why my tummy was rumbling with butterflies and I was irritable, then depressed, then angry all in a matter of an hour.

Then it dawned on me.

I've not been thinking about Mr. Lumpy, because I allowed myself to just go with it being a cyst like everyone said.

However, I did keep my 2nd opinion appointment, just to be sure.

I was going to cancel it until Jersey Girl told me not to mess around and get a 2nd opinion, considering the treatment she got at the same hospital.

So, tomorrow I won't be here to write to you, as Papi and I will be en route to the capitol 3 hours away.

It occurred to me that once that appointment neared, I got a little scared.

Even though I thought it was a cyst for a month, knowing I'm going in for tests makes me queasy and cranky.

I checked on Mr. Lumpy to see how he was doing, and it seems he's decided to get a little bigger.

No matter.

Cysts grow.

Then last night, I was lying in a different position and gave him a grope.

I just about puked.  There are 3 lumps now.

Do cysts do that?

Grown in clusters on a lymph node?

I'm going with that.

They grow in clusters.

Not to mention, even if it is only a cyst, that bastard has to get a move on, because it's starting to show on the side of my breast.

I don't need a third breast sticking out.

That's just not sexy.

Anyway, needless to say, Mr. Lumpy has made my stomach turn and I'm really uncomfortable with the fear that has returned.

For fucks sakes.

But!

The good part is, is I have had so much good happen in the past month with all the kids that they kept me pre-occupied and I didn't think about it much at all.

I had a little brain break.

Now, the stress headaches are back.

Even though we're going to Santo Domingo for the appointment, there's still some good to look forward to.

The music store!!!

I felt so good after I went on Google Maps and figured out my driving route to get me to the hospital and to the store.

I've pretty much mapped it out in my head and it's really easy.

There won't be any driving around aimlessly like last time.

Then I saw it.

Ikea!!!  It's on our route as well.

Yes!

Those two stores after the appointment will cheer me up.

Mr. Lumpy, you really have to go now.

Today I have another good distraction.

It's the Canada Day Celebration in Cabarete.

Crazy, eh?

They're giving us Canucks a day to remember who we are, even if we are living in paradise.

I wonder if there will be fake snow?

i let go of negative obsessive thoughts

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 want to be with the angels

What is it about being an alcoholic?

One week, your mind accepts you're an alcoholic, then a week later it says, "No problems here!  You're not having crisis anymore, so you can have a beer in the pool Papi!"

The last time I found him drunk in the pool, he was passed out and I had to slap his face so many times to wake him up, I thought he was already dead.

But no, he's learned his lesson, he says.

He won't let that happen, he says.

I cried myself to sleep wondering when the next big, near catastrophe experience will come in to play.

"It was only ONE beer!!!"

Yup.

And the next time it will be more.

Then the time after that, a little more.

Then I'll be hauling you, dead, out of the ocean because your sickness said you were invincible enough for a midnight swim.

Hey no problem.

I'll learn how to live alone with my grief.

I've done it enough in my life.

I tried to get some hugs from the dogs while I was in panic attack mode of the flashbacks of him lying dormant in the pool, me slapping his face to try to wake him up, over and over and over ...

The puppies were not into it.

Me lying in fetal position on the floor is only an invitation to lick the tears off my face, while occasionally french kissing me, and jumping all over me.

All I wanted was for someone to hold me while I was having a panic attack.

Instead, I got trampled on, and had to listen to, "I can have a beer every once in a while.  I don't see what the problem is."

Being that I'm a pro at suicidal thoughts, because I literally have them every day of my life, I was speaking to a friend about what suicidal ideation is.  Most of the time, it's really not about the act.

It's just about being so fucking tired and exhausted of crap and bullshit that you can't take it anymore and you ask if you could just be taken away.

Why can't the angels just take me?

Why do I have to have so many fucked up things to deal with in life?

Why can't I have a boring mundane life where everything just goes smoothly in it's monotonous, still waters?

No waves to bob up and down.

More like a lake where the most action you'll get is the woodpecker making a home.

I'm so tired, sick, scared and sad, all the fucking time.

I just need to be granted more than one day at a time of happiness.

Don't get me wrong.

Those days of happiness are amazing and I'm so grateful when they come.

But why just one?

Why can't I just have a stretch?

A dear sweet friend has had nothing but dud after dud when it comes to relationships.  She's probably the biggest heart on the planet, equal to mine, yet time and again, she finds another and he turns out to be the wrong one.

Why?

She's so beautiful and has got so much going for her.  She does everything she can to lead a positive life and say those positive words.  She is deserving of so much more.

I'm deserving of so much more.

Yet here we are, texting each other in tears asking the angels why they can't just take us away.

I want to be with the angels, because I've had enough.

In the meantime, I'll ask them for the strength to get through this life.

i attract only healthy relationships

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 

you get what you ask for

I have to find that magical place of 'letting go'.

Too many friends have let me go and it hurts, but I have to find a way to let them go as well, or Mr. Lumpy will come back with a vengeance in another place of my body.

Poisoning me with black masses.

Rotting me from the inside, to equal the pain that my heart is exuding.

Today we're going to get the biopsy results.  I know it will show nothing, not only because everyone has convinced me it is only a cyst, but because the doctor missed the mark by an inch when he did the biopsy.

No matter.

July 1st we get insurance and if Mr. Lumpy is still kickin' around, which he is right now, we'll be getting a 2nd opinion at the cancer hospital in Santo Domingo.

Anyway, to keep Mr. Lumpy from moving to another part of my body and possibly causing much more trouble than he already has, I need to forgive.

I need to understand that there is no room in my life for the people who have left me, or I won't be making any room fo the new friends I need here.

Yesterday, the man who started out as merely our DoorMan did the BIGGEST favour for us.

He's kinda a big deal here in the business world, with his electricity options, like our inverter, and later on he'll be fixing us up with our solar energy.

He buys a lot of items from the crappy store called PriceSmart we bought our washing machine from.  They wouldn't return it, and everything we've ever brought from them has broken down.

We still haven't done our own laundry.

Anyway, he TOLD them that if they treated us like that, they they would surely treat him like that.  And if that was the case, he'd take his business elsewhere, because he doesn't want to do business with a company that would treat a newcomer to the country as such.

We got our money back and will be buying a machine that works.  HUGE favour.

He invited us to his house for when he has a housewarming with the big mansion he just bought.

He is becoming a friend, because he WANTS to be.

Every friend who has, for whatever reason they need to tell themselves, let me go in Canada, will gain me a new friend here.

I used to do that with my clothes; in with the new, out with 2 of the old.

Now I have to do it with my heart.

Those who I never wronged, yet still, they block me from their virtual life with an obvious, 'do not disturb' sign as they join ranks with the 'mean girls'.

Those who just stopped talking to me because of their beliefs, but never asked me what the real truth was.

Those who jumped on the 'hate the Hector-Browns' bandwagon, because they're now in with the cool kids in the 'community'.

Hey you know what?  If they did it to me, they'll also treat you as such.  You'll get your turn too.  Don't come to me when it happens.

I'll forgive you, but I will not forget how badly I needed you, yet you disappeared at a very dark moment.

I'll forgive you, but I will not allow another opportunity for you to hurt my way too sensitive heart.

I'll forgive you, but I will move on and one day, you'll think of me.

You'll remember that I never did anything wrong, and that I could have been a really good friend to you.

I'll run across your mind that pang of, 'damn I'm sorry' will have to be kept to yourself, because I'll forgive you, but I will not forget.

The DoorMan is making it clear he wants to be our friend.  He's told us not to pay a dime until we are confident that it is working and we have no problems.

No charge until we're happy.

He wants to be our friend.  I'll take him up on that.  So far, he's acted in a more loving way than those who have left me back home.

All I want is love and trust.  It's how I thrive.

Those friends who stuck by me, have been the only reason we're still trudging forward.  There are so many of you that have truly kept me going.

The only thing those who have hurt me are giving me is more depression.

I have to forgive and let go.  I let you go now.

I gain new friends.  I do what's right for me.

I'll ask my angels to help me say, "Goodbye."

forgiveness is a gift you give yourself

digging in the dirt

I'm learning, that the best way for me to snap out of dismal depression, even if it's only for a few minutes, is to spend time with those vibrant living beings that are immovably planted in the ground.

I went for my morning visit to my veggie garden and I couldn't believe it!

I was unrestrainedly thrilled!!

I had TWO heavenly heads of lettuce popping up!

I watered them with love and told them how positively delicious they're going to taste with my great tahini basil salad dressing I invented.

I just HAD to tell the Dominican Daddy, as he is the person who is teaching me how to garden.

I felt the need to show my mother nature mentor what a good job I did and get my acknowledgement of achieving something!

He saw them, gave me the sideways look of, 'oh gringo', then laughed, "These are not lettuce.  They're weeds."

I just about collapsed laughing, with the possibility of joining Psycho Kitty who was trying to be at rest 6 feet beneath my feet, if it weren't for my cackling.

I WAS going to take a picture of them for you.

When I told him that and he laughed even harder.

Then the sweetest thing happened.

Around the corner came Our Favourite, huffing a MASSIVE avocado tree.

He saw that mine were only avocado sticks, and because he has so many avocado trees, he gave me one.

I honestly don't know if he asked his mother first.

You never know with a child, so I'll ask her later.

But now I have 2 avocado sticks and one fat, full avocado tree!

Needless to say, my veggie garden isn't doing so well.

We're going to empty out the current dirt and put in some really good soil from the village and try again.

Digging in the dirt.

Feeling new life.

Seeing the living soil beneath my fingernails.  Forget about the gloves.  I want to feel that clay.

Searching for growth to prove that life still goes on, no matter what happens in our tiny little worlds with our insignificant problems.

Watching the healthy growth that is more than living.  Not letting the growth that threatens our demise to echo.

I feed the fruit trees with water as I touch their strong skin, inviting their strength and energy.

They can't speak, but I know they hear me.

It's much like how I know the angels hear me, even though I don't audibly hear them.

They remind me they are here in silly ways that are too much of a coincidence to not believe it was their answer.

I am at peace with the possibility of a nasty outcome, and last night, Papi and I spoke about how it really could be best case scenario.

It would mean I would just get everything taken care of much faster and there will be no need for a 2nd opinion.

No need for further testing to see if I hold the gene.

No more worry, because those funbags would be history and Mr. Lumpy would have no place left to live.

Or to hide.

Evicted.

So, today, I'll dig.

Further into the ground.

Speaking to my angels, to Psycho Kitty, to the fruit trees and anyone else who cares to listen.

Then I'll clean a little more.

There's something about cleaning that keeps my mind off matters that I don't know the outcome of, as well.

You should see my sparkly kitchen wall and cupboards!

Dirt is my best friend right now.

i give out love and it is returned to me multiplied

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

OK Mr. Lumpy. Bring it on.

... your sunday sillies are HERE as blogger just wont let me share them on my damn blog ... but they can't stop me from linking them mwahahahaha!!!  um ... yet ...

Sometimes, when you're worried about a health ailment, the WORST thing to do is Google information about it.

However, in this case, some of it was a good thing.

80% of breast lumps are non-cancerous.

94% of women who get biopsies find the bastard offender to be benign.

So I'm going with that.

I'm also going with positive thinking for the worst case scenario.

'They' keep trying to kill me.

Whomever 'they' are.

I can't tell you how many times in my life I've been inches from death, but I never die.

Only the good die young.

You can't kill me.

So, I won't die.

That doesn't mean I won't agonize.  Sometimes, I feel that my lot in life is to suffer and show other people how to do it.

Never-the-less, I haven't really spoken about this because there's never been a need to, but since I was a budding adolescent, I've never wanted my breasts.

I've wanted them gone.

If this little bastard on my lymph node is sinister, the presence of my fat sacks will be dismissed and the Hector-Browns will be on round two of The Great Breast Disappearance.

I'm perfectly happy with that.

Get rid of them.

Because of the cancer in my family, they've been nothing but a fear trap anyway.

I guess that's why I'm so good at giving myself self-examinations.  I learned young and have been avid enough that I found a lump that wouldn't even show on the mammogram.

They had to use the sonogram to see it, even though they could clearly feel it's inhabitance beneath my tissue.

Ladies, check yourselves.  Every day.  Every goddam day.  Thoroughly.

OK.

Off my soap box.

So, with knowing that nothing can kill me, and that worst case scenario I finally have the reason to lose these dumpy duffels, really, is there anything to worry about?

I slept without too much help last night.

I used the natural stuff; Rescue Remedy.

When I woke up in the middle of the night and my first thought was that bastard leech on my pouch, I zotted myself with another dose and quickly fell to sleep again.

So, I'm feeling much less afraid today, and tomorrow is the biopsy.

Then I have to wait 2 days for results.

What's the point in freaking out?

It won't change any outcomes.

Every time I start to get scared, I'll just think, "Bring it on bitch.  I've been through enough in my life that you don't scare me for a second."

I'll also think, "You can't kill me.  Many have tried."

I've already moved into joking about it, as if Mr. Lumpy is a separate living being.  If Papi isn't doing something I want, I say, "But I have a lump."

From now on if I want him to do something he doesn't want to do, "Mr. Lumpy says to do it."

Fuck it all.

I've cried, I've been nauseas, I've been depressed, I've obsessed and none of it has changed anything.

You can't kill me.

But damn, this headache and exhaustion can certainly take me down a few notches.

i have abundant courage

thermo-nuclear meltdown

Meltdown.

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

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

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

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

It's not just the stress of the breast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bananas grow like weeds here.

I'm not kidding.

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

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

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

I am in love with my mango tree.

You don't fuck with my mango tree.

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

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

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

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

Yeah.

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

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

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

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

I lost it last night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Obsession is bad for my brain.

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

Meltdown.

hardship helps me grow into a better person

Say it isn't so.

Well, I'm back on the drama buggy.

You know how sometimes, you say things out loud and they don't come true?  You jinx it?

Well, I'm hoping that by writing this, that happens now.

I'm hoping that it's just 'nothing' and will be taken care of swiftly, because I needed to take one of Papi's clonazepam to help me stop obsessing about the tissue issue and actually sleep last night.

Sleep I did.

Then resumed thinking about it the moment I awoke.

My breasts have always been a little on the lumpy side, so I've had to get used to that when I check myself out on a regular occasion.

However, upon itching and scratching my boob a few days ago, there was something that didn't feel like my normal tissue.

Last night, I felt it again and it definitely didn't match the rest of my breast and it's nothing I've felt before.

One thing I wasn't completely honest about with my itchy boob post the other day, is that it's only the right side that's itching.

I sorta didn't want to say that out loud, when I coupled it with the fact that there is something there that doesn't feel 'normal'.

I asked Papi, "Please, can you appease my paranoia?"

When I told him what for, he felt the problem and when he touched it, it really hurt, because he wanted to get in there to make sure he was feeling what I was feeling.

He immediately started crying.

My dearest Papi went into trigger mode, from memories of having to watch his mother suffer from cancer, only to lose her in the end.

We calmed ourselves down by trying to remember that if this is a problem, they do great things now.

Great things other than just cure that damn disease.  But then the cancer industry is too big to do that.  They'd lose a lot of money if they cured it.

Anyway, off my soap box.

A lot of women have a lump and they get it removed to find that it's really nothing.

Well, yesterday, we didn't get to the hospital for my ear that isn't hearing properly, but today, we'll be going for a mammogram, no matter the cost.

We'll be accompanied by Visa, MC and Amex, our good buddies as of late.

If there is an actual problem, I'll be getting back to Canada pronto, again, regardless of the cost.

So, there.  I said it out loud.  Now it won't be true.

Right?

One of the reasons we never made it to the hospital yesterday was because our neighbours (you know?  the people everyone judges about me back home, because they're supposed to be allowed to steal from us?), called Mr. Extortion to say we were doing work in our yard.

They cut a kick back for tattling and they do everything they can to get money out of us.

No matter how hard we try to be friends, even after we see them steal our concrete and our cement blocks, steal our wood, paint, they still only want MORE money from us.

They don't want to be friends.

I told the Housemaid, who has the biggest gossip problem in the village that they are not our friends, because friends wouldn't do that.

... friends also honour their contracts ... sigh ... say goodbye to another friend back home i loved ... you've officially put a stake through my heart ...

They don't WANT friendship, they only want our money.

So fuck it, I'm done.

Judge all you need to North America's West Coast uber political.

Call me racist if you need to make yourself feel superior and try to put me down, but from this point forward, congeniality will be the name of the game, not giving.

I'll still teach their children music, because those little innocents didn't do anything wrong.  Their parents haven't taught them the best ways to steal.  Yet.

As for Mr. Extortion, I don't care HOW big his fucking gun is, I'll be telling him I know the 'rules'.  You can only take from us for a new building.  It's not new.  It's a repair of the old.

Go away.

Shoot me if you have to, but you're not stealing anything more.

I have much bigger things to worry about than your non-stop theft.

i replace my anger with compassion and understanding

help me help

My heart was reduced to shattered debris.

I was in the kitchen, getting ready to make a meal after running around all day, when Our Favourite appeared at the door.

"My mom wants you to come."

Oh, but I'm hungry.

You don't want me to visit when I'm hungry.

I was a little perturbed.

As I get when I'm hungry.

But I went anyway, because you never know what kind of help Our Fave's Mom might need.  She's really trying to do a lot of this on her own with our godson, as her husband is working a lot.

I've told her to always come when she needs something.  Anything.

She tends not to take me up on that, and has told me in the past she likes to be alone.  I don't want to be in her face all the time, as I know I would with that Little Angel in this world.

I followed Our Favourite and his mini-me sister.

When I got to their house, I felt rude just walking in to her private space, but she wasn't coming out.  I suppose I had to go against those feelings of awkwardness to see what she needed.

I pushed back the curtain to her tiny room, and saw that they were using the carriage we gave them as a crib.

Yay!  It makes me so happy when people use what I give them.

But as I looked at her, underneath the veil of a mosquito net, I knew there was a heaviness I hadn't seen in her before.

At first, it could be confused with exhaustion.

I sat down and asked her how she is doing.

"I'm sad," she said, as I finally saw the tears rolling down her face.  "I'm alone."

She is alone.

I get it.

I have felt it.

I know that emotion all too well, but I haven't had the double whammy of postpartum depression to go along with it.

Her body is reeling in chemical imbalance as it gets used to no longer being a host.

I touched her leg and said, "I am very, very sorry.  I understand.  I don't visit your house every day because I think you want to have your space."

I told her to come to my house ANY time she feels she needs a friend.  That she can watch me run around like a lunatic as I'm being called one way to the next from workers.

I said I would come by more often to see her if she'd like that.  She said she would.

I told her that we could go for a walk.  She needs to get out of the house.  Being in a house alone just makes it worse, you need fresh air and change of scenery.

I asked her if she likes to exercise.  She does, so in 3 months, when her body is healed from the invasive surgery of giving birth without going through the natural canal, we could do some yoga.

I told her how it helps my brain, my heart and that exercise is good for depression.

In my limited Spanish, I did my very best to explain that I have depression, so when she needs to talk or cry, it's not hard for me to see, because I understand.

Papi came after a while to see if everything was OK.

I had been there for quite some time consoling her, consoling the Little Angel from gas, and consoling the little sister who was being berated by Our Favourite every minute or so.

Papi was worried that something was terribly wrong.  He showed up with pistol in hand.  Well, in underwear.

Yes.  Something is wrong, but not gun worthy.

Our Fave's Mom needs a friend to help her through postpartum depression right now.

I could use a physical friend too.  I am grateful to my friends who give love virtually, but there's something about a physical hug that makes me stronger.

I asked my angels to help me do everything in my power to be as selfless as possible, in hopes that I could help her through this.

It's hard enough when I'm depressed, but when I see someone else depressed, it's as if the pain goes through me, because I can't handle to see people suffer.

Like Papi is suffering right now.

I know how it feels, and I am dying watching him be in the pain he is experiencing.

Help me to help them both.

i see myself as the gift i am to people, community and nation