Ring My Bell!

your sunday sillies ...

So, Papi and I went to Kahuna's Sports Bar last night.

My love wanted to feel like he was living a life here like a typical expat.

Sit at the bar, watch some sports, and be a normal guy, instead of hiding in the house alone.

I just wanted to stay at home and finish my editing, but that would mean Papi would be alone, then driving home after drinking.

So, I said I would go if I could finish editing my YouTube video at the bar.

Thinking he'd be embarrassed by the thought of me sitting at a bar working, I thought he'd say no, but he was thrilled!

I felt like I'd look a tad silly, but at least I could get the work done and be out of this house that tends to feel like a jail cell because we're so far into the country.

Not to mention the fact that I need a change of scenery after staring at 4 walls for a month.

Anyway, our plan was just a calm Saturday night hang out in a Cabarete bar, but dammit if they didn't have a pay per view boxing fight going on, which meant a lot of people.

No matter, we were there early enough for me to set up shop at the only plug in the place and start on my work.

I thought Papi would thoroughly enjoy himself taking to the other men, but he kept interrupting me.

I kept trying to ignore him, but he just had too much excitement to leave me be.

Then the disaster happened.

Remember the creep?

Well, dammit if the only fucking seats left for him and his wife were next to us.

Yup.  Right fucking BESIDE us.

At this point, I was MORE than grateful I had my computer to keep my nose in.  It meant there was no need to look their way, even though I could feel them looking at me.

That poor woman looked very uncomfortable, and him?  He had the perfect douchebag look with his sunglasses on at night, so we couldn't tell if he was looking our way.

We moved our table a little closer in when a little bit of rain came, but it was still not good enough to keep me from feeling anxious and triggered with fear and flashbacks.

... it's all your fault ...

He was still too close.

Then!  Miracle of all miracles!  2 seats opened at the bar right beside the DJ.

The DJ and I were both on computers, so I felt a little more normal.

This is when we finally started to have fun!

The DJ has to ring this siren type bell every time something cool happens in whatever game happens to be on, which meant he had to keep leaning across me and apologized every time he did so.

However, he then put Papi to work.

Papi was rip-snort-drunk, so it gave him a job to do, a way to bond with some new friends, and the glee of being the teacher's pet who gets to ring the bell, and kept him out of trouble with the escalating serum of strength kicking in stronger.

A few times he said, "I feel like I need to say something to them!"

Oh, Papi, you just stick to your bell.  That guy would kick the shit out of you!

And he did stick to the bell.  He was having a blast.

Every time he would ring it, he would get a look on his face like a child.

It was so much fun to watch him enjoy himself.

By the end of the night, the DJ said, "You guys should come here more often."  The DJ and all his friends decided to take us in as part of their clan.

We have new friends, including a physiotherapist who wants to help me with my ankle.

He also informed me I have a long road ahead of me; a good 6-8 months for it to heal properly, IF I do the work.

Fuck.  Anyway.

I didn't have any more energy to obsess about the creep, because I was enjoying myself so much.

My angels were with me last night.

I'm no longer in my fog blocking their healing energy.

i have abundant courage

missed my a.m. gratitude yesterday ... oops!  Gratitude 6/10
1. I am grateful to have made more new friends last night.
2. I am grateful I had the strength to stay at the bar, despite being triggered.
3. I am grateful for a little less pain today.
4. I am grateful for my creativity.
5. I am grateful I unplugged the doorbell and slept in today.
6. I am grateful for internet to keep in touch with friends.
7. I am grateful I know I'm loved.
8. I am grateful to be feeling positive again.
9. I am grateful I found someone to work with my ankle.
10. I am grateful The Thug is becoming less aggressive.

the creep

your sunday sillies

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

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

Up.

Thinking about my experience.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was intentional.

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

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

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

That was the wrong thing to do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I've always done it.

I get nervous, I laugh.

Some fucking defence mechanism!!!!

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

"Giggling."

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

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

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

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

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

Here?

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

We are not in Canada.

I am a white woman.

I am fair game for the huntsmen.

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

day 1 of my roots.

I am so grateful today.

I got one of the two jobs.  The piano teaching job.

My first student in the Dominican Republic.

Yup.

They got me for dirt cheap.

No matter.  It doesn't cost a lot to get food, as I ate the last of my vegetables yesterday.

I was so sad wondering where the hell we were going to get money for veggies!!!

This will cover my veggies!

It feels like I'm really starting my life here now.  I'm putting in roots.

The reason they needed a new piano teacher, was their piano teacher had died.

At first, the opportunist in me thought, "Damn your teacher died?  Does she need a replacement for all her other students?"

Until I heard the story.

She just moved here and was only here for a few months.

She bought a scooter to travel to and from the lessons.

She was killed on her first day riding the scooter.

Absolutely horrible.

I can't tell you what the story brought up for me for flashbacks of my motorcycle accident.

The fact that I'm replacing an angel who wasn't as lucky as me is almost too eery.

It is pretty typical for people to die here, or at least lose a limb, from motorcycle accidents.

I don't know if they keep stats on it, but I would venture to say it's in the top 5 of the world.

Papi and I can't go a day without seeing someone who's missing an arm or a leg here.

Not to mention, it's very rare to see someone wearing a helmet.

Unless of course it's raining.

Because that's what a helmet is for, right?

To keep out the rain.

Anyway, I'm on the verge of panic attacks here just writing about the insanity on two wheels in this country.

Actually if I'm being honest, I'm in the middle of a panic attack.

My poor lungs feel like there's a mattress on top of them.

Let's change the subject.

I made my first dehydrated coconut yesterday!!!  Success!!

Oh, it is sooooo sweet and needs a little more time in the heat.

But I have coconut for treats now.

I'm going to search for coconut recipes that I can make without coconut oil to begin with.

Once I get paid, I'm on an all out man hunt for cheesecloth so that I can make the oil.

I have the YouTube videos to show me.

But you think I can find cheesecloth in this damn country?!?!

Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!!!!

I don't know how people make coconut oil here without a cheesecloth, but the last time I asked SOMEONE to show me how to toast my coffee beans, they were destroyed.

Yes, the Housemaid destroyed my first batch of coffee beans because she thought she knew how to do it.

I learned the right way.  On YouTube.

But I need the damn cheesecloth so that I have the damn coconut oil for the damn treats!!!

I want my goddamn treats!!!!

There.  Panic attack averted.

Now I go get ready to meet my new student.

My first student.

I'm so grateful.

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

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

pass the clonazepam

Today is a lovely day for a biopsy, no?

Sound like fun?

Massive needles stuck into my boob.

Nice.

I did really good in the fear departement yesterday until bedtime.

What is it about bedtime that makes my mind crazy!?!

Since I was a kid, I've had anxiety galore before going to sleep.

When I was a kid, I was afraid I'd go to sleep because I thought I would forget how to breathe and die.

Yes.

I'm a well trained drama queen.

I didn't know that our bodies were just equipped with the know how to continue breathing.

Well, that is of course until you have a panic attack.

Then there is no breathing.

Which is what would happen when I was a kid, when I worried about not breathing when I slept.

Or when I'd get overwhelmed with learning that the universe just kept going on and on forever.  I think that was the day I blew my mind and the rest of my insanity is history.

Then there were the times I wouldn't breathe when I was a teen, worried about the next predator that was hiding behind garbage cans and bushes as I walked home alone from the bus stop after a shift at McDonald's.

And the big ones?

They really started coming after the motorcycle accident when I had flashbacks of smashing into the car ... over ... and over ... and over ... echoing as if edited in a loop, blinding me with a movie screen that drops in front of my eyes, hindering me from seeing any beauty in life.

I've been having panic attacks since finding Mr. Lumpy.

And now?

As I write this, I just gave myself another one thinking about all the panic attacks I had and from what.

Seriously.

I know there's going to be nothing wrong with whatever Mr. Lumpy has in store.

I know that it's all going to be OK, because everyone else's intuition says it will.

I'm going with everyone else's intuition, because mine is so fucked up right now.

I had a very successful pajama day with Papi yesterday.  The kids didn't find us until much later when they realized they could see us up in our bedroom, then the chorus of, "Andréa!  Andréa!  Andréa!" began.

I just didn't move from my spot, pretending I was asleep.

I did my best to distract myself with editing, trying my hardest to get my new keyboard to work so that I could at least make some music to help ease my mind, and then there was that daunting task that we all hate but need to do; cleaning up my computer files.

There came a point, however, that all of that had to stop and I needed to try to sleep.

That's when the thoughts of today came.

Terror for the pain they will inflict upon Mr. Lumpy, who will in turn, bite my nerve endings having me jump to the heavens.

Papi said to take some pain killers before we go in.  He's always thinking, my love.

They don't really give you pain killers here like they do at hospitals in Canada.

If you need them, the doc comes, gives you a prescription and whoever is your caretaker has to go and get them from the pharmacy.

Seriously.  So odd.

So, having that information after seeing it happen with Our Fave's Mom after her C Section, we at least can take matters into our own hands and take the pain killers BEFORE he starts the torture chamber proceedings.

Am I scared?  Hell ya.

Then there are the two days I have to wait for results, even though, like I said, it's all going to be OK because all my Eternal Friend tells me so.

Still, she's not here in my brain.

Mr. Lumpy is.

I think I'm going to be sick.

every cell in my body vibrates with energy and health

and the phoenix has risen!

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

Here were my opening words:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With a little hint of gratitude.

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

Good fucking g*d I got off track.

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

I wanted to share about 'what really matters'.

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

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

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

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

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

And that!!  Is all that matters.

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

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

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

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

Hey.

At least we share.

i am valuable

i'm trying ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anybody!  Please!  Help me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

i am willing to release all fear

My Living Day

Yesterday was my Living Day Anniversary.

I only figured it out around noon, though.

For the past month, I didn't look forward to the day coming.

Especially when My Ghost showed up to remind me of my day coming up, but the day went better than I expected.

I suppose it went well, because I didn't know it was the day.

Ignorance is bliss.

On this day every year, I usually think about what I've lost.  Not on purpose, but it's just that the day has been very traumatic to think of, and the flashbacks are awful.  From there it goes into the pain, from there into all I've had to work for, and right smack dab into loss.

I couldn't help it.  I would compare myself to My Ghost

Yet somehow, that didn't happen yesterday, even though, on this day I had to walk really slow.  Oh yes, the Limping Lesbian was in full force.

Sometimes, when I'm walking really slow from pain, I just turn my headphones up a little louder and appreciate what I'm hearing.

I walk as if I'm just enjoying the music, and that I have nowhere to be on time.

I dawdle.

I meander.

I've learned that in my new life, there are no emergencies.

I don't run for buses.  If it happens to be in most people's 'running distance', I watch them run, then I think to myself, "Well, I wasn't meant to be on that one."

Hell, I don't usually get across the intersection in time for the light to change.  I just eye the cars who are inching their way toward me, dying to turn right, but there's this dawdling woman, annoyingly crossing the street WAY TOO SLOW!!!!

Fuckers!  Wait till they're 100 years old and see how hard it is to walk with a bitch of a back!!!

Anyway, I don't see the loss in my life as much now.

I suppose I've really grown into the new 'me' over the past 4 years, and that's why My Ghost is here.  It's safe to have her with me.

Perhaps, it's because I have a new start to look forward to.  That could be it too.

Here is what I've gained:

I've learned how to be a friend.  I don't have music to put before friendship anymore.

I've learned that there are really good people in this world.  I've had the time to find them.

I've gained gratitude.  I'm so grateful I made it through.  I have a 2nd chance at life.

I've become much nicer to myself, even when the mirror lies.

I've learned how to enjoy life, and learned how to relax, even if it's forced.

I've allowed myself to feel my emotions and not be so afraid of them.

Mind you, that last one gets a little help from good ol' Prozac.

Anyway, it was my Living Day Anniversary.  The day I didn't die.

The day I was given a 2nd chance to live life the way I was meant to, even when I'm limping around and wincing.

I guess it being my day would explain the comfort food eating of one massive pot of rice pasta last night.

At least I can get comfort from rice pasta, not a bucket of mock ice cream.

Anyway, 4 years ago, I was granted the opportunity to live life the way it was meant to be.

For my gift for my day, I wish for every person to be granted everything I've been granted, without having to go through the trauma and hard work of re-wiring their brain.

Live life well everyone!

That's the secret to happiness.

i find deep inner peace within myself as i am

check mate, papi!

"Why would you do this to me?!?!"

"Because you wave your penis at me all the time."

Papi just doesn't understand the depth of my P.T.S.D.

It may look like I am laughing when he leaves that plastic one eyed monster lurking beneath items, but it's a laugh of fear.

I am one of 'those' who laughs nervously.

If I'm laughing too much, chances are I'm on edge.

When I first meet people they just think I'm always happy.

Nope.

I'm scared shitless of strangers.

People are capable of a lot of damage to one another.

They scare me.

As people get to know me, they see that I'm really quite mellow and shy.  I just overcompensate amongst newbies.

So, yeah, when those Plastic Penes are coming at me, mi esposo just doesn't understand that I'm actually quivering from flashbacks of past predators.

My way of making light and protecting myself is to make it seem like it's funny.

I deal with a lot of life's challenges through humour.

If I don't laugh, I'll cry.

If I cry, I have snot running down my face and my eyes swell, making it look like I've been in the ring with Mike Tyson for a moment.

That's just not sexy.

So, the torment I endure from my love's penis antics is less than pleasing, even if I do trust him.

I'm constantly saying, "Why do you do this to me?!?!"

Yesterday was Papi's turn to shudder in terror.

We all have our fears.  Anyone who says they don't is lying.

Papi has severe social anxiety, whereas I'm perfectly comfortable in the limelight.

One of my journey's of late has been to explore my Jewish heritage and Judaism.  I feel that my family keeping it a secret for so long is not honouring my ancestors struggles when they escaped the holocaust and fled to Canada.

I have had a great instinctual pull toward Judaism my whole life, but I didn't know why.

When I learned the reason for this connection, I searched for my people and I've been welcomed by an extremely positive Reformed Judaism community.

In fact, they're so inclusive, that even though I've only been attending the Sabbath every Saturday since this past spring, they've decided to give me a Farewell Blessing Ceremony.

It blows my mind that I could be included into this kind of love.

Anyway, my point is, they created this opportunity to send us off, and asked if I wanted to invite friends to be there to add to the awesome positive energy that will be bestowed upon us.

I didn't really tell Papi about it, because I know him too well.

If I had've told him, he would have put on his big boy whitey tighties and said, "Oh, HELL NO!!!!!"

Hence, I went ahead and did it anyway.

Now he's going to have attention.

Hehehehehe.

Sometimes, our marriage seems a bit like a back and forth game of 'got'cha!'

Your move, Papi.

And now, I'm off to go snorkeling to go find The Hotel Shark.

i enjoy my affluence and share it appropriately

check yer pants!!!

Papi gets on my case if I don't write a blog.

"People like to read it every day and if you don't write it they will be let down!"

Thank you my love, for your undying support.

But what happens when I don't feel like writing?

What happens when all I can do is bitch and fucking whine about this and that?

Oh, wait.

You like to read that stuff.

Ok.

So, I'll keep bitching.

I'm miserable.

Train wreck enough for ya?

No? 

Ok.  Let's talk about my P.T.S.D. shall we?

I'm sure you'd like that.

Remember the screaming episode I had with complete strangers two months ago?

... oh, hehe, they won't ever speak to me again ... scared'em off REAL good ...

I got another shot at embarrassing myself yesterday.

I thought I was done with giving the panic attack disclaimer in my life.  For the longest time, I would have to tell people what to expect when driving with me.

"If it looks like I'm gasping for air, please don't make a big deal of it, honestly, just ignore me and I'll be back from the dead momentarily."

Never mattered that I gave the disclaimer.  People still freaked out when they'd see me turn white, shake and gasp for breath.

I haven't had to give the disclaimer for a while, but lo and be-fucking-hold, I had a massive fucking attack yesterday.

Uncle was so sweet to drive me to and from a chiropractor appointment, because I was just in so much pain.

So, upon leaving the building for my ride home, he went to pull out from the curb and someone didn't like it, came right up honking, with screeching tires and blammo!

Instant psychopath in the passenger seat!

Immediately, I saw my motorcycle t-boning the car once more, just like it did three and a half years ago.

In a mere blink of a breath, I was transported back to my accident, and at the top of my lungs I screamed louder than Cannibal Corpse.

I could definitely have auditioned for their band with the blood curdling sounds that came out of me.

I scared the fuck out of Uncle and the poor man swerved our vehicle out of terror, nearly causing an actual accident.

I'm pretty sure when we got home, he checked his pants to be sure there weren't any fucking surprises in his underoos.

The best part was, the person who honked heard me, and drove past to stare at what the ruckus was all about.

Oh, nothing really, just Hurricane Andréa in the front seat having flashbacks of a much scarier time.

Then of course comes the shortness of breath, the, "I think I'm going to pass out," speech, along with the tears and the, "I'm so embarrassed," or, "I'm so sorry."

He understands that it's a mechanism in my brain from the accident.  He gets that P.T.S.D. can't be helped.

When that little trigger goes off in my mind, there's nothing anyone can do.

That motorcycle accident will probably never leave me.

It's just so fucking embarrassing.

Anyway, there's your train wreck for the day.

Are you laughing along with me?  It's ok to laugh at me as well.

I better stick to the 'short bus'.

i am strong and secure

Chapter One.

Last night, I went for dinner with one of the sweetest friends I have.

You know, I can't really tell which of one my friends is the sweetest, because all the friends I have surrounded my heart with are equally amazing.

There's no room for the ones that intimidate me with their aggressive negativity.

Anyway, we were talking a bit about my drowning flashback, and what I remembered was another moment when time was in slow motion, and all was peaceful.

I was hit by a drunk driver when I was about 19.  I was sitting in the passenger seat, and we were waiting to turn off the street into the parking lot.

We were hit without any sound of screeching tires to warn us, as the drunk didn't even see us, so he didn't bother to stop.

Our car was catapulted into oncoming traffic, but fortunately, they got out of the way and we weren't turned into an accordion.

However, just like when I was hit on my motorcycle, I didn't feel the impact. 

i've got a happy brain that doesn't like pain hehe ...

All I remember was watching pretty little ice like particles floating past my curious eyes.  I watched them drift past me with the awe of a newborn, seeing stars in the sky for the first time.

One by one they'd twinkle and wink at me as they passed.  It lasted forever!  I felt the urge to reach out to grab them, as they were so gorgeous, serene and inviting.

Turned out, it was glass from the rear view window being shattered by the drunk when he hit us.

My friend in the back was temporarily paralyzed, but I got out of it with only whiplash, a bump on my cheek and P.T.S.D.

The show of lights ended, and I was snapped back to reality when the drunk walked over to our car and knocked on the driver's window.  He wasn't there to see if he'd killed anybody.

No.

He was coming over to ask if we had a bandaid, because his forehead was bleeding.

I'm not fucking kidding you.

Anyway, the point is, when I was hit, it was peaceful.

I'm starting to realize that all these near death possibilities are nothing to be afraid of.

I am not in a place where I'm suicidal ...

... thank you prozac! ...

... but I am seeing that whenever it is my time to go, it won't be anything to be afraid of.

Even if my time to go is a painful one, I'm pretty sure that my brain will hide the pain, and allow me a loving goodbye.

I am not afraid of death.

It's life that scares me, yet I will continue to face life's terms of living head on.

I'm seeing now how life really is something to celebrate.

I'm here and that is really a gift, especially when you look at how many times I could've been knocked off.

Yesterday's dinner was a great opportunity to see how far I've come.

This dear friend is a busy artist who I don't get to see as much as I'd like to.  The last time I saw her was in the summer.

I remember still feeling the nudges of tears when I spoke about Papi's transformation.

Last night though?

There was no talk about my healing around this, because there was so much to talk about that is beautiful in my life.

That is my proof that I'm at that place I didn't know I could be when this all started.

I've begun to write the book about the journey.

Chapter one is finished.

I'm not sure really where this book ends, so I'll have to accept that I'll find out when I'm there.



i forgive myself for my mistakes, as they are my teacher.

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.