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 want to be an angel

How did 2 days go by without doing a blog?

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

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

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

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

It's basically right outside my door.

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

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

We all know how much I like to rest.

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

In the house?

I'm some kind of depressed lunatic.

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

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

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

They do that here.

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

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

Assholes.

Do they really want a crazed gringa roaming the streets?

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

The ideation of suicide is coming more frequently.

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

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

I envision myself blowing my head off.

Every night.

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

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

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

Everything seems so difficult to do.

Everything seems like I just want to give up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is not rational.

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

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

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

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

I want to be an angel.

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

get back up

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

My cast is off.

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

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

However, washing my hair took almost an hour.

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

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

People think I'm ridiculous.

Papi thinks I'm pathetic.

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

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

But this is one.

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

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

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

I'll have guilt upon guilt if I do.

I am going to teach today.

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

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

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

I need to find my positivity again.

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

But what happens when my light has been dimmed?

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

I'm pretty low right now.

I guess I know how I got here.

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

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

One in the morning, one at night.

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

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

Smiling faces.

Happiness.

Love.

And most of all, no name calling.

Just music.

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

That will help lift me as well.

I'll hide in my place of music.

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

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

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

i choose to let others opinions of me be their responsibility

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

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 

Paradise is NOT a 'place'.

The party.

Unlike any baby shower you'll find in Canada.

Canada?  Ladies only for the most part.

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

Music on, really only for ambiance.

Baby shower in Dominican Republic?

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

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

I filmed people dancing instead.

Our Fave's Mom looked so damn beautiful.

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

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

I actually didn't recognize her at first!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good?!?!

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

I was grateful to be the tester.

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

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

He handed it back to me.

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

I saw it.

A pint of beer poured.

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

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

No time to cry.

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

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

His way of dealing is to relapse.

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

Normally, they see me as all love.

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

Papi's grieving.

Today we put down Psycho Kitty.

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

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

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

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

This is not paradise.

Paradise is not a place.

Paradise is in your heart.

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

i offer a sincere apology to those affected by my anger

The Vacation - Part 1

I can't tell you how hard that first day was.

Nothing like being stuck in a car with someone who has just ripped your heart out, and knowing that you have to spend at least 3 hours in the car with them.

True to my suicidal nature, I was not mentally well.

I don't know that I would ever take my own life, but I'll tell you, I will beg the angels to do it for me.

Every car that Papi passed on the left, I would say to the angels, "Do it now while there's a car coming at us.  Head on collision.  Take us out together.  We're both suffering."

We could go together and live in a place where the pain would stop.

I didn't wear my seatbelt, because I thought for sure I could will an oncoming semi-trailer to do us in.

When Papi finally asked me why I'm not wearing it, I was honest, "If I get into another accident, I don't want to suffer through the pain again.  I just want to die in an instant.  I want this all to end."

Let it be known that when Papi relapses, we both suffer.

He has to live with the pain of a spouse who becomes suicidal.

I've lived with way too many alcoholics and drug addicts to know that this disease doesn't allow for love.

It robs all inklings of love.  I can't lose my soul mate to this.  Losing Papi to alcohol would be the final straw of my life, that seems to have so much goodness, but seems to be balanced out with so much pain at the same time.

He begged me, "Please, I don't want you to be unhappy.  I don't want to drink anymore."

"But you will.  You can't help it.  You're an alcoholic."

In frustration, mi esposo replied, "Can you just trust that I won't drink during this trip to the capitol?  You can go back to not trusting me after, but we're going for a mini-vacation.  Let's try to enjoy it and you can hate me when we get home."

He didn't get it.  "I don't hate you.  I couldn't ever.  I don't think you have any idea how much I love you.  But how do you expect me to just 'let this go'?"

I couldn't.  I didn't.

Until we actually hit the city.

We had pulled over so I could drive for part of the highway, while Papi slept off the effects of the alcohol the night before.  It was getting too dangerous for his bleary eyes to keep looking at the road, and besides, it was a really good highway with very few insane drivers.

That was of course, until we hit Santo Domingo.

I was slapping Papi in the leg, pushing him, as I begged him to wake up.  "We're here!  This is it!!"

He told me to pull over, but I decided that I'd had enough stress and wanted to drive myself, so that I know what's around me and I was in control.

I haven't had enough control over the the past few days.

So, no, I would drive.

I scared the shit out him as I found my place in 4 lanes of traffic where there were no lines, nor were there any rules.

I cut off people without a care in the world.

... hit me ... go ahead ... i don't fucking care anymore ...

But somehow, while being scared shitless in this driving chaos, I managed to get us to the malecon.

Then Papi had enough.  "Pull over.  I can't take it anymore.  You're going to give me a heart attack."

So, I did.  Then all of a sudden I noticed that the traffic was calm.  There were no more crazy drivers.

While we drove along side the beautiful Caribbean Sea in awe of it's beauty, we were actually talking for the first time since his drunkfest the night before.

We arrived at the hotel, illegally snuck in Sir Bark-A-Lot, who doesn't make a peep when he's in his carrying bag, and up to the hotel room we went.

This is when the adventure really began.

A trip to Ikea was in order to finally get our bedroom suite started.  The day was not over yet.

This little trip took us to adventure, where our Vacation began, and our communication followed suit.

It was at that point that I apologized to the angels for asking them to wipe me off the planet.

I felt bad that I had asked them to help me die, after all the love they'd given me.

I've had suicidal thoughts since I was a child, but this was the first time I had ever apologized for them.

I do want to live, but I'm so tired and all I want is for my emotional pain to stop.

i love and honour myself

self-loathing.

Sometimes, my emotions get too difficult to bear.

Sometimes, I can't handle it.

Sometimes, I really don't like myself.

Sometimes, it would be easier just to die than not have to deal with my feelings, because they're just so big they're hard to overrule.

I've fucked up so much in the past little while and last night was the worst one, because Papi was so angry with me.

I can't multi-task since my brain injury.

I can't retain anything in a conversation if my attention is on something else.  I need to focus on focusing if you want me to know important information, and when I'm stressed, it gets even worse.

When I'm stressed I can get lost in the city I was born in.  When I get stressed, I only get the first words and if I'm lucky, the last words of instructions.

We moved here for a better life, and I'm so grateful I have so much less pain, but all the sun in the world is never going to fix my injured brain.

I feel stupid and worthless.

I was already angry with myself for all my errors, and this emotion was made more challenging because I didn't get the full story from what Papi was needing me to understand.

I didn't hear everything he said.  I heard, "Here is money for the plumber."

I didn't hear the rest of the monologue, which was that he didn't actually know how much it would cost,  and to ask the man.

I was busy cooking, so I couldn't listen very well, not to mention, I was upset with myself for not checking the jar pasta sauce properly in the fridge and used up the next jar.  It was supposed to be for Papi, the plumber and I, but Papi had to go out to buy more and driving at night here is not very safe.

He put the crumpled wad of bills in my pocket as I cooked and ventured out to the store in fear of every minute the sun was setting.

I didn't hear anything Papi said past the money for the plumber is in my pocket, and even if I did hear it, I didn't remember.

I gave the guy the whole fucking roll of bills.  It was beyond the amount Papi meant me to give.

Papi was so mad at me that I couldn't handle the energy that was exuding from him.  I felt I had to go hide in the guest bedroom alone.

My alone place.

We can't be in the same bed right now, because the master bed hurts my back too much and cripples me.

We can't sleep in the guest bed together because there isn't enough room for the 2 of us and dogs, even if they are small.

Alone I cried self-loathing tears.

I hate myself sometimes and wish I could just be my normal self again instead of telling myself I'm a moron.

These are those times that I feel it would just be easier to die.

I'm hurting from people attacking us online.

I'm hurting from a lack of trust in our space.

I'm hurting from being in survival mode and needing to protect ourselves from so many people.

I am sure this will get better.  I believe it will when there aren't 30 strange men in my yard watching my every move.

I am sure once we don't have every child in the neighbourhood trying to play with our puppies and asking for food and money, we'll feel it's our home.

I am sure once we don't have a security guard begging for more money every night after we give him his earnings for his job, we'll feel less guilty for protecting ourselves.

I told the house maid that everyone thinks that just because we're white that we have a lot of money, but that it is not true.

I informed her that all our money is now taken from the wall, the pool and Mr. Extortion and we're living off credit cards.

I'm hoping she gets the picture.  It seemed like she did.

This morning, I'm feeling a little less on the suicidal side, but I'm pretty depressed.

This week's online attack of Papi and I, combined with exhaustion, begging from so many people, being taken by those we thought we could trust and the frustration of never have a functioning brain like I did before the motorcycle accident have taken their toll.

I am sure, once I can get back on my food plan, exercise in the pool and do my yoga, my body will compliment my brain and I will feel better.

i am intelligent

on track.

She sent me home with a care package containing leftovers from the scrumptious meal she prepared for our get together.

It was a short and very sweet visit with my Eternal Friend, accompanied by the animated presence of Java the Mutt.

I'm so very grateful we're living close to transit, so that I can see her more often.

What was really important for me about our visit, was that she understands my current flux of emotions.

She moved to Guatemala from our hometown, then back again.  It was with this life experience that she was able to tell me I'm right on track.

The tremendous anger I felt by coming home to hearing about bullies, abundant violence and criminal activity was just a typical state of beginning to detach from something I love.

We actually all do it a lot in our lives.  For example, when we know we're leaving a job, we start finding everything we hate about it, so that it's easier to leave.

The other area I'm on track with, is the pull of family and friends.

I'm feeling extremely needy about the fact that I'm leaving people I love.

My mother and I have had a terribly tumultuous relationship since she became a single mother.  We've struggled right into this past year when I felt the sting of not being included in a family dinner.

I was about 10 when she was tossed into a laborious life with 2 broken children, weakened by the split of an emotionally sick family, and no support from a deadbeat dad.

The lawyer she hired to fight him told her, "You'll spend way too much money trying to get anything out of this guy.  You'd be better off using that money to support your children.  You'll never get any support from him.  He's a deadbeat."

And so the walk on our path began.

Here we are, two adults doing our very best to be friends, because we both realize how much we love one another, regardless of the differences and difficulties we have.

Yesterday, I showed her my exercise regime, because there's a gym in her new condo.

I instructed her to lie on her back, so I could teach her how to initiate her core muscles.

There was this woman that had the same body as me, albeit a little softer with an extra layer.

Here was this woman who had the same eyes as me.

Here was this woman who I immediately felt a connection with and found instant forgiveness for anything she put me through.

In that moment, I was forced to remember that I put her through a lot as well.

Imagine living with a child who kept trying to kill herself?  I honestly can't picture myself in her position.

Yet I put her through this, not to mention, the horrendous mood swings that came for a child ruled by an eating disorder and chemical imbalance, further exacerbated when drugs and alcohol were introduced into her blood stream and mind.

Regardless, there she was lying beneath me, as I squeezed her lax muscles and showed her how to hold them tight.

It put her in a place of trusting her child.

I, above her.

It didn't matter that Mr. Homophobia was standing right behind us.  He can't allow my Mother to be alone with anyone, as he needs to control everything my Mother does.

However, yesterday she was all mine, regardless of the black cloud that loomed above us.

I connected with my Mother.

I'm connecting with the spirit of my Great Grandmother.

I'm connecting with family and friends, while at the same time, I feel I'm repelling my city.

My Eternal Friend tells me I'm right on track and that these high and low emotions I'm feeling are typical.

And this, is the journey.

i am loving and accepting of myself for who i am becoming

no reality here.

Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!!!!

Foiled by Our Closet!

The Psycho Kitty TV show was going to come by for our pre-taping interview, until they found out that we only live in 454 sq. ft.

They said the producer couldn't come film, because it's just too small.  They filmed in a place 800 sq. ft. and it was too small for them, so 454 won't do.

My poor li'l putos won't be television stars.

Now what will we do?!?!

It was our only hope to making it big!!

OK.

I'm removing my tongue from my cheek now, but damn, I was really hoping for the kitty psychologist to come on in and help us with our kitty issues.

I guess I'll just have to keep drugging them with Rescue Remedy until we reach the great open land for them to chase bugs, instead of the real Psycho Kitty obsessively guarding the litter box so that The Bastard Prince and The Mrs. can't use it.

I did however, ask them if they'd like to do a reality show about two city slickers who are moving to a 3rd world country with not a fucking clue what we're doing.

I'm sure people would enjoy that insanity in our lives.

For now, you'll have to read about it, unless I actually figure out how the hell to make a video blog to reach people with A.D.H.D. and brain injury.

Example: people like me.

As much as I can write a blog, it sure takes me forever to read one.  Not to mention, read emails and navigate websites.  I read things without really knowing what the hell I'm reading, and wires are crossed in no time, all the time.

Anyway, I'm going to practise making our video blog of our journey, so that people can really get the gist of what a crazy adventure this will be.

I'm sooooo not technology savvy, unless it is my composing program.

Mind you, I taught myself the composing program without any classes, so perhaps I can teach myself a video editing program as well?

Speaking of adventures in reality, I didn't tell you about the word we got from My Boifriend about the adventure he had while house sitting our Fuzzy Family here.

You see, someone scaled the wall of our apartment.  My Boifriend startled him and he took off, but this is really troubling to me.

Here in Canada, if we try to defend ourselves, we'll wind up with an assault charge.

We're not allowed to take things into our own hands.  We can only call the police after the fact and wait for them to arrive long after the happening, then file a report.

Filing a report does not give me as much satisfaction as the thought of sticking a gun in someone's rancid mouth for trying to endanger my life.

But never mind a gun, if I was here and kicked the guy off causing him physical damage, it is I who would be charged for endangering someone's life.

I was getting very heated about the neighbourhood Spiderman, so I decided to distract myself from the anger, and go do my recycling.

Only, when I went down to do so, I found the thieves in the neighbourhood stole our goddam recycling bins.

Mother fuckers.

We came home from the land of smiling faces, to find out about a gay bashing in our hood, a border guard shot in the neck, a child committed suicide because of online bullying and someone scaling our apartment walls.

I know that a recycling bin is only a mere inconvenience for my paper that is overflowing, but when you put it all together with the scum of the earth we're surrounded by in this 1st world country, it makes me want to move to the DR TODAY.

Well, we're one day closer to getting the hell out.

Not to mention, today's the day I get to go do target shooting.

We really do need our own reality show.

However, it's not going to happen in Our Closet.

i strive to improve myself

Me? Crazy? Never.

I've never been so dissected in my life.  I have to go to evaluations for my legal trial.  They range from physical to vocational to psychological.

The psychological one is the most fun.  Oh yeah, the good times.

I get to read varying reports on just how mentally ill I am now.

I can get the anxiety one.  100%.  P.T.S.D.?  Who wouldn't?!?!  And depression from chemical imbalance?  Check!

However, the newest report is that I'm borderline personality disorder.

Nice.  Papi liked this one.  It made him giggle with anticipation of telling everyone his wife is full fledged nuts.

In all honesty, it's a lot more entertaining than the one that says I'm bipolar.

Listen here fuckwads, I'm just a human fucking being who reacts to what life has to offer.  I express myself honestly, but somehow, that makes me berserk?

As far as I've seen, the more you keep in all the shit that you're experiencing, feeling, thinking, the more deranged you grow.

We're all fucking nuts in one way or another, and once we start talking about it, we find that we're not so alone, and the 'nuts' part loses it's power.

I like how the cleanest of cleanest tidy people are praised, when possibly they could have O.C.D.

I see people who cry at the drop of a hat.  They're demented too?  Nope.  They just have big emotions.  I'd rather have that than not be able to cry because I've shut down.

These professionals can go on and on about how I'm defective, but reality is, if I'm talking about it, and I'm recognizing and working on my faults, then I'm not so fucking maniacal, am I?

If I get the crap out of my head, through this here tippity-tappity of my laptop blog entry, I feel better.  If I talk to someone about my problems, I feel better.

Most people don't do these things, because they don't want to be labeled as bonkers.  No, they hold it in until they pop, and perhaps go pick up a few guns and shoot a theatre full of people.

Hell.  I know I'm a nutbar, but I am not afraid to say what's going on in my mind at the risk of someone labeling me a whack job.

Just because I'm a little narcissistic ...

... hehehe ... a little ...

... doesn't mean I'm borderline.  It means I've had to find my own way to find self esteem, because I didn't have it growing up.

Just because I get a 'little emotional' doesn't mean I'm bipolar.  I'm emotional because life is hard.  Hurricane Andréa doesn't blow in for no reason at all.

Futhermore, what is so wrong with being utterly happy about the good things in life?  These pros think that being ecstatic is a sickness!

I wasn't suicidal when I was younger for nothing.  There were reasons I was not interested in living through what life has to offer.  I was too young and didn't have the experience to know that everything will get better.

I still have suicidal thoughts when life gets too difficult, but I don't act on it, because I've learned how to deal with the shit life hands out.

I challenge any 'normal' person to try and tackle what I've dealt with since a young age.  I dare them to try!

No, I'm not psycho.

Life is.

If we don't express ourselves, because we're afraid of being labeled, then I believe that's a debilitating way to live.

Label me.  Call me what you want.

But I'll tell you this, I know the key to happiness, and my past secrets aren't going to cause me cancer, because not only have I let them go, I've also found I'm not alone in this fucked up world.

This is because I talk about it.

And by the way, just because you've labeled me with some new diagnosis, doesn't mean I'm going to be hopping on your fucking designer drugs that will give you points to win you your golfing trip to Ireland, and at the same time make me so lethargic that I don't speak about life anymore.

Now, excuse me while I go count my deck of cards.  I guarantee there will be 52.

i possess complete ability to articulate my thoughts and feelings to everyone, and i express myself wisely.

Would you like a nice slice of "Fuck-it-all?"

I'm not really in the mood to be writing today, but for you, I will anyway.

Here's my cake.

 

The two friends who actually showed up for my party wouldn't let me eat it as is.

They made me cut it.

Here's the inside.

When 12 of the 14 people called on the day of the party to say they couldn't show up, at first I thought, "Woohoo!  More cake for me!"

But it's a hell of a lot of cake to eat all alone.

... alone ...

I've been giving away a lot of it, and I've learned my lesson, yet again.

15 years ago, I told myself I would never celebrate my birthday again, because people don't show up.

When they don't show up, I get let down.

I would get so hurt, because I felt I wasn't important/loveable/popular enough for my close friends to give a shit to come celebrate my life.

This round, I know I'm loved, but the cosmos just do not allow me to honour my life by way of a gathering of loved ones. 

I guess being gathered by people I love is just never going to be in the cards for me.  Every time I'd be left alone on past birthdays, I would spend my whole day crying, wondering why I'm not good enough for the people I'm close to to show up.

Granted, this time, every single person had a good reason for not being there, but it still didn't take away from the fact that it hurt that everyone but two bailed on my day.

Of course, My Gratitude Buddy showed up later on just to be here on my day, even if it wasn't for the party.  I can always count on her and the other two that showed up.

Even on my actual birthday yesterday, only one person called me.

Here's ironic for you; it was my mother.

I spent the day wishing I never said I'd celebrate.  I spent the day wondering what the fuck is wrong with me?

... i spent the day crying and admitting to someone about how on my birthday, every year, i secretly wish i was dead and i hide from the world... shhh ... don't tell anyone ...

Being left alone this time around is different.  I know they love me.  It's just that I went against my better judgement and thought that people would actually show up because it is my last birthday here in Vancouver.

Didn't matter.  People got sick or whatever and again, yet again, my heart was broken.

I spent $350 on steak, salmon, cake enough to feed an army, alcohol for my drinking friends/family and the list goes on.

I could've used that for the bills that are screaming at me.

I'm pretty much just going to cancel my week, eat cake and cry the sugar out of every pore in my body.  I haven't actually stopped crying since My Gratitude Buddy left late Sunday evening.

And people always ask me, "Why don't you ever celebrate your birthday?"

Well, when even the closest loving people in my life are somehow energetically stopped from coming, there's just no fucking point.

You can bet I won't be bothering with a 'leaving the country party'.

Nobody will show up.

I'll just go away quietly and build a new life with Papi.  I can always count on Papi to make my day wonderful. 

And to give me clonazepam to stop the tears.

if you keep doing what you're doing, you'll keep getting what you're getting

educating andréa

So, a Blogger Friend asked if it would have been easier to get through Papi's male transformation if it wasn't intentional.

I think the intentional part is what got me.

If my love was in an accident and his features changed, I would have loved him just the same.

I would not have been a lunatic grieving the loss of my butch.  I'd be too busy taking care of my love, and supporting him while he struggled through a rough time of accepting his own new body.

Which I would understand fully now.

I'm not the same after my motorcycle accident, or so Papi says.

Apparently I was different before the brain injury.

I don't know, because this new brain is all I know now, and I've come so far in three and a half years, that I can't imagine being any different.

Although, I do know that I didn't wobble around and tip over like a drunk, without drinking alcohol, prior to the accident.  I also didn't break as many things and forget so much that I have a permanent list just to get through my day.

However, having said that, I also wasn't as happy.  I won the lottery of life and I will never take it for granted again.

I can say, that I know that my body is not the same.  My days of rockin' out on stage with my lovely bass guitar are pretty much over.  Thank god I love scoring to film, is all I can say.

Anyway, I do believe that the changes being intentional were the hard part.

I believe it's human nature to want to fight for everything to stay the same.

Also, that decision that made mi esposo happy was truly a misery for me, and I'm pretty sure it's back to that human nature thing again, with having to control the situation we're not comfortable with.

I have no control of my life.  It's chaotic and it's the life I've been granted, no matter how much peace I strive for.

Ok.  That is not completely true.  I have control of my food.

It's about the only thing that I do have control over; what I put into my body.  It's been my way of dealing with the chaos since I was young.

Hell!

When I was a teen, I wanted to die so badly, that I actually tried to eat as many chocolate bars as I possibly could, every day, in hopes that I would follow suit with some of my family members and get diabetes.

Then, I decided that once I had diabetes, I'd kill myself with chocolate.

Yeah.  Even with suicidal idealism I'm creative.  And dramatic.  I've always been a nutburger, but don't worry, I'm cool with it, even if others are horrified.

Anyway, back on track: Papi's male transformation.

I have no control over his or anyone else's decisions.

That's a fact.

If we do try to control our better halves, we're sure to lose them.

We loved them enough when we met them to accept them as they are and fall in love, didn't we?

Why the hell do we get into this place of feeling like we have to control our loved ones after the love sets in?!?!?

What the fuck is that?!?!?  Seriously!!!!!

Whatever.  I don't try to control others anymore, but what happens on the inside of me is disastrous as I try to let go of that control.

I get so scared and jump to worst case scenario.

But you know that by now, don't you?

Anyway, my love is nowhere near my worst case scenario I envisioned 19 months ago.

Mi esposo es guapo!!!  Even with face fuzz!!!

My overly creative mind has been educated once more, and for that, I am truly grateful.

no education is wasted.  drink in as many new experiences as you can

You got shit? We all got shit.

I tend to be normal and dwell on things that really don't matter in the big scheme of life.

I've received so much love from others who either a) have had similar experiences, b) could never in a million years imagine having a mother who would choose a man over her child, or c) don't have parents either.

I also got to thinking about the fact that Papi and I are in a similar situation, only different.

My love lost his mother at the teeny, tiny age of 10.

Papi never got to grow up with his mom, however, she was a loving one while she was here.

Only problem was, there was no dad in the picture.

I won't go into their details, but mi esposo's dad is only starting to be a part of Papi's life in the past couple of years.

I tried that with my sperm donor too, but it just wasn't the relationship I had hoped for.

I needed a father, and I can't get that from my sperm donor.

Papi wants a dad, but who knows if that relationship will ever come to fruition.  It will take both of them to get it down.

Then there's my mom, who really doesn't have a maternal bone in her cancer free body.

But damn is she a good cook!!!

Anyway, we're both a bit in the same boat.

We managed without, and we are who we are because of it.

I don't think that it's bad that I became such a strong person because of it.

Or so I'm told.

Sometimes, I just feel so weak and debilitated from my emotions around the lack of parental guidance in my life.

However, I have surrogates.

I have my wonderful friends, some groovy aunts, a lovely baby sister, a couple of cool cousins and my family I'm now married into.

One of my sweet cousins lost both of her parents.  She had a rough go.  She was a miracle baby!  She had to fight from the moment she left the womb!

I also have an incredibly strong, amazing friend who's mother committed suicide when she was a child.

She was the one who witnessed it.

Imagine?

And she's one of the strongest women I know.  She also lost one of her children not too long ago.

Even still, she smiles the most gorgeous smile every time I see her.

She still carries on with her beautiful life, and life is being good to her in the current moment.

Anyway, my point is, we all have shit.  Just some of us more than others.

It's all about how we look at it, what we learn from it and how we grow from it.

I am so sure, that if I continue on my path of positive thinking and gratitude every day that I will work this through in counselling, amongst my other 'issues' I have to deal with.

If I dwell on the fact that I've never had a mom or dad to be close to, I'll be putting blinders on and the tunnel will become quite suffocating.

There is so much love to be had.

It doesn't have to come from the people I was born to.

It comes from those who choose to be a part of my chosen family, and the people in my family who choose to love me.

I have all of them.

These are the ones I will focus on today, one minute at a time, one thought at a time.

I am loved.

life consists of what a person is thinking about all day

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

change

I just had such a lovely lunch with a lovely friend.

Like I said, my friends will fill me with as much love as I need.

She also reminded me that these same 'mean girls' haven't learned how to grow up yet and subsequently, don't know how to communicate around adversity.

What if they lovingly told me what I wrote at the beginning of this journey was 'wrong' in their eyes?

Then I would listen to their side and they would never have to be horrid toward me.

When a friend suggested I use a disclaimer, I saw her opinion as a great way to begin my learning.

Her point was completely valid.  These were my feelings, and not everybody feels this way.

It was my way of working out how to deal with such a huge issue in my mind.

I understand that a lot of what I've written in the past, especially at the beginning, could be taken as very hurtful to Papi and others who are in the process, or have gone through the male transformation.

However, my views around everything have changed and are continuing to change for the better.

I understand the I have P.T.S.D. from past assaults and abuse at the hands of bio-males.

I see where all my fear was lying.  I had to wade through a lot of mixed up feelings to get to the crux of the matter.

But hey, I'm starting my therapy for all this pretty soon ...

... although i'm sorry to say i was supposed to already have an appointment and forgot ... brain injury ... so much fucking fun all the fucking time ...

I'll have more healing and learning to share with you.

I also understand that hearing things that are hurtful would place a certain amount of fear in those who now choose not to trust my feelings.

I see that.

I also see that the hearts that surround me have never done too much to really 'side' with my feelings, they just 'sided' with my heart.

They supported my heart until I could support it on my own.

They told me when I was wrong.

They didn't try to hurt me for already hurting.

These are true friends who are familiar with honest feelings, and didn't disown me for them.

They are open honest hearts who recognized when it was time to lift someone up, not bury them further in their hole.

However, the biggest part of this that we needed to talk about was the fact that I really believed I was the only person they did this to.

Yeah, yeah, narcissistic, I know.  But I couldn't fathom these people being mean to anyone else.  I think I almost thought I deserved it for a while there.

Yet, it's not just me.  They kick others when they're down as well, so it has absolutely nothing to do with me.

I only hold my own responsibility for my own actions.

Like allowing them to hurt me to the point of tears in public.  Or, allowing my pain of being rejected to grant my suicidal thoughts to start yacking at me.

... nobody invited the suicidal girl to the party!!!!! ...

That won't be happening from their harshness anymore.

Also, I'm responsible for learning from my weakest moments, so that I may heal my fears.

I am really amazed at how far I've come in 16 months.

I know I've changed for the better.  My friends know I've changed for the better.

Anyone who doesn't think people can change, has never had anything about them that they've felt needed changing, and they stay stuck in their own shit.

For their sake, for the sake of all the people who hate me for my honesty, I hope one day they too will change.  I hope they will see their responsibilities in the pain they've inflicted upon myself and others with their bullying.

It's possible.  Change is possible.

i am healing the past, while living in the present

Words hurt. Don't kid yourself.

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

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

Bull-fucking-shit.

Words hurt.

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

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

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

They need to be supported.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Word hurt.

Don't kid yourself.

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

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

Please.

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

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

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

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

Probably not.

So, please, choose your words wisely.

i release desperation and allow love to find me

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

Depression and suicidal idealism.

Anger and frustration.

Fear and worry.

Anxiety and panic attacks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything always works out.  Everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's hit.

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

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

Yeah, it's hit, and it hurts.

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

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

Oh, how I know what you're feeling.

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

Schmooze-0-Rama!

Well, it's the time of year for parties.

I've been so busy trying to keep up with all the advantageous moments to be amongst friends, acquaintances and BigWigs!

Last night was the BigWigs.

Fortunately, my brain injury has donned me with horrid facial recognition, so when the BigWigs would talk to me, I was calmly myself.

You know how you get when you meet someone important, and you choke up?  Well, that doesn't happen if you don't recognize them.

For example, they were handing out lovely little treats, and I was so hungry that I had to have it, but when I tried to bite in with my Brace Face, it was too hard.

No biggie.

I'll just announce it to the world of BigWig TV producers and directors, and see if someone has a better idea for me than to bite into pork belly on a stick.

I was lucky enough that one of the BigWig's wives was accommodating and passed me some tissues so I could remove the swine on a stake from my mouth, and try to grab some class while finding the perfect place on the table to discard it.

my brace face has really removed the 'classy' in my life ...

But alas, Mr. BigWig took off his glasses when he started to feel a little more 'spirited', and I had no idea who he was.

The night went like that for me repeatedly.  My sweet butch of a friend was my seeing eye person, and I continuously followed her lead.

Although, there were exceptions when she was busy speaking to someone else and I took initiative and introduced myself again.  Only to see their face knowingly smirk, and then I'd ask, "Umm, did we already do this?"

I was greeted with great smiles of, "Yes," and a chuckle.

However, nobody really batted an eye at it and I didn't have to give my brain injury disclaimer, because they were all drinking, so I fit in quite nicely.

Nothing but a room full of nerdy creative types, and I was in my element.

Well, there is a lot more schmoozing to be had this weekend.

I don't usually oblige with the parties etc. at X-Mas, but this year, I'm feeling so happy that I will.

I believe this is the first X-Mas season that I haven't felt like a crying lunatic in years.

Last year, I had the male transformation bomb drop and flood restoration from hell.

2009 was my terrible miscarriage that had me in emergency 3 times within 2 weeks, and 2 separate D&Cs to get that demon out of my body.

2008 was my motorcycle accident.  'Nuff said.

2007 I was suing The Beast who had made me homeless by having a packing party full of rancid people who thought that was the right thing to do to another human being, along with changing the locks on my home.

2006 was alright.  I had finally gotten on meds to help my chemical imbalance stop making me think suicide is a great option in this world.

2005 my Dearly Departed Gypsy girl passed away and I had a nervous breakdown that lasted until after the awful winter season took a hold of my emotions.

Yeah, I could go on, further back into life's miseries, because it just seems that every winter something happens to make me a little more insane.

This year?

I am the happiest that I can ever remember.  I feel like life has finally stopped attacking me.

Well, perhaps I'm just being given a break, because we all know life throws us curves, but none-the-less, I'm taking this break and running with it.

I feel like I'm shining with love and happiness so much, that a perfect stranger said to me last night, "You have such a beautiful smile.  You're always smiling!  People could use a lesson from you in understanding that life is not so bad."

They don't know that I just spent a year grieving and am finally out of the woods.

They don't know that this is the most peaceful, loving X-Mas season I can remember.

Well, off I go to a film screening of the movie I just composed for.

Charmed life?

Indeed.

So, then that's a 'no'?

"I don't know why the nurse would have to tell me, 'no sex for 6 weeks'.  I can't imagine anyone who would feel like having sex after a hysterectomy."

I would have to agree with you, Papi.

However, I had to ask, "So, do they mean no action with the vibrator either?"

Papi was horrified that I would even contemplate having sex right now.

But you see, it's not so out of the ordinary.

I mean really, I get amorous at the worst of times.

Seriously.

I can feel it coming on like I'm a bitch in heat when it really shouldn't be happening.

I think the worst time ever was when I was at a funeral.

Mind you, that was a bit of a mind fuck, considering I was contemplating suicide at the same time as this teacher died.  Seeing so many people grieving over their loss of this beautiful person, I decided that I couldn't put those who love me through that, even if I felt so doomed, yet somehow, horny.

... blah blah blah nervous breakdown yadda yadda suicide is selfish ... yawn ... my maelstrom of a mind ...

But still, I had to ask Papi if it meant absolutely no hop on action, when I was greeted with the most energetic words I've heard all week, "No fucking way are you bringing anything near me!"

Hey, wait a minute!

Wasn't it you, Papi, who just weeks after I was brain injured and unable to walk in a straight line, never mind feel any pain from all the straight codeine I was hopped up on, decide we were having sex, even if it meant I may be a little more fucked up for physio the next day?"

Yeah, I think I deserve my tit for tat now!

Although, after all that thinking, the inkling went away.

Yeah.

It flits about like that.

catch me if you can!

Like I said, completely inappropriate.

I managed to get Papi out of the house today.  Took him for a little drive downtown when my love asked, "Do you ever think people are listening in on you?  Like you're being bugged?"

I had to stop and wonder if I'd been giving off the air of another nervous breakdown. 

Was I talking psychotic babblings and perhaps didn't know it?

Was Papi witness to me having some weird ass freak out and was trying to break it to me that I need to go 'see someone'?

However, I couldn't help answering honestly, "Yes."

Oh great.

Now Papi knows.

I heard my love toss words like it was just an everyday conversation, "Oh.  So do I."

phew! we're in this nuthouse together!

But I do!

Sometimes, I turn on my computer and the little light by my built in camera comes on.

I desperately reach around for the closest piece of paper I can find to cover up the camera.  Then I turn the computer off and reboot.

Not because I'm afraid of my privacy being happened upon, but because when I blog, I don't look so 'fresh'.

And besides, I'm not just paranoid, it's also a fact that I'm followed by insurance people trying to catch me doing the limbo or dancing en pointe for the next ballet troupe.

and people wonder why i never leave the house unkempt ... i'm a star i tells'ya! papirazzi everywhere!

Anyway, it was sure nice having a few moments of my love back.

Even if I made things worse by making mi esposo laugh too much, I do know that even though it hurts to laugh, it helps with healing.  So, bring on the smiles my love.

It's all working out just fine ...

Death Sentence.

My brain is swimming here and there.

I just received the phone call to get on the waiting list for therapy via VISAC.

I realized through talking that I'm really ok, but damn, I got stuff to deal with.

When I think too much, that's when my brain flails.

It's because the woman on the phone had a list of questions to ask before I could be put on this list.

It occurred to me that I had just given a verbal résumé of my mental health.

We went from childhood trauma, to anorexia, to suicide and that's when I realized that my life is so damn good.  Nothing can take away the work that I've done to get as strong and happy as I am now.

One of the questions was about past counseling and I was able to confidently say, "I am in a good place.  I had issues to deal with that I thought were over, but having been in counseling since I was young, I have tools to work with.  I just know that I've been triggered and I need more attention on this topic than I thought."

We spoke about what triggered it, and it was too damn clear.  I let her know that by having a spouse go through male transformation, I'm forced with having a male being in the house.

Even right now, my gentle heart pounds.

But it is ok.

I am safe.

I am strong.

And now I have to wait 6 months before anyone can see me.

This program is only for adult survivors.  Here in Vancouver, there are that many adults that have been abused, that we have to wait that long.

Never mind the poor little souls who are being abused right now and must be given counseling at a young age, or, later when they finally realize they're strong enough to deal with it.

It's sickening to think that there are this many victims and this many assailants.

What the fuck is the matter with people!?!?!

I know this is going to spark a massive blast from the Hen Peckers, but I'm all for pedophiles and rapists being put down.

We put down dogs, raccoons, bears, tigers etc. when they attack us.  Our system thinks it's safer for us because these 'animals' will attack again.

Well, what about the walking abscess that we call sexual offenders?!

These muther fuckers go into jail for a few years, then bide their time until they can get out and re-offend.

They run to the hills ignoring their probation, and find the nearest person that tickles their fancy.

Then we have to hear about it in the news.  Then we have to be warned that another is being let out and we must keep an eye out for the predator, because they are at 'high risk to re-offend.

WTF?!?!?!?!?

These people are rabid and could NEVER be rehabilitated, unless they get a fucking lobotomy.

whoa.  if my heart wasn't pounding before, it surely is now ...

Get rid of them.

When people stop acting 'civil', why the fuck should they ever be granted 'civil rights'?

I'm all for the vigilante who has a vendetta and gets rid of these bastards for us.

Lord knows it's the only way these pussballs of mucus could ever be stopped.

And now, I must go calm myself down, and wait 6 months.

6 muther fucking months to deal with this fucking issue that I have already spent years of my life dealing with.

All because of the offender.

Fuck you, and if I ever figure out which one of you did this to me, you should be wary of your own safety.

end rant.