Stuck on the Mine That Isn’t Mine

Last night I watched a video of a movie out called “Mine”. It’s a story about a marine sniper out in a desert who steps on a mine and cannot move for long hours while he struggles with dehydration, exposure to too much sun, sandstorms, wolves trying to kill and eat him, and hallucinations mixed with flashbacks about his troubled and unresolved life.

It was horrible and riveting at the same time. I could relate. Not incidentally, the man I live with was gone too long, not answering his phone, disappeared for an obvious time period that could only mean one thing: He was doing something he knows he should not. When he got home it became crystal clear he’d fallen off the wagon and had drunk alcohol. This after over 60 days of sobriety.

I told him I’m not going back to him using meth and/or alcohol. I skipped the hysteria, rage, pleading, threatening. Been there and done that for over 30 years. He did his usual defensive drunk bluster about getting a hotel room and going somewhere else for the night, which I dismissed, knowing full well that a key inner part of him is always waiting to be kicked out for good no matter how good things ever get. And there is very young part curled up in a fetal position inside in terror of it.

I feel like my life has been just like the guy’s ordeal on the mine. This in relation to living with a guy who wants to die and is never, ever gonna be OK, even if he’s sober. Like the man on the mine, I have had grave difficulty moving forward, even when salvation is presented in the form of ghosts and a helping human  who understands the situation all too well, having lost a leg and a young daughter to the dangerous mines.

Now the guy has called and is exhibiting some healthy fear and remorse over his “slip”, but I’m aware now that I am far from being where I need to in relation to him, his sobriety, and life. He is the mine I’ve been standing on. I have a workable form of detachment, from him and how he behaves, but it is not enough. My confusion/delusion has centered around him, and I don’t know how to get off it safely. There is a paradox at work here, and I know I can’t cut the Gordian Knot juts yet. But it will have to be cut, I will have to move forward with myself somehow.

I’m not at fault for freezing on the mine that the guy I’ve been supporting, But it has to end, and no matter what happens, it’s a big death of what I have identified with as my life. I’m still terrified of moving forward, still frozen on the Mine that isn’t mine.

 

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Chihuahua Shit Central and The Big Life Service

We have a very small little corridor of grass that starts beneath the three mailboxes next to our skinny  mobile home driveway, and continues up from the street to some concrete rimmed Arizona flagstone. Grass, clover, and weedy oxtongue grow right where we step out from our vehicles, mine on the driver’s side and the guy’s when loading or unloading stuff from his truck back passenger side.

Naturally, neighbor  dogs in the park, a large percentage of which are tiny  chihuahuas, love to shit there. I imagine the cool green grass caresses their  little ass checks as they happily crap at this convenient, close by  dog toilet. The dogshit piles  could not have been placed more fortuitously  for being stepped in or on, partially hidden by the grass.

I think of it as a sort of compliment to our cat barf stained porch, which often sports a few rakishly scattered, left over cat kibble stars, occasional hairballs and tufts of black or white fur  from Junior, one of two semi feral catboyz.  Junior and Mr. Green grace our porch almost every morning and evening to get wet food. Our porch is testament to an unofficial catland, for it is essentially one big scratching post and has much wear. You can’t see that the front door inner mat is yellow, because it is soiled from grooming cats and foot traffic. Ah, the Wabi Sabi joys of living with traumatic abuse survivors who are not in their bodies, are paranoid , OCD and Ring of Fire ADD.

I often dream of trisodium phosphating our front door, of cutting through the grease and dirt of more than a decade, of purifying it and making it white once again, even painting it. This along with completely de-filthing my trash and recycling bins. Mere washing will not do. I believe I will have to spend days to get them clean and carefully schedule it so I can ritually cleanse them between trash pickups.And I have no intention of ever washing the outside of the mobile ever again, but plot to hire a power washer whose trucks I see in the neighborhood when I walk.

I’m well convinced  that IF I completely clear, clean and ritually cleanse my battered and grease stained Chevy Impala, mountains will move. From there, I can move to what I call The Big Life Service, piece by piece, bit by bit. When we had a used, yellow,  Mercedes Benz that we foolishly bought at an auction house, we had NO IDEA how expensive maintaining a Mercedes of any condition is. We went to a number of mechanics who liked to talk about The BIG SERVICE.  The Big Service was their euphemism for Big Bucks to “restore” the health of the Mercedes.

 

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Releasing the Dark Mother Shadow

I have a medium sized sculpture I made quite a while ago, out of a black clay called Cassius Basaltic. It’s the headless torso of a woman with arms, breasts, buttocks, and big, protruding stomach in rolls. it has a vagina and a broad, muscular back. When I made it, I had been reading Jungian books on the dark feminine for years and was aware of what is generally referred to as SHADOW. The shadow is what we deny in ourselves and don’t see because we don’t want to accept it’s part of us.  When I made it, my body was getting heavier, and I was feeling the strain of carrying  the shadow projection of my family. I had fallen into playing the role well of the non achieving loser and wasn’t a “real” woman because I had not married and had children. This put me outside of any real respect and everyone was perfectly ok with exploiting me and treating me like some kind of garbage they could tread on and control.

I made the sculpture to try and embrace the reality of the fact I was becoming what I had sworn and fought to never become. It’s existence attests to the power of feminine archetypes, the nature of which cannot be avoided unless a woman can develop an inner vessel of consciousness to hold the marriage of opposites. I, like so many other women, have tried to  flee from the earthly feminine in my fear and ignorance, and, as a consequence have been partially possessed by the dark, ungrounded, shadow feminine.

When I made the sculpture, I deliberately exaggerated the swollen obesity, the heaviness of weight in the breasts and stomachs. I fired the black clay without glaze. I had read the mythic story about Baubo, a small dark goddess who made Demeter laugh when she was searching for Persephone  by exposing it’s vagina and telling sexual, off color jokes to her. Baubo’s eyes were nipples, it’s nose the navel and the mouth the roll  crease in the fat stomach. I also painted the hands of the torso silver to represent another metaphoric myth about the Silver Handed Maiden that I got from Clarissa Pinkola Estes’ “Women Who Run With the Wolves”.

I had made that sculpture while I was caregiving my mother, and I had it in a studio where my sisters came to stay when they thought they were putting my declining mother away into a facility. It had been sitting on a window shelf and someone put it in the corner and turned it around so it’s front could not be seen……Someone had not been OK with it’s naked, blatant sexual realism. That was a perfect indictment of it’s true meaning and compliment to it’s impact.

Damn the black crone! Damn the woman no longer obediently trying to stay young, hide her human imperfections, cover and hide her sexual organs and please/take care of everyone else but herself. In Jungian books about eating disorders, women either starve themselves with anorexia to disappear from the excessive and inhuman expectations of women, or massively overeat and are bulimic to numb themselves and get big to protect themselves.

Now I’m big, swollen and obese, hypothyroid, have high blood pressure and tachycardia. I have carried the dark mother, the woman who is thought of as too stupid to leave an abusive relationship, been called “too subservient” and told that “you don’t rate.” I have lived out the curse of the dark feminine shadow, the part our society has tried to burn, arrest, suppress, and control. I’ve lived with the terror and rage and grief I can’t express, lived a marginal life. I am the black sheep aunt who doesn’t get invited to things, is not included, but sends birthday gifts to grand nieces anyway. I have witnessed the horrible, hidden bias against women and the massive iceberg of comfortable denial we wrap around ourselves to live along side it, the war to keep it distant. I have survived the dark mother and shadow, am going to break the sculpture, break it down to dust and return it to earth.

 

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

All Purpose Bad Projection Unit

Today I got the federal case putdown, the massive rebuke for not putting away the milk. I did not swallow this for once, remarked that the condemning party often leaves things out, and got the “shut up” and angry denial of what I said when in fact it is absolutely true. Lately, he’s been putting dishes in the sink, cooking, and even putting some things away here and there, but that is a brand new thing. Mostly he has NEVER put anything away and lived like a hog in slop while he treats me like an incompetent  house slave who never does her job well enough.

Most recently I read that some  parents project unwanted, disowned parts of themselves on their children and treat them accordingly, which is very bad and does a lot of harm. And I am quite sure males project on women a great deal, and the more abused and traumatized they are, the more punishing and hateful they are to the women around them. Women are, after all, considered “the weaker sex” AND women are, in many traumatized, fatherless male minds horrible “all powerful” evil witches at the same time. Can’t win for losing on that one in  a racist, misogynist, sexist, classist, rape culture.

We are so handy for blaming, because 99% of everything is about the collective denial of/splitting off of reality about human vulnerability. We have been groomed for centuries for the job of all purpose bad projection unit and scapegoat. And we women are used to doing it to each other and ourselves, so it seems normal even though it is barbaric and harms everyone. Thank you Phyllis Chesler for examining it and writing about it.

I have never understood the rampant ability of so many human beings to forget this when they decide to have children. We have the mindset of a bygone era which is rapidly getting more and more obsolete and pointless by the day. The sad thing is, it’s not just girls that are hampered and ill equipped to cope with our current reality regarding power and safety. Boys by the droves are very unprotected and lost also. Predatory people do well in times of blind ignorance and rampant denial. They have plenty of people to prey on.

 

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Goodbye Mayonnaise

Well, the jury is in on  PUFA’s….or Poly Unsaturated Fatty Acids. Apparently, every single kind of plant based oil except butter, coconut and olive oil are  very bad for me, blocking thyroid, liver, cell receptors and some other vital thing’s pathways. According to the source I’ve been following for over a year, it takes 3 years to get that stuff outta your fat cells. The same source claims that most of the Vitamin E capsules have got those kind of oils in them as carriers.

I got hooked on mayonnaise, specifically BEST FOODS Hellman’s mayonnaise a long time ago in my family. I had no idea what it was made out of, and now that particular mayo is considered mega poison because it has  toxic aluminum in it, BAD, BAD, BAD! The same source claims his vitamin E does not have the bad oils in it, will have to totally check that.

We used mayo in my family for sandwiches and gorging on white/dark turkey with dressing and cranberry gel sandwiches for days after Thanksgiving. I have been overeating with it for decades, though I changed to an “alternative” mayo made out of grapeseed oil. When I started reading about the ketogenic diet, I gleefully upped my consumption and ate butter and mayo like there was no tomorrow. High fat diet? You betcha, no problemo. Love them fats, they satisfy!!!!

Further, the guy says no matter how much thyroid you take, it won’t go into the cells if they are clogged, and you stay hypothyroid. DAANG. I’ve spent years making my own “healthy” salad dressing by combining olive oil, coconut oil, minced garlic cloves, spices, lemon and, yes, a coupla Tablespoons of grapeseed, and for awhile, safflower oil mayo. Boy do I feel sheepish, literally, am shaped like a big, fat, woolly one at this point. BAAAAAAH!

I have  stopped buying mayo. Even the paleo purists like Mark Sisson of Primal Blueprint love them some PUFAs, have their own organic, advocado oil speshal mayo, which according to Thyroid guy is still BAD for those of us with shitty, clogged up cells, liver, and thyroid. My guy loves blue cheese dressing and 99% of all store bought dressings are canola oil based, which is supposed to be mucho bad O for the liver.

I  love everything white and creamy, but it hasn’t been the loss I thought it would be. There is still pastured butter and coconut oil, and perhaps ghee. There is also raw milk, cottage cheese, yogurt, kefir, and sour cream. I think one of my ideas of heaven would be to have a small goat dairy and make nothing but raw goat milk products, just for me and whoever wanted them.

I’m relieved the information is now CONCLUSIVE and very clear. Before now, there was a kind of hemming and hawing. I could not keep it straight exactly what oils were considered bad and good, and then there was all the stuff about processing. Monosaturated, poly unsaturated, saturated, trans fat, hydrogenated. Virgin versus refined. According to an unusual heart doctor, his vitamin e is made from organic red palm oil and has mixed tocopherols. Plus there is Emu oil that has k2 in it. I just bought some, we will see.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Brain Fog Time Warp Cluster Fck

Today I tried to make it to a dentist appointment I thought I had at 11:30 am, failed to get going soon enough, did my best to get there in as fast I could safely, and arrived at 11:40.

I walked in feeling mostly fucked, because I had sent an email chastising the dentist and her staff for telling me I didn’t respect their time and was “insulting” because I didn’t lie the last time I came in for mold casting when they asked me if I had brushed my teeth that morning.

I came in and sat down in the waiting room. No one was at the front desk, and the dental assistant came in and said there was no appointment on the books for me. I knew something was fishy, went out to my car and discovered that not only was the appointment supposed to be at 12:30 instead of 11:30, I had cancelled it by email instead of one that was in August that I didn’t want to pay another $300 bucks for.

I had earlier told the dentist in person at a consult appointment that I needed to stop coming because of money and work issues. She had then cut some of the fee for the apt in August and offered to make me a no cost retainer for my missing tooth. AND she had not charged me the $155 I had been told I would need to pay for that consult.

I’m hypothyroid, possibly Hashimoto’s and Lupus bound, estrogen dominant, gut fucked up, swollen, overweight and have shitty skin. Almost every day, depending on what, how much, and when I eat, I pass out for any where from 1/2 an hour to 2, and when I sleep at night, I don’t sleep, I mini coma out at night, and no matter how much sleep I actually get, feel tired  in the morning and have a hard time getting up.  I’m often tight in the body, and I have high blood pressure, white noise in my left ear constantly, and tachycardia.

I’ve deliberately not gotten treated because I don’t trust either tests or doctors. I’m often flushed, and fatigued for no particular reason. I can walk and do mobility exercises, but anything else active is out of the question. I’ve spent a year online researching this and have now become so surfeited with internet health gabble and health hustles that I have pulled back from it. I know I’m doing damage to my body and am lucky I have not had a stroke, heart attack or collapse.

I paid an online  cellular detox coach way too much money and fucked off his protocol.  I wasn’t clear minded enough to insist the expensive, specially trained dentist get down to business and get the god damned mercury out of my teeth.  I’m aware hundreds of thousands of other people are suffering from this shit, but I’m not a happy camper about it today.

Still, I have a book another woman loaned me which has proven useful and some other sources, and I know I have to clean my god damned teeth twice a day. In spite of everything, the dentist did show they gave a shit by getting on my case about brushing. So now I know I’ve got to get real hardass and ask the hard questions about getting the mercury out of my teeth before I ever climb into a to a dentist’s chair  again: what will it take, how long, how much.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Fit To Be Tied

Woke up this morning to the sixth or seventh version of the guy’s anxiety and indecision over signing the union list today for roll call.  He’s  40 days sober, basically what they call in 12 step “dry drunk” because without the constant anesthetic of meth, dope or alcohol, he’s back to the traumatized, confused, blindly impulsive, clinging and  lost inner child he’s been all his life. And every time he tries to get a sponsor, or get help, it goes badly, only confirms he can’t trust anyone or the world.

My one major beef with 12 step is all this “just get a sponsor and work the steps” mojo like they grow on trees. In ACA they say “slow down, breathe, ask for help”. There in lies the rub: asking for help from strangers who are as sick as you. How in the fuck does that ever work? Clearly it does for some people, proof is the  actual folks in the rooms who make it and can tell the story, get and have sponsors they continue to be connected with. The only sponsor that ever helped me was one who was worse  off than me, and would shelter me when I couldn’t be home with drinking crazy guy. I’ve never “done the steps” and had the recovery that is supposed to happen, so it’s hard not to assume it will never happen for me, no matter what I do.

I found myself tapping into deep rage this morning, irritated by the mendacity of the guy’s infantile emotional floundering over the same stuff I listened to for hours yesterday. He doesn’t want to work for the union anymore, having fallen off the world again in sober isolation, regressed back to abandoned, abused child, unable to imagine or remember what it’s like to be actually working, having somewhere to go during the day where you belong. At such times he ping pongs between trivial decisions as though tomorrow he will have no where to sleep and nothing to eat, because that is what happened to him numerous times, thanks to his insane and insufferably abusive family.

One of the real reasons I’ve stayed with the guy and supported him all these years was that he has always tried to work, always gotten back up again time and time again, and got his fucked up self out there to work. He has braved incredibly difficult, abusive job conditions, over and over again, only to have to leave situations and then deal with new, unknown ones again, sooner or later. Being in the union stopped the endless, obvious exploitation  of him  as a carpenter, from local, small time contractors who’d use him, pay him too little, and drop him, but it has continued the nightmare of chronic insecurity, masking it with the structure of organized labor.  Despite everything wrong with him, despite his long abuse of and dependency on me, he is a talented, hard working, brilliant carpenter who deserves a decent, well paying, sustained job.

While raging because he got up, played the same broken record and blindly obstructed me from using the bathroom so I could get the trash and recycling out, I tapped into my own despair and rage over the same issue: Never being able to get sustained work where I felt I belonged and was safe.  What’s up with that, GOD?

When I was younger I believed in a sort of natural selection: that if I couldn’t make it, I would just die, or kill myself, because that was the natural order of things. Then I didn’t make it, but I didn’t die, and I got tired of trying to plan my suicide and facing  just  how much nobody would care if I did kill myself. I kept on keeping on, continued to continue. And now I’m going to massage school. Doing something I never could imagine I could make a living from. I still don’t understand why I’m here, and if there is a god, what it’s got in mind for me. Deep down, I’m still really angry about my guy and my life. Despite everything, we NEVER deserved this fucking, endless mess. I hate it, and I hate living the LOSER life.

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Crazy Sober Bad Internet Addiction

There is nothing like trying to get things done at home while your partner dials up the most RACIST, MISOGYNIST, DEGRADING, DOOMSDAY SHIT on Youtube and chain watches it. It’s not like I’m not guilty of doing it, being ungrounded with too much time on my hands and having unfettered access to huge, GINORMOUS,  amounts of insanity on the net. I’m just starting to feel my compulsion to get online and endlessly fry my brain on too much information diminish now that I am making a point of getting outside almost daily.

I know why he’s doing it. He’s sober, but he is still  LOST, unable to come out of the deep prison/sanctuary of life ISOLATION. Isolation  of too much trauma way to early in his life and protracted through 50 years of not having anyone or anything be able to reach that deep strata of terrible, shattering and protracted grief over the horrible life he had to live over and over again. When he tries to trust anyone, he gets fucked every time, and he can’t hold it for himself, falls back into rage and terror and that INCOMPREHENSIBLE DEMORALIZATION  which no human wants to feel. The shattered inner child, unable to ever feel or be SAFE, because no one well enough could see the damage and create the right container long enough. Certainly, I’ve tried, at great cost, but my lack of internal health has tainted it all, and he doesn’t trust me because he doesn’t respect me.

He was attracted to Trump, voted for him, and is now obsessed with Vladimeer Putin. I know it’s the infant in him who longs for the strong man/uber powerful FATHER figure. He’s even said Trump reminds him of his father, and he didn’t spend a lot of time with his father, who  abandoned him by leaving his mother at 4, and who went off and had another family, rejecting him and his full blood sister after trying to have them live with him and his new wife, who was a horrible, abusive stepmother  and never wanted him or his sister around. She treated them like dogshit.

This is a vacuumn and a disaster waiting to happen, and I hate it. I am grateful for the cessation of verbal garbage and the using of substances, now reduced to cigarettes out the door and food, but I feel helpless and angry over the continuation of this limbo. He’s sleeping in, and I want to a) help him b) provoke him, knowing damned well he will not respond well to either.

I was openly rebuked a day ago, by an ACA program friend for sharing details about my guy and what is going on while we were waiting for another ACA person organizing the ACA retreat to meet us. She was delayed because her husband was “flipping out” and giving her an ultimatum: she could choose the marriage or the retreat. The man rebuking me was miffed that she was not on time to take things up to the retreat, not getting it that she was brave to tell us the truth about why she didn’t make the meeting or be on time with us afterwards.

The rebuke showed how much this person has labeled and judged me as a “codependent” in an abusive relationship who is JUST NOT DOING IT RIGHT. So much for maintaining the 12 step container of SAFETY and ACCEPTANCE so the truth can emerge with the PRINCIPLE of tolerance, patience and compassion.  If the truth be told, people don’t do 12 step programs because they are the least bit interested in developing spiritually or tolerating anything at all. They do them because they are desperate and their lives are out of control. But what is effective about 12 step is that people are encouraged to PRACTICE the principles in their affairs, something that can’t be forced on anyone.

And I have to concede that his point I need to focus more on myself and heal cannot be ignored in it’s truth. I can’t say I’m surprised he is sharp, fixated and harshly  judgemental under his main operating personality of charm and affiliation. He practices principles despite his moodiness, fears, and neurotic tendencies a great deal. And I have long been aware MOST, if not ALL people, even in the rooms do not want to hear about No Exit relationships where the degree of difficulty is beyond their imagination of what they can tolerate.

From that I know that I must pray and meditate, focus only on getting into massage school and then creating other gainful employment for myself, much as I simply DO NOT ACCEPT the idea that wanting and trying to help people in our lives is some sort of awful crime. While years of Al Anon, AA and now ACA have shown me why all this trying to obsessively help/control others is tainted by the insanity of our denying, sick culture, I do not believe in indifference.

I’ve been in one of the most extreme Detachment boot camps there is: Living with an extreme severe early childhood abuse survivor. And every woman friend I have that have had hard and extreme relationship challenges in their lives has done what all people do if forced to live with a protracted, non solvable situation: Made it OK inside of themselves to be able to endure it, naturally courting the chronic denial of society at large, immersed it what will fly, despite the prevalence of ideas to the contrary in our time.

I, in fact, believe it is our duty as decent human beings to try and do something about our suffering friends, lovers, relatives and world, though we must qualify what we do carefully, learning to divorce it from compulsive internal programming which is ineffective on only leads to more denial and bad shit. Love and Truth are hard to come by at the same time,  even in the rooms.

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

The Just Walking Morning Feast

Lately I’ve been managing to get out and walk around the neighborhood where I live. It’s taken me literally 20 years to be able to do this type of walking which is about simple relaxation, just being outside, and basically strolling along noticing and experiencing things. Being physically compromised for over a year with gross hypothyroid-related obesity, tachycardia, hypertension and high blood pressure has finally brought me  down to the whole point of being in a body. I have now actually discovered and experienced the Joy of Being, which I finally RECOGNIZE as the “IT” I’ve been chasing through all kinds of other stuff that jest plain did not work.

I have discovered many useful things: One is, that if I give my obsessive and grasping mind some sort of counting or measurement task, it then behaves itself while I am walking by quieting down a bit. Today I put on the stopwatch, and counted how many cars were leaving for work, as it is the late commute window and my mind is concerned with inhaling pollutants from gas and diesel. The count was 18, walked for 25 minutes.

I greeted cats in windows and observed flowers, trees, plants, statuary, arrangements of small gardens, surprising details of things people use to decorate their homes and living spaces. No matter how many times I walk the exact route, there are always surprises, something special or unique that  shows itself. Today it was a slinky young tiger cat crossing in front of me, uttering occasional deep voiced cat murmurs as he walked, and I could see he was not fixed. One of my sort of rules is never to hurry, and rarely to interfere with things, so I did not pick up my pace to see where he went ahead of me. I was then rewarded with seeing him eating kibble on the porch  rail of a home with it’s resident, beautiful  cat chilling with him.

Yesterday it was a beautiful, jaunty little teenage gray and red fox coming down a grassy hill trail behind the clubhouse. I make a point of greeting all cats, dogs and wildlife, and markedly keeping my distance to show them respect. I actively observe, without effort, keep the obsessive mind gear on low or OFF.

More and more I appreciate everything I see, from wabi sabi, not so meticulous overgrowth, decay and under maintained places to the surprising beauty of what is clearly human intervention of the landscape. I hear birds singing, see people working on their cars, or homes, and even catch scents of plants with what has been a nearly nonexistent sense of smell. Now I practice smiling, lifting up my mouth to break up my aging and wrinkling, blotched skin face for short snorts of time. There is a method to my joker faced,smiling madness: according to countless sources smiling changes the energy in the body instantly, connects nadis and marma points, and affects the overall vibe of self positively and distinctly.

I am starting to get to know the statuary: this madonna, that buddha, that standing, prayerful angel. Gnomes and dwarves, dogs holding small baskets in their mouths. Bunnies. Pelicans.  A frog in coveralls. At one house, a broken, bright  blue giant slug. One home in my neighborhood has glowing, colorful,  solar powered butterflies that light up at night and a pair of wind wheels which rotate in opposite directions. There is a mysterious, metallic looking woman sculpture with her arms up above her head tucked behind a modest fence. She has starfishes on her body and looks vaguely HP Wellish, like she belongs in the deep sea. I love the small scale of these wondrous vistas of beauty, and the fact they are so accessible to me.

While I can tune down the obsessive mind, even get it to take a long coffee break, I don’t squash my curiosity, neither do I allow it to take over the wheel. So many of my negative beliefs about current, here and now reality are starting to erode. I lot of ” I can’t manage, the world is too fast and fucked up for me” gets to see that ALL THESE OTHER somewhat ordinary people are not only coping, they are managing to express themselves through their relationship to nature, beauty and their home. Of course the main question is “Who are these people and HOW do they do what they do?

So much of a chronic and deep “I Can’t” feeling is starting to collide with the reality of places overflowing with flowers in pots. There is too much evidence right beyond my doorstep that somebody is making it, somebody is not only living but thriving and growing food, flowers, and expressing beauty while they do it.

 

                                             

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Mea Culpa Friday

I feel a bit lonely this morning, have no idea why. Crazy sober guy is still sacked out in the back, will arise to see the chiropractor for the second time within the hour. My darling Daisy cat has already bugged me for attention and been her adorable, gorgeously affectionate calico self, and her presence and state of health alone is a miracle of epic proportion. I  feel adrift in a sea of things I really oughta getta done but not very connected or present enough for most of them.

This hypothyroid/cellular toxicity/high blood pressure/tachycardia bullshit, now a year old, is really TACKY. I’m sticky from mag gel and oil, ballooned out like a rotund human blimp with  nasty skin.I don’t feel like taking a shower and wearing clean clothing, much less paying over a hundred bucks for a damned haircut. The worst thing about my health is the uncertainty, doubt and confusion over the choices I have for medical advice. Recent events suggest I am so used to using dissociation to get through the day that I have practically ignored the brain fog and chronic, quite distinct fatigue I’ve been having to live with for over a year now.

I have a new couple of things to distract on, besides the choked vortex of too much health info courtesy of the prolific and high word falut’n seduction of Scott Sonnon: Ring mobility and Neuromapping. The siren call of it right now is tempting me to check out and drift, spend money on and fantasize about becoming some legendary, revolutionary, mobility coach that people can’t get enough of. I’m resisting it for now, but my resistance is pretty rickety.

The completely unexpected longevity of crazy sober guy’s sobriety(now over 30 days and counting), the distinct absence of tons of his usual paranoia, doom projection, corrosive hatred and unpredictable, massive obsessive compulsiveness about things, is throwing me for a massive loop. I can’t trust it, therefore, I’m having difficulty in getting a functional footing with it being here in my personal home world.

I so would like to be able to depend on it. Got to get my head wrapped around a different way of dealing with it, for dependency on anything rarely works out for me. I was blown away to read in the ACA red book that we ACA ers don’t trust a higher power because we project our parent’s flawed, abandoning authority on God. We don’t ask for help, having been ignored, minimized, made invisible, denigrated and shamed for having needs. And the kicker in my case was the seeming ok ness of our family, due to the covert abuse going on, the lies and the secrets and the maintaining of the image of it rather than it’s actuality. How in God’s name does anyone know the difference between the seeming and the actuality?

How does anyone NOT perpetrate it? How can I trust myself in the maze of my own self delusions, especially now with my chronic fatigue, brain fog, and pain? I have failed with an expensive dentist to get my needs met, failed to honestly deal with  the cellular detox guy I paid big buckos to, risked my health radically by not taking any medications or pain relievers.

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment