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.






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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.



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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.



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Holy Crap, Pinocchio

Sober crazy  guy has left the building! Mommy is very pleased to have the house to herself so she can try to  call her new food addict sponsor in peace without being overheard. He’s going to see if he can get his truck washed, and then bring it home to hand wax. He has 31 days of NOT DRINKING, and he’s not doing dope or meth, hasn’t for at least a year. BE STILL, MY HEART. Could this actually be the proverbial IT? Him actually becoming a REAL BOY?

New sponsor’s line is busy, not gonna text her without patiently finding out if she allows such a thing. Gonna have to look up her website, if she has one and do breakfast or intermittent fasting this morning without her.  I think this calls for a warmed up raw milk and  Shredded wheat with cultured goat butter and salt revival. I used to eat that when I had meunstral cramps for the calcium and salt.

Since I could not remember how Pinocchio is spelled, I looked it up on Wikipedia, and now am fascinated at the many entertainment renditions of the original story. But it’s a darned good metaphor for my guy. Wooden puppet, created in poverty. Long trouble filled mishaps for both father and son until swallowed by a huge whale named Monstro or “The Horrible Dogfish”. That would be all the addiction and traumatic abuse of fucked up families that never should have children but do. Pinocchio is deeply immature and unfeeling, which is how crazy guy survived the unbelievably traumatic environment(s)of his childhood.

I’ve ended up playing the all giving Blue Fairy, one of the biggest forms of female hubris that exists, and the fates do look kindly upon such a crime. The relying on abusive, grasping  people and being turned into a donkey and being enslaved…works perfectly for me and crazy guy. This represents being unable to discern who is friend and who is foe, and more importantly, how to deal with either and get real needs met in life safely. How to connect with life actually and thrive.

The idea of my guy becoming a REAL BOY is about him finally becoming able to feel himself and his real life without collapsing into one addiction or compulsive, destructive behavior after the other. And this could mean I could become a REAL GIRL and get a real life where I can feel, actually become me.

I feel as though I’ve been living my life inside of Monstro. For some time now, I’ve been asking for a vision from my higher power.
This just might be it. In ACA they talk about growing an inner loving parent in order to connect with the traumatized inner child part and discover the authentic self that is not the mess of compulsive coping patterns the false self is made out of. I sure hope it’s true, because I’ve had enough of the endless nightmare of confusion, doubt, fear and suffering.













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I Am an Info Junkie

I think I am approaching a digital information saturation point. I don’t think I can take another shot at Facebook today or try to sort through hundreds of things I’ve saved regarding thyroid health, or look at one more crazy blurb on anything whatsoever. My brain is full and it leaks, I’m DONE.

I’m starting to recall the long, slow and agonizing process I went through to get used the world that got became taken over by fast information technology, starting with the internet. It’s insane, and now I finally can feel how addicted I am to it. No amount of information is enough.  I’m many years older and not so healthy. I’m going to have to find a way to create some kind of way of connecting with information differently, and have portion control, like they do in Food Addicts Anonymous. There must be other people dealing with this, and I’ve got to find out how they keep their brains from exploding and the endless distraction from ruining their lives.

I know I can’t just turn my back on technology and move out into the wild somewhere and live without it. But I can’t go on doing what I’ve been doing, which is spending copious amounts of my life trying to take in and sort through all that is available to me, letting IT be the center of my life.  I really don’t know what I’m going to do, but I know what I’m going to do today.

I’m going to print some stuff I had printed here at the library, send an email to a person I promised to forward something to, and then get off the computer and not look at it again today. I’m going to make myself get outside and possible go to a meeting tonight and unload the groceries in my car, and Cedarside the yard.  And I’m going to pray for guidance on this tonight.

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Crazy Sober

Right now crazy guy is outside washing his truck. It’s a (now very untypical) overcast coastal day and I can hardly believe what I’m seeing. Before he went outside, he oiled his boots and put them in front of our little heater. Before that he put on a  long, horrible youtube video about chem trails and how fucked we all are. When I   remarked on the fact whoever made that video had horrible, terrifying data  but no real efficient plan on how to change it, he didn’t go ape shit like he usually does, regarding me like an evil bitch who lives to rain on his Victor Von Doomsday parade for a change.

Who is this who’s inhabiting crazy guy’s body and brain? He’s more than 3 weeks off beer, and everything has been way too peaceful for about a week. He’s still anal, into fear and horror on Netflix. Nothing like vampires, zombies, homicidal  madness, apocalypse, with a little Pirates of the Carribean and kid’s films thrown in. Lately he’s joined me for short walks, hasn’t shouted “GET A JOB” at me for almost a month.

Yesterday, I accompanied him to Target, where he shopped for shirts  that fit him now that he has a big gut and is puffy and are Extra Large without endless up tightness and exhausting fussiness. He was able to drive, because  he’s SOBER, and he PAID for his own clothing. He admitted he was hungry after drinking 3 cups of coffee and starving himself all day hoping to lose weight,  but allowed me to fix him some cooked meat, broccoli and carrot sticks with blue cheese dressing after we got home. Even more amazing, he sat down and ate it. I don’t know if he’s still doing Tylenol pm, but he sleeps and he sleeps quietly. After over 30 years of trauma/drug and alcohol related night madness, the silence is deafening.

I can’t begin to hope that  this is what will last. but it’s a miracle to experience even briefly, considering the endless misery and suffering I’ve lived in for so long. One of the hardest and most corrosive things to live with over time is hate, no matter what the reason or why. Especially delusional, not about what is authentically true, hate. Right now I feel kind of confused, because I don’t have to flee the home to do any thing and get company. I’m lately able to actually be home and do things I need to with him around.

I’m doing my best to take advantage of this anomaly and do stuff, but I know it’s a mistake to get comfortable with it. In the past I would’ve spent a lot of energy trying to understand why this is happening, why it’s happening now and why it didn’t happen before, but that will waste energy I don’t have.

He’s washed clothing, now has actually learned how to shop for himself and us, is doing a chore here and there. He has a dental appointment for tomorrow and his DMV renewal test the day after. He’s wearing his new glasses to shop and drive. Someone pinch me, I must be dreaming. The end of the world has gotten strangely good for moment.





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The Single Point of Focus Practice

Today I’ve got a mission: it’s to not forget I have made the decision to learn how to focus on completing key tasks, even when I don’t know all that will be required to bring them to fruition. I’ve been confronting my seeming inability to achieve what I need to and leave the lotus la la land of my own LOSTNESS. I never wanted the life I have, though it has become a lot more peaceful than it used to be.

Focus is the thing I must master in a different way than before. I have found the word phrase and the mental concept which I can used repeatedly throughout the day: “Single Point of Focus”. Abra Cadabra, target ahead. It’s going to take a lot of failing and repetition but it will take root if I persist.

Wow. It’s tomorrow from when I posted the above, I have 9 minutes left to use this library computer and I have accomplished some key  steps of 2 SPOFS!  And it’s only 11: 32 am.  I certainly have not kept a completely single point of focus since I got up, but I have managed to NOT do a couple hundred of distractive things, cutting down on it.  Now I can focus and Re-focus on a next  SPOF while heading home and observing, without judgement in  my constant pattern of distracting myself.

It’s Day 4 of my SPOF practice, and I have had some success in making small plans for daily success. I made it to a mobility class yesterday with a beloved and very good teacher, which was  a big win. The temptation, when one task of a SPOF goal  has been completed, is to load up the camel with MORE.  My mother was always doing this to herself and us and Dad, and he used to really persecute her about it. Considering she was struggling with  hypothroid and ashma, was carrying the insane load of burden that all women are supposed to accept, I am now in the same catbird seat, so to speak.

I’m after something completely apart from “just” getting things done. I’m after finding a way to make a life hat is tnot this endless, self created, chaos  of too many things to do, too many choices and never enough time, space and focus to succeed. I know what is really the thing I need to discover is how to create my own sense of time and rhythm with my focus, just like I did with drumming and piano.  I know this is possible, and I’m on it.Today I got up, showered, did mobility and a tiny bit of yoga, with shivasana and a very brief sitting at the end in good time. I then tried to get my main 2 key SPOFs done and ran into trouble printing with one and some bullshit irritation and flack from the guy.

I expended some energy to get outraged at the guy, because he is blindly and stupidly fasting, eating crap, and doing high octane expresso coffee he brews, and Red Bulls, yogurt covered pretzels and cheddar popcorn. This is nothing compared to what he’s done for 30 ears plus, but I got all nasty in my internal place about what a god damned , vain, anorexic/bulemic addict he  is. Fortunately, I verbalized little of this wave of emotional toxicity, rode through his idiotic, relatively short verbal tantrum because I DARED to suggest he is in malnutrition again, and got more time at the computer to do what I need THAN I EVER HAVE.  He even verbalized his new goals to save 10 Gs and went off to handle his banking and buy himself clothing. This is freaking unheard of, much like Godzilla going shopping and being able to handle it ALL BY HIMSELF. Mommy got to stay home and do a buncha things she usually NEVER gets done because he was gone a while on his motorcycle.

Someday, Alice, I’m gonna go to the MOON.  I say this because I used watch Jackie Gleason on the Honeymooners glower at his wife as Ralph Kramden, basically threaten her with violence, and think it was normal and funny. Now I don’t, having lived the slave/whore/degraded female  being life for far too long now. Someday, crazy guy, I’m gonna leave you and go somewhere else, and I will be about as available to you as though I would be if I was on the Moon.


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Earth Day 2017

I’m really loving Earth Day today because something really surprising has happened. My guy suddenly is exhibiting symptoms of actually being ON THE PLANET, here and now!

It’s only taken 32 years of complete crucifixion on my part for this to happen, along with some GABA, a week of   no alcohol and a year and a half of him drinking so much beer that his torso has puffed out into a swollen mess and he’s been shitting stinking sulfur. The constant nightmares on alcohol might have finally been a factor for him to try quitting drinking for the gazillionth time, but there is no way of knowing.

He’s taken to standing up to things, like bearding his smart phone server last night for turning off his phone and the guys at the Taco Stand for not putting guac and sour cream on his super quesadilla two days in a row. He’s actually telling me his intentions and leaving the house to go DO stuff without ME and I don’t have to pay for everything. He’s making decisions, doing the math, setting goal. WTF God!  IS THIS ACTUALLY IT?

He’s begun paying attention to his Netflix and Sirius FM accounts, has cut some things off, altered, done some negotiation. Holy Crap Batman, are we seeing FOCUS and FOLLOW THRU here or what?

He’s figured out how many union job hours it will take to vest and get a pension in three years! He never believed it could happen before now, though he’s gone to a big conference, and taken courses with the union.

I’m certainly glad that now when I do daily house maintenance chores I don’t get bitched at and treated like I’m crazy for trying to keep our house from becoming  a  filthy mess. He’s still OCD as hell,  and negative, fixated on doom and  punishment, grasping control and perfectionism, it’s just reduced to the power of about 3.

Crazy Guy is suddenly acting saner, getting things done. Could he actually be growing a functional, mammalian brain? I’m sure I don’t know how to take this in, can’t feel it. I’m beyond being able to feel anything after standing against the endless, corrosive expletive deleted life of chronic abuse, chaos and dependency. I’m not sure I can trust my eyes, and it’s going to take a lot of time in not having to bear everything and hold things together to bring back most of me, which feels like a nearly complete stranger to me at this point.

I know I am really numb and the hypothyroidism, tachycardia, high blood pressure, grotesque edema, shitty skin and bloat don’t feel that great. I can’t imagine feeling in my body and good at this time, but I am grateful I am not a) dead b) had a stroke or heart attack c) am hospitalized and d) in excrutiating pain.


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Just Another Day at Distraction Central

It’s a lovely day, I’m home,  the sun is shining. I can hear the whooshing of the washing machine. I’m listening to an archived audio broadcast, trying to get some exact notes on stuff I know I need to pay attention to. Today has already been terrific because I was able to get up, get dressed, talk to the guy, who is shockingly 6 days without alcohol, and go out. The mission was mundane: obtaining wet  catfood and turning in videos.

I managed to get rid of some packaging material, turn in the videos, buy stuff we needed, dump some brand new hardware at the hardware store which they will probably repackage, use or put in the bolt and screw bins. I love recycling at stores who could never dream you’d return something brand new to them without telling them and leave it for them to sell. Big Score for me. I also took out my conga, which I had failed to unload last night after drum class pulled up a chair, and practiced patterns we learned at drum class yesterday in the parking lot of the food market which is the unofficial social center of our town. I did really good, worked slowly, switched hands, timed myself on my wonderfully primitive cell phone.

I’ve been home now for a while and done chores. The guy is off on his motorcycle, and while I could speculate on where he is, why and how come he has not come back yet, I’d rather not.

This morning I looked up Jeff Goins’ 12 steps to Making a Living Writing”, and reviewed his steps. The first was defining a world view, the second deciding on a Platform Personality. My world view, on reflection is that Everyone should have what they need so they can choose/create  a terrific, happy, powerful life and save the fucking planet, especially and in particular me.  The Platform Personality that I choose is the very first one, Journalist. It’s simple. The journalist has curiosity and asks questions. The other personalities are all derivatives of that, the more complicated form of the journalist being the Professor, who does extensive research and presents complex data. The other three, Artist, Prophet, and Star seem superfluous to me, possible aspects of any writer or journalist that get a popular following.

I am starting to focus on my curiosity over how other people out there are handling stuff I have never been able to handle well or change in my life. Last night I tried filling out pages in my Alida Birch Co-creating handbook around what I want to create in major areas of my life, and was not surprised to churn out a bunch of unclear, uninspired, disconnected word goo. I’m so tired of being millimeters from the “IT” which has always been there within me but somehow eludes me because I haven’t been able to get a clear grip on how to be in relation to it on a get-a-life level. It’s not for lack of trying, I’m here to tell anyone, though I know no one reads this blog. I’m glad right now, because personal journaling takes too much time and energy, is just another groundless time taker upper along with so many other things I have filled up my lost life with that aren’t focusing on finding meaningful and gainful work.

We won’t get into how shitty I feel about losing my determination, which was fierce from the age of 14, to get meaningful and gainful work and not being able to get it  together so long that I finally just  gave up and caved into my life of care giving slavery. I’m still angry at my blood family for not giving enough of a fuck about me to support me in finding out  about that in my formative years. Most of it can be toted up to the fact I am female, and it’s still an unwritten law in the collective unconscious that girls and the young are social prey, deserve anything that our culture cares to serve up to them as scapegoats if they are not cared for by someone strong and effectively protective enough. The guy is not capable of caring because he was traumatized so early and so severely that he unconsciously hates anything that smacks of vulnerability which would be all feeling and all things associated with the feminine.

Besides that endless mystery and confusion, there is the obstacle of the guy’s existence.  Trying to protect , nurture and care for him has taken so much.  I know I took refuge in defying the atrocity that created his disconnection from all gain in his life because it mirrored mine. Now I am thinking that finding answers around what would counter the endless chaos around how he and I live might be the most fascinating and powerful thing I could discover.

The hard thing for me now, having made some choices in defining what I want to do and be, is wondering how I will be able to get and stay clear on what I am after to find out,  have the right focus and be able to interview the people I want to. Where is the way into finding out what I need to know? I’ve heard more than once a lot of things are about asking the right questions and getting useful information.  There must be a way. As the McDonald brothers found out what will work best, so will I.

Holy crap! The guy came back on his motorcycle, still sober. He did some errands, attended a meeting, visited with his restaurant friend, intermittent fasted for the second day, is actually off getting and BUYING his own lunch. Be Still, my heart. Naturally some jamoke at the hall told him to fast until noon, and suddenly he’s doing it. Never mind the years of trauma induced starvation, malnutrition, the meth, marijuana, alcohol abuse, and the insane OCD I’ve been living with. I don’t care about the food war anymore, just as long as he doesn’t drink or do all the other shit he’s done instead of feeding himself.



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Good & Plenty

I was pretty fed up last night with the raving lunacy of drunk guy last night. He was fussing and yakking about the cat, I’d endured it all day and beyound, and I said  that he needs to stop drinking. He didn’t take this well, went right into attack on how I eat and my weight.  He actually said he doesn’t say anything about my eating habits, weight and health problems, and I blew that bullshit to smithereens  point blank, saying he abuses me when ever he feels like it, which  is true., and then I left and went to an Al Anon meeting. He had made having a peaceful, video watching evening impossible by constantly interupting it with drunk blabbering nonsense and emotional garbage.

I was annoyed and not particularly trusting of Al Anon, feel like it’s practically useless, though I wrote and shared and actually paid some attention to feeling my  frustration and distress. It has occurred to me lately that if I just got a decent paying job I could stand and keep, a great deal of shit in my life would improve.  This year has been the first in more than 30 that the guy has actually paid attention, voiced that, that I  “SHOULD” get a job.   And after all the failure at doing that thing, it feels absolutely not possible, has been the biggest source of shame and terror all my life, though living with an abusive, suicidal drunk who hates living has been a close second.

When I got home after the meeting, a rainstorm was winding itself up, and the guy was still up in front of the screen and snarkily fussing about the cat. I noticed I couldn’t find my wallet, realized I might of left it earlier in a shopping cart, and left to see if I could get it back. Sure enough, it was at the market I frequent, and they happily got it for me and I drove home in the rain.  When I got home, the guy was firmly  passed out in the back,the rainstorm was raging full bore,  and there was no sign of  the cat. FINALLY!

I was able to  recognize this gift, turned on the computer, and listened to an audio program with earphones and come out of my feeling of paralysis .  The program is about making a fundamental choice to be happy, focusing on flow, and creating an inner enironment of happines. I reasoned as I was going to bed that I could do this by trying something I have long heard Jim Carrey used to become a success in his own life: He wrote himself a check for 10 million dollars, carried it in his wallet for years until it fell apart, and wrote another he put in his father’s pocket when he died.

It instantly brightened me up. It ook away all my fears and doubts about everything.  I don’t even want an actual 10 Million, though I would take it if I could have it. My 10 Million is just for me. If I had it , I would start out by keeping it completely secret from everyone and everything.  I began by thinking about what I would do if I had it and how it would feel to be completely beyond all my insecurites. It was  wonderful, very empowering. I tried some ideas on for size: I’d do all my health stuff: my teeth, my heart, my thyroid, my hormones. I’d go to massage school and get certified, for sure. I’d start some accounts for my neice and grand nieces on the sly.  I’d  take Target Focus Training before it ends in July, and go to that Scott Sonnon N map thing in October. These are things I’m fairly sure I want.

Then I began reviewing options for finally dealing with drunk guy. I wasn’t surprised, having mentally traveled those roads for so many years, that it was easy to get lost. I imagined leaving and taking the cat. I imagined leaving and not taking the cat. I imagined having someone move in and be there to make him get sober and deal for some big time definite way. I also imagined being able to get a job from a place of fearlessness because I didn’t hae to worry about money, making fatal mistakes, and being stuck with something that was fucked up. I imagined also, researching an environment and/or job for him like a true investigative journalist, and then arranging for him to wake up somewhere out of a black out that would put him a position where real transformation would be inevitible. I imagined what it would be like to have him gone for 3- 6 months and actually have my home be MY home at last without him,  what I would do with my home. I dutifully thought about all the things that ought to be done, or pay to have someone else do. Clearing, Cleaning, replacing. Sorting, discarding, the BIG LIFE getting it together. It  seemed like a lot of work, not sure I wantedt to bother at all, but I stayed in my happy space of inner freedom and fell asleep. I imagined not fixing anything, just getting all my stuff out of there and being somewhere else.

This morning I felt somewhat grounded, was on time to setup chairs before a meeting, listen and play piano. I’ve had a vision of making a container of many beautiful hearts, and I envisioned making drawings and effigies of all the men I know in the rooms who have hearts and have gotten sober and real against big time odds after long term slow ruination by drugs and alcohol.  I want them all to weep along with my guy when he starts feeling what he’s been running from all his life; the horrible grief over the traumatic abuse, shame and abandoment he experienced around the age of 4. I have imagined placing vibracional magnets on my guy, to draw him into the inner circle of places where men who are sober weep with and for men who are not because they have been so overwhelmed and shut down all their lives, as they tell their story and FEEL, visible at last to other males who will not hate, hit, denegrate and crush them. I reason that IT HAS TO EXIST, or the men I see and feel and hear in the rooms would not be who they are.

When I’m in my 10 Million Dollar Space  and feeling free, I ask myself what I want to create the most, and it’s not easy to answer. Yet it is SO different to be free of all the endless anxiety I spend most of my time escaping. It seemed apparent this morning I am not my confusion, my despair and lostness, and I began to see perhaps a great deal of it is living with someone else who is so deeply PTSD and compromised, that has clouded my world for far too long. I am wondering what I would be like if I could go do something in nature for several weeks or more, how I would feel and be. And I am determined not to forget this creating my inner environment stuff, continue to work it. How wonderful to be worth 10 Million Dollars just for existing and because the Universe happens to love me.

Fear, shame, and doubt has warped my life continuously for far too long. I see people all around me, working and living and having jobs and despite, everything, being OK and even GOOD. THERE HAS TO BE A WAY I can succeed and have satisfaction at last.


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