The Difference of Being Sad and Feeling Sad

The Difference of Being Sad and Feeling Sad

My eighteen-year-old cousin shot himself in the head in a game of Russian Roulette late one morning amidst getting high. I gather he was trying to impress some girls, but made the fatal mistake of taking it too far. His two fellow accomplices who helped him sell steroids and steal gym equipment around town were also present.

A somewhat dubious mystery remains to this day if he was shot by these two guys or just actually played Russian Roulette. However, the two men were never seen again after that day. And the police closed the case concluding leaving foul play at bay and leaned towards his death being a game of Russian Roulette.

Chris was taken to the Pomona Hospital and placed on life support. When my brother and I arrived, we visited him separately. He was our dearest loved one and he was mortally injured. Then, our estranged mother showed up and instantly an awful situation became worst.

Earlier that year, my Grandma Anne had died of liver failure and in her will, she left all of her belongings to my brother, two younger cousins, and myself. Anticipating a fight over money, Grandma made it contingent; if the sisters chose to contest the will, Aunt Nancy and my mother would only get $1. My mother, who left my family when I was ten, demanded I give her my share of the money after the probate finally ended.

It was only $24k but it felt like $24 million at the time. I was only nineteen. Her wicked tongue, full of scorn, created a pivotal moment in our lives that would change the trajectory of our relationship forever. Frightened, I finally took a stand and said “no” to her. I knew at that point, I could never ever ask anything from her again. And that remains true to this day.

Chris died forty days after his fatal stunt and I did not even know how to begin to process his death. He had just had a baby, Little Chris. And I had spent so much of my childhood playing with him and going on vacations with the family, I found myself sinking into a surreal world made of my own devices.

To say I went crazy is an understatement. “Seize the Day” became my mantra. Although, my real modus operandi was to run as far away as possible. That year, I moved from Santa Barbara to San Jose, to Berkely to Westlake Village, and back to Santa Barbara in less than four months.

The Impact of Death

Death affects everyone differently at different stages of their life. My stage was denial. I absolutely cut off all contact from my Aunt Nancy, younger cousin Mandy, and Uncle Eddie. I did not know what to say. Many nights I cried with guilt and shame that I was such a coward. But I still did not call. I could not find the words to explain my sorrow.

I held onto the death of my cousin like mortar to a stone. My feelings were deeply ground into the setting of his death and I could not let go. Every day and every night, I thought of him. He was so young. I was so young. This tragedy did not mix well with my idealistic beliefs, which left me with a chronic feeling of cognitive dissonance that I could never truly shake; even when I was high.

Drug Addiction

And I got high! All-day long, I was altered. It was my preference of being. It was more than escape, it was a way of life. This perpetual state of numbness followed me to work, to the movies, on walks, and while I enjoyed my time with my friends. I cannot remember a moment where I took a sober breath for over a decade.

Something happens to a person when they are on drugs all the time. They check out. They disassociate. To function I needed to be high. Therefore, while I became academically smarter and street smarter, my emotional maturity was much lower than I pretended. I knew how to walk the walk. I knew how to tap to someone else’s tune before they even knew they had one. But no one knew me.

I was funny, charming, witty, impulsive, and hard working. But inside I was tortured by existence itself. I wanted to die most of the time. I would curl up in bed and sleep for days. In fact, most days I slept 12 to 16 hours. Sleep was a time of mental repair and it was also a time of escape. The biggest issue was that I was not prepared in any way for the future reverberations of pain that awaited me.

Crushed

It was July 19, 1999, when my brother called to say my dad was pooping his pants. I rushed down to California from Oregon on the next plane. My dad had a hollow look in his eyes and I felt he was bound for a mental institution. His moods had always been erratic and he, too, succumbed to drug addiction for relief on a daily basis.

However, after eight hours in the Tarzana Emergency Room, my dad finally walked out and told me nothing was wrong. He was angry that I insisted he wear adult diapers and he demanded to leave. There was no way I was going anywhere until I spoke to a doctor. So, as he sat outside in the parking lot to smoke, a habit he vehemently denied, I confronted the doctor.

“He has a huge mass in his lung,” the doctor gently explained.” He will need to go to inpatient and be examined.” I had no idea what the doctor was implying. But I sent my father away in an ambulance to another hospital two hours away that his insurance would accept. When the workup was complete, we learned that dad had seven brain tumors and kidney cancer too.

Jason and I played “Father of Mine, “ by Everclear on repeat for several hours that night while drinking microbrews and taking pills. Dad was extremely sick and he hid it from us until he could no longer hide it from anyone.

In my Portland home, I cared for him for 11 weeks. I washed his butt, and made him food and begged him not to fall. I called him by his first name because with brain damage, patients respond to their own names versus dad or whatnot. He was not about to give up smoking so I placed him in hospice and sat with him every day, stealing some of his drugs as he wasted away.

After he died, the decimation of my soul was complete. Whoever I once was no longer existed. And, I lost everything. My car, my house, my first husband, friends, my health. and all my money.

By the mercy of God, I was granted admittance to a halfway house near Compton where I shared a home with 19 other women: all from prison, many prostitutes. I was the only white girl. But my charm and ability to fit in catapulted me into being accepted and actually liked by many of the women. In retrospect, It was actually a wonderful but uncertain time.

I left the halfway house with $7 in my back pocket. And I worked, and worked, and worked, and worked. I cleaned toilets, cared for other people’s children, and was exploited as well as demoralized in situations under the authority of extremely wealthy employers; none who knew anything of my past.

Furthermore, the rules of sober living limited my ability to work late and I despised having to check-in and out on a piece of paper every time I left or came home.

Brief Normality

After meeting my husband, my life stabilized, and things were becoming better. I called my Aunt and apologized that I had not spoken to her, and she did not seem to notice. It is funny how a person can waste so much time worrying about another person’s reaction to only find out that no one really cared but you the whole time!

It Begins Again

My cousin Mandy called me in 2010 to ask for money for a gambling debt. I said “no.” And that was the last time I ever spoke to her again. At 35, she died in 2013, from liver failure. I quickly noticed my Aunt Nancy was also withering away due to alcoholism as I attended Mandy’s funeral which put me in a panic.

It took Nancy one year to die from liver failure. She died on the 4th of July: it was just like her to go out with a bang. I was deeply saddened but I still had Uncle Eddie.

I made sure to call that man as much as I could. I visited him and I checked on him and I grew to love him as an adult more than I ever did as a child. He made me laugh. He told me stories and in every sentence, he ended it with “and shit,” And that made me laugh.

“I went to the store and shit and I got potatoes and shit and I went to the bank and shit.” I can hear him say it now. The last time we talked he aforementioned a looming pain I truly wanted to avoid. He said to me, “ I am not going to be around forever and shit, you need to visit me.” We agreed that I would visit after the COVID pandemic died down.

Well, there was no “after COVID” visit. Uncle Eddie contracted the disease and died two weeks later. Actually, it was four days ago, on the 4th of July: out with a bang. Aunt Nancy had come for him, finally. And Shit!

Heartache

I never sobbed so hard than with the death of Uncle Eddie. All my family members meant something to me but I was older now and I was in touch with my emotions. I cried and yelled and utterly fell apart. And it has only been four days.

I told my mom but she did not respond and I became angry frozen in respite.

My father’s mother died as well in 2005 as well, but I was able to make amends to her on her death bed. The last time I visited her I got so drunk, I made a fool of her in front of her sisters and I flew across the country to apologize in person.

Now, she was moaning, traveling in and out of two worlds. I said to her “Grandma, it is me.” She paid no mind. “Isabel, Isabel, it is Chelsea.” And for one very brief bit of time, she acknowledged me.” You are the best thing I could ever see right now, “ she said in a semi-coherent voice and then drifted back to where she was originally headed: heaven.

A septuplet configuration of death summoned me to drift towards my starkest edges. What transpired that was beyond my control. And, they, my family, were all gone now.

Feeling Sad: Hope

However, something different happened to me this time. I am not sad, I feel sad. This is a concept I learned from Laurie Anderson’s YouTube video How to Feel Sad Without Being Sad. From Anderson, I learned there is a huge difference between the two concepts. Being sad engulfs all of one’s being. Feeling sad is less relentless and allows for a reprieve. Feeling sad does not define me. It is fleeting, wistful, and temporary. And although, I lost my idea to seize the day many years ago. It has returned.

The way to seize the day is not to climb tall mountains every day and declare victory as if each day is your last. To live like that would surely end in failure. However, to seize the day, I listen, show love, engage in gratitude, look for the good (JS), welcome my dark side, interact with others, and do not pretend to be okay all the time. Most of all, this old codependent woman is taking care of herself.

I have been diagnosed with PTSD and I have to say that I am shocked. I did not realize how severely affected I was by trauma but through therapy, I am healing. I notice it in the little things. For instance, I sleep less, cry less, and laugh more. I am pursuing my future in education, while currently working as a writing specialist and as a freelance writer.

I remember years ago, I asked my father why he never acknowledged my writing. He told me I lacked life experience. I was twenty.

Guess what Dad? I do not lack for anything any longer and I am accountable for all of it. Therefore, I am going to go on each day with my eyes wide open, looking into the abyss: fear replaced with wonder, expectations replaced with truth.

Life Continues

I, too, will see the end of the tunnel one day. But I know I have truly lived. I have extensively traveled, earned two degrees, lived abroad as a Diplomat, and became an elected official as a School Board Member, as well as been given the opportunity to teach.

I have witnessed death and the last dying breath of two loved ones. I have seen life grow into my now eleven-year-old son. I have undergone 10 major surgeries, as well as grew fat and began my journey to shrinking in size again.

I have endured the medical system, the welfare system, and instituted my rights for freedom of expression under some of the most chilling circumstances. I have played with kittens, avoided zoos, and climbed volcanoes in Chile.

Most importantly, I have loved many people; some have stayed, some have gone. But what I do know is that I do not have regret. I have only love, And no one can ever take that from me: I feel sad but I am beautiful.

The End

Anderson, Laurie. “How to Feel Sad Without Being Sad.” How To Feel Sad Without Being Sad, YouTube, www.youtube.com/watch?v=NwqZOrA2DbM.

Eight little-known signs of alcoholic behavior

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During the quarantine, many people have turned to substance abuse to feel more comfortable in their own skin. The truth is alcoholism and drug addiction are diseases of apathy. The addict does not want to care. But they care too much and it must be quelled. Here are some little-known signs of alcoholism that also apply to drug addicts that maybe useful during this difficult time of involuntary isolation.

Of course, we all know the easy way to spot an alcoholic: red face, preoccupation with alcohol, unable to stop drinking once started, etc. etc. But today I am going to share with you some insight on the characteristics of an alcoholic you may not know. Keep in mind, that what applies to spotting an alcoholic also applies to spotting a relapse because drinking alcohol is only a symptom of a greater problem inside the heads and hearts of people inflicted with the disease.

The Eight Signs

1. Anger and resentment- This is nothing new to someone who is in AA. The whole book is written around this subject. Alcoholics have a pattern of being angry and resentful. Often, on social media, one can see someone with hostile posts. This is a time to grow a bit suspicious. Alcoholics are triggered by what they deem to be unfair acts against them especially when it comes to close relationships. The disease makes it very difficult for the alcoholic to not take someone’s actions personal. However, in recovery, people learn that even the most atrocious acts of unkindness are not personal and people are taught to believe what other people say about them is none of their business.

2. Comorbidity- Almost all alcoholics have secondary afflictions of the spirit, mind, and body that manifest prior to the age we begin drinking. Many suffer from anxiety and depression. These symptoms pre-date substance abuse. have. In recovery, alcoholics are bonded by identifying in each other the same twisted personality traits. It seems like everything each alcoholic feels is always to the extreme. Alcoholics are incredibly sensitive. In alcohol. they look for relief in caring so much about anything and everything.

3. Big Plans but No Follow Through- The brain of an alcoholic is very different than that of a person who is not inflicted with the disease. The pleasure centers of their brains are not naturally full and it takes action every day to get into a pleasurable space. Alcohol replaces action in a way that thoughts of big ideas, sometimes brilliant ideas, are never completed due the fact that the intake of alcohol gives the alcoholic the same reward response as if they had actually followed through on goal or a task.

For example, if an alcoholic wakes up and decided that the lawn must be mowed, if they pick up, it is highly likely they will never mow the lawn or get anything done because alcohol creates a feeling of an accomplishment in the reward center of a person’s mind, leaving many tasks unfinished. This is why in recovery action is far more important than thought. Someone in relapse will begin slowly not to accomplish anything that is important for daily functioning and in the grander scheme of life.

4. A Track Record- This is very hard for alcoholics to see. They feel things are happening to them independent of their drinking. They believe that they are just unlucky. It is very difficult for an alcoholic to link their drinking as a consequence of what they choose. An alcoholic does not have to be drunk to make bad decisions. Once again, drinking is only a symptom that masks what drives a person to be reckless, irresponsible and sometimes very foolish. And the next thing they notice is that multiple situations are transpiring at once: but they cannot figure out why.

For instance, they get in fights with significant others, their bills are not paid or they lack money, their health deteriorates and most importantly, they stop doing things that they usually love, all at the same time. When someone is in their disease it is almost impossible for them to be accountable because their disease wants more alcohol. This is incredibly hard for a normal person to understand but it true.

5. Unhealthy Boundaries- It is hard to know if the inability to have healthy boundaries starts in the family of origin, which are likely full of other alcoholics or if it is just the nature of the disease. But alcoholics do not have healthy boundaries. They are often promiscuous, codependent and often expect others to do for them what they should be doing for themselves. They are abusive and they let themselves be abused. They do not know where they begin as a person and others start. This is very hard to master even in sobriety because of the extreme feelings and thinking that tend to create scenarios both in their heads and in their lives that cross lines of respectability and human decency.

6. Great Senses of Humor- Recovering alcoholics know how to laugh at themselves. They are usually very funny with off-color remarks and ideas. The way they view the world is quite different than a normal person and they are not afraid to embrace that side of themselves because they are usually rewarded by other people for it.

7. Moderation in Moderation- Alcoholics are all or nothing thinkers. Balance is just not a part of their vocabulary. If they eat, they eat a lot. If they exercise, they exercise to the extreme. And if they love someone, their love comes at the price of suffocating or isolating the person who is involved with them.

Furthermore, because the alcohol is filling their pleasure and reward systems, they don’t see much reason to change. They have a history of doing everything in our life to excess. Once again, they have a blind spot. They are unable to match their thinking with their behavior. They do not see the link unless they are practicing being mindful. It is doubtful that becoming moderate ever becomes easy for someone even they have years of sobriety. Each day moderation must be managed. That is why it is helpful to go to meetings, have a sponsor and be able to tell on ourselves to a therapist or other care professional. Otherwise, they slowly or quickly unravel into some sort of extreme.

8. A Need to be Special- Alcoholics almost always feel that they do not fit in. Because of this, they have a desire to be more “special” than their peers. They truly believe they are superior because of it. But at the same time, being special creates a distance which in turn breeds loneliness. One of the greatest things an alcoholic can learn is to find the similarities they share with my others if they ever want to enjoy a fulfilling relationship.

This list is not extensive. But it can tip a person off to know if someone has a problem with an alcohol problem. I usually can spot someone right away. However, it is seldom useful to tell a person that they are alcoholic. An alcoholic usually can figure this out on some level and either desperately tries to hide it or is willing to seek help.

The best way to endure and deal with this quarantine is to be creative and productive. That may take a little more effort for a recovered alcoholic, but it probably the best outlet they can find besides exercise and eating healthy.

via The New New Normal

Beware of Air: A New Version of Ourselves

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I prefer to wash my hands to the beautiful lyrics of ACDC’s “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap.” But you can do whatever you want. It seems like every day is Groundhog Day and the end is nowhere in sight. It is funny, though, because no one seems to know what day it is anymore and it has only been two weeks of isolation. Every single one of my neighbors took out their trash a day ahead in complete social conformity believing that it was Trash Day when it was not. Confusion runs amok and we are all reacting the best we can.

This major shift has cast upon us a new world that will never be the same again. The way we live, shop, eat, work, and interact will morph us into a new society. This pandemic is a catalyst for change and for unifying our species as one. And at the same time, death seems one breath away.

Still, never in our lives have we been faced with the idea that we are all just one person. For this pandemic does not recognize race, ethnicity, sexual identification, nationality or preference of self. This is the first time that humanity must work together as a whole community without borders to save our own lives and the lives of others. And we are in fear of not having toilet paper!

The magnitude of this event is completely shocking: displayed readily by the highs and lows of people interacting the only way they know how, through memes and social media. Our lives have been condensed to living with few distractions and entirely facing our own selves in our own skin. Unless you have borrowed someone else’s skin and that would go against our newly integrated law of social distancing. (Kids do not try this at home.)

Faced with this new norm are choices. I have already made a few. First, I reveled with humor faced with my possible demise. And I hope that trend continues to last. Then, I sunk into depression: a familiar darkness I have felt many times before. But I knew what to do.

In the throes of despair, I asked myself questions that truly will shape who I will become in the aftermath of this utmost urgent time. Who do I want to be when this is over? Oh, I could be hospitalized, quivering in a room with no locks waiting for my next dose of Valium. That is entirely possible. I could be on the floor, altered and discombobulated, in front of my son who is already terrified. Or, I could be the best version of myself.

And I choose the latter. When this is all over, whatever that means, I want to be fit, healthy, accomplished in ways that are aligned with my soul. I want to be loving, kind, and strong. For the lack of distractions beckon me to focus on myself for once in my life while I live in the bubble of my home for endless days unknown.

Listen to the media if you want. That is a definite rush and will keep you away from yourself. Fight on social media about how “right” you are about some opinion. But I do not speak in opinions, I speak only of experience. And experience has taught me to be more silent and listen. Conflict is a short-term rush much like a drug that makes a person feel high. I see why it is happening. Fear shoots cortisol throughout your body which immerses your body in fight or flight until it is processed through your kidneys and livers. Get high if that is your thing. But, know there is no escaping yourself. The only way out is in.

Fear is a great motivator. But so is love. And I will not be reduced to social conforms and sheep-like tactics. It is a time to beat to your own drum unless you drop dead but at least you know you did with glory. So I challenge you to be the best version of yourself and to recognize the state of affairs lies completely in our own, hopefully, clean and washed hands. No one can save us but ourselves. This is a time of unity and an opportunity to actually live as one: an opportunity we all said we strived for but have yet to achieve.

Take what I say as you please. I know there are haters and lovers and extremely numb people who may read my rant. But, consider this an opportunity to come together, for once, and focus on our similarities while we live in isolation so we can save lives on a global scale. Forget America First. We lost that the day the virus began.

 

Mastication

I have never been a big eater. But after my surgeries created an inability to move around, the pounds packed on. I could not understand it. I did not eat poorly. I did not eat in excess. But, my trim body counted on me always moving. When that was taken away…I did not know what to do.

Where did I go wrong?

I am a fast-eater who does not chew my food properly. Or in scientific terms, I do not masticate long enough. Masticate means to chew.One must chew food slowly in order to not gain weight. Plus fast eating is linked with obesity. But most people do not know why. The science behind it isn’t simple. At least not for me. But it’s all about the brain and a little receptor called ghrelin.

When ghrelin is activated, hunger pangs follow. For some people, hunger pangs can be very painful. The stomach rubs against itself, triggering a pain response that can only be satisfied with food. The trick is to eat the food that actually takes time to break down without an accompaniment of water or other beverages.

Why? The breaking down of food requires energy and or a metabolic response that assures our brain that we are getting enough. The longer the it takes for the breakdown to occur the more likely a person is to not overeat. Furthermore, chewing also takes energy and activates synapses in the brain signal being full.

In the beginning of the 20th century chewing was the fad. There were ads about masticating all over the newspapers.  But it soon was replaced by calorie cutting. Now, our aisles are covered in protein bars, shakes, bottles of water and pills to lose weight. But this will never truly work because diet food does not make a person’s body work hard. It does not signal to the brain any long-time feelings of being full.

In fact, research shows that a person who chews their food longer will eat 11.5 % less over a year’s period. If you are 200 pounds that is over 20 lbs gone. Add eating real food that makes your body work hard to break it down while increasing energy and weight loss and losing weight will become much less painful. And…deprivation may be the newest fad  to exit our news-feed.

All I know is this…I lost 24 pounds in one month because I chose to eat whole foods and chew longer. I still had a little ice cream or a dessert every day. I could not really exercise due to being in chronic pain. But I watched the pounds peel off.

Now…please note. I am over weight. The first twenty pounds is going to be easier for me to lose than someone who is trying to lose the last twenty pounds. But…it was not a painstaking process. And that for me is the key.

In the end, diet food is a scam. If one learns the art of mastication, eating food will become a joy again and not something to of which to feel guilty all the time! J

Men Have Sex with Short Skirts And Marry Long Ones

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Photo by Swanand on Pexels.com

 

Oh, I can hear it now. People standing up in arms rejecting my hypothesis. But hear me out you little short skirt women because you have a lot to learn.

Women have been sexualized through time so they are attractive to a man. For marriage? No…for sex. The tops are tighter, the colors slicker and the makeup is painted on as if a blemish doesn’t exist. We go to the gym. We don’t eat. We feel absolutely worthless when we hook up with some cute guy and he never calls again.

We laugh it off with our friends. Guys will be guys, right? Wrong. It is up to you ladies to decide if you want a man or a boy. Because a real man is secretly looking for a wife and he wants your beauty to be revealed not advertised.

I learned this the hard way. I would give out my phone number, asks guys out and even pay for their beers trying to be Gloria Steinem of our decade. Nothing worked. Finally, some guy tried to give me his phone number and I said you call me! And It worked and it continued to work until I found Mr. Right. You see the truth is the more someone invests in you the more they want to invest. Let’s say that again, “the more someone invests in you the more they want to invest.” This is a proven strategy of persuasion.

For instance, he buys you dinner. What do you wear? A long flowing skirt and appealing top with some heel not stilettos. Don’t give it all away. This man will not be able to stare at your unbelievable body but they are sure likely to wonder. Instead…he talks to you. He gets to know you. And even more important, you get to know him. If you showed up with a leather mini skirt the whole date would be about lust. Flirting would be high but no one really gets a sense of who each other are when you are laying down four hours later in bed with him. WEAR A LONG SKIRT!

Throughout time men instinctively are the hunters and the women are the gatherers. Is this sexist BS? Yes, but life is not fair and if you want your heart touched more than your boobs listen to me. Dress like wife material. After the wedding, you can walk around naked to the store. He knows you by then. He knows you are not just a skirt.

Many will argue with me. But our biological makeup always beats our ideals. I am not saying to be a submissive woman. I would have none of that. I am saying be you without trying to be overly sexy. You are worth that. You deserve someone who will adore you and love you and always find you fascinating. That is over in one short skirt incident.

We must start where we are in life and in society in order to make a change. The salmon who swims upstream often dies. Work within the system of this amazing life of love and stop throwing your brains out of the window. We know you are smart but your actions say everything. Reach inside the system and change it within. And that starts with long skirts.

In essence, you will not find men in bars or clubs or even at the gym. Real men have jobs. Those places are where the boys play. Be patient my Long Skirt Woman and spend your time making your life better. He will come…just not on the first date. 🙂

The End

 

I Have Arrived (for now)

There is a concept that most adults live under that pressures them to be more and to do more. Heck, my first word was actually “more” as a baby. It is the heart of capitalism in some ways. Yet, the feeling of “making it” behooves us as we strive and strive for triumph and glory. Or at least to have a big house, a nice car and some accolades to go along with it all.

The first time I thought I arrived was when I moved to Santa Barbara. I lived on Del Playa and I could see like 10 inches of ocean from my tiny kitchen window. I was so happy. But my happiness lessened as I learned how hard it was to struggle to get by as a young adult and I began to feel my feeling of arrival may be premature.

When I bought my first house I thought this is it! It was very small; one bedroom and one bathroom on a corner lot with a 1/4 acre of land. I lived there happily with my eight cats and myself until I was completely broke. I seemed to survive without that house and I concluded once again…I had not arrived.

Oh but my Master’s degree. That was the ticket and I treasured this wonderful piece of paper until I found out there were too many applicants in my field and it would be highly unlikely I would get a job where I was living at the time. I spent $60,000 to arrive and I learned if I am spending money to arrive that it is doubtful I will find that to be enough. Yet, I went on.

Then… Steve, Corey and I became US Diplomats and we lived overseas. This was in the advent of Facebook and I was more than proud of posting my diplomatic status as I moved with ease through the airports and customs lines while visiting embassies feeling part of the community. But it did not take long for me to realize my reasons for wanting to be a Diplomat were simply vain. I wanted to look cool. But I did not nothing to gain this status except marry a doctor. Once again I walked away disheartened. Actually I flew away that time since we were in Africa.

Now people can say that they do not give a poop about what people think. I have said it. But it simply is not true. We do care. We do compare and we do contrast and most of are still on a learning curve towards that “arrival” moment. However, if you look deeply inside you may find that “arriving” is only a social construction of reality we all agreed upon to make us miserable and insecure.

But I still continue on my search and now I know I have “arrived.” There was something I always wanted but never could afford. I did not pay for this it came with the house. But the most heavenly invention in the world has entered my life and I don’t think I need anything else to fulfill my idea of “arriving.”. What is it you ask? Well its beautiful and cold. It relieves me when I need it and it is always there at my beck and call. We share a bond of unconditional love that no ther mortal nad inanimate object could ever share. I see it smile at me when I walk in the room. And I will stay with it in sickness and health to death do us part.

I have finally arrived because I am now the owner of an ice machine attached to my refrigerator. And it has crushed ice and water, too! Love never tasted so good!

It is not the simple things that makes us happy. That is bull. But it can be the simple things at times. We live in a society that is always asking more. But today I am going to sit down and drink my ice water and relish in the beauty of the day. I might do it the next day as well. You know where to find me. The place where I have arrived (for now). 0505161355

 

 

 

For Jason

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You ask me if there were any happy times in my life and I struggle to answer. The truth is I have had many intermittent happy times throughout my whole life. Happiness is not a rite of passage onto this earth. It ebbs and it flows. It is not “the end all be all” for me.

Happiness comes to me through my relationships; memories that flash through my head like snapshots of which I am able to feel over and over no matter how much time has passed.

You know what I loved? I loved playing cops and robbers at Russ’s house with you and Shelley and Justin. I loved decorating you up like a Christmas tree when we lived in Santa Barbara. I loved hearing “I just called to say I love you,” by Stevie Wonder as Dad walked into the living room, I walked down the stairs and you walked in the door. We all sang in harmony and not a time passes that when I hear that song do I not I relive that joyful time.

I know you say you and I are are always overcoming things instead of getting ahead. If that is so, so be it. I do not question life anymore. I just try my best to live life on life’s terms. I never say “why me” because between the pain I have received handfuls of miracles.

I feel very blessed that we are so close. That we do not even have to speak to know what the other is thinking. We are a team and I love you more than anything on this earth. You make me happy. Paige makes me happy. Bailey makes me happy. Jenny makes me happy and so  on and so on.

We are not defined by critical moments although I choose to share about them now. We are defined by the love we experience. I remember one time I asked you how to keep love in my life. “You accept the love you are given and you give it back.” You replied without a hitch. I was twenty one at the time and I realized at that moment I was not able to accept love. A year later I met my first husband. You helped me evolve so I could be a person that accepts love. YOU DID THAT.

There is so much freedom in humility and one of the biggest rewards is happiness. I have the humility today to share my darkest secrets because I am strong and I am humble. Hiding who I am is never going to be my style no matter how many feathers I ruffle. I will go on being honest, choosing integrity and participating with love and by doing this happiness is always manifested.

You are my memory. That makes me happy. Don’t worry if I felt pain. Pain is part of the picture for growth to develop. Does it make me stronger? I am strong anyway. But love and happiness makes life feel amazing. And I treasure those moments.

And with that said…we are in this together all the way through and that makes me happy because I could not ask for anyone more unique and beautiful as you.

 

Success

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The morning of my meeting with the administration staff and my father, I was extremely nervous: crawling out of my skin nervous. I was in big trouble and it had been chasing me for three years at that point.

Sometimes I wonder how I thought I could ever get away with all the self sabotaging I was doing to myself with drinking,doing drugs, smoking pot, smoking cigarettes, ditching school and failing almost every class.

At the time “the future” and “consequences” simply were non existent to me. And oddly enough, not many people knew how much trouble I had really created for myself. I was told I seemed happy and always positive. I didn’t mean to hide my shame. I just cared more about what people thought about me than I cared about myself. And this was a problem I carried into adulthood. But I digress.

So…we are in Mrs. Merriman’s office: all of us. I felt three very concerned, incredulous pairs of eyes staring at me. The room was small and the walls were caving in. But some how I mustered the strength to argue my case against getting kicked out of school against all odds.

My GPA was non existent: maybe a low low F, nothing better than that. I had 89 credits to make up to graduate: whereas most seniors had less than 45 credits to pass. This was going to be a tough sale. And so it goes…

I presented my poster board (these were pre-PowerPoint days) and I started by explaining in meticulous detail of how I would make up the classes and raise my GPA in order to graduate.

First I would take ROP which stands for Regional Occupational Program. I could earn 15 credits after school by being in this class. Much to my surprise this class was very helpful to my life because it gave me an upper-hand on how to present myself at job interviews, what to wear, how to fill out the application and shake someone’s hand: all strategies I still use to this day.

In addition, I agreed to take a class  at 530am once a week and agreed to work 30 hours a week for 15 credits. I struggled with this class because I was reckless and I kept quitting jobs. Throughout the year I worked 13 different jobs to earn those credits.

As for ditching school, Mrs. Merriman suggested that I spend 2nd period with her helping out at the office. I truly enjoyed this idea and finally became well known to the most of the staff in a positive way.

Next I would go to adult school and make up several classes. This was actually incredibly easy because it was independent learning and did not require a lot of my time.

Lastly, I would take the 45 credits like the rest of seniors were required to do. And in four years I attended TOHS I finally got to know my peers. In the prior years I hung out with people much older than me and I deceived myself that I could care less about people my own age. Actually, the truth was people my own age made me extremely nervous. I felt inferior and I did not know how to have real social relationships so I always tended to be hang-out with people that were older because that sense of competition was not present.

 

At the end of year, I was sitting in Mr. Coffman’s class surrounded by all the football guys goofing off when we were all handed a performance report. I opened my eyes and I tried not to cry. I was graduating but I ranked 520 out of 540 in my class. That mean 20 other students did worse than me. Furthermore my GPA was an .006 (if that existed!) And in all my glory of successfully fulfilling my goals I still felt like a bottom feeder. In fact, I never told anyone until years later.

Regardless, I was given my cap and gown. I walked across the podium hearing my name being announced and threw my cap in the air with all my peers of the class of 1990! From that point further, I knew if I took action I could probably overcome any issue that came way. And for me that was the safety I needed to go out and live on my own in the great big world.

Big Trouble

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One frightful day, I returned from ditching two classes, totally high.  I was called into the vice-principal’s office. Mr. Eckland and I had met on many occasions but this time was different.

“Where were you for second and third period?” He asked staring straight into my eyes. “I was cleaning my kitchen.” I said and that was absolutely true.

My dad was suffering from some sort of clinical depression and our house was covered with stains, dry hot dog on the counter, vegetables dying in the fridge, and other expired food strewn all around the kitchen. The floor was filthy and even after two hours I still had not  cleaned it enough.

Well, this didn’t go over well and I am pretty sure they administration became concerned about my home life. My dad was called in and Mrs. Merriman,the attendance officer,  along with Mr.Eckland began to take a hard look at my academic profile.

A meeting was set with my father and me to meet with the two of them. Mrs. Merriman reviewed the facts with my dad that I was not going to graduate next year do to all the D’s and F’s I had in my classes since freshman year.I am sure my father was alarmed because a friend of mine was making fake report cards for me stating that I was receiving all A’s and that my attendance was excellent.

But the jig was up. Mrs. Merriman said I needed to leave Thousand Oaks High School and begin attending Conejo Valley Continuation High School. Now don’t get me wrong. I had plenty of friends at that school but I was honestly scared to attend. I imagined people forcing me to take PCP and classrooms out of control. The school had a reputation for troublemakers and I definitely had earned my spot there, however, I truly thought I was better than that school. It was unimaginable to me to that I would be kicked out of school at all!!!

First, I started brainstorming. I would take the GED. School would no longer be in the way of my social life if I chose that route. But several friends talked me out of taking the test and I was in utter panic.

Mrs. Merriman had put me on a probationary period and I still ditched class so she set up another meeting  where I knew it was over.

The class I had ditched in the first place to clean my kitchen was a child learning class taught by Mrs. Williams. I did not like the teacher and she had no reason to like me. But Mrs. Williams noticed the day before the big meeting that I looked exceptionally distraught and she approached me.

I began to cry and told her the dreaded news. She listened and she said nothing judgmental. I thought this was a waste of my time until she said, “I have a plan.”

And her plan was the hardest undertaking of my life thus far.I was two grades behind in credits and I had only attended school 25 percent of the time.  But she had far more experience than me and  she began to teach me how to negotiate and persuade with concrete ideas and not tears.

I began to be hopeful. The plan was developed around a presentation on poster board showing what classes I would attend, before school and after school to make up the credits.Yet I wondered how I could ever actually accomplish this painstaking plan she and I set forward in order to graduate on time.  I would see the next day if the plan would work or not. My presence at Thousand Oaks High School was wearing thin. Could I convince the administrators and my dad that I found a way to graduate?

We will see…

 

 

Amazing Grace

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I am not be highly religious, I may go to hell, I may be part Wicca but I do believe in God. Thankfully, my relationship with MY God has changed and blossomed into place beyond my comprehension or ability to articulate.

By the time I was eleven years old, I had spent four long years going to church every weekday at my private school. I listened to the pastor, I sang the songs, I wrote poems about Jesus and I do believe this was a wonderful foundation in which to be exposed as  severe neglect was presnt in my home.

But free will exists and I wanted the California State Flower so bad: The Golden Poppy. I struggled every day trying not to pick one but they were so beautiful even though it was against the law to take one for yourself.

My obsession with this flower grew as I walked home on Gainsborough Road -on my way to and from school. It was a long walk and I distracted myself avoiding the cracks on the pavement or puposely landing on only the sidewalk cracks while singing and making up stories in my head: mainly more distraction techniques.

But the day came. I could take it no longer. I wanted that flower! Waiting until no cars were around and no people, I went for it. I picked the Golden Poppy. And then fear set in. I ran and ran and ran as fast as I could in hopes that the police or the FBI would not catch me. I just needed to make it home and then I could hide this great sin.

Unfornutaley, I ran out of breath right as I turned off Gainsborough and an overwhelming revelation overcame me. No matter what I do or say, or not say, wherever I go, I would not be able to hide from God.

“God knows.” I said to myself. “God knows you picked the Golden Poppy you stupid idiot and God is mad at you.” And fear was replaced by guilt because I suddenly started to remember temptations that I could not withstand: stealing at the grocery store, not wearing underwear under my dress one day at school, running to the Oak’s Mall a thousand times when I was far too young to go alone and not being honest with my parents about these defects of character. Basically, I felt doomed.

For many years I held onto that guilt like a coat of armor. I did not know how to undo what I had done. I had stopped going to church at that point and I just had to live with myself day after day.

But you know what? My concept of the Lord was off-target for a long time. I had a mean and angry God who condemned me in all ways, who would never forgive my ugyl- flower-picking sin. However, God is all-loving and has great mercy for anyone who seeks to do better. It took many more years of life for this truth to be revealed to me.It happened just when I stopped looking. It doesn’t matter though. I learned it and I believe it in my heart.

So repent if you will,  have mercy for each other, for yourself and thank God for all the love he pours down unconditionally upon this earth.  I am grateful today. I am no longer confused and I have been given direction and many miracles from my loving God.

And I no longer pick poppies, I admire them from afar.