Keep Going

It's been awhile without updates on this blog. I thought it was maybe dead in the water, and then realized it's MY blog. And I can fix this. I had been thinking I needed to delete this whole thing. That I'd shared too much personal information, been a little "too" human. Fear, fear, fear.

Everything you want is on the other side of fear.

I moved in, last month, to a new house with my best friend and soul mate. He energizes me when everyone and everything else exhausts me. We're on the same wavelength, which is something I almost never get to say. It's pretty fantastic.

Work has been amazing, I worry less, and since moving out of my parents' house, I am much calmer.

Avenue Q Revival has been playing at our local theatre and being part of the running crew has been fun and made me a couple new friends, but the magic of the first Ave Q is not really there. Because the magic has shifted to other areas of life, I suspect. It sure was a great first gig in Feb 2012 when I had no job, no partner, no place of my own. I wasn't even working out at that time. Time has let life exceed my wildest dreams! The only thing to do is keep going.  

The wondrous loving moments

I hesitate to post that I have met an incredible human. And, "okay", you say, I meet them every day. Everyone is incredible! You'd be right about this. But I met an incredible human who I let close to me in ways I don't let most other people, or, these days and past years, anyone at all. And this person is close to me in ways I don't "allow" per se - they're close to me because we hear each other on some profound level that can't be forced or willed; it just is. How many similarities and interesting things need to happen before sharing with you that I share a connection with another that is unlike any other? Is it like pregnancy, where you are supposed to wait "x" number of months? I am not sure. But if it ended tomorrow, I could share that I met an incredible human and had, over and over again, what a friend of mine has always called a "holy moment". Only these moments last and come back again the next day or next hour or next moment however it defines itself.

It's a really nice, comfortable, wondrous, even validating feeling that you've held out for what you knew would be the right thing and the absolute best thing for you. "Someday someone will come into your life and make you see why it never worked out with anyone else."

Burma/Myanmar and Buddhism

I love Soundcloud, and this podcast about what's happening over there and in the context of Buddhism
On Being: Burma, Buddhism and Power

The introduction to Burma/Myanmar and Aung San Suu Kyi came in high school when I first saw this film

Please enjoy this VHS cover photo!


And saw Aung San Suu Kyi depicted in this scene

And ... what's my purpose?

It's useless to ask; I'll never know! But if I keep doing the next right thing then somehow, magically, it does come together enough for my emotional comfort. Like the Doctorow quote (I think):
writing (/slash/ life) is like driving on the highway in heavy fog; you can only see three feet in front of you but you can make the whole journey that way.

Pressure's off that way, and sky's the limit.

That's comfort by my book.

So my blog has a reader in ...Russia?

I don't believe it. Show yourself!

A Memory 2010

I am out in the woods. I am going to create a new world. I am going to start everything from the ground up. My physical suffering isn't the point - it's winter - as I'm already suffering, like it or not. I have a broken leg. And I'm cast out. I've dropped myself out. Society might as well not even exist. Except for the strange boy up the hill, and his awful parents who live in the filthiest trailer I have ever even conceived.

It gives me shudders to write this.

I'm down in a valley and there's an open space bordered by woods. About 2 acres. My dog is with me. Radar, the dog I have now. My best friend. The night before, I'd lit the wood stove in the abandoned car port. The space was too big and open to get warm, so I built a little shelter on the other side of the wall where the heat came through, in order to trap it. No telling if that was necessary, but it got us through the night. Port wine helped me forget that this was scary and almost not even possible. You can't build a new world. You can't create a new life. Right? You cannot do it alone. I know that's right. Or, I know that now.

I feel like I can't publish this without some catharsis. It's an awful point in the story. It's also an amazing point. It's a story that might need to be told because it was unusual, like all our stories. There's a peace mingled with terror as I write this. There's a knowing that one doesn't run from where one's been. There's no catharsis that happened on this land, just some very spooky stories. I wasn't there long, about 5 days in this location. How surreal. This is where I was. It's where I've been.

Food affects our mind, and ...

Things Are Good

Things ARE good! True, I can't sleep tonight. But things are good. I remember thinking they never would be again. There are no more chemicals in my body to mess up my mind and emotions. It's finally possible to live - just live. How strange and amazing. I remember thinking "how do they do it?" in the times (decades) when nothing seemed sustainable. Because it wasn't. No relationship had staying power, no job would be kept longer than the time it took to find somewhere to take off to. I don't run anymore, and it's scary. But also secure. There's no way in hell I will ever apologize for this, for this feeling of being here now. It's hard, daily work. But nothing ... Nothing ... NOTHING was harder than living an almost-there-but-never-will-be life.

I have a career I like.

I don't have a boyfriend, because the right one has not come along.

I have an honest way of living.

How cool is all of that?!?!

So much to discover, on any given day.

I wish I could adequately convey how wonderful it felt to sing tonight at the Kabbalat Shabbat service at Temple. The long and short of it is that as a kid I felt that Temple was quite beautiful, but inaccessible. I was adopted. My adoptive mother never converted, although she attended Temple. Was I 'really' a Jew? The other kids seemed more Jew-y ... Jewier, if you will. They were getting bar and bat mitzvah'ed. I wasn't. I had an inferiority complex miles into the wilderness.

Then I got into creativity and drugs and wild behavior, and couldn't imagine myself as a child of G-d.

You know?

And now I am going around again at Temple and kind of like ... wow... I like this. I want to know more. I want to feel that spiritual connection and sense of history. I want a roadmap of sorts to guide me. But I'm not sure about everything. And I'm reallly into Buddhism, always have been. There is no Buddhist temple here or that's where I would be. Every religion and practice is a means to a similar end, that's how I see it. But Judaism, because I was raised with it, feels holy. And like a path that I know how to walk.

And now's the time to mention: I love singing. It's probably too late in life to be useful about it, or good, but who's to say? It brings me closer to all that is pure and good, and that feeling is irreplaceable.

Don't Listen to a word I say ... Hey!

So this song "Little Talks" by Of Monsters and Men ... pop music should always be this way as far as I am concerned. It feels like a bunch of friends sat around on the floor and made this one up one night - I love it!

We put my kitty to sleep yesterday, and tonight I sang in the choir. Can't think of a better progression of events, or better way to phrase things rights now. First one sad thing happened, and life went on and something new happened. Like singing in the choir. Wow. There's such an empty little hole though, where the kitty always was. I'm guessing love really does hold a place in your heart. She was a really great cat.

I've lately been given to very simple ways of speaking and thinking. It's a far cry from the way-overthought-thoughts of the past. I mean ... I used to want to be perfect. Now I don't mind being messy. A little messy. Maybe a lot messy, before it balances out. I've always been introspective and a little bit wild. That only takes you so far, and what I'm hoping is it leads down paths of channeled greatness. Channels like writing ... and song. And love for myself and other people, places and things. See? Times haven't changed that much. I was a really, sentimental, sweet, loving drunk as well. It's true! Just some times I could not stand.

The little nature post.

It was a proud moment during writing group on Friday when I read aloud my first exercise and everyone commented on how much I write about sensory experiences and the out doors. "I really admire how grounded you get from nature," my friend Lisa said. "You can look out a window where I have to take a Klonopin."

It's true that nature is my healing force. I love it. I love leaves in my hair, and some dirt, and feeling the wind and smelling like sunshine and grass. Even very cold nights with stars ... I love that.
Grass on the railroad tracks. Flowers in parking lots. Trees beside the highway. It's not all perfect and idyllic, but at least you can't escape it. Or it can't escape you. Either way, we're better off with nature all around. I'm not sure the same is always true for Klonopin.

Worldly goods

This blog is as good a place as any to post some really good stuff about a random normal today. Bear with me.

Good things which happened today:
-A nice lady told me about tai chi in the park, then offered to meet some evening and do some together with me until I could finagle it into my work/life schedule.
-I took a cool graffiti shot, posted it on facebook, felt provincial, almost erased it, and at that second a new friend commented on it: 'that's my friend's house'. 'I'm heading there now.' Whoaa....
-My dog was adorable and loving as per usual
-I'm looking forward to tomorrow, when nothing extraordinary is slated to happen (or is it?)

Who knew that regular days were so much fun?

As a double-use post, I am also going to take a moment to recommend one of my favorite podcasts
Ram Dass love serve remember foundation Podcast

I don't know how to tell you who Ram Dass is, if you are new to him. Please look him up if you are so inclined. Or listen to the podcast. It's another way I use to re-ground and focus my head when I'm so far gone I'm practically on the Appalachian Trail with just 3 worldly goods and my dog. (Joking ... kidding ... I would never call that 'far out'.)

Time for bed.

Let's meet in a dream.

Are you here?

Do I know you? Can I follow you?

Starting a blog feels kinda like being the new kid at the lunch table.

How does one find people, fun people, new people, to read??

9-Step Plan for Anxiety

Today my friend Amanda posted a post-panic attack instructional review. If we have to endure these things, some of us, I for one am glad to feel a little less alone than I used to when I thought I was just nutso. Not true. And for any readers who think "can't you just calm down?!" then the answer is "No". You can't. I always say that a panic attack is like someone spiking your coffee, or slipping you acid. You simply start to change and you don't know why. It's terrifying. With that said!: 

Presenting Amanda Mitchell's 100% darling and fool-proof
9-step plan for anxiety attacks. 

(I love her, I don't love them) 

"How to Have an Anxiety Attack:

Step One: Hey, you know what you haven't thought about for a while? Everything. All at once.

Step Two: All the chihuahuas who tremble like this have nicer accessories and handbags than you do.

Step Three: There is nowhere near enough oxygen on the planet for this level of hyperventilating. You should probably start freaking out about that, too. That's science.

Step Four: They do make medication for this, you know...

Step Five: ...Although it works better when you don't throw it up in a parking lot ten minutes after you take it.

Step Six: You didn't have any plans that require concentration for the next eight hours, did you?

Step Seven: Hi. I'm your adrenal gland. I'm tired and you won't leave me alone, so please hold still while I hold this chloroform-soaked rag up to your face.

Step Eight: You didn't have any plans that require consciousness for the next ten hours, did you?

Step Nine: Remember all that stuff that happened yesterday? You should probably spend the next four days being embarrassed and depressed about that."


Amanda is a very, very funny lady. You'd be lucky to know her. 

I thought this stuff was bullshit for the longest time. Why? Cause I didn't know how to do ANY of it. 

Sarah Polley

Well. Some of you know that I'm a huge Sarah Polley fan. It started with Avonlea, when I was young. In fourth grade I made a best friend who introduced me to the wonders of the Victorian era. We loved Avonlea, American Girl dolls, and everything L.M. Montgomery. I remember that her favorite character was Anne, and mine was Emily. This is where I was introduced to Sarah Polley.

 She played the character from the books known as The Story Girl. 

I remember thinking "that girl is going somewhere special". What did I know? But she has! And every time she speaks she does it with such clarity and intelligence. Girl's got heart! She's been in some bigger stuff since but I haven't kept up with all of it. I'm glad she didn't get lost in the Thin Blond Girls of Film void that sometimes crops up. At any rate, when I saw a trailer for this "genre-twisting" new film, and saw that it was about her family and she was directing it ... talk about awesome. I wanted to jump up and cheer right in the theater. What grace that I have more decorum than action these days.   

STORIES WE TELL

 

I love stories. I love stories like I love pizza, bees and whole United Kingdom.
This one will be a brave winner.

Authentic.

Anxious couple of days! Started Friday and did not abate. On Saturday I went to a meeting in the morning and burst into tears. Sometimes those meetings are so full of fun and frolic, other times someone just ... cries. But even through crying, we all still laughed. And there is always this feeling of hope and action that is truly awesome. Finally, last night I ran a mile and a half to address the physical tension. Then I realized, after talking to my sponsor, that I suffer when it feels like there are no tangible solutions. My spiritual side was addressed, but what about the working world? I was under work stress when I didn't used to be, and realized it was simply time to re-evaluate my situation and how the daily stuff gets done. Maybe take a training course. It's kinda cool, means I have been at a job long enough to create and build on change.

So I watched a romantic comedy about serendipity. And ate pie. And took a bath. And today's another day. And it's all getting better, and I am getting more authentic.

It's not all downer shit!

And it's important for you to know that.

<3

What hurts the most besides your pain

Was I dishonest?

Did I not tell the truth?

Or did I speak, so bluntly,
So harshly,
That truth became a lie
when insanity and reason coalesced?

(Suffice to say I mixed things up too well.)

For those who are interested, this is about love. Specifically about a person who I used to be in love with. Here's the really terrible part: I was not a good partner. Scary to admit. It's taken me years to understand just what was going on. Here's the basic scoop.

To put it bluntly I was:
Self-absorbed
Self-pitying
Emotionally indulgent
Chemically indulgent (wine and adderall - drank like fish!)
Jealous
Insecure
Directionless
Immature
Dishonest
Dramatic
Manipulative, especially towards the end of my drinking and pill use

I wasn't all of these things everyday, of course. But that's how they hide from us in delusion. Do one nice thing or have a few nice thoughts and all of a sudden you're justifying tons of bad behavior in other areas. It's amazing how little direction I had. Since everyone else seemed to "get" life and I didn't, it was an excuse to constantly reinvent myself. I was obliged to drink more, be more outlandish, throw you off-guard, and be accountable to responsibility when I  felt like it - yikes!!

This is stuff I never imagined admitting or having the courage to admit out loud. And you know, being dramatic isn't necessarily a character flaw; it can be pretty damn fun and funny if used in the right time and setting. The rest of it though ...

How do people change?

---

I knew something was wrong, and so did other people. It took a program of vigorous honesty to help get me right. I have to be severely imperfect with people who can love me as I admit my honest failings and learn to change my actions. I have to be allowed to seek a spiritual answer within this and the spirit cannot be booze. Or drugs. It also cannot be romantic relationships or idol-worship. Meaning, basically, I cannot place others on a pedestal. Because, dammit, it is not fair.

I can't place myself on a pedestal, either, and neither can I throw myself under the bus. I'm a human amongst humans, a worker amongst workers. That's it. That's real freedom.

So I made an apology very recently towards the person I was in love with. Said that I was sorry for how I had behaved and, more importantly, outlined how I had behaved in detail. We wanna reach for certain things in those situations: "You did this, that's why I did that", etc. But that's not what this is about. It's about owning up for ourselves, period. And taking responsibility just for ourselves.

Three years together. Love you. If it was supposed to have been forever then it would have been. I am so very grateful for the time and love we shared. You can't know what it has meant to me, even now. And I'm a tiny bit grateful you won't ever read this.

Though can you tell I wish it were different?

I can't think of how to end this, except to admit that I still have some walls.

It's okay to protect ourselves.

As far as I'm concerned ...

The best thing about recovery is gaining emotional tools. This does not mean I feel good all the time. It does mean that when I don't feel good, or know my thinking isn't right (ie, when I get absurdly angry, when I get self-righteous, even those times when I feel petty cause guess what, it happens) ... there's something behind it. And I can call someone or get to the bottom of it using my new emotional tools.

When I'm disturbed, the problem is with ME.

"But other people do wrong things!" I know. Sometimes, they do or seem to. But where does going down that road get me? Worst case scenario? Drunk or dead. Best case scenario? I lose my emotional sobriety.

Sobriety comes in many forms. It's not only about a drink or drug. We learn quickly that "alcohol is but a symptom". For me it was a symptom of having little emotional control.  When I am irritable, restless and discontent there are people who would say that's a natural response to life and the shitty world we live in, etc etc. I say it's not a healthy response. My emotional sanity or lack thereof does not condone or condemn another's actions. It simply stands in my way or it helps me. I prefer it to help me. Frustration is when I used to give up. Now frustration is when I take a long, hard look at myself, reach out to friends and family, call my sponsor, review how well I've taken care of myself that day.

Pretty cool.

We say it's about learning to be human. I say being human doesn't have to be ugly. But if it is, that's ok and we move on forward. And try again the next day. And when we get it right we do not sabotage it. And when we need a friend we ask and, in between, we appreciate the hell out of every wonderful person who is in our lives! At least that's what I try doing. At the end of the day, or during, whether by reflection or saying words when the time feels right, "people who need people are the luckiest people in the world". - Funny Girl

Joe Said

Joe said : I meditate at least one hour every day.

     We're in high school, I said. Don't you try to get drunk?

I do that afterwards, he said.

After I meditate.

We Act Our Way to Right Thinking

I always was the person who wanted to "think" my way out. Acid was the best. Because I could think outside all worlds and in them and for HOURS. Whole nights, and hours. My mind was expanded. But I don't need that. I'm not giving up anything grand to go into recovery; I'm learning how to access that which has been there all along. It's like teleporting to heaven: "now what?" Where'd the journey go? The novelty of perfection wears off quick! Stepping on the sand lost its magic when I was always on it. (I just got back from beach time. Next we'll make a mountain/forest reference)

But here: this is what the journey's all about for me: it's: acting our way to right thinking. We have to act as if, sometimes. Like John Nash's character in the film A Beautiful Mind, when he said that all he had was a problem that he needed to form a solution to and solve? And his physician was very firm that he couldn't think his way out: "Your mind is where the problem is in the first place".

There it is.

Can't tell you what a relief it is to know my mind can be its own problem. It means I don't have to believe everything I think. Everything I think is not real just because I think it or feel it strongly. Holyfuck!

Oh. 

When I am stuck I take the next right action. Inevitably, I feel better. The next right action was historically a drink or other drug because I Could Not Stand the way I was feeling. And it's true! My feelings alone are unbearable without actions to overcome and work them out. The actions used to hurt me though I really thought they were helping me. I did feel better! It was the price I had to pay to erase my own awful feelings. I used to feel better on a drug induced come-down depression than, you know, without it on a regular depression because on drugs I could say to myself "hey. you're fucked up on drugs. it IS ok. you'll come down." the other druggies told me when and how long it would take to come down. No one could tell me how long my natural self would take to feel better, to come down, to feel less weird.

It's bad to risk your health for feeling better, but certainly understandable, like a wolf chewing its paw to escape a trap. My drug friends and I (and yes, they were friends. they stood by me countless times both physically and emotionally, good and bad, and I for them) could trip together and feel weird or good or crazy or awful but at least we were on the same trip.

In recovery, we're on the same trip. It is so cool! It's such a big deal. I have a code to live by, and I always wanted that.

The Color Pink Feels Safe

Believe me, I'm mentally fighting something right now. Growing up, my sister and I shared a room until we decided it was in the best interest of my teenage years that she move across the hall. We each got to choose the colors of our new rooms - blue and white for me, pink and white for her. I was totally merciless in making fun of her. In my defense, her room was really, really pink. Like walls AND carpet.

She was a girl. Girls like pink.

This was clearly pre-women's studies class. Now we're grown up and both less rigid in our thinking by virtue of the fact that we are older. But I didn't like pink as a girl. I wanted to be different. I was adopted. I AM different. Right?

Before you slam the page shut on this blog, let me say that I realize it's pretty lame to invoke the color wheel to make a larger point about life. A friend recently started a blog about ways he's different from anyone else he meets. I have been through some pretty awesome Lets Make Our Lives Better years of late, and one thing those people tell me is to look for the ways I am similar to everyone else, not ways I am different. So, ok. I still like my friend's blog. I keep starting blogs and then shutting them down because I'm afraid of revealing too much. See? I think I'm waay more "X" "Y" or "Z" than anyone on the planet and it's just not true.

I hope.

But here's the fact and reason for doing what I do ... : until about a year ago, I had never given myself time or space to actually be myself. As a 32 year old person I had no idea until age 30 that I'd spent nearly two decades hiding in drugs, booze and a fear of being "unmasked" as an actual human. I wasn't hiding, I was being myself. Right? Wrong. The shock of my life has been enjoying people, places and things without taking something first. Does it blow you away that I did not think it was possible to feel good on my own? I couldn't do it. I was defective. Etc. Hello, the past.

But look. This is not about princesses and fairy tales. Back in the day (the high school day) I had a shy, dry sense of humor and my favorite authors were William S. Burroughs and random, off-beat poets. My favorite music was acid jazz, Bone Thugz, jungle music, some classical and random pop. I loved My So-Called Life on tv and wrote prolifically at the expense of everything else because I was special and entitled to do so, god dammit. I rode horses til I couldn't any more. I was enraged at just about everything. I would have put my life on the line for a friend. You were stupid. Unless I worshiped you. Then I was inferior to your presence. And sometimes, at points, I was very, very cool. And had great taste!

The life of extremes is tough.

I'm honored you are reading this blog. And you weren't stupid, I was jealous of everything you could do, because I couldn't. Or thought I couldn't. Or made it so I couldn't. At any rate. Somewhere in here I hope to say something profound, but until that day comes I'll state that my goals for this blog are for me to get to know me, to let you know me honestly, and hopefully to say something you'll relate to - maybe even something that helps you or someone you love. Humble aspirations. I've had a lot of rockiness but that's all smoothing out now for taking the right road, and I have a terrible fear of being view as the 'walking wounded' or anything too ridiculous. But from this point on I'm not in control of what you think of me, my life, or my goals. It's pretty real.