Epiphany

Sometimes a book is just a book.  Something to do, to enjoy and nothing more.  Same with a movie, or a song for that matter.  Sometimes it strikes a chord and makes you realize something about yourself or helps you through something you're struggling with.  This has happened to me several times.

The first time was after I decided to quit doing drugs.  I'm not talking about a little weed here and there, I'm talking about mainlining speed, daily acid trips, and basically anything else I could get my hands on. 

One night I had a bad acid trip.  Bad enough that I almost didn't make it back.  I can't describe it to anyone who hasn't been there.  It was like I was dangling over this dark abyss of nothingness, holding on to something at the edge with just one hand.  I felt like I barely managed to hold on and keep from falling.  It made me realize I needed to stop.  So I did - everything - and cold turkey.

I had a rough few weeks.  Weeks where I didn't sleep because I had nightmares.  Horrible nightmares which I woke from sitting up in bed, heart pounding, pulse racing and sweating rivers.  I saw tracers for about 2-3 weeks afterwards.  I also had panic attacks.  Anytime I finally started to fall asleep a panic attack would come on.  I thought I was losing it.  I thought I was going to die. 

Now being me, it never even crossed my mind to talk to anyone about it or seek help anywhere.  I just dealt with it the best I could.  Then, late one night I saw a Nightline on anxiety attacks.  It made me realize I wasn't going crazy, that this was something others went through, that this was something I could beat. 

I was reading Dune at the time.  There's a litany in Dune that the characters use to face their fears.  It goes like this  "Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain." 

It may sound stupid to you but I used it whenever I had a panic attack.  I used it and it worked.  I stopped trying to fight them.  I just let them come.  I let them wash over me in waves and afterwards, there I was.  Still ok, still me.  Finally, it happened less and less often and it's been 5 years since I last had one. 

Thank you  Frank Herbert - I think you saved my sanity, if not my life.

Weirdo Wednesday

I toyed with the idea of calling this blog Wacky Wednesday but it's just so far beyond wacky... :)


I'm going to tell you about the dream I had last night. Let me preface this by saying that I am rarely myself in my dreams. Sometimes I'm a spectator, other times I play someone else - like a character in a
movie.  The other people in my dreams are usually not people I know either.  On to last night's dream...

Although it's never stated, I get the feeling this takes place in a post-apocalyptical world. We (me as someone else & an unknown male companion) are going on a journey. We need disguises. We're standing before a rack of hats, visors, etc.  First I try on a white visor which doesn't fit.  Then I choose a red baseball cap trimmed in black lace which fits perfectly.  Awesome disguise, don't cha think? lol

We head out. We're traveling through a forest of some kind. We get to what appears to be a huge man-made reservoir. We lie down at the edge of this and look down at the HUGE fish we can see swimming in the water.

I'm letting my fingers trail in the water and a huge fish is rising towards them. As it gets closer I realize that it's not a fish - it is a huge beagle-sized, wart-covered, dark green frog. Male companion says "He wants you to pet him" My response "I'm not really into petting giant green frogs"

Now we are moving through the forest. We're discussing fishing. Male companion tells me his brother likes to fish in his septic tank.  Gross!!  He adds "My brother says he likes the stickiness of the things
he catches there"   Double Gross!

The End.

Anyone care to analyze this? I'm at a loss.

LOST!

I loved Lost.  I am going to miss it.  And I am especially going to miss Josh Holloway aka James Sawyer.  Not only is he hot as hell but his character was also complex and interesting.  The bad boy with the heart of gold.  *Sigh*

But I digress.  This blog is about the finale.  I was really disappointed.  I understand all the psycho babble about the sideways world being their limbo until they realized they were dead and were thus freed to move on.  I can appreciate the symbolism of beginning the episode with Jack opening his eyes and ending it with him closing them. 

But I still think it was a cop-out.  They were dead?  Seriously?  I had hoped for better from the writers.  Just seems to me like they took the easy way out.  No need to explain anything because nothing was real.  It left way too many unanswered questions.  And yes, life is about the journey not the destination but let's face it.  LOST was a TV show, not a religious experience.  I want to know why Daniel and Charlotte and so many others weren't in the church?   Because they didn’t realize they were dead?  What was Desmond's part in all this?  How was he a fail safe?  Why the big deal about how special Walt was in the first season and then nothing?  Why was Ben hiring Sayid to kill people?  Why the mass genocide of the Dharma staff?  What about Hurley and his 'cursed' numbers? 

The writers explained that it was all about the characters.   If so, what did we learn about them in the final episode that we didn't already know?  The Island was of such great importance all along - everyone either wanted to save it or destroy it - then in the last episode the Island meant nothing.  It felt to me as though the writers were out of ideas. 

Possibly it was the best possible ending.  Maybe they had taken the show in so many different directions that it was impossible to tie them all together.  At least everyone ended up together.  A happy ending of sorts.

Good night and good-bye Lost.  I'll miss you.

I'm Fat!

I'm fat. and no, I'm not being hard on myself and I'm not exhibiting low self-esteem - just self-awareness. I could pretty it up by saying I'm voluptous or fluffy but those are just words fat people (and the people that love them) use to make it seem not quite so bad.

But you know what? I'm ok with being fat. That doesn't mean I've given up or that I'm one of those people who pretends I'd rather be fat than thin. Nope, just that in the present, in the here and now, I like myself just the way I am. Warts and all. Fat and all.

I remember a time when I was really thin and I thought I was HUGE. I wouldn't go to the pool if anyone else was out there. I played hooky from one work one day just to go to the pool when I thought no one would be there. Of course someone else had the same idea and came to the pool after I was already comfortably ensconced in my pool side lounge chair. I put my towel on one side and my bag on the other side (to hide my huge thighs) and laid there until everyone left. I laid there for HOURS. I laid there so long I blistered and thought I was going to die of heat stroke.

Looking back I see how ridiculous and downright stupid that was. I weighed about 110 lbs but that is not what I saw when I looked in the mirror. I saw ugly ugly ugly and fat.

Now I really am fat (lol) and when I look in the mirror I see the fat but I also see me. The me who raised three kids on her own, sometimes working 16-hour days to make sure they had a nice place to live, nice clothes, and food on the table, the me who survived childhood sexual abuse, drug and alcohol use, and two abusive marriages, the me who is finally going back to school, is still the eternal optimist, and who still believes in the overall goodness of people.

So yeah, I'm fat. Who cares? If all someone sees when they look at me is a fat middle-aged woman, then they're missing out. I'm a caterpillar now baby but one of these days I'll be a butterfly!

Hello Blogworld

So, I have friends who blog and I've always thought about blogging but figured , really? what do i have to talk about? then I started reading some blogs and realized most people just blog about their plain ole regular lives so...

I guess I'll start by telling ya'll a little about myself. 47 yrs old, 3 grown kids, been married 3 times. So yeah, I'm stubborn. lol While I am, in many ways, a very honest upfront person, I am also really private and don't share 'real' things with anyone.

Anyway, I need advice. Probably my main reason for starting this blog. I don't trust my own judgement, especially when it comes to men. I met a man on a dating site. He seems nice enough and we've been talking for a little over a month. He wants to come down and see me.
The thing is I liked his emails - they were funny, but his phone conversations are just BORING!! I don't like his voice (I know he can't help his voice but I just don't like it) and I'm usually doing something else while we're on the phone to keep from dying of boredom.

I'm trying to decide if I should go on with this planned meeting (next weekend) or call it off. A part of me says - you are just not interested in this guy - leave it alone, and another part says - lack of interest may be a good sign since the guys you're usually interested in always end up being total asswipes!

Dating in your mid-40's sucks. I keep hearing that 40-year olds have all the answers - well, let me tell you - I somehow missed the answer train. I don't know the rules anymore and 4 decades of assholes have made trust a real issue for me. I also have issues with sex (was sexually abused when i was 4-5 years old) and need a guy who is willing to get to know me and earn my trust before trying to jump in the sack with me. Does such a guy exist? I'm starting to think the proverbial 'nice guy' is just another urban legend right there with alligators in the sewers, and waking up in an ice-filled tub sans several organs.

Help!!