Friday, April 27, 2012

That Gratitude List

Yesterday I mentioned two blogs that provide me with hope when the intense noise in my head tries to block anything closely resembling a desire to move forward. In an attempt to try out the idea that one can chose to change a negative attitude or negative belief to something more positive, it seems like a good time to list a few more people, places, and things that have influenced a willingness to look forward even during those times I was not totally convinced it was a great idea.

1. Amy Steinberg. Info can be found here: http://www.amysteinberg.net/  A friend of mine (ok, my therapist) turned me on to Amy a couple of years ago and I will be forever grateful. She writes all her own stuff and has an amazing voice. Inspirational, funny as hell,  or love ballads, her music can reach me when nothing else will. Hope is the first song I heard by Amy and it has remained one of my absolute favorites. It can be found here:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksICuUewmyo. You can buy Amy's music on Itunes, Amazon, and cdbaby.

2. Dancing  I met my current boyfriend at what I only half-jokingly call a Senior Citizen's dance. He claims he had no choice but to ask me to dance since he already knew the other members of my party, and we have been dancing ever since. We aren't quite ready for Dancing with the Stars, but we are getting close. Plus, I like being pretty much the youngest one at the dance.

3 MollyDog Molly was rescued by a local animal shelter after her owner had kicked her out and left her in the middle of the town square. People actually saw this man force her out of his truck. She avoided all attempts by the good people of the animal shelter to rescue her and waited 5 weeks for this sorry jerk to return. Finally, when winter weather left her with little choice, she found herself warm and well-fed at the shelter. 3 weeks later we found each other. She is amazing, and we both have abandonment issues. We are a perfect match.

That's three. Certainly more than I deserve sometimes. And for number four, my family. I'm going to hang out with my kids-all incredibly bright, sweet, and all other great things despite their mom,  at one of the twin's softball games. One of the best catchers in the 14 and under league, if I do say so myself. So definitely, I am saving the best for last.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Mind Bomb Hokey-Pokey


I'm going to preface this post by acknowledging I am attempting to let go of my comma splice, sentence structure, mechanics/grammar obsession in order to write this post less 'hindered' by the English teacher who is alive and well within and constantly choking my thoughts with her red pen. 

I can't remember a time when suicide was not an option. The idea has been with me since elementary school, approximately 40 of my 47 years. It has either lurked quietly in the shadows, ready to spring forth and 'save the day' or held center stage causing me to feel like a wussy failure for not following through with it. That some people go through life without ever, even once, thinking like this is nearly unfathomable to me. I don't get it; I wish I did. I do TOTALLY GET how sick this sounds, how sick it is that these thoughts take up so much space in my mind. And it isn't as if I've done nothing about this demon and what sometimes seems aa battalion of others: Therapy, lotsa therapy, treatment for addiction(s), 12 step recovery, more therapy, trauma work. This list is endless. And yet, here I am and here IT is, lurking or looming daily. There has to be something else out there I've missed somehow. One psychiatrist I worked with is convinced suicidal ideation is an addiction in and of itself. I don't know. What I do know is I would like to be rid of it.

I don't remember the first time I thought about it. I do not remember an incident or situation that helped conjure up such an idea. I just know I can only vaguely remember a time it wasn't in my mind. And I am ashamed. Ashamed that the thoughts are such a part of my life and take up so much space in what is already a chaotic area. I can and have filled reams of paper with gratitude lists. None of this makes sense.

I follow two blogs written by women facing serious issues that affect every aspect of their lives on a daily basis. The blog Queen of Spain's objective at its beginning provided social media strategist Erin Kotecki Vest's a wide-reaching resource upon which to make "the most impact in  the quickly-evolving new media landscape." The last couple of years, however,  Erin's primary topic has been her continuing struggle with lupus and the effects this horrific disease has on her life and the life of her family, friends, and career. I'm not sure how I came upon her blog, but in one of the first entries I read, she finds herself trying on bathing suits in the department store dressing room as she deals with the weight-gain caused by the very medicine meant to help save her life. She is exhausted and She has had enough.  Tears for her loss, her struggle, and for my own shame at being someone in good enough health and facing issues only brought about by my own actions overwhelmed me as she spoke of the body she had had only months before and how it had changed, and of her own sense of shame at the feelings she considered vain and not so relevant in light of her health. I read every entry in her blog that night and am still reading each time she posts. Her primary concern is her family and her ability to be the mom/wife they deserve. And when I read Erin's words, I am able to recognize how skewed my thinking is and I pray for some degree, no matter how small, of the courage she must summon every day. Her insight and her fight are incredible.

Yet, I still fight this self-destructive voice in my head determined to remind me just how bad I am, how defective is my very soul.

A couple of months ago, I followed a twitter link to Diary of a Mad Woman, a blog started by a 43 year old widow raising 3 young children after her husband's suicide. Her honest posts filled with the pain and confusion of her family's loss and her struggle to get through each day with both tears and laughter landed me right on my ass. Here is the perspective, the world, that is left behind after suicide.  There is nothing more sobering. Again, I read the entire blog in one sitting. I sent it to my friends to read. I read it to my oldest daughter. I put it out there on every social media site I know. And to the degree I know how, I've settled her words next to that voice in my head, that destructive voice that lurks and lunges with words of condemnation and self-hate.

I don't know why this seemed important enough that I write it down. I only know it has been rattling in and around my mind for days now. Sometimes just putting it out there will take away some of the power. And regarding my fear my red ink pen will be triggered, I refuse to do anything other than a spell check before posting, regardless who else, if anyone, readcs it.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Love Dousing

Alex Blackwell is the founder of  The Bridgemaker, a site which houses his blog on personal growth and change. It has an amazing following and offers readers huge doses of hope and motivation. Today's post deals with moments of truth, or as Alex puts it, those moments when you "felt love pour all over you."
I do have some of those moments, despite the occasional conviction that I do not. Alex refers to a lip-synching performance, which reminded me of one of my own. I was Whoopi Goldberg in her Sister Act role leading a group of nuns/teachers in Hail Holy Queen in a stadium full of 7th-12th graders. It was an incredible feeling. But then my head goes to what happened a few years later and how I don't teach in that district anymore and why. Nothing about that feels good or anything remotely like love pouring over me. Why can't I just stop at goodness? Instead, I choose to beat myself down with rest of the story. He also talks about removing those demon claws and claiming our own power to do just that. I've had some success removing claws, and I definitely think it's time for some more extracting. I mean how do I know, really, how the rest of the story really goes? I'm in it. Every day is part of the rest of the story and for the longest time, to what extent I have control over it, my role in the story involves self-sabotage and downright emotional and verbal abuse to self. No way would I say the things to someone else that I say to myself. It's gotta stop, or at least slow down.
Truth is, I have many moments when I felt love pour all over me. Every time I perform and the audience is responding, it is a spiritual experience rich with love. Then there are those family moments like when one of my teen-age daughters randomly does or says something that lets me know I'm not always a huge, embarrassing burden to bear. Or when my ex-husband encourages me despite all the reasons I've given him to do otherwise. So, I'm going to work on declawing demons and practicing a little self-love. Thank you, Mr. Alex Blackwell, for helping me to remember all those amazing love dousings.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

Is sex addiction real?

An article in yesterday's Chicago Tribune Is sex addiction real?, written by Alexia Elajalde-Ruiz, explores this addiction from a perspective that is different from the celebrity media and many other outlets that tend to find sex and love addiction hilarious. It is not. In my experience (I am terrie in the article), the vast majority of days in my addiction began with me being mad as hell I woke up, again, and ended as I was praying that I would die in my sleep this time...or succeed at suicide or have a car accident that killed only me. I did try that one; I failed. obviously. I like the way the reporter discusses the DSM's take on this addiction and the move to classify this as something other than hyper-arousal. For me, there was nothing 'arousal' about it. There was, though, plenty of vigilant, hypervigilant. The kind of vigilance that comes with living double, triple lives, having a family, a job, and wanting to die simulataneously. I make NO excuses for my behavior and poor choices. I paid many consequences, though I deserved many more. God's grace was with me the entire time; but it is only through looking back that I'm able to see this. I've been in recovery from sla since 2006. Had I known what sex and love addiction was the 5 years I lived that horrific life, I like to think I woulda/coulda done some things differently. My behavior hurt A LOTLOTLOT of people. Sometimes I do wish I could have a do-over. Other times, I can't imagine being where I am today without having had that experience. "We will neither regret the past or shut the door on it" (Bill Wilson). I am not completely there, yet. There are days when I do regret the past and many more nights. There are also days I am grateful for where this journey has brought me so far.
Regardless, I am grateful for the opportunity to be interviewed for the article and for the unbiased, straightforward manner in which the reporter presents it.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Fake the Day

I don't like the kind of days when nothing is wrong, not a thing out of place in what has become my life, but I still feel like shit. It feels like failing. When I have a sick kid or a flat tire, those fairly benign situations can throw a little wrenching into what is otherwise a perfectly fine day. Days like this one, though, perfect weather, no flat tires, no sick kids, not even having to totally stress about money at this very moment, have not one thing about them that I can connect to this freakin' funk. So I'm going to write even though I don't want to write. I'm going to sit in this coffee shop and drink coffee, eat a bagel, and fake myself into a better place. F'kin get over yourself, girl. Geezus.