Blush

If you're like me, you enjoy spending time with people.  Not that you mind spending time alone - sometimes that's alot of fun too.  But sometimes you find yourself seeing things through new eyes.  Doing, sharing and just plain being with others whom you like for one reason or another.  Laughing is on the top of my list though sometimes I forget that.  Sometimes I forget what it is to laugh and love and enjoy.  Sometimes things are serious for a long time and you forget the goofball you really are.  At least, I do.

Looking at myself, I can chuckle once a load is off and see what goofy thing I have said or done in the last week.  The moments that have made me break out into a hot flash of embarrassment before I even knew what happened.  When I reflect on those moments I start to see what I like about myself and the bad starts falling by the wayside.  And strangely, it's in those light moments, hours or days that I can also start to see the beauty of the people around me.  Any envy or negative feelings I may have about or towards others disintegrates into a small pile of rubble, waiting for the trashman to take them away on Monday morning.  Bright and early Monday morning.  (Or dark and early as this time of year calls for.)

I begin to appreciate again.  In that appreciation comes what I admire about the people whom I spend time with.  I begin to see them for what they are, what they aspire to and the wonderful things they have done or will do.  I begin to see them for the bright, shining stars that they are - flaws and all - just like me.  Forgiveness settles into the bones for real or imagined slights and the world is again at ease.  Not perfect but at ease.  After all of these things float through my head the bigger picture for my own life begins to emerge.  The one that seems to reside in a fantasy but could all become more real and more fulfilling than I had originally imagined.  That is - if I can keep the darker days at bay and just get down to business.  If I can do what needs to be done... just as those I love have done - all different but headed somewhere.

Life stalls sometimes.  I wonder if it happens to everybody.  If other people see that they are not really going anywhere at the moment.  That they are treading water because it seems to be the only thing they can do.  When someone is battling something in the mind or several somethings for that matter - it becomes easy to let it take over.  That is just where some of us have lived, I suppose.  But - I want to move.  I want to get it going and start on a new path, a new road, a new journey. 

So... I'll get down to reading, to editing and stop the fretting.  It is easier once the defenses come down, once the acceptance begins and the road begins to look a little more clear.

Thank you to some of the people around me for putting up with me when I am feeling, acting or living lousy - some of it is the medical side of things, some of it is the demons everyone has side of things and some it is also the things I do not have.  But all of it is me.  For better or worse I am stuck with myself all the time so I mine as well get it over with and get down to doing the things I truly enjoy.

Redwood

At times, hypercritical.  At other times, hypersensitive.  And even still at other times, incredibly lonely.  Broken up, broken down and lying like a puzzle on the floor - just dumped out of the box and nearly impossible to put together because the entire puzzle is all one color.  Gray.  One shade, one hue, one blank sheet of next to nothingness.

How easy it would be to get distracted from this puzzle.  What's there to do instead?  That's when you look around and see nothing of note.  You are stuck in a box, hanging from a redwood somewhere in California.  Thing is, you are not even aware you are in California... as far as you know you are in New Jersey or Alabama or in the Sahara for all it matters.  You are stuck in a box after all.  Stuck in a box with a puzzle that will take some time to put together.  You pick up the box it came out of, looking at the cover in hopes that something might stand out.  Nothing does.  Nothing except the words "1000 pieces".

Fuck.

Better get to work.  Somehow you know that once this task is done, you will get out of the box and you will move on.  Where to start though?  How on Earth will this be accomplished?  It may take days, weeks, months or even years.  You try one piece at a time and match those pieces.  Then you realize there are no edges to this puzzle.  How could that be?  You can't even get the border together easily?  What the hell? 

Ok.  Random pieces will be sticking out the sides when you are all finished.  Ok.

Because nothing is perfect after all.  All the healing in the world may give you peace but still some things will remain amiss.  Some things may never go away completely but that's alright - that's what makes us human.  In many ways that's what makes us truly lovable and snuggable.  Even when the ugly is taken out and put in it's rightful place - somewhere in the middle of this odd puzzle lying on the floor in front of you - somewhere in the completed picture.  You become soft because you know what it is to not only face the pain but to move beyond it and make it a piece of art.  Modern art, sure but art nonetheless.

Once you get down from your tree you will be able to look up and see something magnificent... what was your home... what was your jail will no longer be a mystery but it will still be mysterious.  Hauntingly so.  You may even find yourself thanking your giant friend, the one who held you up through the lightning and the thunder and you will begin to realize it was no jail at all... it was an oppurtunity to figure it all out.

The Seed

“The stupid neither forgive nor forget; the naive forgive and forget; the wise forgive but do not forget.”

- Thomas S. Szasz

The other day I mentioned that if I can laugh about it, I am over it.  Whatever "it" is, it simply slides into the world of eye rolling and joke making.  However - upon further reflection - there will be some things that I may never laugh over but I can still get over.  Some things in life do not ever deserve actual laughter.  Some things do deserve righteous anger but do not deserve hate - once they have passed through the world of feelings and they have come out the other side.  Which, in my mind, is somewhere in the atmosphere - having dissolved into the light. 

Yet, there is a concrete place where things like these live.  They are always in your memory.  Recalled easily but hopefully they are not recalled unwillingly too often.  Everyone has them lodged somewhere in their brain.  Forgive, yes.  Forget, hardly.  At least not for most of us.  Would it be nice to forget?  Maybe but maybe not so much.  One would be doomed to relive experiences again and again and again if we did not remember "what happened last time".  Which is not to say, of course, that many of us do not have to make the same mistakes time and again before we even realize our mistakes.  Sometimes the oops is bad enough to only have to live through it once.  Sometimes you have to repeat the pattern for years before you start to notice that you have been down this road before and it's not in the best of neighborhoods.

Anger is not a bad thing.  It is simply a signal that something in your world is wrong - sometimes very wrong.  Often, we get tangled up in it for too long and that is when it becomes bitterness and, yes, hate.  In my opinion, bitterness is actually a side effect of hate.  When hate stirs too long in the soul, it turns into a generalized bitterness that tastes too much like lemon juice living in your veins.  You become your hate - slowly but surely - it takes over and becomes a very deep part of who you are as a whole.  Do not think that others cannot see it either.  Sometimes they may not be aware of what they are seeing but it's there like a flashing light above your head.

Anger can be good.  Just as a simple seed planted in the ground is good.  There is the hope that new life will grow from it but sometimes that life is not meant to be.  If the seed is tended and watered and cared for... it may grow up big, strong and beautiful.  If the seed is not taken care of - sometimes it grows into something gnarly and sad to look at. Sometimes it grows into nothing at all.  Which way will you let your anger go?  Will you allow it to be the seed of change and eventual beauty or will you allow it to be the seed of nothing worthwhile?  It is totally up to you.

Random Thought #24

"While driving yesterday I saw a banana peel in the road and instinctively swerved to avoid it....thanks Mario Kart."
- from a forward

(Ahh... drinking MarioKart... now that was a game...)

Venom

Sometimes you carry things with you for a long time. You don't mean to, you just do. You mean to just let it all go - let the past be the past and move on.

Then you try to go to sleep at night - and things creep in. They enter your mind and you try to forget - sometimes successfully, sometimes not so much. Eventually, those things that slip through your lax night filter take residence in your mind, body and soul. They start to become a part of who you are. Slowly, something inside of you begins to rot. No matter how much work you put into other areas, that rotten spot starts to spread. A bad apple, a definite spiritual damper.

Sometimes it's not only at night but at other times too... when you're driving alone... when you're washing dishes... when your walking down the hall at work. Some memories just do not stay buried. You can't help it and that's ok. It's your mind/spirit/soul trying to alert you to something. Something that's amiss inside of you. Something that needs to dissolve in the light. First, though, you MUST bring it out of the dark. This task requires not only speaking of it to those who are willing to listen but also figuring out what you can't figure out about it. Why did that happen to me? What is so wrong with me that the behavior of another party toward me was ok with them (let alone - me)? Why have I grown mean - and callous - and hard inside? Are the two connected? They have got to be.

And eventually you begin to see - they are.

If I can laugh about it while remembering it - I know I'm over it. I'll never forget per say but I can let it go. Some things were just SO stupid of other people that you are not scarred... you are just stuck in eye rolling mode... you tell other people certain things and you just end up laughing. Still - there are those other memories - the ones where you don't laugh. They are the ones doing you harm.

There was a time - a very long time - when I was less critical than I am now. Much less critical. Then stuff happens and you find yourself growing a much deeper resentment toward not only those who hurt you but anyone who reminds you of those who hurt you. For me, I find myself picking apart men - sometimes in a very cruel way - looking at their flaws and deciding on that basis that not only was I not into them (as if simple rejection is not enough)... I would choose to hate them as well. I would find the little things and pick at that like a scab. Not so much to them but in my heart. Some things are funny, yes. And there is nothing to say that the story won't make me chuckle with my girls but there is no reason that I need to find every reason in the book to dislike them. Unless that's the only way I know how to deal with inflicting the same pain that has been inflicted on me.

Is it exactly the same? No. Not in most ways, really. But - in some ways - sadly, yes. Am I purposefully inflicting pain when I reject? No. I do feel bad - most of the time (there are always exceptions). Will I string them along and drag it out and keep an eye on them and use them for all I can get? No. It's not worth the free dinner. Will I use them just to know I have a backup plan? Hell, no. They deserve better, I deserve better.

Still... there's something to be said for my scab-picking. There's something to be said for the fact that I cannot just let it go at the pure simplicity that I am not digging them because they eat their peas a little funny. (One at a time, really?) I need to justify my rejection and turn it around on them. At least internally.

Will I laugh about the peas? Yes. Probably. Will I laugh about other things to? Yes, I will. But do I need to turn that annoyance into actual hate? No, I do not. Can I maybe start to see the good things too? And learn to mention those along with the peas? Sure. I can try. Because there is no reason I need to turn my venom around on those who haven't hurt me in order to get back at the ones who have.

Working toward forgiveness is a process. Recognizing my own behaviors and how they are related to my feelings helps me to understand maybe a little of where the offender came from. I'll never understand all of it but maybe - in the long run there was nothing inherently wrong with me - maybe all the pain inflicted was solely based on them fighting what they could not see.

Off Seroquel

Riding high amongst the waves
I can feel Like I
Have a soul that has been saved
I can feel like I
Put away my early grave
- Amongst the Waves, Pearl Jam

Yesterday a few people asked me how I was feeling and others just listened to me rattle on about it regardless of whether or not they asked. Well - really - it was only two people who heard me rattle on about it. Both very good friends.

Getting off Seroquel.

It's like coming out of a coma. An emotional, cloudy, physically uncomfortable coma. Ok... maybe I should liken it to a really long hangover. That would probably be more like it. One where I spent half of my time unconscious.

Having done a little reading up on what others are saying about the Seroquel world, it seems I am not alone. Stomach issues, weight gain that is not fully explained even with the extra hunger I felt (which may not have been hunger at all much of the time - it may have actually been acid) and cannot be lost,an excessive need for sleep and completely dibiliatating days on the couch here and there were the physical sides of it. The mental/emotional side - well... it sometimes got pretty ugly.

Meanwhile - after one day off the full dose (still taking a smidge to help me sleep) I feel like my world has been returned to me. I feel alive again and free. The weird part is not even realizing how bad a medication is making you feel. When it starts slowly and then the symptoms begin to increase as the dosages do, it almost seems natural. You fail to see the correlation until one day you realize something in your life is just not working. Something big. Then you say... let's put our finger on it. Preferably to your doctor.)

Twice in my life I found myself in a particular kind of rut. Not that I have only been in two... but twice I came to a place where all I could do was sit down (or lay down) and say "something about me is different than nearly everyone else... something is wrong... what is it?"

One of those times was a few years ago when I first approached the doctor about getting medicated for the first time in 10 years. The second was just recently when the weight just wouldn't come off, the studying came to a near stop (imagine: when you almost completely stop at a stop sign but then just sort of roll through, foot on the brake but not pressing down all the way), the aparment is a disaster, credit card balances have taken a leap (though new clothes really were needed), your job is completely intolerable because you see no way out and your love life is DOA (as so delicately put by The Rembrandts). Emotionally - well - everything just stopped being clear anymore. And yelling at people had become a regular occurance. Not like me at all.

Did I mention that aggitation is another noted side effect of Seroquel? I'm talking on the packaging kind of noted. Same as weight gain. Both of which I knew about but simply chose to ignore and in some ways - disbelieve.

Yesterday I felt great. Today too. Hopefully this time it sticks - at least for a good, long while. (If not for good.) This is not to say that I am totally down on Seroquel or that I am going to trash it. For some people, I'm sure it's a Godsend. I mean that quite literally. I'm sure it can be an answer to prayers. It was for me - at first - when the dosages were still small. Even if it became a nightmare later... it was something I was incredibly thankful for until it's time ran out.

Rescues

Honestly, I was going to write my blog about how good I'm feeling, blah... blah... blah. But - after watching several of the Chilean mine rescues, I just have no interest in writing a blog about my medication.

We're getting to watch 33 miracles today. Right now... as I'm posting this... we're up to 21 miracles the world has witnessed. Now, the nay sayers might disagree... that this was all luck. Me - I'm pretty sure prayers played some part in it.

Life is a beautiful thing sometimes... even on the news.

Starting Tonight

So, it begins again. I'm starting from (almost) scratch and I'm hoping it'll work well. I got my new prescription today and having it gives me a sense of hope I haven't had in a while. Am I sure it's going to work perfectly? Not so much... but I am hopeful that it will. That maybe this weight will finally start to budge and that I can start to feel a bit more like me again. Turns out that Seroquel does, in fact, cause metabolic changes that very well could be contributing to why the weight is just not going anywhere. I also happen to know - from experience - that it sometimes increases the appetite like crazy. Usually when it wasn't working in other regards also.

The new medication is not a major sedative like Seroquel so I'll still be taking just a bit of that to help me sleep at night. I look forward to maybe - just maybe waking up naturally again. The only times I have been able to pull that off was on vacation and while in West Virginia. Even then, though, it wasn't every day - not by a long shot. To feel rested for once (hey - I don't have kids to explain it) may be pretty neat. Being able to wake up and go to the Farmer's Market on Saturdays... for me was only a dream. (One of my smaller ones...) But this Saturday it may actually be a reality. Waking up simply because the sun is shining in my window - how freaking awesome would that be?

I'll let you know though - only five weeks until my levels on the new stuff are where we're aiming for. Only five weeks until things may really begin to start getting better.

Stripper Names in the Real World

When you hear certain names you sometimes get an immediate impression.  Names like, say, Candi.  Then - when you actually see the person you find yourself surprised that their boobs are normal sized, that their hair is not platinum blond and they are not wearing six inch heels with a super short skirt.  When you are told that your new therapist has such a name... you kind of wonder who's going to be shaking your hand when you meet them, who's going to greet you in the lobby and who's going to be listening to your innermost workings.  Reminding yourself that Candice is a perfectly respectable name... you try to talk yourself out of stereotyping and just prepare for the pleasant surprise of someone new entering your life.

I am really glad that was my thought process because she is completely awesome and it left me room to laugh at myself - which I need to be able to do for a good experience in therapy.  Not that I plan to insult her by telling her my original thoughts on her name.

By the end of the session she was saying that working with me is going to be fun.  Something about that made me feel pretty damn good.  At least I'm not a drag for them.  I know my last therapist enjoyed working with me.  I am also pretty sure, just based on this one hour session that we are going to do good work together and maybe once and for all... I can get rid of "the face".

Million Piece Puzzle

At 33 he was concerned that he would never face postseason play.  His career is limited.  Young, yes, but pitchers don't have an arm that will last them forever.  The rotater cuff only lasts for so long - even if throwing a baseball is excellent exercise for it.  Even excellent exercise has it's limits.

Last night, here in the Philly area (and many in Cincinnati too) we watched a 54 year old record matched on the road to the World Series.  I, for one, could barely contain myself.  I had to sit silent and enjoy the moments after the game ended so as not to burst into tears.  He called it a dream come true.  One can only imagine the magnitude of gratitude he probably felt or is still feeling today.  It was amazing.  Nothing short of light and love on the field. 

A few years ago I had a friend mention that "everyone has faith in something".  I wonder if this is true.  I wonder if that's what sustained Halladay last night as he made his way to his last pitch.  I wonder if it was faith.  Whether it was faith in his ability, his arm and/or fate.  (Or a higher power - of course.  Believing in fate in many ways implies belief in someone or something much bigger than ourselves.)

In recent weeks, I have found myself not so focused, not so great, not so loving and not so happy or nice.  But - in the most recent of days I have found myself very focused, very loving, very happy and rather nice in both mind and spirit.  Something I almost began forgetting how to be.  Nice may be a weak adjective but it's still a very complete one at times.  Something inside of me clicked while down in West Virginia and I've been carrying it around with me ever since.  It's something very simple though not so simple - something I do not really have to understand but I would like to understand.  It is simple, easy and quiet faith.  The kind that whispers in your ear that it will all be alright. 

Mason Cooley once said "Faith moves mountains, but you have to keep pushing while you are praying."  I feel like I get it.  I just have to do what I am supposed to do and it will come.  Just a little work here and a lot of work there, building a million piece puzzle, one piece at a time.  Meanwhile - others are doing the same - whether by accident or on purpose and we will meet somewhere in the middle.  Somewhere where faith truly resides and dreams do come true.

Halladay would not have been able to have his dreams come true last night without the help of his teammates and the other team's inability to hit the ball.  Not to mention all who have helped both him and those around him during this series along the way.  And, of course, fate... (which I personally do believe in - which is probably no surprise to anyone).  Still - there is something to be said for Roy himself.  The practice, the repitition - the mentality that he could in fact kick some ass if put in the right situation - and the strength to keep going even when it seemed he would never get to shine.

Laying Down the Tracks

Signora, between Austria and Italy, there is a section of the Alps called the Semmering. It is an impossibly steep, very high part of the mountains. They built a train track over these Alps to connect Vienna and Venice. They built these tracks even before there was a train in existence that could make the trip. They built it because they knew some day, the train would come.

- Under the Tuscan Sun

The truth is I had a GREAT weekend.  I was out of the area, out of my head and enjoying life, the moment, the stories and my loved ones.  I spent the weekend in West Virginia doing a few different things.  I spent time with my Pop-pop and with my mom.  I did alot of driving, alot of listening, just a little talking, a little reading, some eating, some visiting with my beloved, some Greek food (no, not in West Virginia), and some book browsing at a used bookstore. 

I also did alot of thinking.  Strangely, the real thinking came as I watched a woman on stage, playing her harp beautifully.  This wouldn't normally be my sort of thing but she did get my brain flowing close to "right".  I read her bio on the program and  I listened to her speak between songs.  Some about her, some about the songs and other random facts like how way back when - in Scotland - your debtors could take almost everything from you but if you played the harp... they couldn't take your tuner.  This was prohibited legally because if you couldn't tune your harp you couldn't make any money to pay your debtors back.

I got out some paper while I listened and started to jot down ideas of what I would ask her if I could interview her.  What I would ask anyone who had been willing to just simply follow their passion as she dutifully did.  She started out in Cleveland, Ohio, after all and most people run from West Virginia... they don't usually migrate there.  And then I had an idea.  I won't be sharing this idea but needless to say, it's part of something I have been searching for over the last however many years I began searching ideas of what I could write about.  I've never wanted to be straight fiction or non-fiction but a bit of both.  I found myself not really day dreaming but critically thinking about how I could make this idea happen.  I'm still thinking...

But - there is a big part of me that simply needs to start preparing and start waiting for my train to come.  I need to be patient.  (Don't most of hate the "p" word.)  I need to lay down the tracks but I also need to expect that one day, in some way, as long as the groundwork is there... my train will come.  It may feel four hours late but I'll be waiting on the platform with my bags packed, ready to wave my old life goodbye.