Maslows Hierarchy of Insufficient Life Funds

So, not a big rah-rah, Oprah girl, but I dig and have an immense amount of respect for the woman.  This month, and for the next two moths, she’s highlighting mental illness.  Awesome.  Our hats are off to her!!!  This months was a lady who had been suffering- and I do not use that term lightly- perimenopause.

I had a hysterectomy in 2005ish.  I was 32 ish.  I had two TIA’s (Transient Ischemic Attacks)- baby strokes because I had smoked and still took HRT.  Well, after my TIA’s, I quit smoking in July of 2014, and have not smoked since.  I see an OB GYN in the beginning of February.  I’m also on Abilify.  All two factors contributing to weight gain.  Don’t get me wrong, but the weight gain is influenced by more than meds and perimenopause and lack of estrogen and testosterone and progesterone.  I’m a big girl. No secret.  I make horrid food choices.  I was going to try a hypno lap band.  But with DID, it’s a case by case basis as to whether hypnosis works.  Personally, I don’t think it would work and after briefly, and I mean briefly talking to my therapist, I know it won’t work.  So, onto Plan B.  Another program, like Atkins, which cuts out all processed food and sugar.  I think at least Atkins would be a start, but the sugar kicks my ass.  I don’t know if it is because I’m an addict that I crave sugar, but if I have processed, not necessarily natural sugar, I eat sugar for the rest of the day.

But, I digress…in the Oprah feature, they had Maslows Hierarchy of Needs.  Basic?  Food, water, sex and shelter.  Then safety- financial and physical and, I think in my case, mental.  Well, that’s why I have my holistic therapist/yogi.  We’re working on the Root Chakra.  Which is more than just sex.  It is safety, your history, where you came from- which, on my mother’s side, is a guess at best- security, financial et al, being grounded, ie Earthing.  Those kind of basic root activities.  There are eating root foods, certain crystals and essential oils that help as well.  I’m doing all these things.  And recovery and balancing a home life and family.  I just slipped in my recovery.  And by slipping, I mean not only did I pick up and use, Sobriety Lost It’s Importance.  So, I’m trying to get better, really feel better, and I’ll never make it to level III of Maslows RPG of life, if I keep scattering my energies.

I heard that the road to recovery was only 24 inches long.  It is the link between your head and heart and hooking up the two, connecting and learning to communicate the connections.  Ok.  Well, I suck at feelings and communication…let’s start there.

How do I feel?  Tired, sick, worn out, sad, malasical, physically pained, but okay and ready to soldier through another day.  Do I want to lie in bed and pull the covers over my head and cry and rest?  HEllz  YeaH!  Can I?  Sure.  Do I want to?  Kinda.  But I know it won’t help with anything.  It would be totally counter productive to my healing and bustling up the hierarchy.  So, what do I do?  Ah yes, the mantra of the spa~ “Feel your feelings and stay safe”.  No acting in or acting out.  No eating or attention grabbing, and no stuffing feelings and keeping everything held in.

So, February 5th is the OB Gyn.  Today is the 21st.  I’ve gone this long, what’s three weeks?  Saw my shrink yesterday.  He wants to lower my meds.  I told him.  I’m barely hanging on.  Didn’t hear a word of it. Okay.  That means quityerbitching.

I’m learning.  I got leveled.  Each time I tried to pull myself up, I’d get served.  “Sometimes when they knock you down and out, it’s best to stay there.”  Like in boxing- stay down, stay down.  Because it’s more than pride.  If you don’t take care of yourself first and foremost, you could get the life knocked out of you.  Then Maslow and everything I was dancing on, doesn’t seem so important.  Be kind to yourself.  Be nice to yourself.  Be gentle with yourself…and others.

 

 

 

 

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Improving, decompensating, or a bad day?

Oh God.  I cannot listen to this Blackstar album anymore.  When you can hear Bowie struggle for breath, it’s painful.  Just breaks my heart.

I’m really funky.  I’m setting up boundaries and I don’t expect people to obey by my rules, but dammit!  I mean, you can’t be mad at the snake when it kills you, because it is a snake after all…I just feel like I have been bit a lot lately.  I’m sick, which never helps matters; and the sickness is like…stress induced viral thingey that no one can understand or fix and I refuse to lay still.  I hate the fact that I have to be chill, both for my cold/flu and for my knees, and I’m terrified to be still, because then I might hear the truth, and Jesus!  Wouldn’t that be a homewrecker!!!  I don’t know.  Shit needs to change.  But, just because I change, doesn’t mean everyone else is going to roll with the changes.  Mobile.  Just like John Bradshaw says- you touch one part of the mobile and everything else moves.  Nature abhors a vacuum.  I’m moving and changing, as is everyone else around me.  Well, no one is on the same timeline.  Not even my parts.  There’s like 5 of us left.

 

Which is a miracle.  Hey man, when I began this journey in 2008, I had upwards of 80.  Not, “That’s how crazy you are”, but that’s how awful ages 4-8 were.  That I had to split myself, into pieces-read: parts, 84 fucking times.  No wonder I’m 42 and I suck at adulting.  I never got to be a kid, let alone figure out how to take care of myself.  If I focused on others, or kept myself busy with triflin’ bullshit, I’d never have to sit down, and feel 84 pieces of emotions, memories, etc. No wonder I’m tired and overweight.  But I did.  And up till I got the pain pills after my surgery in October, I was sober and clean.  Stayed drink free, but man, ate all those pills even after the pain subsided, and damn near licked the bottle.  Then I was ducking and dodging the fact that, Hello!!!!  What did Bette say when I was 16?  If it’s addictable, you’ll become addicted, so stay away from it.

Don fucking up and died.  I know people who read this are like, you weren’t that close or blah blah.  Whatever.  I didn’t know David Bowie or Lemmy and Bowie still fucks me up.  It’s not the quantity, it’s the fucking quality.  We get so hung up on how long, and tenure et al.  What about the quality of the relationship, how deeply did s/he impact your life?  Did you impact theirs- at all?  I’m a sensitive, maudlin, romantic, sentimental little monkey.  I remember things. About others and things they did or said that got me through the day, or the time period.  I mean, when you have a genuine moment with someone or something or some place, you never forget it.  Even if that person, place or thing leaves your life, by whatever way, you never forget them.

I’ve been in love three times.  And was loved in return by those three men.  All three, aside of loving me, had one, other little personality trait in common:  they were all murdering bastards.  No, I’m not joking or being histrionic.  The best ways we knew how, with the circumstances we were in, with what little tools we had, we loved.  And I would never, ever take those back in a million years.  Never.  My life would never be the same with or without those men.  But I may be a mess, a red hot mess, and quick to shoot a guy to the fucking ground, but, dammit!

16 years ago, my childhood- of which I had only one memory and pictures, hence why so many pictures, threw up all in my face, all over me and all over anybody and anything I came into contact.  Why?  Because it was fucking horrific!  I never knew when I walked across the threshold to either their home or church or anywhere they took me, if I was going to live or die.  What were you doing at 4, 5, 6?  Because that is what I was doing.  Surviving.  And I have been dancing as fast as I can ever since.

It’s exhausting.  So, no, my home is not spic and span, my car gets cleaned out weekly, my bills and records are scattered from hell to breakfast, and I’m trying to pick up a life that was blown asunder.  I mean, it’s insanity.  And I know it is.  I’m doing the best I can, with the tools I have, for what all I have been through for 42 years.  Let alone the last 5.  That is a whole other blog post.

I suck at relationships.  I suck at communication.  Especially now.  I’ve been in a dark and twisted place going through weird and downright, made for tv movie shit.  I don’t know how to have a normal conversation.  The bank teller asked me how I was doing.  I gave her the thumbs up, beamed a huge smile and said, “Super Fantastic!” as the blizzard drove snow and wind between us.  She said, “Well, at least you’re better than the weather!”  I looked at her, smiling my smile, square in the eye and said, “I’m lying, but I’m trying!”.

That’s my motto.  I’m fakin it, but god damn it, I’m gonna make it…probably into an early grave if I don’t chill the fuck down.  Or get quiet and be still and know.

Word.