Gratitude is a Verb

Good Morning, this United States of Trump.  A misogynistic pedophile is our new president.  Excuse me while I swallow some bile.  A fucking pedophile.  My favorite kind of piece of shit.

I just got done writing an email to my Namaslayer.  My Yogi.  There are so many things whirling through my brain, because I have had a lot of A ha ha moments in the past week, it’s hard to tease them all out, but here goes:

I have been sick since the second week of October.  So, what is that?  A month?  Anyways, I have the HIV from Dave.  That is all too well known and all to well documented in this blog.  I had a Diet Mountain Dew for him yesterday.  He was actually a Democrat.  I know he would been with her.  Hell I was.  Had to cancel my extended family’s votes out.  But, I digress.

When you are on your ass, sick, and you can’t do shit but breathing treatments every four hours and small things around your house here and there, you have waaaay too much time to think.  I have bronchitis and a sinus infection.  My doc just put me on a short course of Prednisone.  I now want to eat my cat and anything else I can get my grimy, hungry paws on.  It sucks.  Because it is colder now, my pain has jumped up about 60 notches.  Nothing can be done.  Nothing.  But asymptomatic remedies.  And since I am an alcoholic, and had a bout with Oxi Contin, no narcotics for me.  That and the massive crackdown on pain pills.  Which is fine by me, they were prescribing those drugs like tic tacs.  And they’re not fucking tic tacs.  They’re some fucking dangerous drugs.  And you don’t poop, but whatever.  So, I think a lot.

I have realized many things:

  1.  My root chakra will never be healed unless I  directly, firmly, dance with my trauma, hold the pose, end the dance, and gracefully let it go. One incident at a time.  I FINAFUCKINGLY meet with my new therapist this morning at nine am.  I am ever so grateful.  I have a map made up, I made it upload it.  We’ll see if I can get it loaded up.  But, my remaining 4 or 5 parts, are finally speaking to me.  Apparently, we went shopping.  I didn’t recall buying $800 of shit, but apparently, we did.  I didn’t know until I started get email on my phone thanking me for our capitalism.  Great. After the last bout, I sent them All to their fucking rooms.  Mala, pronounced Malayla, is 13 and is my teen.  One of them. I’ve had a lot of teenagers.  If you don’t know me personally, you might not understand.  But if you know me personally, you’ll understand my behavior sometimes.  So, Mala was complaining (as teens do) that she didn’t have a room.  So, I created one for her- in my head, because for me and my system, except when I am dialoging or making a map, most of the action goes on creatively in my head.  DID is for extremely creative and intelligent critically traumatized people, men and women.  So, a lot of our recovery work, and sometimes our actual paid work demands intelligence and creativity.  So, I digress.  I created a room for Mala with whatever the fuck a 13 year old needs.  It was all pepto bismol pink, with maribou, and feathers, and fluff and stuff.  She was ecstatic.  I called them out there yesterday and told them time out was over.  I still have to have a morning meeting with them.  You hold a meeting- they have decided on a treehouse.  Whatever, I’m way too flexible sometimes, so we will have a meeting in the tree house and I will write it down.  That is how my parts system and my part recovery process work.  So, that is why I wake up so damned early.  I have to wake up, do morning meeting, recovery stuff, meditate, pray, chill, and then start my fucking day.  Life ain’t easy being cheesy.  So, until I figure out and work with these last remaining parts, I will never be free, never lose weight, never feel okay in my body or be able to directly look myself in the mirror.  I’m sure there’s a ICD-10 code for that, but I don’t give a fuck right now.

2.  I am angry. Very, very fucking angry.  The bitch who teaches the trauma program at Forest View here in town, helped me get in touch with my anger about 3 years ago.  It’s not just anger, it’s fucking bile rage.  It’s kind of a big deal.  Cuz I didn’t have just one perpetrator, I lost count as to how many perps I had abuse/assault me.  Men and women.  I have a long way to go on relationships.  So, this winter?  It’s going to be intense, on all fronts.  I’ve been angry all my life.   But being a woman, you can’t get angry.  You aren’t allowed to show, feel, or allow yourself to become angered.  It’s bullshit.  I call bullshit.

3.  I am sick.  Have been since October.  Went to the doctor yesterday.  No good news. I’m on Prednisone which interacts with my ARV drug.  So, short course, but my cat is looking good.  But, I have , whatever.  I mentioned this before.  It really- what?  PISSES ME OFF!!!!  Shocking, I know.

4.  I have only know conditional love, unrequited love, trauma bonds and parental unconditional love.  That’s got to change.  But it has to change with me.  I have to heal my root chakra, balance the energy, and as soon as soon as I can nail that one, I am going to soar.

5.  Another perk to being flat on your back is Pinterest.  I am on Pinterest, if you care at all, all, like 7 of you.  I am gypsyzuzu.  I decided to make a Self Care and Self Esteem board.  Along with the other boards I made. Well yesterday, I printed out my “How to Get My Poop in a Group” board, my Journal board, and my Self Care board.  Only relevant pins.  I printed for a good half hour.  Need a new color cartridge.  But that box o paper I bought for grad school was a super wise investment.  And thank goddess I recycle.  So, I have my three hole punch, a binder and time on my hands today.  Can’t go to class, but I sure can lay in bed and be productive as fuck.  Let the Healing Begin!!!  Whoever said that was a fucking genius, or wrote it.  What the fuck ever.

6.  Is there really a 6?  Does there need to be a six…Oh yeah.  My dad yelled at me earlier this week and swore at me.  So, I had to take a super quick inventory once I finished being childish hurt and mad and realized he wouldn’t have barked, had I not pulled his tail.  Which is the catalyst to what has led me to all of the above.  I tend to work in reverse order.  Top down.  Whatever.  My Scottish Laddie hasn’t emailed me back since I told him I don’t do BDSM anymore.  Kinda had my fill of it.  It’s fun and all, but there are limits and moderation in mostly all things.

I don’t have any groovy quotes or any wise words of wisdom.  Just a broken soul trying to put back together this shit show of a blessed life I have.  Oh yeah, gratitude is a verb.  I was taught, early in sobriety that it’s all fine and well to be grateful for things.  “Go around the table and say one thing you’re grateful for…”  Yeah, most of us have been there.  That’s when I try not to suffocate myself with the mashed potatoes.  But, don’t fucking tell me you’re grateful- show me you’re grateful. For instance?  This blog.  When I share these secret, greasy little tidbits about my psyche and my life and how I am trying to reclaim what those sonsabitches took away- my late 20’s, all my 30’s, and hopefully half my 40’s, I am being grateful. Honest, open dialogue is a great way to be grateful.  Because, right now? Even though a pedophile Cheeto is our president (OMFG), I am grateful that my coughing seems to have chilled out.  I am grateful that I can sit upright, in my messy, but beautiful, cozy little shack, type out my game plan, share it honestly and openly with whomever, and be on my merry way.  Even though I have to wear a mask when I go out in public, I’m fucking grateful.  And no, that is not a sarcastic fucking grateful.

I hope you all have a good day.  Color, do whatever makes your spirit soar.  And I will try to load the latest, and greatest pic of my map.  Y’all take care now, ya hear?!

 

 

 

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Let It Go

I should be showering for a 12 step meeting, but I have an itch…for a spew.

So, yesterday, being Friday the 13th, and me, being a Satanic Ritual Abuse survivor-how the hell that ever happened, Allah only knows, but it was an anniversary.  EVERY Friday the 13th from September through May is an anniversary.  Apparently, it is a HUGE day in the Satanic calendar.  Whatever.  Freedom of religion, I guess.  Except when you murder people in front of children and it’s not war- that’s my values, I guess.  ANYWAYS, yesterday was tough.  With most anniversaries, it lasts about three days, two days prior, and the day of said anniversary.  Ok.  So, I made it through.  I bought a black out curtain for my bedroom.  So Myself and my neighborhood would have some privacy.  I don’t recommend them if you battle depression.  They make the room like a cave…of despair.  It’s good, cuz they cut out noise and light- for migraines.  But not for like, being happy and productive.

Okay, flaky part of me emerges, there were five planets retrograde.  Now, we are only down to four, Mercury going direct in like, a week.  But everything damn near is in Taurus and that means money, home, things that grow, stability- all things I struggle with.  I have been troubled because of the damn anniversary and I didn’t even know why-until, duh!  Friday the 13th.  I learned early on, if I was to survive and get though high school and make it out of that godforsaken town, I had to reframe 13 as lucky- which esoterically speaking, it is.  BUT!   I digress!  Surprise, I know.

So, This Taurus thing has been highlighting what you want to materialize on this mortal plane, dig?  Erstwhile, I have been trying to figure out what my next chapter/career/adventure for my forties is going to be, and how to get through.  One thing I know for sure?  I sure as hell don’t want to be sick anymore.  I shore as hell don’t want to be anchored to my past.  I’ve been sick with DID since I was 5,6,7 and so on.  Been disabled since 2002; and sick, physically, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally since 2000.  I don’t want anymore!!!  I want to live!!!  I want to travel!!  Fuck!  I won a vacation a year ago!  My parents will be married 50 fucking years this July.  I planned the vaca around the time they got engaged in November, to their/our favorite vacation destination- Charleston.  It’s a timeshare thing, but they never got their golf shack when they retired in 2000, because why?  Me.  And they made a choice.  They could have put me in a home and walked away, but they didn’t.  And if y’all don’t think I don’t have gratitude every. single. fucking. day for that and them, and part of the reason I work my ass off so hard, is so they can enjoy their golden years, sonny?  You need to put down the drugs and delusions and check in.  So, basically, twice around the barn to get to the house- now is not the time for black out curtains and checking out.  Now is the time to hustle and manifest on the material plane.

So, there’s this guy I know.  Been sober for like, a million years.  Wise as shit.  He’s like a little 1970’s Buddha/Artist/Tao Wizard/Classic Rock groovy dude.  One day, he says; “How do you let it go?  You just let it go.”  Fuck you.  Because at that point, I was still a’ wrestling with some serious demons.  But the only person holding on to my past, I mean, I’m down to one part, I think, is me.  Because that has been my identity for 16 years.  That’s a huge paradigm shift.

So, while laying in my den of misery, I’ve been asking myself a question, okay, questionsssss- What do you want?  Who do you want to be?  What do you want to accomplish- Fuck!  Do you want to accomplish anything.  I’ve come full circle.  I want to be an antique freak.  Just have a booth, in a mall, just for starters, and then eventually, expand.  My mom has been warming up to the idea.  It’s real part time.  Like, some antique malls you go and work, some you don’t, some you pay rent, some you just work there a couple times for booth rent.  I mean, the trips to shows would be write offs…I love looking at Dead People’s Stuff- NOT MINE- There is an actual antique store named Dead People’s Stuff.  Personally, with my macabre ass, I think it’s fucking hysterical.  I also thought about writing a one woman show with a bunch of monologues, that are certain slices of my life.  All the characters, etc.  Florida.  Greece.  Detroit.  Ypsi.  GR.  Men.  The last 16 years.  The Lazarus Club.  NAMI.  All of it.  Just my life in monologues.  There’s a theatre here I can rent to do my show.  I’d need a chair, some lighting, and audience, and about 5 angels. But, just some ideas I’m tossing around.  I’m tossing around a lot.  I loooooooooove to travel.  I love to perform.  But I gotta get a routine down.

Part of my problem is with this DID and being knocked off my square, there are some times, I need to just curl up and huddle up, you know.  Self preservation.  But, there are also times, when, I need to live life fully.  Just rip the marrow out of the skeleton of life.  And savor life.  Not be afraid all the time.  When Dave died, so much fell away.  So much left.  I finally wasn’t looking over my should all the fucking time.  What a relief!!!  My God. I knew it would take his death for me to finally be free.  I know the priest he confessed his sins to on his death bed, is probably still drunk.  Seriously.  He was a bad dude.  More than you could ever imagine.  And my dysfunctional ass loved him.  A part of him.  Do I think he had DID?  I used to.  Now I know he was just a murdering basterd.  Oh!  That would be another monologue- all three loves, that actually loved me in return, were all murdering bastards.  Whether for country, war or thrill, they were all murderers.  I now have 15 minutes to get to my meeting.  Crunch.  Okay.

So, long and short of it.  How do you let it go?  You just let it go.  I have decided I don’t want to be that person anymore.  I don’t want to remember her at all.  I don’t want any part of her at all anymore.  She was sick, hurting, miserable, and sad.  And LONELY.  AND SCARED- of EVERYTHING!!!!  It’s time to live again. It’s time to reach up and out.  To push through the dirt and bloom.

“It’s Not Your Fault”.  “You like apples?  How bout these apples?”  Yeah, it’s possible.  Anything is possible.  But sitting on your hands and wishing for disney or pixar or whoever, or prince charming – if you have seen Into the Woods, you know Prince Charming was a douche-to come and scale your castle walls.  Unh uh.  Ain’t never going to happen.  Gotta hustle and flow, baby.  Hustle and flow.

 

 

 

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes…

So, last Sunday, Sheila integrated.  She was my angry, spend money to hurt you, pay attention to me cuz I need your love and don’t know how to ask, part.  She was tired.  I started stepping up in the finances department.  As a result, mom’s been mellower, spending more time with us, because: A.  She’s learning to relax and B. I’m stepping up to the plate more.  So, really, it’s a win/win.

I’m also doing something a peer-age-wise only-offers= holistic therapy.  A combination of traditional talk therapy, holistic principles, yoga and naturopath essentials to bring you/me to optimum health.  Having trouble staying in my root chakra.  That is grounding, your body, the earth.  I’m an air sign-Gemini, yeah, I know, so I like to stay in my crown chakra so I don’t have to deal with the trauma to my body- root chakra.  So, I’m trying really hard to create art/beauty daily, practice my Ahimsas- I am positive statements.  At first, I just wrote them down.  Now I’m verbalizing as I write.  Then, I’ll move up to repeating in the mirror while looking at myself.  Ugh.  I’m dragging my feet.  I’ll own that.  I’m dragging my feet about a lot of things.  And it’s only my time I’m wasting.  It’s just life anyway, right?!  No one gets out of here alive anyway?!  D’OH!!  COME ON ZUZU!!!  FOCUS!!!!

So, I’m sick.  again.  I got the flu from my folks.  Quarantine means quarantine.  No Exceptions.  So, oops.  Now I can’t go to my concert tonight- aside of the horrid gut feeling I have in my stomach about it, which I am totally heeding.  My gut is Ma (God).  When it speaks, Kinda like EF Hutton, I listen.  Whatever happened to them?  Did they go down with everyone else in a coke fueled blaze of glory like most companies in the 80’s?  I wonder who bought them?  Yeah, Morgan Stanley.  Interviewed with them in May of 2001.  I would’ve been doing my internship in the WTC in September of 2001.  I didn’t get the job.  My friend was livid.  I told her, “there’s a reason, we just don’t know what it is yet.”  Holy Moly!

Speaking of New York and God and no such thing as coincidences, I sent a family friend/parents old student a letter with our new address.  Only took me three years…But left to my folks, they never would’ve sent her a letter.  I adore her.  She went to New York City to be a dancer.  I remember her doing Pas De Chats in our kitchen making our whole kitchen shake (Our old house was 1890 ish) and we’d go visit her.  And she is in my top 20 favorite/amazing women I’ve been blessed to meet.  Well, I received a letter (2, actually) from her yesterday.  The day she got my letter, was the day she busted in her OLD building- in 35+ years, she finally moved!-and retrieved her mail.  As was her change of address form.  Mailperson ain’t all that, apparently.  I can relate.  So, I sent her an email.  She’s amazing.  SO Grateful to be reconnected.  Whew.

I did a new map and made new treatment goals.  I’m down to therapy once a week.  Doing the holistic therapy twice a week.  So, as soon as I decide to shit, get off the pot and improve my quality of life, we’re gonna be rockin.

I had my MRI for my right knee last Saturday; I go Tuesday for results.  God, NO KNEE SURGERY!!!  I REFUSE TO HAVE KNEE SURGERY!!!  But, it’s my own damn fault.  My Pre-Diabetes?  Probably now type II.  My fault.  So, I’ve got a lot on my plate.  How do you eat an elephant?  One bite at a time…one freaking bite at a time.

Well, I’m having a spate of ambition, so I’m going to finish up some tasks that I didn’t finish yesterday.  Then, I’ll collapse.  My fever didn’t break.  I’m still hot, but I feel better.  Tired, but not dying.  Well, hell, we’re all one day closer to our Lord, but whatever.

Have a great day!!  At least you’re not in a third world country!!  And if you are?  My soul goes out to you…Gratitude 101.