Category Archives: Art

A Decade Plus One


Well, Li’l Brother; here we are eleven years later.  You existing in some special place in my heart and mind; and me, taking life as it comes.

It seems now, that the years are flying by while you are caught in some etheric arrested development.  Always almost twenty four.  Always a man child.

You know whats funny?  Even though you have been gone for over a decade, I don’t think that anyone’s dreams for you ever died.  If anything, everything they ever wanted for you, they now deem themselves worthy enough to seek out for themselves, in some honor and remembrance of you.  And I am sure you are aware of the weight that holds.

I know, that when you walked among us, you felt a distance no one truly understood, (except for maybe, me.)  I don’t know that you ever truly realized how absolutely adored and loved you were.  Maybe no one ever really does, you know?

That’s kind of the shits of dying… Sometimes it feels like a little too much, too late.   Funny thing about living with death, is that we get to sit back and see it all unfold before us.  How loss breaks us apart; how some people stay shattered, and some people try and put themselves back together, some with exacting precision and others haphazardly with pieces missing.  And then there are those who deny they were broken at all.

You changed lives.  You are still changing lives.  That truth is so heavy.  You have been gone the equivalent of almost half of your living, life.  You would be on the last leg of your Christ year if blood still coursed your veins.  Perhaps in some parallel reality you are living out those rock n’ roll dreams, still touching lives.

Some of us wondered, back then, how we could go on with out you.  Somehow, we’ve all made it this far with what little pieces of yourself you left behind, inside of our hearts and minds.  Of course, it’s never enough, but it will have to do.

If anything, I want to thank you for willing me your friends.  I don’t know if I would love them as deeply as I do, if not for you cultivating those relationships with such kind hearted humans.  I’ve taken them as my surrogate siblings, and they still honor your memory in the community, not that you were ever egotistical enough to go looking to be honored.  You earned it through your loyal friendship, talent and kindness.

I miss introducing you to people.  I miss saying “This is my brother, Kevin.”  I will always miss that.

There will be lots of people thinking about you today, more than usual.  I won’t be surprised if you let us know, you know whats up and that the feeling is mutual.

Love you, bro.

Your Big Sis.

Dry July-Day 9~BandAid

Time to get real, and raw about something shameful.

I can’t remember the last time I have had sober intercourse.

Yep.  I am pretty sure the few times I have had “the sex” in the last decade, 97% of the time alcohol was involved.  Now it sounds gross to think about it or to say it out loud.

Listen, I am NOT talking, sloppy drunk.  No.  I am just saying, I hadn’t not been drinking before intimacy.

What does that say about me? I suppose in my twenties, it was cool to have an air of independence and mystery; to brush off the idea of serious relationships.  So, my relationships would be intense for a minute and then just dissipate because one of us would get “too serious” or too disinterested.  And, dudes would come and go, but I still had my bottle of Jameson, or some snobby beer to keep me company as I entertained myself.

It’s true, alcohol really does lower ones inhibitions; but it probably also lowers ones standards.

I am not sure how much of that sex I would have had, had I not been drinking.  My reserve to say ‘no’ would probably be a lot stronger, and in certain situations my insecurities would have been amplified (lending to my already existent frigidity), and in some cases, I probably would have better used my observational skills to know when someone is just saying sweet somethings, in order to get laid.

I’ve been a fool.

Admittedly I have followed in programming like many young women; buying into the belief that women exist for the enjoyment and pleasure of men and acting as such an object. All the time, pretending I had some magical power.  All the while secretly hoping on some wild Hollywood romantic notion, that one worthy man would fall madly in love with me, and that I would feel that way in equal reciprocity… Happily Ever After Style, Traveling the World, and Eating Delicious Food~~~HA!!!

See? How foolish!

Well, I think I had plenty of men fall for me, despite taking them through some psycho/spiritual wringer of litmus tests, all because trust seems to take time in most cases; and even when that trust is obviously established it becomes evident it is still not enough for me (for some reason.)

Is there a Sober Sapiophile Social Club?

Really, intelligence is the biggest turn on.  I am starting to wonder what it’s like to be turned on by a person without the influence of alcohol?

One of the first places the brain shuts down when drinking is the Frontal Lobe, which is in charge of judgement, behavior and emotion.  ” Alcohol may affect emotions, leading to crying, fighting, or a desire to be close to another person.” 

Holy crap, right?  This is the exact part of the brain that would help anyone find a good partner!

So all in all, nothing really lost, and everything gained.  I find the research interesting, and it’s fun treating ones self as a science experiment to a certain degree.  I mean, I have control over my purposeful experiments, and I appreciate that in others.  Ultimately it is about self awareness, and figuring out the lies we have told ourselves forever.  Still, it’s just one day at a time of facing my own truth, and that which I have been purposely avoiding for so long.  The journey is certainly a weird one.

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Follow my Dry July series at the links below!

Dry July

Dry July- Day 2- Eleven Facts

Dry July-Day Three- Epigenetics and Sleep

Dry July- Day Four- Independence Day

Dry July- Day Five~ Waiting

Dry July-Day 6~ Real Hydration

Dry July- Day 7~ One Week Summary

Dry July-Day Eight~ Truth or Fiction



Dry July-Day 6~ Real Hydration

Well, it’s day six of drinking at least 96 ounces (.75 gallons) of water a day, and guess what?!?  I AM STILL DEHYDRATED!

According to science, our bodies are a lot like plants.  After long periods of not having our hydration needs met, our bodies adapt by triggering a water conservation sensor.  This is Chronic Cellular Dehydration and the bodies conservation has an effect on how much water is distributed on a intra and extracellular level.

This effect means, that just because you drink a gallon of water one day, doesn’t mean you will be fully hydrated after you drink that gallon.  It takes a long period for the body to adapt to decreased and increased water consumption. Those water conservation sensors will not relax until hydration become consistent enough to saturate the body day after day.

If you have been in a hydration deficit for years, it can take a while for the body to re-acclimate, slowly re-hydrating the body on a cellular level.  When we look at it this way, we can understand the primary underlying cause of aging, is the dehydration of the cells, organs, muscles and tissues.  Other health conditions arise from dehydration.  The blood thickens, the muscles lose their tone, and the kidneys have a harder time processing toxins out of the blood and removing them from the body.

“But I don’t like water.”

I hear that more often than I would like to admit from people.  They are the same people who live off of Mt.Dew and Dr. Pepper, or Diet Coke.   They are also the same people who complain about frequent headaches, bloating and joint inflammation. Many of them have dark circles around their eyes.

I understand that water isn’t as good in other cities, as it is here in Cheyenne, Wyoming.  I have experienced tap water other places, and it’s unbearable.  I am thankful for what I have, and I crave our water when I am away.  Still, I am in a hydration deficit.   Over the last six days, I have seen incremental change based on water alone.  I limit myself to one and a half cups coffee a day, and the rest is just, water.

It’s bland, yes, but my body wants and needs it so badly, that I am committed to getting those conservation sensors to relax, so the real healing in my cells can happen.

And if you want to drink more water, but you “don’t like it” , that is what you have to weigh for yourself.  Do you want to feel better in the long run, or do you want another 20 oz bottle of fluid sugar now, that is going to make things worse later?

At this point, it isn’t about “will power”, it’s about making responsible decisions that I am proud of.  It’s taking control over who I want to be.   “Will power” sounds so, “woo-woo”, like grasping at straws.  “Self Control” sounds like self ownership; like I have a fucking say in my Now and my Future.  You can lose your “will power” if you didn’t have much “Will” to begin with, but you are the only one who has control of you.  So if you “lose control” that is a conscious decision to rebel against yourself.

I am sick of rebelling against myself.  I know what I need.  You know what you need.  We don’t need anyone to tell us, but sometimes it is nice to have reminders.


Give this post a nice little like, a share or a comment.  Pass it on to a friend and become hydration accountability partners.  Your skin will thank you for it!

Follow along on my Dry July Journey at the links below!  Cheers!

Dry July

Dry July- Day One

Dry July- Day 2- Eleven Facts

Dry July-Day Three- Epigenetics and Sleep

Dry July- Day Four- Independence Day

Dry July- Day Five~ Waiting


A Casual Conversation About Pain

“I am well acquainted with pain.”  She said dryly, as she ran her finger tips through the wet condensation that had gathered on her glass.  The beads of water pooling, and dripping down the slick surface, like tears or sweat drops down the curvature of a cheek.

She continues, “The pain has always overshadowed the excitement, or the gratitude.  It has more… longevity.  See, I can savor excitement for a moment, and only a moment, for excitement isn’t sustainable.  I can meditate on gratitude, and it will swell, and grow; but once I leave that meditation, gratitude dissipates into something subtle; like catching the smell of blossoms in the wind.  The pain is so strong and sturdy, it can weather any storm and become stronger because of the storm.  The companionship of pain, get’s me through the day.”

She appears to be caught in some reverie, contemplating her relationship with that one pervasive companion.  She wonders how she’s stuck around this long in such an abusive and imbalanced relationship.  She questions if this fate is written in her genetics, folded into the crevasse’s of her brain tissue, pulsing through her veins.  Is she, her own inescapable pain?  Is it a destiny?

A shadow comes over her eyes,  and she stares down into the shallow watery pool inside of her glass.

“It’s unavoidable, you know?  And you can’t prepare for it; you can’t just schedule it into your calendar.  You can co-exist with it, like co-existing with a bad roommate that you tend to avoid and ignore.  Pain is just trashing you on the inside, and you just don’t have the energy to deal with it; so you go somewhere else, and do something else with someone else… but the whole time, at the back of your mind, you are thinking ‘I eventually have to go home, and deal with all this bullshit.’  And it’s tedious, you know?  It’s like… it’s just hard enough to get by without unintentionally upsetting some one else… but Pain, Pain doesn’t care who it upsets.  Pain doesn’t care that they are ravaging your house.  Pain doesn’t give a shit about protecting your cherished memories, or putting things back nicely.  Pain, is kind of just a big home wrecker.”

She spins the water glass by it’s stem with one hand, and draws lines in the condensation with the other.  Spinning and spinning until their are continuous lines encircling the goblet.

“Pain is cyclical.  You can almost plan for it… almost.  But, it’s smart, and feisty.  Say you expect a visit on around the 20th… Pain shows up on the 15th.  Early, but somehow on time.  It’s like it KNOWS exactly when shit is going to hit the fan.  Pain loves to be at the center of a good solid shit show.  I mean, Pain is a god damn mess, who always expects some one else to do the clean up.  I have been cleaning up that bitches mess, for DECADES.  Some messes are bigger than others… Pain hasn’t made a huge mess in a while… and so I can’t help but think, the next big mess is just around the corner.  That it’s going to be a bigger mess than ever before; like it will be all the messes of ever, and then some… then what am I going to do?  I just don’t have it in me to keep going like this.” 

The bartender, silent until now, refills her glass of water.  The delicate dissolving ice cubes tickling the inside of the glass and melting into the greater volume of liquid.  They both stare at the way the ice dissipates, growing smaller and smaller into little slivers until they finally disappear.

The bartender finally speaks, “Maybe pain is the ice, and you are the water.  The colder you become, the longer you will hold onto that pain;  however, the warmer you become, the less pain you can sustain holding.  Your warmth will shrink the pain until it appears that it is gone.  You are water.  You can freeze; you can vary in temperature, you can heat up so hot, that you just float away into some bigger collective of moisture.  You can expand and contract.  Ice… Ice expands.  Ice is heavy, yet it floats. It’s dense like Pain.  Steam is also expansive, but it’s so light that it floats on air as a vapor. Steam is like the memory of pain.  A veil of our collective pain that we have warmed up to the point that it floats away.  It’s still there somewhere, but it isn’t holding us down, it isn’t freezing us.  It just exists in some different form, and our relationship with it changes.  We realize, we are all water, and the ice is water as much as the vapor is water.  It’s still a part of us.”

She sits back in her seat, both palms resting on the edge of the bar.  She contemplates this analogy; imagining herself trudging through the streets with her body covered in heavy bags of ice.  She thinks about how the walk would get easier on a hot day, and how on a freezing day, the walk would be unbearable.

“How do you control the weather?”  She asks.

The bartender pauses from wiping the pools of liquid that have accumulated on the bar.

“You can’t control the weather everywhere.  You can only control your mico-climate.  If you are sick of the cold, quit hanging around Polar bears or get a thicker sweater; either way, realize no matter where you go, there is always going to be water. And if that doesn’t suit you try living in the desert, where you will find that not having water in it’s many forms, will bring a different sort of pain and discomfort.   The desire to be quenched.  Right now you experience being drenched in Pain, but you aren’t drowning.”

“You are right.  I am not drowning… and I have no desire to be burnt to a crisp.  You’ve given me some things to contemplate.  And, thank you for the water.”


Experience the Paranormal

At this point in my life I have embraced the extraordinary, and now it’s pretty ordinary.  I suppose, if your eyes are open to see; then you will.

As a child, I loved to read.  I loved mysteries, and chose your own adventure.  I pined for the newest R.L. Stine books.  There was so much to be left to the imagination, and I had no lack of that.  I loved the practicality of Nancy Drew, and the hint of macabre given in Christopher Pikes writing.  I wanted spooky, heart racing adventures.

In the fourth or fifth grade, my class went on a field trip to the Fort Laramie.  A rustic old fort, maintained as a museum.  We visited several buildings, examining the living conditions of a soldier versus an Officer.

The building I remember most, was the Captains Quarters, originally designed to be large and decadent housing, it was later split with a wall down the stair case to turn the building into a duplex in order to house more people.

Each Room was walled off ceiling to floor with Plexiglass.  You could see the staging of the room, but you couldn’t touch anything.  The tour guide had just regaled us with the story of the Woman in the Green Dress who haunts the Fort.

On the bed, on the top left hand level of the Captains Quarters, was a beautiful green dress laid out on the bed.  As all of my peers filed out of the building down the stairs, I just stayed there, staring in that room… until the rocking chair began rocking with out assistance.  There was no airflow coming into the blocked off room.  The tour leader hadn’t mentioned that this specific building was said to be haunted.   Upon further research, it has been documented as having haunted activity.

Haunting at Fort Laramie

I immediately left the Captain’s Quarters feeling very chilly on the hot day.  When I got outside the hair on my arms was still on end, and one of my friends asked if I was okay, because I looked pale like I had seen a ghost.  I responded with, “I think I might have.”  Everyone thought it was a joke, but I know what I saw… that rocking chair should not have been moving on it’s own.  I couldn’t find a tangible logical solution, so in my mind, it must have been a ghost or some dimensional residue.


The Shadow People

So, people didn’t take my ghost story as real.  They probably thought I was being over dramatic, and since no one was with me to legitimize my claims… perhaps they just thought I was a liar.  Who knows?  The weirdness over the years didn’t stop there.

A couple of years later, (I was probably about twelve or thirteen), I went to bed like any other night.  I would shut my door, and go to bed.  My head of the bed was at the west window, and I could see right out the door, as the bed was right in alignment with the entryway to my room.

I felt myself relax, and at some point I feel like I am laying there on my back, and the door is opening.  I feel like my eyes were open, because I could see the nightlight outside of my room.  My door opens all the way, and slowly these tall shadow figures start filing into my room, one after another.

They have no faces.  They aren’t completely opaque.  They are just indistinguishable human forms. I am paralyzed.  They completely fill all the space in the room, and it feels like they are all looking down on me… but they don’t have eyes.  Their shapes remind me of a person wearing a cloak.  My body fills with a panic, and I try to yell for help.

My younger brother comes into my room, from his, next door; and he proceeds to try and get me to wake up.  I can’t wake up. I am not even aware that he is there.  He goes and get’s my parents, and they also struggle to snap me out of it.  It takes a while.  When I finally come to, I am shocked to see my three family members in there, looking distraught.

For years I would ask people if they knew  of the shadow people.  No one I knew had experienced anything like that.  I didn’t start finding stories from others about this phenomenon until about 2006.  Now you can easily search the web for the topic of shadow people, and how others have experienced their presence.

This was my only contact with the shadow people.  Some people only experience one shadow person… I had a whole room full of them.



The Day I Probably Should Have Died

or Did Deja Vu Save Me?


The summer between my sophomore and junior year, I was life guarding at Municipal Pool and Sloans Lake.  Occasionally I would be sent over to Johnson Pool, if they were short on guards.

On such a day, I was sitting at a red stop light on Lincolnway, in the turn lane to get on the overpass to head to the south side.  I was on the inside turning lane behind a Napa Auto Parts delivery truck.  As the light turned green, I made a quick look behind me and shifted into the outside turning lane. (Knowing the rules of the road, I knew that I shouldn’t be doing this, but I was hit with the feeling that I had to do it.)

The rolling door on the back of the Napa truck was open, and just as I switched lanes a huge rolling dolly came flying out the back end of the truck.  It would have flown through the drivers side window, had I not taken that lane change.


My Jesus Moment

In the fall of 1999 I was attending a private Christian College in Kansas.  I was feeling kind of boxed in with the rules, and I wanted some adventure.  One of my new friends and I decided to stay in Kansas City, Missouri for my birthday weekend.

I was not disappointed with the adventure, the whole trip provided some unexpected turns; most notable was my Jesus Moment.

Being from a small town, and living rural most of my life to this point; I was unaware of the plight of homeless veterans.  We were two freshmen in college, looking for a place for the under 21 crowd to dance.  No such thing was available on a Friday night.  The streets were busy with bar hoppers, and clubbers, and the homeless.

As my friend and I wandered around, looking for something to do, we saw some college age guys harassing two homeless vets begging for change.  They had a ball cap upside down on the sidewalk where people would throw them change.  One of the harassers, kicks the ball cap into the road and the coins go rolling in every direction into traffic.

One of the homeless men looks defeated as he gets up to dodge cars and retrieve the coinage.  I am appalled by these college kids surrounding me, and I snap.

I feel an overwhelming calmness come over to me as I walk up to a vendors window called “By The Slice”.   A young man named Jude is taking orders at the window.  I say to him,  “I’d like two large pizzas.”  Jude says, “I’m sorry, we only sell pizza by the slice.”  So I say I need two large pizzas  worth of slices.”   I spent over $80.00 in pizza and a large Mt. Dew.

I returned to the two men who had their change kicked around, and I asked if they were hungry.  They looked afraid, like I was taunting them.  I say “Here, have some pizza, I got it for you.”  One man shyly opens a box, and pulls out one slice, and hands it to the man next to him.  “I say you can take more, I got it for you.”   The man in front of me, begins to get tears in his eyes.. and he says “Are you mad at me?”  And at this moment, I don’t even feel like I have control over myself, but my eyes tear up as well, and I say very honestly “No, I am not mad at you; I love you.”

On that trip, I felt very imbibed in the spiritual nature of who ever we think Jesus to be.  That I was over taken in that spirit in that moment, and it was pure and beautiful.



The earliest premonition I remember having was a dream that I had at 3 years old, that the Wicked Witch of West was trying to kill my mother.  My mother died less than a year later of Ovarian Cancer.

The second premonition I remember, was around 8 or 9 years old; I told my parents “someday, I will be able to travel all over the world, because I will have friends there.”  How real that is now that we live in a digitally connected world.

Around the same age I was obsessed with the idea of mind over matter.  I knew at a young age that the secrets of illness and healing had a lot to do with our mental states.  This has later been confirmed in neuroscience and quantum physics.

In Elementary school, I had to wear glasses and a retainer.  I had premonitory dreams about breaking them both at various times.  I remember getting mad at myself, because I knew better.  I knew the manner in which the object would get broken, and how ultimately it was my irresponsibility that would lead to their destruction.

In high school, I wrote A LOT of poetry.  I would just free write, go with one line and not think about it.  Many times I would read back my writing and it wouldn’t feel relative to my own experience.  Often those poems were picked up by a friend who needed it in the moment.  The writing was for them, not for myself.

In my adulthood, I have had premonitory dreams about the death of my brother, grandfather, and aunt.  As well as knowing my sister was pregnant with my first niece.

I also have a keen connection to weather.  I know exactly when to travel when weather is imminent.  I listen to my gut, when it says ” take this road.”


Strangers From NoWhere

Have you ever had a stranger, pop out of nowhere to tell you something you needed to hear at the moment?  I have.

I was in my early 30’s, I was having a bummed out day.  All of my friends were busy, and I was feeling artistically defeated.  I was walking around downtown Corvallis with my dog; wandering up and down the silent alleyways when we popped out at a main intersecting road.  Just as we come to the outlet, this dark haired lady walks by.  I had never seen her before.

She stops in her tracks and looks directly at me.  There is no one else around on the street.  She says, “Don’t stop painting.  I know you are feeling down about it right now, but don’t stop.  You don’t know who it’s going to help yet.”

I felt the emotion rise in me.  “Thank you.” I say, and she continues to walk south down the sidewalk.  I turn to walk north, and think “Who was that?  I should get her name.”  So my dog and I turn around and I run down the street looking for her, but she vanished.

In my mid-twenties a similar thing happened while working at a coffee shop in the high altitude of Nederland, CO.  It was early morning, and I was bantering with my friend who was our baker.  I said “You know what I was thinkin’, if you had an appointment or a job down the canyon, and you didn’t feel like going in, you could just call them and tell them you have a bear asleep on your porch, and you feel it’s better not to leave right now.”

And we laughed at that.

We had one patron in the shop, who wasn’t a regular.  He was a black man who had a large stature, and he was dressed very differently then most of the black men you see in the mountains.

He excuses himself from involving himself into our conversation to ask ” Are bears a big problem up here?”

“I mean, they can be, if you leave your trash or food out.  We get some that wander into town, but it’s not usually a big deal.  Why do you ask?”

He says, ” Well, I have been trying to get some creative work done, and I live in Denver.  And it’s too busy out there, so I prayed, and I heard  ‘go to Nederland.’  I didn’t even know this place existed, but I looked it up, and saw that I could get up here by bus.  And on the front page of your town website it was all about bears.  Ya see, I am from Florida, and I ain’t been to the woods since I was like twelve.  Last time I went to the woods I was chased by an alligator.  So, you see when I came up here I made sure to wear my running shoes.  I thought ya’ll might have bears at your bus stop.”

My friend and I are cracking up.  I tell him I want to hear more about how he prayed and it led him up here, so he ends up hanging out until I get off of work, and we go have a chat.

He tells me that he speaks with God, and God leads him, and he is there to see me today.  He says he needs me to know that I am a “Spiritual Mayor of the Rocky Mountains.”  I tell him that I find that idea interesting because I tend to be either the first person new comers talk to, or the last person they talk to on their way out.

We spent a few hours sharing our own strange experiences with each other, and that was it.  We didn’t communicate again after that.


What Are The Chances?

I think people from Wyoming, are inherently attracted to each other when they are outside of Wyoming.

Wyoming boasts of being the least populated state in the US, with just under 600,000.  Cheyenne, at the time of my graduation in 1999, was around 50,000.

In 2000, I went to a massive rave at Candlestick park in Oakland.  The estimated amount of attendees was roughly 40,000.  In the first couple of hours, I found one guy named Orlando, from Wyoming.  I thought the statistical odds of that happening were pretty slim.

Wyomingites, are kind and friendly people, in my experience.

In 2006, while visiting friends in Oregon, my car had some radiator issues, and I was leaking coolant all over.  Due to parking limits in down town Bend, I had to move my car every couple of hours, but I was trying to limit how much I was driving so that I didn’t drain the radiator.

I pulled into a parking spot near a candy shop, and a couple stood on the sidewalk in front of my car.  When I exited the car, the man excitedly unzipped his jacket to expose a University of Wyoming Ladies Basket ball shirt.  He had noticed my Wyoming license plate, and he and his wife were excited to connect to familiar relation.

We get to chatting, and they wonder what I am doing in Bend.  I tell them that I use to live here and I am back to see friends and get some tings I had in storage, but that I was having some unexpected car trouble.

These people made a few phone calls to people they knew in the area and set me up an appointment with a mechanic.  I was so moved, I asked “Why are you doing this for me?”  Their answer, “You remind us a lot of our daughter.  She is wild and nomadic like you.  We would hope that if she was in a similar situation that someone would help her out. And besides, we are all from Wyoming, we look out for our own.”

This was just another case of statistical improbability in my mind.  Out of all the spaces I could  park in, out of all the people out on the street that day; that I would be met with such connection and kindness based off of a location we both shared.  Strange, but beautifully true.


A Loose Conclusion

These are just a few shortened stories of my life.  Some people do not believe in magic, or energetic connection, or the paranormal.  Perhaps that is why they don’t experience it.  I do believe in phenomenon and I find it curious.  These experiences are precious to me as they connect me with life and death and everything in between.

I would encourage you to examine some of the weirder stuff you  may have experienced over your life.  You might see a silent hand in there, stirring the energetic pot of your existence.













Hoping The Message Isn’t Buried in Layers of Fat; or My Fear of My Meat Suit

People ask if I was nervous to give my TEDx talk.  I answered “no.”  Which I suppose was only partially true.  I wasn’t worried about speaking in front of people. I wasn’t worried about my message.  I was worried as hell, about my ridiculous weight gain over the past five years.

I have always struggled with dysmorphia.  Wikipedia says this about it; “Body dysmorphic disorder (BDD) is a mental disorder characterized by an obsessive preoccupation that some aspect of one’s own appearance is severely flawed and warrants exceptional measures to hide or fix it.[1] In BDD’s delusional variant, the flaw is imagined.[2] If the flaw is actual, its importance is severely exaggerated.[2] Either way, one’s thoughts about it are pervasive and intrusive, occupying up to several hours a day.”

I don’t believe this to be a mental disorder, of my own accord.

Even when I was a strong and muscular child, I endured the taunting of “being fat and ugly.”  I was taller than many of my peers, and larger in body structure.  I was healthy, I was some what athletic as a swimmer.

I use to wear a one piece racing suit, almost everyday as a life guard.  I still felt fat.  Clothed or not, I was constantly comparing myself to the females around me.  Even then, I didn’t see myself as I actually was.  It wasn’t until decades later, through photographs, that I realize I was spinning with worry over nothing real.  But those words from others, seemed real.

There was nothing wrong with me.  But now, when I compare myself to that person… I feel, “I have let myself go.”  I feel gross, yet I no longer have people telling me I am fat.  When I see pictures of my current self, it’s all I see.  I have conditioned myself to fixate on that one thing.

When my talk goes live, online… I put myself out there to the wolves in the comment section.  I put myself out there for friends to critique my physic, whether vocally or mentally; and that scares me shitless.

When I had a youtube channel, I looked hot.  I got off on seeing how my farm living lifestyle changed my body for the better.  I was far more confident showing it off.  I don’t look like the same person today.

That is what scares me, most of all.  That my message will get lost in my layers of fat.  That I will re-attract those people who live off of taunting others for fun.  That some random people I don’t even know are going to cruelly judge me.

Despite my self knowing, that this sedentary lifestyle is temporary.  Fat doesn’t have to be forever… at the moment, it’s hard to face myself in the mirror.  Despite all that I have triumphed, my own body is no longer on that list.  It’s scary to know I have so much work ahead of myself.  And I admit, it is SO hard to do alone.  I want someone to hold my hand through it, every step of the way, because I have a really hard time self motivating out of the dysmorphic mind set.

I just want to get to a point where I spend less time obsessing about this meat suit.  I know that my body doesn’t represent the totality of who I am, or what I have to offer.  I believe if I could just stop worrying about it, that I could retrieve some of my lost energy and vitality.

I want to be adopted by someone who already has a solid routine that they can pull me into, because I admit to having a hard time doing that for myself, and in my current situation that aspect of change doesn’t have many support systems.

Sometimes, I think, after my grandma passes, that I am going to have to fully immerse myself again in a lifestyle that requires a lot of physical movement, because that is what works for me.  I don’t enjoy conventional gyms… I would rather be hiking or throwing sheep, then standing in a stuffy gym full of mirrors, or waiting for a moment to do exercises prescribed by a youtube exercise guru.  It just doesn’t hold my interest.

I like exercise, that masquerades as “work” and “function.” I get shit done, and burn some lbs.  I wear myself out, I sleep better.  My tendency toward fresh foods becomes more noticeable.  People spend money, going to gyms; when just living an active lifestyle can give you similar results.  If your job is active, you actually get paid to help your own physic; which is awesome.

If there is one thing that I could manifest soon, it is some how some way, to get babied to some degree, into weight loss.  To be assisted in keeping up the motivation.  It is so much easier to agree to drinking beer, then it is to set up a schedule of walking partners…