Tag Archives: abandonment

insight, kittie cat, life, Writing

A Kittery Tale: PeanutBuddy Finds a Furever Home.

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The time has come for the kitteries to say goodbye to me and Momma.  Time to go into the great unknown that exists outside of my bedroom.   Time to bond and claim space in places that are not “here.”

PeanutBuddy, also referred to as “My Lil Lion” was my one solitary light colored kit in the brood.   He is strong, and sweet.  The minute the kitteries pics went up, people were most interested in him.  I went with my first friend showing interests with an intent to re-home them with people I know, or people who have been vetted by people I know.

This week I have really felt the need to cull the herd; Momma is getting irritated and they are growing at a rapid pace which makes a small room feel even smaller.  PeanutBuddy was the strongest and biggest and was making daily efforts to test his strength, endurance and agility on his poor tired Mommacat. Her irritation was palatable as she would attempt to shake him off or subdue him long enough to jump to unreachable heights.

At night, I wrangle the kits into an upside down laundry basket so that I can spend a night without being ambushed or having random objects drop from shelves.  This morning I noticed they had grown big enough to require more than one laundry basket, so it’s probably a good thing they like a nice cuddle puddle.

Last night I met with my friend and her mother, to come meet the kit and sent them  home with a pillow made of my decimated bed spread; fully engulfed in the clan scent.  I wanted to make sure their current cat was cool with it, and I want something familiar for him to go to in his new home.  Their current kitty slept the night on the pillow, and will hopefully share and accept Peanut once she recognizes Peanuts smell in there.

Before they came over I debriefed the kitteries about our visitors and their intentions and our future together.  I told them all that the people were specifically interested in PB.  Once my friend and her mother arrived the kits dynamic changed.  PB who is usually quite gregarious, hung back and acted skitterish.  Everyone else stepped to the forefront, which is rare for a couple of them.  They actively engaged in play while PB hid under the dresser, unsure of his future.  Toward the end of the hang out he emerged and gave socialization a go, his little heart pitter pattering with nerves.

After our guests left, I told them it wasn’t certain, but it was likely that PB would be going away tomorrow. I explained that it wasn’t my lack of love, it was simply not economical or fair, they need their space.  We all need our space and deserve it.  Lots of love was given, but I could feel another shift in the dynamic.  I would liken it to rebellion.

This morning, ( the day after) I was given confirmation that PeanutBuddy had a new home and that he would be leaving this afternoon. As soon as I told everyone what was up the rebellion kicked off.   Bites were harder, jumps were more pronounced and effective.  (While bending over in nothing but underwear one of them jumped straight on to my  ass in the most brutal of ways…. yeah, I jumped and yelped.)

Each time I would walk into my room the energy was different, usually everyone is cuddled in a mass but today, everyone was close together with PB sitting alone at the end of my dogs bedding. It felt like contemplation and the energy of his siblings was resentful.  They knew they were losing their leader.   Perhaps I am anthropomorphizing them, or perhaps spending almost thirteen weeks straight with these little critters from day one, means I am experiencing a very real dynamic that I have limited understanding and wording for, but this is what I can liken it to.

11:30 am rolled around and it would be soon that separation would occur.  I wanted us all to share one last cat nap together.  I forgot my phone, so I asked the cats to make sure I got up by 12:30.  At first it was a struggle, everyone was blaming me with what energy they had left and PB was the last to settle down but when he did, he cuddled under my chin on my neck and fell fast asleep while the rest of his crew laid in a puddle on my abdomen.  Momma laid down on the dresser, overlooking our pile of fur and humanity and we rested for an hour and I had to get up.

It was like curtain call in the theatre.  “Okay cats (cast), life will change very soon.  Make your peace and say your good-byes. We love you PeanutBuddy!”

A short while later I asked my grandma if she would like to say goodbye, and she said yes.  I brought him into the room and she became emotional.

“It feels like I am losing a friend.” She said.  I couldn’t help but agree, once upon a few months ago they were helpless little fur balls with an uncertain future… now they could probably instinctively kill a rodent and be surprised by the outcome… how far we can move so quickly.

Everyone said goodbye, even the dogs.  And I slipped that little tan critter in to a critter carrier; it was hard.  I am not a cat person, I am an animal person.   Sometimes I hate love, ya know… you always have to say goodbye and it’s rarely a relief.   My emotions are wrapped up in the fact that I saw life happen in front of my eyes.  I saw growth and development based on my influence.  I hope they all are just the best for their new homes but that doesn’t stop the emotion I am feeling.  I am not quite sure what to liken it to as a person who has never had children.    I guess I get the same feeling when I think about my dog, or any dog I have ever loved or has been loved by people I love, and that dog passing away.  I’m deeply saddened by the idea of the feeling of abandonment.

I want that kittery to know I didn’t “abandon him,” even though it feels like I did.  Will he care once he is integrated and spoiled in his new home… probably not, but I don’t know for sure and that is why they call it anthropomorphism.  We put human attributes on animals, I don’t know if they felinopomorph, and think any one human is more or less cat-tributed behavior or personality.   I know my relationship with Quantum is significantly different now than it was when she came to me in November, and we have yet to see how that will pan out  once she regains her space and freedom.  (This bitch needs a snip-snip if you know what I mean, before she can explore the outdoors again.)

I just take it day to day, ya know?  Really it’s all I can do.

Art, insight, Writing

When Words Signal the End

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When suffering from depression, or mental illness; it can be very hard to live in domestic partnerships.  This is especially true, when the partner of the sufferer, has no interest in gaining coping skills to off set some of the dramatic emotional upheavals that are bound to occur.

We don’t plan our depressions; it can take years and years of self awareness to pin point all the potential triggers, as often times they tend to be more subconscious programs.  Dates, places, and phrases can, and often times, will set off a new bout of despair.

When the despair hits, it leads to an overwhelming feeling of being misunderstood, and alienated.  These feelings amplify self criticism; making the already annoying self critical response clock in off the charts.  A pervasive weight of ” I can do nothing right.” and “It’s all my fault.”

The thoughts and feelings that you may have had on “good days” now are second guessed and reduced to illusion.  That voice of illusion, says “No one really loves you.  No one ever will.”

It’s hard not to feel crazy when logic and emotion collide in the confusion of depression.

This is a piece I wrote while in a domestic partnership, that led me to spending a night in jail for domestic violence.  I started attending drug, alcohol, and domestic abuse classes for court.

Many times through the 7 months that I attended, I asked my partner to come with me; as I felt they were sharing a lot of useful information.  I also thought it would put  us on the same page, so that we could move forward, together.

However, he was not interested in those classes; which said to me, he didn’t really care about Us.  It broke my heart, and inevitably we split up.  For years, I wondered, “what if?  What if he was invested in my desire to get better? ”

I have since had to move on from that, and accept where I am, and who I am today.  I know that not just any one can handle the unforeseen upsets of the future.  It will require strength, patience, and cooperation.

When Words Signal the End.

This frustration builds. This love, a lie. And I am burning for more than this disappointment.

I am yearning for more than this fear of abandonment.

Alone with these thoughts and feeling, despite the activity around me; this soul is closed. All the doors are closed.

We can’t communicate. You say my reality isn’t valid.

It really isn’t yours to judge, but you do; constantly.

You blame me for being some fucked up artist.

It isn’t that, at all.

Can’t you see, sometimes we are both wrong.

No. You control. You blame. Nothing changes.

You bribe the master, waiving possibilities in my face. Nothing is ever manifest; it finds itself as watered down truths, dripping lies from your lips.

I am down, because you keep me there.

I am mad, because you show you care, in the most fucked up ways.

Days later, you apologize; so we keep riding the storm.

Love borne Hate. Emancipation is evident. All of this too late.

I am debating my hate; trying to hold my love, but I am drowning.

It’s astounding to watch from the wings, as I take swings at your face.

Wasting time, like it’s easy to buy; when really it’s hard to replace.

I want for you to show me something real; but the wheel of life turns and this heart burns with heartache.

Love is a dish best served cold, old and mouldy upon a paper plate. Swarming with fly larvae,

It isn’t tangible; it causes vertigo as my brain starts to go south.

My mouth a cesspool of verbs and curving words; they slice like a knife, through this paper flesh.

Should I regret this venture?

It’s too late, this path paved with good intentions, gone awry.

The repetitive question; Why, why, why me?

Why this mess? Why?

I confess; I am the mess. I am the beast with talon feet. I am the rage and the endless sadness. The builder of madness and tears that never seem to dry.

I try, but you call me the catalyst… The baddest bitch, you know.

Blow by blow your words knock me down, and add to the scowling.

Sweet inner child caught in the frowning, forgetting recollections; the brief reflections of innocence.

I am just an artist, with nothing to show; but a hole in my head where I’ve let these words go.

Writing

The Abyss of the Mind

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I started writing this for Mental Health day in May, however in the depths of my doldrums, words were hard to capture.  Recently I have had some conversations with friends of mine, who are also in the midst of depressive episodes in their lives, for various reasons.  And in knowing that, I feel less alone; their vulnerability and willingness  to talk about it has strengthened our friendships while broadening my perceptions of what it is that we are experiencing.

If you or someone you know is suffering from depression, please feel free to reach out to me.  I would like to create a public dialog about these experiences and offer emotional support.  Many people going through  depression have a hard time talking about it, and often expend much of their energy trying to pretend that they are okay.  Some of us are very good at hiding how much internal turmoil we are actually facing.  Please feel free to comment and share your story and if you have found any healthy coping mechanisms that have given you some relief.  If you are feeling suicidal please find help, or  call The National Suicide Prevention Line at 1-800-273-8255, which can connect you to local resources.

It’s lonely on the inside looking out at all the smiling faces, lingering in places of joy. And in this solemn slumber I am left to wonder why it seems so easy for others to get on emotionally in positivity. Wonder what it is about me that feels so lost and out of love, despite the deep set knowing that my life is nothing but good.

See, I am not struggling from hunger, or left out in the cold to wonder where I will sleep; in fact my life feels pretty safe and secure, but this obscure stranger lurks there. This shadow that doesn’t seem to care much for my better welfare. It clouds my good ideas, and glosses over memories, twisting how I perceive the past, present and future. And that is no way to live.

In my darkest hours I have sat in contemplation at the meaningless anticipation that slowly burns inside me, for a day I have yet to see, one where I will be free of this depressive malady. Melancholy has been my mantra for too long, it’s the silently sung anthem of my attitude as of late.

And it doesn’t suit me very well. Some days it’s hell trying to smile and pretend that this mental pressure isn’t there, and that I have no cares in the world. It’s been the discussion at the tip of my tongue for too long, and suppression has started swelling, and it’s going to bust through it’s shell of deception.

Deniable, the Debbie Downer, no one wants to invite her to the party where she will largely bring others down. And despite it all I know my own ability to raise the vibration but lately it’s hard to rise to the occasion as I sit in this procrasterbationary cycle.

There is a roadblock in my view, and it skews my ability to see where my path leads, and what it means to me. I feel that at 34 I should have made more progress instead of this arrested development. There is massive pressure in the potential, and I level myself by staying away from making too many decisions. Each task of the day leaves me in wanting, each choice to make more over baring than the last.

In this depression, I want to be taken care of . I don’t want to care for others, and yet that is an unavoidable reality. There is no one to swaddle me, and hold me silently, for a moment of peace and feeling connection.

And isn’t that exactly what depression is? A feeling of isolation so pervasive that it effects one down to their core. It feels incredibly unreliable. I try to put words to it, but I find it unexplainable. I know it’s a type of depression that drugs will not fix, and therapy is no match for; realizing I just want more connection, but I can’t seem to move forward and make that happen. Feet bound in concrete, frozen from make a move toward any one direction. My synapsis on some sort of delay. Thinking today is the day, still nothing happens and I find myself waiting on tomorrow.

Education is my distraction. Information is my drug. And the more I learn about the world, the more I feel torn between throwing myself headlong into humanity; and hiding out away from reality. The push-me-pull-you of a person with sensitive strength, confused on how to assert her existence within this existence. Missed opportunities because nothing seems to light my fire. The foundation of excuses.

The fuel of my youth; a desire to be seen as acceptably intelligent, bound for successes undreamed of yet,  if only I could leave the small perimeter of my home. When I finally left, I felt I was on some sort of path, but with each pursuit I would follow, there was still a hollow in my heart; a dissonance with my purpose.

Materialism didn’t suit me, so some may see me as living life like a vagabond. The only purpose I’ve held onto, is the service of humanity… but where is the service to me? I swim in a sea of information, I drown on all the options, cast out into the depths of indecision.

I can’t seem to find a conclusion, on what actually TO DO. And in this place, I miss experiences of love, laughter and adventure. Three things I adore. Somehow I always answer “no.”

“Yes” is it’s own foreign language, I can’t wrap my mouth around it.

My heart wants to know this foreign language, but my mind won’t record it.

No regrets, but I bet if I knew then, what I know now, maybe I wouldn’t feel this depression like an extremity. An extension of me I can’t seem to detach. Feeling like I know too much; I see too much, I feel too much. Overwhelmed and shut down.  Emotionally paralyzed; my body can’t metabolize all this stimulation that bombards me in silence. A personal crisis, I tell myself will not last forever. Nothing lasts forever.

Fit Body Boot Camp

Fit Body Boot Camp~ Week 8- Meet your Trainer, Ashley

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The consistency and energy of our trainers at FBBC Cheyenne, is one of the reasons Fitters truely enjoy, and look forward to the grueling half hour we spend getting our asses in shape. One of the biggest draw backs of going to any old gym, is the lack of personality and connection one feels when going to work out. Out of shape gym newbies, can feel put off by the need to self motivate in a guideless envioronment. There is also a higher risk of injury for newbies who may not be educated on how the equipment should be properly handled.

Fit Body and it’s Trainers are aware of these issues, and when you step through the doors of their gym, you will immediately notice a difference between a “normal” gym, and boot camp. Firstly, FBBC, is primarily women! Yes! Women of all shapes, sizes and ages, socioeconomic back grounds and cultural blending. Secondly, men do boot camp too! Not as many as you see at a “normal” gym, and in fact, most of them are married to another boot camper, so there is never that letcherous feeling you may get at other gyms, with uncomfortable stares, and inappropriate comments.

Today, I was able to sit down and talk with Ashley Richards, one of the fantastic trainers at FBBC Cheyenne.

Ashley is like a contained ball of fire. At first, she can be quite unassuming at how much energy flies out of her when the class get’s going. I talked for a while with her about her fitness journey leading up to being a Fit Body Boot Camp trainer… Let me have the pleasure of introducing her to you; WORLD meet Ashley Richards!

STATS:

Name : Ashley Richards

Age: 29

Current measurements : Arms- 11 1/2 in.

Chest- 32 in

Waist- 26 1/2 in

Hips- 37 in

Thigh- 22 1/4 in

Total Body Fat- 19.8%

Height: 5’5″

Weight: 140 lbs

Weight at peak of unhealthy lifestyle : approx. 165lbs

Favorite Exercise: Dead Lifts, and Push Ups

Max-Out on Deadlift: 215 lbs (!!!!)

Ashley-May 2014
Ashley-May 2014

I don’t know about you, but when I look at Ashley, I see a strong, well porportioned woman, a woman who can easily exicute all exercises with a sense of finesse and ease. She makes everything look effortless; and for her, it is funny to think that just 7 or 8 years ago, she never would have dreamed of being a fitness trainer.

Ashley is a Cheyenne, Wyoming native and you may recognize her face from graduating from East High School. As a child, she participated in intermural sports, and she enjoyed the games of basket ball and volley ball. She even gave track a try, only to realize running is the worst sport out there.

When I asked Ashley about her diet growing up, she recollects that is wasn’t healthy; which plays heavily in to her mentality and current life style in tandem with her larger goals as a trainer. By the time Ashley had entered high school, she gave up sports, primarily due to the rather short shorts and revealing uniforms required by female High School sports participants. It would be almost a decade before Ashley’s attention would turn to physical fitness.

Anyone who has grown up in Cheyenne, will profess that there is little to do outside of school activities for the youth. Ashley was no exception, and since she was disinterested in school sponsored sports, she was on her own to find entertainment and fun. She readily admits to standard bored teenage behavior; parties, and lots of alcohol.

Ashley-July 2014
Ashley-July 2014

Ashley: I am pretty lucky. I probably should have died more than once from bad decisions.

Upon retrospect, she is thankful to be alive today, and fully conscious of some of her youthful, selfish decision making. Ashley realizes that she wouldn’t be where she is today, with out some of those mistakes.

Flash foward to around 2008. Ashley meets the man of her dreams, who happens to also be a former State Wrestler, football player and currently certified gym rat. Billy grew up in Hulett, Wyoming, and didn’t leave his athletesism behind after graduation. So, like any strange new date and the way relationships go, Billy took Ashley to the gym to work out with him.

Me: So what did you think of the gym, when he took you to work out?

Ashley: I was like, “why are you doing this? What is the point?”

This would be the beginning of two love affairs, one that would lead to marriage, and the other, a complete life style over haul.

Ashley: I started taking classes like Zumba, and Hot Yoga, a few times, but I didn’t like them; so I quit, and tried something else. I was going to a women’s gym, and I had the same mentalities as most people who start working out, ” I’m working out, I can eat whatever I want.”

Ashley- December 2014
Ashley- December 2014

Me: So was there any focus or teaching about nutrition at the women’s gym?

Ashley: No. Not unless you paid for a personal trainer. I later found out that the trainer at (the womens) gym, had only gone through, like an 8 hour weekend training certification in Colorado over a weekend. That disturbed me.

Me: So how did you come to Fit Body?

Ashley: I saw it on Facebook, and I was working for the County, and one of the girls I worked with was also interested in checking it out. We came to a class during lunch, and I the first day I tried it I freakin’ loved it. I freakin’ loved it! So I signed up. But my sincere fitness journey, didn’t start until about a year and a half ago.

Ashley started training part time, while holding down three other jobs. She credits Owner and Operator of Fit Body Boot Camp, Cheyenne, Sara Goossen, to be her biggest inspiration and influence.

Ashely: I learn from Sara, I watch Sara, I grow from Sara. She is the reason I do, what I do. Had it not been for her, I wouldn’t be where I am at.

Ashley-January 2015
Ashley-January 2015

With Ashley’s new found determination, she jumped head first into getting her certifications to train. She is currently certified through the International Sports Science Association; the Center of Health and Fitness. Ashley has studied nutrition and training, while keeping up with her continuing education credits and is working on becoming versed in Strength Training for Kids.

Me: Where would you like to see this (training) go?

Ashley: I want to see kids get healthier. I hate seeing obese kids. I think kids deserve a chance, ya know? I grew up, eating crap; I grew up not knowing anything about working out. I played sports, but it wasn’t teaching me anything I would take with me.

Me: So what is your vision?

Ashley: I just want more classes. I want it to be something that is “us” at Fitbody. I don’t want to take it out on my own. And why? Because I feel almost like I owe the payback. I want to pay it forward. I feel like, if we can do it through Fit Body, then it’s more like “Fit Families;” Mom’s and Dad’s and kids, you know, that would just be better… becoming something ‘more’ than we already are, and incorporate what we already have into something bigger.

Me: So like a 4:30 kids class upstairs, that would be cool.

Ashley: Yeah, something like that, or just to start out, a summer program. As it grows we would have to grow with it, but to start from there, we (would do the summer program and) see where it goes.

No interview about fitness would be complete with out hearing about the struggles a person faces in making such a drastic life style change; especially when the person is interested in helping others change their lives as well. Empathy and comisseration are part of the job, and Ashley is no stranger to personal struggle.

Me: So what would you say, has been your biggest struggle in this journey?

Ashley: The goddamn eating! (laughter)

Me: Keeping up with your nutrition?

Ashley: Yes! Like I tell everybody, our bodies are our grown up science fair project. And we all work so different. What may work for me, isn’t going to work for everybody. What works for you, may not work for me. That has been my biggest struggle, figuring out how my body wants to be fed, not the way some one else wants to feed my body.

Me: Are you finding balance with that?

Ashley: Yes. I piece together my program from all the things I have tried, and what has worked for me.

Me: Where do you feel your greatest advances have come through this.

Ashley: My biggest advance, is that even on a bad day I love myself more now, than I ever have. I have been through a lot of stuff in my childhood, as has everyone. It’s the love for myself. I couldn’t be happier. Of course there are those things you nit pick about yourself, but I think at some point, it is better to embrace what you have, and love what you have been given. To Love YOURSELF! If you don’t love yourself, how are you going to love anyone else? Another struggle I have is practicing what I preach. We preach so much as trainers, sometimes we forget to practice what we preach. Who are we to give advice if we can’t take our own advice.

Ashley- February 2015
Ashley- February 2015

Though Ashley has only been a trainer for a relatively short time, she is obviously dedicated to it. She has had to make some comprimises and adjustments to her life, to embody this as not only a life style, but a carreer path; and she isn’t looking back. Her desire to impact families in this community is inspiring, and I wish her well with the task of building interest and participation.

If you attend Fit Body Boot Camp in Cheyenne, and/or you have kids, make sure to express interest in seeing a summer kids program. The more interest shown, the more potential of getting the program up and running, sooner than later.

If you don’t attend Fit Body Boot Camp- Cheyenne, but you would like to see what we do here; contact Sara Goossen or Tristen Williams at (307) 421-7387, or on FaceBook at Fit Body Boot Camp Cheyenne. Set up a consult, come do a class, and make that life style change you have been thinking about.

If you would like to read more about my first hand experience with Fit Body, you can check out my past blogs here.

Fit Body Boot Camp

Fit Body Boot Camp: Week Two, Day Three (90% of Failure, is lack of support)

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Yesterday I touched on the subject, that motivation is easier to grasp when there is support along the way.  Life style shifts are more smooth with like minded individuals.

Later I happened upon an article posted to one of my friends pages, The Likely Cause of Addiction.

Rarely do I read such a lengthy article, and agree with the whole thing, while simultaneously changing my beliefs and admitting I have been doing things wrong.

Johann Hari uses this article to explore that “.. the opposite of addiction is not sobriety. It is human connection. ”

Our Culture has a distorted view on what addiction is, and sometimes it can seem that what is “repetitive” or “habitual” is actually classified to be addictive behavior.

In our current culture, addiction is mutually exclusive and associated to “unhealthy behavior.”

As Johann Hari had his own reasons to explore the truths behind addiction, I was enthralled at how he was able to empathetically articulate the single reason which leads to addictive behavior; environmental loneliness.  Lack of support.

He mentions a study on rats.  Rats that lived in healthy social environments chose not to ingest drug laced water, where as isolated rats chose to spend much of their time intoxicated; however when the sad isolated rat was returned to the healthy social environment, the rats avoided the laced water.

Additionally Hari mentions that 95% of opiate addicted Vietnam vets, were able to return to America and live productive lives, drug free with out rehab.

He poses the hypothesis that when people feel happy, supported and safe, they have no need to externally stimulate their opiate receptors, which inherently block pain… emotional or physical.

The propaganda and programming we have toward addicts, is that they need to be isolated, and cut off, until they can “get their shit in order.”  And by the hypothesis of Hari, this leads to counter productive results, and actually enables an addict to continue their use, in order to avoid facing their isolation.

Our outdated views on addiction, do not take into (enough) account how unique each individual is, in their own chemistry and motivating life experience.

This begs to ask the question, is there such a thing as a “healthy” addiction?

Take for instance endorphins.  Also known as endogenous morphine, which actually means “morphine like substance, naturally released within the body.”  We all have opiate receptors in our brain, and things like sex, running, chocolate and extreme physical exertion can cause a natural flood of endorphins in to the blood and brain.

If you have ever heard of “runners high,” it is the point where the body becomes so infused with endorphins that  begins to  feel damn near invincible.  The habit of running and naturally releasing the “feel good” hormone can become addicting; yet have you ever heard of Runners Anonymous?  You never hear about runners needing to go to support groups for running too much.

Groups of runners are actually quite supportive of one another, regardless of level.

Addictions are often micro analyzed from the aspect of external introduction of chemicals, however it appears addiction has more to do with an individuals own chemistry and environment mixed with repetitive behavior, than it does with drugs.

Ask yourself this;  Do you pick at your face in the mirror while talking shit to yourself?

Do you constantly self deprecate?

Do you cut yourself?

Do you compulsively gamble?

Do you binge and then purge?

Do you eat to console yourself?

Do you throw up after you eat?

Do you bite your finger nails, or click a pen?

This, along with a bunch of other drugless activities can be seen as addictive, depending on the individual (to others it could just be seen as annoying or burdensome.)

Depending on the individual, each of these activities can be soothing, and depending on how it all came about, can stimulate the brain to release endorphins.  Numbing and soothing the “addict.”

Endorphins are not mutually exclusive to positive triggers.  Endorphins are also released in when the brain when we take risks or go into “fight or flight mode.”

It can almost be deduced that all of us suffer from one addiction or another; if we do anything repetitively and find it comforting or get high from it.  It is the brains response to seeking balance and to avoid pain.

And while, those of us who are struggling to get in shape, may not consider our previous stagnant lifestyles as “addictions;” there is something to say about the levels of our own hormones and chemistry which can mirror addiction which led to being unhappy with the self.  This is how couch potatoes become athletes… they find a new way to trigger natural  stimulation, that is easily attained.  The perception pain shifts, and physical aches become worth the natural chemical rush.

If you find yourself, unhappy with your current state of things, and filling the void or blocking the pain; I encourage you to find a supportive activity to get those  healthy triggered endorphins running through you.  Start viewing your own body as a natural pharmacy that can be adapt genic.

Realize if you are being drawn to dissociative behaviors, something needs to change in your life, because that behavior is born from a lack of feeling supported and uncomfortable in your environment.  Lucky for you, change always comes from within, and this may be just the reminder you needed…You CAN do this

Can you become addicted to hating on yourself?  Yes, you can, especially if you live an unsupported lifestyle.  Does it have to be permanent?  No.  You just have to find the courage to take the first step.

insight

It’s okay to say “Shit Sucks.”

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I hate my life  right now. I hate it.

I know all the “new age philosophies;” I have even shared them. But no matter how much you think you know; can prepare you for unavoidable sadness.

“Oh Crikey, Madge! Just turn that frown upside down! It’s all perspective! Change your view, and You change YOU!”

Fuck you. Fuck you all and your optimism directly directed at a situation you have NO clue about. Fuck you for telling me that I shouldn’t hate it… or maybe I should work on myself before I try to work on others; or maybe even “everything seems worse when you are in it.”

Fuck you.

I am well aware of this temporary situation. And I hate it. I hate that it adds so much pain to my already bucket full of painful life experience.

My life has been an ongoing struggle of appeasing my child self with my adult self. Imagine having that issue of a brain malady that makes you forget on a daily basis; what happened yesterday. And then having to daily settle yourself with an abrupt realization, day in, and day out. Yeah like that Sandler/Barrymore movie.

Only instead, the story is of a broken grandchild, whose best child hood days happened at Gram and Gramps, thirty years ago; and Gramps is gone and Grams is loosing her beans.

I walk away from all kinds of stuff; but I can’t walk away from this.

My Gram WANTS ME, NEEDS ME, RECOGNIZES ME, asks about ME and my welfare.

She has lost so much in the last three years, and her mind is starting to go; but me, despite my lackluster attitude, IS there. And I don’t want to leave someone who is losing their mind and seeks me out (despite all my flaws); I don’t want to erase yet another one of her external hard drives of relation and information.

It feels like she literally survives off the recognition of what she shares with those she has most relation with.

When I was younger, and in my more, “immortal potential” mindset; I wished and hoped my grandma would make it to the point we could de-age her, and then she could be my best friend forever. Now she wonders on a daily basis if I hate her.

I don’t hate her. I love her so much, that I hate everything about her life at the present point in time.

I hate that my uncle and I are the only ones who see her daily. I hate that no one else seems to care, because they have “their own life.” I hate how other family members can pick and choose what to do in their life, because it matters to them; and they say she matters but they never make the time, soa visit here is never on the list of “things to do,” unless things look grim.

I hate that I feel so alone in all this. I hate that I don’t have a partner or a best friends to occassionally laugh with and let sleeping dogs lie when the hour gets late enough.

I hate that I am doing this partly so my uncle can still enjoy his life, because I think he deserves that, and this job is really big, and he spent so much time with my grandpa in a care facility. I just don’t think he should have to do that twice. I also don’t think he should do it alone (because like me, he is unattached and creative.)

I hate that everyone involved has their best memories as a family, together. And that familytogether no longer exists, and is literally in it’s final throws of existence.

I hate that there is nothing I can do, to stop the process; or turn back the clock.
And worst yet. I hate seeing;experiencing and knowing all this, while still feeling completely incapable of remedy.

I hate my life.

I love my grandma.

My stupid “new age subscription” would tell me to leave, because it doesn’t suit me… but that belief would not be asking my grandma what she wants. And fuck all, she wants me here because she has always adored me. And the feeling is mutual.

Maybe I am just doing what my mother would have done have she not died at 26.  Who knows.

I do know I haven’t been able to commit to anyone in my life, but for some reason I have commited to this, and it hurts, and I hate it.

Everyday I am on the brink of crying, and I hold it back. And someday, sometime down the road those flood gates aren’t going to be able to take much more. I fuckin hate that too.

I am not a martyr. In fact, I am the biggest bitch of self I have ever seen… because there is no book to read that can fully equip someone for this. And those that do exist, will break “new age” programs right away.

Remember how we were taught to tell the truth? With people who have dementia, it is encourages to NOT tell the truth about certain things. I suck at this because I lost my censor years ago, and like I said, my grandma has been one of my best friends.

I don’t lie, much less to my best friends. In fact, sometimes I really upset them by telling the truth. This is now a daily occurrence with just pone person.

What the fuck?  My child self just can’t believe it.  Her mantra, is “this can’t even be real right now.”

I feel like I can’t do anything right. And I don’t think it is me, being too hard on myself. I think it is me being REALISTIC about my flaws and attractions. I understand that I do the best I can, but it is never enough; solely based on the fact that this sadness seems irrational because I have learn to justify past experience. And knowing I could do more, but not having the energy is purely self defeating.

All in all, I have not truly learned to “clear it” and move on. But “clearing” is a new age thing too… and maybe there are some things that we CAN NOT clear; we just have to accept as building blocks to our personalities.

I don’t want to “clear this and move on.” I want to face it, reconcile it; and use it for the betterment of my soul. High hopes for a soul that feels so dark.

I don’t talk about this stuff, because IT SUCKS! No one wants to hear this. I want to share some sort of triumph and add inspiration to the world. This feels fruitless; but you! You creative people may find some inspiration for humanity in reading this. You may feel some spark of recognition in the feeling. If you do, follow it. The world can always use positive inspiration even if it comes from the pain of others. We are all artists, and sometimes those who don’t create enough, need to fill space for those who have lost their inspiration to create.

It’s been like that now for 3 years and today is one of those days.

insight

Where is the sacred trust?

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Let me be honest.  (HA! Like I am not giving forth such honest thoughts each time I publically publish… and also  secretly script…)

I am experiencing death on new levels that bring such uncomforting; they become almost unexplainable.

No one wants to openly talk about this… so I think alone, about it… and it tears me up.

I feel left alone in so much emotional turmoil and question,  so much so that kind condolences mean nothing.

Maybe this is a simple “depression.”

But is depression ever simple… ?

I see within myself a sense of being, which does not resonate to my Higher Will.  Nor does it resonate with my positive productive being.  It is what I would call worry some.

This malady is partial Spiritual Crisis and partial sad bystander  complex.

Imagine you have 10 years of technology running on compatible programs; and each burns themselves out with no way to archive or save the data….

This is the human reality I am living.

I am like the new android tablet you got last year that held a certain amount of transferable data from your last android…. and everything  else is early windows on hard drive that is crashing…

I know what I am now, but what I come from has  spotty presence of research toward beginnings.

Perhaps all this is just a belated mourning.  But I feel like I am losing parts of myself to lost stories never told and redefinition means a new program, and I am resistant.

It is like Alzheimer’s by proxy, or imagination in over drive creating a melt down.

This is not good.  There is no easy remedy because there are too many questions and no room for submission.

Nature is the only remedy.

insight

Grasping for Beauty

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I made a mistake today.  I did something that I had purposefully been avoiding, knowing if I did it, it would make my head spin and send me out of control emotionally.  But I went ahead and did it anyway.

I weighed myself.

I didn’t really need to do it.  I can look at myself with or without a mirror, and tell with certainty, shit ain’t right.  But I did it anyway, as some sort of sick confirmation of my misery.

Over the last 3 years I have lived the most stagnant life I have ever had the privilege of living.  I take care of my 87 year old grandmother.  And though I love her dearly, my chosen obligation has absolutely derailed my previous life styles.

I spend 90 percent of my time at home within easy reach of my grandmother.  And the small luxuries of my previous lives that I have maintained are drinking heady beers, and eating amazing home cooked food.

My weight wouldn’t matter as much if those were not the only two little bliss factors in my life.

I am use to being quite social, active, and involved in mentally and physically engaging activities.  I am use to working hard, and playing hard, metabolizing both alcohol and experience.

Instead I have become well versed in Netflix, and drinking alone.  Not drinking to get drunk, mind you.  Drinking because I love beer.

Today is day 5 of not drinking.  My body is going through a disgusting skin detox.

I stood naked before my shower, looking in the mirror, muttering to myself, “I really shouldn’t weigh myself.  It is a bad idea.”

I responded by pulling the scale out of the cabinet. Stepping up, looking down.  Which led to crying.

I know that concepts of beauty are not entirely tied into how much a person weighs.  Beauty is a thing from within, that is sometimes  evident without.  I do not feel beautiful on either side of the coin.  I have been strategically hiding behind costumes in order to play a role of comfort and confidence.

I have seen myself be physically content with my body before, and it is the best feeling EVER!  Why?  Because it becomes one less thing to worry about on a day to day basis.  When I am happy with my physical appearance, I feel more capable of handing other aspects of living.  No one likes the girl who is constantly worried about how she looks because she doesn’t have the confidence to radiate.

Facing the truth of how my body has morphed over the last 3 years, happened about a month ago.  I stood to a challenge and went to an comedy open mic.  I recorded my set.  The set wasn’t bad at all, but  I couldn’t get over how my once toned arms, radiated white like big wings on a bird.  They seem huge.

I use to joke that women need great girl friends that will let them know when they start to get back fat.  I haven’t had any girl friends around lately to remind me of my appearance.  I mean what do I have to look good for when I am at home with an elderly lady 90% of the time?

The hardest part of all of this, is realizing that how I look and feel is a byproduct of me not being in the right place for me.  The situation has muddled my once sharp brain, into a reclusive and miserable person.  I don’t like it at all.  It is hard to radiate beauty when feeling so despondent and under inspired.

I am facing the fact, that the time is drawing near to leave.  I have to go.

I love my grandma with all of my heart, and I want to see her be safe and healthy, but at what cost?

I have cost my own health and well being to be with her in some respite.

People treat me like I am doing some sort of martyrdom in this experience.  But I do not feel like a martyr.  I feel that I haven’t done as well as I could or should have.  And that feeling isn’t getting any better. I wouldn’t be surprised if all this gain has something to do with the massive amounts of cortisol I am undoubtedly producing within my stagnant stress barrier.

I have become so stuck, I am not sure what direction to go to get out of it.  I just know I need to move, and shift, and stretch, and run far, far away from the anchor I have bound myself to.

I would love to spend a month with raw foodies, with active, patient lives.  I would like to take the time to reprogram my neuroplasticity into a vibe more along where my heart sings.

I feel inclined to run back to other versions of my past, while truly desiring to make something new and redefined for myself.  But I don’t know where to go, I don’t know who to ask.  And maybe I won’t, until I just get out of the parameter I have found myself choosing to be stuck inside.

I want to feel beauty, and beautiful.  I want to radiate more than I ever have before.  I want to make something happen, or be apart of what is happening.  A feeling that would be in juxtaposition of how the last three years have felt like, waiting.

I am too young to be waiting on death, and that is the place I have been.

I know I can’t wait on health and wellness to find me.  And I know I can’t wait for myself to just get over what I am feeling.

I know I need a change both inside and out.

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A letter to Illusive Divinity

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Dear Angels and Ascended Masters,

Blessings to YOU, Dear Ones, of Illusive Nature and yet Who speak to Us in metaphors about the Nature of Illusion.

NOW is the TIME when WE grow WEARY of Your Illusive Illusions of this Delusion We live in. 

NOW is the TIME when WE CALL TO YOU DIRECTLY, and ASK with great DESIRE and CONCERN to Speak, NOW, to Us in easily understood terminology.

We have been swayed by the loops and somewhat vague nature of your messages.  Each mind, interpreting each message in their own way. Each wondering if they have done enough… if they will make it into Heavens embrace, to see the face of the Creator.

The singular I that IS, has grown weary, time and time again.  These cycles of Ascension are tedious and at times very confusing.  It is in those moments, I need the most simple and clear answers in order to allay my own Mortal attitudes.

As these cycles continue in their intensity, I find myself void of such answers.  The Heavenly call to submit, and surrender, leaves me wondering if I am better off just laying in bed.  For that feels like surrender.  And yet in the same notes You can recommend we continue with our daily tasks in knowing the time is neigh.

I know, I do not speak of just the I that IS, when I bring attention to the many of Us who have felt an inability to start long term projects, and at times even finishing projects that were already started meant for the long term.  You have asked us to Live with two feet on Earth, and our heads in sights of Heaven.

Perhaps you are truly unaware of how uncomfortable this can be for many reasons.  However, it is, and it is disconcerting.  By no means, am I that IS, telling You how or when to do Your job, as that would just be silly… However I that IS, calls to you for less metaphor and more direct lines of communication.

I that IS, understands that You speak in a language of Love, and Compassion allowing Us to wander toward Our own conclusions.  And that is all in the cycle and movement of the soul.  However, the I that IS, is ready for her judgment, as She is tired of judging herself and others.  She IS anxious in awaiting Her call, perhaps a little afraid that if it comes, at the end of the line will be rejection… that is IF She even gets called at all.

The I that IS, is calling for divine intervention in those who are feeling the same way, but Heaven has already set them a place.  May those who will be invited through the gates, be hand delivered their invitations from Divinity.  Please, expedite this request through the proper channels.

The I that IS, appreciates all You do for Us, and thanks You greatly for the messages you are able to share.  May this letter be taken into consideration, as a gift of acknowledgement from the I that IS of the Faith of a Child.

Sincerely,

The I that IS

insight, Writing

Where Are Our Heros?

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Who do you look up to?  Why?  What endearing or respectful qualities does this person carry, worthy of being a hero?  Do you, yourself also harness these qualities, or do you envy them and worship them in others, whilst not embracing them into yourself?

Let me tell you about my Hero.

Now I am not a religious person.  I do not buy into secular doctrine presented through Churches or religious organization.  I have spent some hours in the bible, and at Bible College.  I have continued my research into spirituality and faith through my own accord and intuition.

My hero is whatever the embodiment of Christ Consciousness is.  And let me tell you, he ain’t no hippie dippy Jesus.

Take a moment to check out this video, to see Christ Consciousness in action.

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Notice these guys and their sense of humor regarding all the useless trends out there.  AND then notice the authentic looks of surprise and humility of the participants in Making Homeless People Smile, WORLDWIDE.

This video makes me cry every time, because it is genuine.  And it mentally takes me back to a time in my life when I was 19.

I was attending Manhattan Christian College in Manhattan, Kansas.  Just a Podunk school of about 500 students directly across from Kansas State University campus.

Now I only attended MCC for a semester.  I left with a 0.0 GPA, because I stopped going to classes in order to fulfill what I felt to be actual work from the level of Christ Consciousness.

It started out as a birthday trip to Kansas City, Missouri.  I had a bunch of birthday money, and my new best friend, Natasha, in tow.  We hoped to get into an 18 and over club.  We hoped to push the boundary on this new level of perceived freedom, being away from home for the first time.  Pushing boundaries.

I rented a hotel room, we called a cab… and we went into the city for fun.

The night never really panned out as we planned.  Early into the evening we were kidnapped by our cab driver… who was from foreign country.  And maybe things got a little weird because we were pretending to be something we weren’t… we were playing roles in this new city.

We never made it to a club.  We did however walk around town on this Friday night… and I saw something I had never really seen before…lots and lots of homeless people, and lots and lots of young drunk student types.  And in this situation of newness, I was witness to yet another thing I was not prepared to see.  Those young drunk students, being incredibly mean, rude, disrespectful and inhumane to the homeless population.

I was shocked and disgusted.  I had my own experiences with bullying, but this was like watching some sort of sick torture.

Students purposely spilling soda on sitting homeless beggars.  One young (I hesitate to use the word man) maliciously kicked a homeless vet’s hat, which was sitting on the ground full of change.  The snickering fools walking off as the Vet scrambled across the sidewalk to gather his lost money.

In that moment, some thing flickered inside of me, and in a warm rush it is as though I stepped aside in my own body, and the Spirit of something Bigger came into my heart.  It was as though my consciousness had blacked out, and been replaced by the voice and Spirit of Christ.

First thing I knew was, these people need to eat.  They need some food.  I have money.  There is a pizza shop.  I can feed them.

So I walk up to a pizza shop window called By The Slice.  The guy behind the window is named Jude.  Hey Jude.

With confidence, I ask Jude for two large pizzas.

“We don’t sell whole pies here.  We only sell by the slice.”

“Well, I am gonna need two whole pizzas.”

“It’s going to be pretty expensive.”

“I don’t really care, there are some homeless people out here that need to eat.  I need two pizza’s and a large Mountain Dew.”

Jude smiles, while shaking his head.  He tells me it will be a couple minutes before the next pie is out, and he proceeds to ring me up for $91.11.  Damn most expensive pizza’s I have ever paid for.  But whatever, it was birthday money… and what was I going to do?  Probably buy an over priced t-shirt from Ambercrombie, just because it says “Wyoming” across the front?  Yeah, probably.  An Ambercrombie shirt is about as useful as planking.

While all this is happening, Natasha is in the run around of my journey while following what ever this Celestial Whim was.

I got the pizzas and walked back to the two Vet’s  who had their change kicked around.  I stood above them with the boxes of pizza.

“Would you like some pizza?”  I ask.  I am confronted with looks of horror and skepticism.

“Don’t tease us.”  One responds.

“I am not teasing.  Would you like some pizza?”  I open the box and one of the men pulls a piece out, and hands it to the fellow next to him, and shuts the lid to the box.

“You can take more than that… you can take as much as you want.”  I open the box again, and let them take out two pieces each.

The man who had not yet said anything now looks at me with tears in his eyes, and asks “Are you mad at me?”

And in this moment, I know he is not talking to ME, but to the Spirit within me in that moment.  That warm Spirit which was taking over, while I stepped aside and outside above myself, watched and listened as the words “No, I am not mad at you…I love you.”  pour from my lips.  Something I, myself, would NOT have said.  He begins to cry.

I connected with this man’s eyes. I saw his soul and he saw my sacred heart.  I continued down the road, looking for the desolate hovering in corners.  I shared what I have to give.  Few people asked for money, which I did not give, because the goal was to make sure people were fed and monetary charity is not my style.

This all happened in September of 1999.  I had only been at school a few weeks… but this trip changed my life, and it changed me.   School to learn who Christ was, no longer seemed like the real way to experience what that love and compassion are.  I felt stifled living in a bubble of people who tout a title called Christian… but would only actually do service in community a couple times of year.  Helping people seemed like it should be a daily exercise in spiritual growth and development.

The college had some strict rules on leaving campus.  So I lied, and told them I was signing out on the weekend to visit family.  Really I was renting hotel rooms on credit, and using the money I made at the Christian radio station I worked at, to buy bread, peanut butter and jelly; bags of chips, juice boxes, cookies and packages of granola, plastic sammie bags, brown paper lunch sacks and napkins.

Then I would drive it all to Kansas City, and stay for the weekend walking around alone down town, looking for people to feed.  I never felt like I was in any risk of danger, because I was certain whatever was working through me is INVINCIBLE!   It was a huge practice in sacrifice and faith.  It has been from that point on in life that I knew I was to live in Service to Humanity.

I probably took six trips to KC that semester.  One of the excursions a young man, about my age was curious as to what I was doing and why.  And it created the most beautiful dialog, because to him, it made sense.  And in that moment of it making sense, he wanted to give everything he had in order to help.

“Should I give them my money?” He asked.

“I don’t give money.  I will buy something for some one if they express need, however.  I think that charity through money is like trying to build a garden without getting your hands dirty.  It is easy to just give some one some money, and then they go off and buy beer or drugs… you just send them off on their way.  But when you feed a person, or take them to buy something they need, then you are actually participating in service.  You are sharing soul space.”

“Have you ever had anyone be mad at you for not giving them money?”

“Yes.  And I don’t care.  If they get mad they obviously didn’t want what I have to offer.  I can’t offer everything to everybody, but I can share what I do have and try to share it wisely.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”  And when he walked away, I felt certain his heart had been stirred.

Over the years my service has changed shape and form.  But it is the lesson of Christ Consciousness and the Righteous power that we have through harnessing It, which can create a landslide of change in fairly short period of time.

If you believe you live a life of righteous service, and yet you have never felt the Infinite Power of True Selfless Love… you have been living in a delusion, and perhaps you should step outside of your comfort zone for a while.  There is nothing wrong with Humility and there is nothing wrong with getting dirty every once in a while.  Selfless service is rarely a neat and tidy procedure; but I guarantee that afterward you will feel lighter and with a new sense of strength and purpose.