Hello Mornings!

So, it's been forever since I blogged. I am going to try this "Hello Mornings" accountability system and see if I can do it and make it work for me. I have never been and still am not a morning person by far! I figure since most of the time I wake up so early I ought to at least try to make it work better for me. It seems that this is geared more toward mothers with young children, but I think in theory it would work for me anyhow. Time will tell! :)

One more psych drug, before I go....

Well, well, well. I guess it shouldn't surprise me that I will now have one more drug added to my current cocktail. Tomorrow I will start Wellbutrin to add to my mix. Some of it is due to my seasonal affective disorder, some of it is to try to counteract the low energy and exhaustion from some of the other psych meds I am on already. This new one will make the count 5 psych meds now. Yeehaw.
It kind of bothers me, but then I realize I could be a lot worse off, like being hospitalized and or having to have shock treatments. It's scary to think that it could come to that down the road.
I was prescribed Wellbutrin years ago to help me in quitting smoking, and it worked then, until I had an uber stressful situation at work and started smoking again. Maybe an offshoot of being on it again will be that it will spur me on to quit smoking. Though admittedly, that thought scares the shit out of me. Smoking has been my be all end all for so many years, I just don't know what to do without it. I remember that being on Wellbutrin caused me to hate the taste and smell of cigs so we'll see what happens now.
I will admit, I did have a few drinks tonight. I had a long and stressful week. I know, it's no excuse, but I decided I need to get rid of the alcohol I had here and I didn't want to waste it. I know you aren't supposed to drink on most of the meds I am on, but it's not like I do it every night. I think the last time I had a drink was about 3 months ago, and that was one beer. Tonight I have had 3 white russians, admittedly on the strong side, but that's ok. I am on my fourth and final one for the night and I am feeling no pain and can still walk in a straight line. LOL I take that back, I hurt my bad knee today crawling around in my brother's attic and that is still hurting so there is still pain. :p
Anarchy in the UK.........boy does that bring back memories. I wish I could go back in time knowing what I know now, don't you? I feel so bad, because I have been working on my therapy and energy work and Reiki so hard this week, yet stooped to alcohol tonight. I guess it's like anything else, you work so hard and then at the end you fall for the easy way out. :(
I've been listening to my favorite music all night long here, and singing to it badly. I wish I could sing. I seem to do better on lower note singers like Everlast, Joe Cocker, Marl Knopfler and Johnny Cash. I guess I have that "whiskey voice" even thought I don't drink whiskey. LOL
I've had lots of trouble sleeping this week, but I have a feeling I won't have that problem tonight! I am not advocating alcohol abuse, but I think once in a great while if you cut loose and you aren't hurting anyone and not really hurting yourself too bad, what the Hell. We are only human after all. Maybe it's because I am Irish and feel things so strongly and have too much empathy for my own good. Maybe it's because I'm mentally unstable and can only be pushed so far before I break. I don't know. I just know that right now I am feeling better and more at ease and relaxed than I have all week, even though I was doing "all the right things." I guess that's my rebellious spirit at work. Speaking of, I want another tattoo. I want a Raven sitting on top of a skull that has a snake entwined through it, with the Raven croaking out "NEVERMORE" from its beak. I think that would go perfect with my tattoo that I have on the opposite shoulder of Lucifer resting his elbows on a bank of skulls with big bat wings over it. If anyone I know out there does tats, let me know because I'd love to get this done.
I have to admit I am really feeling guilty because I was working so hard with my psychic development class and my Reiki class this week and I ended up in the bottle. Must be my limited faith in myself. It just makes me so sad.
This is certainly an odd blog post, but it's where I am coming from so what can I say. We've all got our dark sides. It's all balance, Ying and Yang. Like Bill and Ted said, "if you don't know what sucks, how do you know what's good?" :) Something like that anyway.
I suppose I have babbled on enough here. Hopefully I won't regret posting this. Ah well, what's done is done. I wish you all a goodnight.

Bill's Chair

         Recently, my brother's elderly neighbor Bill passed away. He lived alone, and some family members are taking care of his affairs. They had put some furniture out by the mailboxes for free, and as I walked out to get my brother's mail my attention was drawn to an armchair. It was rust colored, nice condition except the obvious wear marks at the ends of the arms. They were blackened with wear. I thought that must have been his favorite chair, and wondered how many hours he sat there, alone. Was he watching TV? Reading? Did he regret never having been married or having children? I'll never know. It's funny how such a little thing can make a wave of sadness rush over you. It made me think that there was this man I barely knew, but his lonely chair out at the side of road seemed to speak volumes. I know a chair is an inanimate object, yet I couldn't help but wonder if the chair missed him. People can leave vibrations behind on their belongings, I firmly believe that. 
         I actually felt sorry for the chair. I wanted to take it home like you would a stray dog, and let it continue to be loved, but I have no room for it. I hope someone will take it and give it a good home. I think what really made me sad is that old saying- "You can't take it with you." That's very true. I shouldn't feel so sad about Bill though, he had a good life as far as I know and a long one. I know he had cancer and suffered horribly at the end of his life, which can account for more sadness I feel. It makes me think of my Grandmother, who was such a wonderful woman, and suffered the same fate. Why do so many good people have to suffer so badly? That's the age old question which there will never be a satisfactory answer to. 
         I've had a poem brewing in my mind all day since I saw the chair, so let's see if I can get it out here. 
                          
                                Bill's Chair


          The rust-colored chair stood by the side of the road by the mailboxes. "Free" for the taking. 
          The arms of the chair worn black and fraying. 
          Honest, hard working hands caressed those arms not long ago, while their body was aching.
          The chair must be surprised to be out by the mailboxes, instead of in it's place.
          Maybe the daily mail was read from it's comfort. 
          Bill may be gone now, but he's left a trace.
          Lonely chair, do you think it misses him? 


Well, so much for that, my muse appears to have flown. I need to get back to writing more. 
          

Anniversary Lamentations

It's been forever and a day since I've done anything with the old blog here. It's all changed around now, so that's interesting. Well, here goes nothing.

This week, the 11th to be exact, would have been my wedding anniversary. I believe if we hadn't divorced, it would have been 27 years. I know, why look back at things you can't change, right? It still bothers me though. It's been 5 years and it's truly like grieving the death of someone you love. It hurts a little less each year, but it still hurts a lot. My father told me that I remind him a lot of my dearly departed Aunt Bertha. She was divorced I believe in her 40's too, and she never got over it. She did find the love of her life in her later years, but I think she was still tortured about her divorce.
I think another reason I have a hard time about it is that he re-married the same year we divorced. He had told me he would never get married again, so that was a hard fucking pill to swallow. Before I come off like a total hypocrite, yes, I do have a boyfriend, but it's definitely not happily ever after and there will be no marriage for me again! Been there, did that, have the deep scars under the t-shirt. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. In fact, there are times I believe that it would behoove me never to have an intimate relationship again. Ha, well, in this case it's really not an intimate one anyhow, so there you go.
Almost right after our divorce was final, I had my breakdown. So I guess if I want to celebrate an anniversary, I can celebrate the anniversary of being diagnosed with numerous mental illnesses. Ah yes, that's a milestone to be proud of. OK, OK, so I need to look at it more like it's the "anniversary of the beginning of my recovery." That sounds like something they would say in AA, doesn't it? There's nothing wrong with that except I am not an alcoholic so the connotations are all wrong. What the Hell could I call it? "The anniversary of my new life" just does not wax poetic to me either. I don't know, maybe I should just drop it and call it nothing. I can't help that I'm sentimental though. There has to be something, like, what, "Julia-Part II!" Or would that be Part IV, if you count age 0-17 childhood, 17, motherhood, 18-40 married life? I am up for any and all suggestions of those who deign to read this.
Some people would, and do say- "Well, I've lost a lot but at least I have retained (or found) my self." I can't even say that!!!! I'm working on it, but my self still eludes me.
Some people would tell me to "let it go." How in Hell do you do that? There are always the memories, and many good ones! I think that would be like erasing the whole thing like it never existed, and I can't do that. I  can't just have convenient amnesia or something and "forget" it all happened! I think he has been able to do that, bully for him, but I can't! I just don't know what I am supposed to do I guess. Keep moving forward, I know it's all that you can really do, but it's hard some days.

I Thought I Knew What Femininity Is....Apparently Not! :\

Today at therapy we delved into my issues with Femininity. Those who know me well know that I LOATHE wearing bras and pretty much never wear one anymore. One day a couple weeks ago I had to wear one due to a particular shirt I wanted to wear out in public without the titty censors coming after me. I was struggling to put in on when I had a vivid flashback of being very little and running around outside with no shirt on, same as my younger brother. I don't recall the age, but I must have been four or five. Anyhow, one day it was all normal then the next it was like- "YOU HAVE TO WEAR AT LEAST AN UNDERSHIRT BECAUSE YOU ARE A GIRL AND GIRLS CAN'T RUN AROUND WITH NO SHIRT ON." I was LIVID!!!! I think I probably threw a temper tantrum about it. IT WASN'T FAIR!!!!!! I wanted to be a BOY because they didn't have to wear a shirt when it was unbearably hot out!
Hence, probably my first introduction to "Men have all the power in this world."
I also remembered being about 10 and getting my first training bra. I was not impressed, but at the same time I was led to believe it was something to be proud of. Well, ok then, I saw my Grandpa outside and I ran out and whipped up my shirt and said "Look Grandpa!" I am sure he was embarrassed, but he didn't say anything that I remember, probably, "oh, that's nice" HAHA! However, my Grandma and Mother went off on me freaking out about how young ladies don't show men what's under their clothes or some shit. I don't know if I said it, but I know I had to have been thinking, "But, that's not a man, it's GRANDPA!"
More UNFAIRNESS.
I know I wasn't the biggest tomboy around, but I did my best. I liked boy's clothes better, their shoes/sneakers better, I wanted hockey skates and not figure skates, I wanted some of the toys my brother had, like a racecar track. I loved my dolls, and I loved playing house and being the mother, not the father, but there were a lot of things I wanted/liked that were "boys'."
Synopsis from my therapist:
I took the wanting to be a boy=having power, and instead of feeling that I could be powerful just by being a woman, turned it on myself so that I was FLAWED. There was something wrong with ME, not society. I lost  any power I had from being feminine because I was fighting the system. The things I wanted so badly got all twisted somehow and I let them get me down even though I thought I was winning the fight. I didn't fit the "societal ideal" of a woman with how my body was constructed, so instead of working with what I have, I fought against it. I refused to dress up, I didn't like makeup, I didn't like anything "girly."
She asked me what did I think about powerful women that I knew, and I said, "well, they're mostly bitches." Fighting against myself again, ya think?
She wants me to write what I think about femininity, and specifically my own. Ummm... _______ draws a blank! All I know is that it's amazes me that I hold to spiritual beliefs and tenants that embrace DUALITY, yet I am actually quite hypocritical when it comes down to it personally.
I am not sure what I am trying to say here yet. I have a lot of thinking to do. I have a lot of cultural mores that messed me up that I need to get rid of. You know what else is really messed up? Women my age grew up being taught about "Women's Lib" and  "Equality." There were all the fights to let girls play contact sports, to take industrial arts instead of home ec. While we were having all this stuff about Women are Equal shoved down our throats, the opposite kept being brought home to us. We STILL earn less than men. We never got a pro football or hockey team. (That I know of.) We still keep getting called sluts and whores for how we dress while we had makeup and popular fashion thrown at us. We were shown within our own families how women still kept getting the shaft. Some of our mothers may have entered the workforce, but dammit, that supper better be on that table when the MAN comes home. We saw our Moms continually working after their workday was done, while our Dads got to watch TV and we weren't supposed to "bother" them. When we grew up, many of us had better choices than our mothers, but certain things didn't change. My ex-husband was very helpful around the house, but I know lots of people who didn't have that help, and still don't, even now in the 2000's!!!!!!!! Remember that stupid Enjoli commercial?? We brought home the bacon all right, and still had to fry it up in the pan. Did we never ever let "him" forget he was a man? I don't freaking think so! Did anyone make us remember we were women? You bet they did, and not in good ways! It's that damned DOUBLE STANDARD no matter where you go.
Wow, ok, enough soapboxing here.
How many of us are there, with these same issues, that never got resolved? I think most people just move on, but we all know I am different HAHA!
That's it for now, except I don't really feel any better after getting this all out. :(

Remembering Mrs. Mitchell.

When I was growing up there was a friend of my Grandmother's who was like another Grandmother to us. Her name was Mrs. Mitchell. Her first name was Beatrice, but everyone called her "Beat" or maybe it was "Beet." LOL I always called her Mrs. Mitchell, even when I was grown up.
She was married, to Mr. Mitchell. (haha) His nickname was "Chick". I think his first name was Monroe, but I am not 100% sure on that. I used to laugh whenever people referred to them as "Beat and Chick" because obviously that sounded pretty funny!
They lived up the street from us in a little white house that Mr. Mitchell built for them. They were childless, due to some affliction Mrs. Mitchell had from birth I believe, but they absolutely LOVED children. They always had like at least 20 cats and kittens around, and I do not exaggerate. They had a little garden shed in the back yard and some of the cats just lived in there, some in their garage, and some in their house. Needless to say the house always smelled, which was unfortunate, because she was a very neat housekeeper.
I remember when we would go over, my brother would tail Mr. Mitchell around and he would talk to him about lawn mowing and gardening and cars and all that guy stuff. We all always wanted to see the cats and especially the kittens. I remember one time Mrs. Mitchell made me up a little sewing kit in an old tin and put little pieces of material in it too. She brought it over to me so that I could make my own doll clothes. I still have that tin, and probably some of the things in it, but definitely that tin. I treasured it then, and treasure it now.
Sometime along the way I stopped going over with my mom, some due to "growing up" and some due to not liking the smell in the house, but I still saw them a lot out at stores and such. Mr. Mitchell died either when I was in high school or right after, I am not sure on the date. After I was married and had my kids, my mother told me how lonely Mrs. Mitchell was and would I come with her to visit again. The cat smell was so bad by now that it would literally burn your eyes when you went in the house, but I just dealt with it somehow. When I watch those animal hoarding shows on TV, I think of poor Mrs. Mitchell and all her cats and how she never seemed to notice the smell.
She loved my daughter Jessi so much. Jessi loved to visit her too, and we would have the best time. To this day, Jessi and I both feel bad that we didn't spend more time over there. I would make her little decorations for holidays, and Jess was always drawing her pictures and making her cards. Eventually, we moved and weren't near enough to visit regularly. Poor Mrs. Mitchell had to end up in a nursing home and we never saw her again. I think my Mom went to visit her in the nursing home, and I think she may have had dementia if not Alzheimers. From my work in nursing homes I just couldn't bear to go see her in there, but I guess she wouldn't have known me anyhow.
There are things I will never forget about her, that I strive to keep on in her memory. She loved cooking and collecting recipes. She had an old typewriter that she would type them out on. One time she had me look through her collection, and I wrote down some that I have in my recipe box. I do actually make some of them! She loved plants and gardening. I so wish she was still around so I could learn more about houseplants from her. She had the most beautiful plants, despite being steeped in the cat smell! LOL She grew me slips from two of her plants, which have long since died with my black thumb. She also crocheted. She made hats and mittens all the time and gave them to the church because it made her sad to think of children being cold if they didn't have winter things to wear. I have the patterns she used to make them. My children wore her hats and mittens for years themselves. She had a ripple blanket made out of scrap yarn that was so beautiful, and she told me how to make that too. I have some old patterns and a few craft books she gave me, and still some pieces of material she gave me too. She loved dolls. I made her a little doll with a sunbonnet, and she put it on her shelf with her favorite dolls and told me she talked to her every day and it made her a little less lonely. She would buy things at yard sales and give them to others. She gave Jessi at least a couple dolls and some stuffed animals she had gotten at a yard sale. I remember her telling us about when she was a little girl. I believe she was one of six children, and I think they had all died before her. She missed them terribly.
One other huge memory I have is when my brother and sister and I were little, she would babysit us on weekend nights when my grandmother couldn't for whatever reason. I remember us sitting in Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell's living room with them watching Glen Campbell on TV. She loved him! Now I saw that he has Alzheimer's. It's all so sad.
She had one of the most caring, generous hearts and I hope in some ways I can carry that on for her. I think Jessi feels the same way.
I am so glad she was in my life, and she made my life better by being in it. I really miss her a lot. I love you Mrs. Mitchell, I hope you knew that. (Somehow, I think she probably did know.)

To The Blog-Cave!

Well, well, it has been a long time old Blog.
I think I lost the urge to write for a while because things seemed so repetitive.
They still are, what a shock, huh? :P
I am feeling really weird tonight. On any given night I am probably feeling weird anyhow, but tonight is a little more so than others.
When my therapist was talking to me today, she asked me when it was in my life that I probably started considering myself "stupid." I thought about it some and pinned it down to most likely 6th grade. I was shocked at the detail of things I started remembering that were scary and fucked up at that time. She told me that that is probably where a big part of my emotional growth, well, ended? Maybe not ended, but certainly froze. So even though I am 44 years old, I have the HUGE and TERRIBLE emotions of a 12 or 13 year old. AHHHH!!!! No wonder I am such a wreck sometimes! I mean, how many people can remember vividly the pain and change and seemingly insurmountable hurdles of adolescence? I can't believe that somehow I got frozen in time there emotionally. I didn't even see it happening all these years. I think that there were times it got shoved under the rug and I gave off the impression of being "normal" because obviously how did I make it all these years? Then I realized in all these memories, that my grandfather died the month before 6th grade started. Hello, is that a clue there or what? I know I never really dealt with that grief properly and then with all the changes 6th grade brought it makes a lot of sense now. Then too, my grandmother died at the end of my freshman year and my other grandmother died two months later, again before school started, again in the midst of big change. I know also I didn't deal with that terrible grief properly either.
I am not sure how to even begin to fix all this, but I have to try to do what my therapist told me today. I have to just admit that I am going through a very hard time in my life now, and be compassionate with myself. After beating myself up all these years I am not quite sure how to even be compassionate with myself though! You'd think that would be the easy part, right?
It's also weird because I knew all along that I wasn't REALLY stupid, it just FELT that way. I took it that my emotions were fact, and not what they really are, just indicators. Um, I am still doing that and it's hard to stop. All part of this lovely reprogramming. It's really hard work too. I am also supposed to be congratulating myself on my hard work, and when I do things the "healthy" way, and that's another damn hard thing.
I think I need a vacation from my brain! :)