Aliens

I’ve been sitting here for a few with Ingrid Michaelson’s last record on repeat feeling a bit weird. Yes, I said record. Yes, I’m old, but that isn’t my issue…well, right now.

Firstly, I feel a lot like Sigourney Weaver and no, not because I’m shimmying around my office in tiny undies trying to fit into a space suit  but because I have a weird feeling that there’s something moving around inside my guts that has nothing to do with my guts. It’s an odd sensation, like a pile of squid dancing the rumba. Maybe they like Ingrid Michaelson too.  Whatever it is, it’s decidedly alien. Maybe I can sell tickets to the eruption. Look out Jonesy!

The cornbread wasn’t that bad…

Secondly, I’m just bothered because there’s been a lot of thinking going on, the uncomfortable kind that makes you question your beliefs and fundamental structures of perception. That can also be good, but the last time that happened, I lost it, not to put too fine a point on it.

I went full atheist. Now some things, some mighty big coincidences have occurred that have made me question that assessment. That’s not to say that I’m down for a bearded deity in the sky, just that it may be more complex than my current belief system is accepting of. The energy system of which we are all made may be more vast and diverse and include things like bloody weird coincidences. That’s it for now, but it’ll start my brain going full tilt. That’s what happens to me.

I can’t leave anything alone. I have to read and explore and dig. I have to think around something until I do the flop. Not that I’m not already in awe of the mysteries of the universe, the beauty of nebulas, the way the structures of the eye mimic them, the way everything mimics everything else in extremes of scale, but I’m starting to wonder about more. More? Surely not!

I’ve found a book of energy experiments. That’s where I’ll start to see if I’m nutty bonkers. I don’t seem to have an off switch. It’s kind of a bad thing. The one thing that is positive here is that it has given me back something vital that I had lost. Hope. Faith. In what I’m not sure. I guess that’s the point of my insanity. I’m not sure, but that’s ok. I need to accept the mystery.

Now the mystery of what’s up with my intestines is another thing…

Day 31: Who, me?

Post a picture of yourself and tell us your story.

Yeah, ok. I’ve been dreading this day ever since I read the list all the way through. Is there really much else that needs to be said? I’ve doled out a heck of a lot of personal information over here! Mainly, I just don’t care for talking about myself. Isn’t that funny for someone who’s decided to blog? Hahaha!

So, firstly, yes, it’s a picture of me so it counts! That face right there, that shows you everything. I’ve never been one for grey areas or being able to hide my feelings. I’m either at ok, pissed, or depressed without many gears in between. I’ve always been sensitive, and told that fact to the point of insanity. I just always thought I just had deep feelings. I’ve been proud of my sensitivity, but there’s been a destructive side that hit badly in High School. It’s a time of dubious relationships anyway, but feeling every rejection as deeply as I did, I felt tormented a lot of the time. People said I exaggerated, that I was overly dramatic. I just took it as a slight and that they hated me. I thought everyone did for the longest time.

As an adult, my relationships remained rocky and I remained moody. My marriage came and went with its share of drama, and the aftermath of that was nearly too much to handle. I started having heightened anxiety and derealization episodes at this point. When I found out I was pregnant by the guy who’d just left, got kicked out of my house, and lost my job, I’m amazed I didn’t crack. I know I came close. I came treacherously close to suicide on several occasions. I couldn’t find work for well over a year and started counseling and antidepressants.

I was lucky enough to have real family support and a place to go for a while. Things held steady once I started my new job and I’ve held it together with ups and downs until recently when the strain of everything finally caught up with me.

This year I had a breakdown. I collapsed crying on the floor, hallucinating. Again, I was incredibly lucky to have support in the form of a friend. I took some time off, went to a therapist for the first time (All had been counselors before) and went to a psychiatrist.  Severe Panic Disorder and Severe Depressive Disorder were the words of the day. I’ve been working in all of the issues that brought on anxiety, lack of proper boundaries, mood instability, impulse control, anger, and when I was reading a book about dealing with someone else in my life who is undoubtedly a narcissist, I came across dialog on Borderline Personality Disorder.

I kept reading. I cried.

I took my notes and concerns to the therapist and everything began to fall into place. The more I read and watch, the more things make sense. I don’t fit every single criteria, but more than enough. It’s both wonderful to have a name for it and to know that there are others who have this experience, but it’s still a scary diagnosis. I’ve had to look straight at my behavior which is uncomfortable, but I’m more than willing to do it. I don’t want to be this way. I want to feel better and I want other people to want to be around me. I want good relationships. It’s all I want actually. Friends. A partner someday. To raise my kid into a healthy adult. The normal stuff.

So, this is the condensed version of the past 31 days of rambling. It seems like I’ve touched on about everything though I wanted to be slightly more irreverent and droll over the past month. It’s a hard subject to make funny, at least for me, being right in the midst of it and beginning to get a grip on what it all means. I can only hope this is helpful somewhere.

So, now would be a good time for you to go put on some fuzzy slippers and read something funny! I am… Happy New Year to all of you. Love and Luck for the year ahead 🙂

 

Day 29: My House

In the middle of our street. Our house… Yeah, I couldn’t stop. Me and the ear worms. My mind never shuts up. I can be singing two songs at once, like now. Confusing? Maybe, but mash-ups are a thing so I’m going with it! Weird is good.

Today’s delving question is…If your mind was a house, what would the house look like?

I’d have to say, it would be something between Jack Skellington’s house from the Nightmare Before Christmas with its odd, thin, crookedly angled towers and the Addams family house full of oddities and secret rooms that lead into one another or dump you out the front. Even the gate is aware and traps people in order to keep them out. Add a moat and you have it. Sounds pretty close to me.

There would have to be an attic or two full of thoughts I haven’t seen for years, all dusty and forgotten and a basement where I’ve shoved the things I don’t want to think about, overgrown with thorns and vines to dissuade myself from getting too close. There’s a mysterious beast living down there that fires up the anger at the drop of a hat without my knowing why…most likely because something buried there almost came to light.

The rooms are lushly furnished with velvet drapes and fancy moldings, full of scroll work, carvings and walls covered in paintings. Shadows pass along the walls, eyes shine from the darkness and dramas play out behind every door with a familiar set of characters, lit by candles along the walls. There are often earthquakes that shake the building, like the House of Usher, it’s built on shaky ground but on the bright side, the curse is a myth and retrofits have begun.

There are always new visitors who appear from nowhere and create their own stories; each room is populated by at least one. Some rooms are long neglected and cold, some warm and inviting full of laughter and books. It often rains and plunges the house into darkness, making the shadows darker and a heavy feeling overtakes the place, but like all storms they pass.

It’s the most comforting of houses though its labyrinthine halls each are haunted, it holds sweet memories of the past. sweet smells of celebrations past float through and make the paintings that remind come alive. Plants and flowers line window boxes, a touch of oft unnoticed femininity.

There is a room, of course, of kitsch, complete with velvet Elvis, pink flamingos and various bits of ephemera from different periods. There are lost rooms mixed up and uncatalogued; a ticket from a play, a velvet coat from the opera in the style of Mozart, a 1940’s style phone. It is the room of lost things; a place to sift through and reminisce on a rainy day with a pot of tea.

I love the place, gain solace from it. Anyone else would get lost. Hell, I do, but it’s at least an entertaining place to spend an afternoon, or a lifetime.

Day 27: Bad Habit

Do you have any bad habits?

Some days I think I am a walking bad habit. I mean, anyone who would stick by me on my bad (and surly) days must be a total glutton for punishment. Beyond that, I covered a lot under the self-destructive behavior post, but one habit above all others has been quickly dismantling me. It’s an old habit I learned somewhere along the way as a kid to self-sooth. I’ve seen myself do it while being aware and wanted to slap myself silly for being unable to stop myself, but I really have no other strategy. It’s the habit of calming myself with food.

I’m not sure where that was first learned. I come from hearty stock and my grandparents made food an event. Whenever I was upset, I turned to it for solace. Maybe it made me feel loved, or at home,  I don’t know, but shoving my face into a vat of ice cream does somehow make everything feel better for a while. Carbs, my friend. are king in that battle. Cakes, pastries, etc.

Something remarkable happened a while back. I became aware that my son was allergic to wheat and we cut it all out. I cut out all grains, my overwhelming cravings seemed to stop. I lost 100 pounds and seemed to have absolutely no interest in food whatsoever. It was the greatest gift I’d ever had, but then something, and I truly can’t remember what, made me slip.

I think that while I changed my diet and it worked marvelously, the underlying coping mechanism is still there. The first really big stressor that came along, and there were actually a few, my car breaking down, deaths, mental difficulties, and my relationship falling apart, it all pointed me toward my age-old friend, food. (You know, that pizza, you haven’t had one in a long time…wink, wink!)

That vat of Ben and Jerry’s called my name! I never did come up with new soothing techniques so what was I to do? I ended up binge stuffing into my face all the wrong things. I’ve gained back a good 20 ponds over the holidays and I’m so upset I could cry, which of course feeds the cycle.

So, “rewarding” myself by punishing myself and making everything worse is a heinous habit and that is really what it is. I learned to do it. I can learn not to. I can train my brain to turn to something else. It may take forever. I really wish that I was back to the point where I could take food or leave it. That was a dream. Being calm and not needing a coping mechanism may be the key to that, but I’m not sure. I know I feel bad now; sick and inflamed and just bloated. It’s enough already. I refuse to return to my former state of manatee look-a-like. I refuse!

I’m going back on that wagon and looking for better ways to distract myself from what I feel I need to escape from. If I can turn myself into one of those broads who copes by exercising, like Dexter’s sister Deb who coped with dating a serial killer by hitting the treadmill like a madwoman, well, I’ll be living the dream. Too bad I really hate the hell out of exercise. There must be one! I could always just start drinking again…