What was the best decision you made in 2013? What were the results? How will you continue the good work in 2014?
The best decision I made in 2013 was to start working toward becoming a physically healthier person. Reaching the ripe old age of 32 this year, I realized that, given my weight and the fact of smoking and fatty foods, it was just a short matter of time before my situation would become dire. Diabetes runs in my family, and I did not want to go down that road. At this point, I already have high blood pressure and sleep apnea. I did not want to develop any more weight-related conditions.
The first step I took was to quit smoking. It made sense to me, because I want to be able to exercise (even just walking would be great) and am unable to do so due to being so out-of-breath after just the slightest bit of activity. I also have asthma which is poorly controlled, mostly due to smoking and a bit also due to infrequent use of my daily scheduled inhalers.
So far, quitting smoking has been less difficult than I expected. I do have a bit of a harder time because DSB and my mom smoke, but it seems they are happy to at least open a window when I am in their vicinity. While not a perfect situation, it does help.
I plan to carry this foward in to 2014 by just sticking to the regemine of nicotine patches and lozenges, and reaffirming my willpower minute by minute. I know I really don’t want to smoke anymore, know that in my head finally, so hopefully that will make it easier.
Take it from the Surgeon General, from a friend, a family member, your doctor…smoking cigarettes is not a good thing. I have been a smoker since I was 18, other than an 18 month period were I was able to quit in my mid-20’s.
DSB smokes, and so does QoB. Everyone else I know does not, and some of those do-not’s are vehemently opposed. I personally smoke like a chimney. And cough like a car that just won’t start. I’m easily winded, and have a hard time completing daily tasks, because of being just that winded.
I am ready to break free from all of this. I have been thinking about it for a very long time, and have tried to become more mindful of all of the negative things about cigarette smoking here as of late. Something a blog friend said on a comment really struck me.
Marilyn wrote in comment to this post: “I’m still stuck on the idea of a cigarette AND a CPAP machine. It’s causing psychic dissonance. I used to smoke. Cancer cured me — of smoking. I still miss that cigarette in the morning, but I don’t miss the chemo. Just a thought. ”
It is just a thought, but it’s one I took under advisement. There is much dissonance to my smoking. First of all, I have asthma and use an inhaler. And, as Marilyn pointed out, I have to use a CPAP machine to sleep at night. Add those two things together, along with the fact that cancer runs heavily in my dad’s side of the family, and it is I wonder I ever smoked to begin with.
Of course, I get bronchitis every year, that won’t go away. Have for the past three years anyway. I get more than my usual share of colds and stuffy nose. I have to go outside in freezing wind and rain or outside in 100+ degree weather to smoke, unless I’m at home or in my car. My activities are extremely limited due to being short of breath. I have a strong desire to get close to a healthy body weight, and I can’t do much exercising because of the difficulty breathing.
There is just so much more I want out of life. I don’t want to be chained to always having to have a cigarette. Not only are they nasty and cancer-provoking and socially unadvised, they cost a lot of money. I figured out, if I quit smoking, I will have an extra $400 – $500 a month, and I can really use that money. Case in point, I had to have my cigarettes this week so I barely bought any groceries, and now my dad is picking me up enough from the grocery store until I get my weekly check. Terribly humiliating, and I never ever want to ask for money. Mom had to give me extra gas money, too. I financially can’t afford to smoke, haven’t been able to for a long time now, and it’s just now sinking in.
My dad went out and bought NRT aids (Nicotine Replacement Therapy) for me this evening. Just because he wants to help and he knows it will help me quit. Some people say to just do it cold-turkey, but I can’t handle that, and yes, I have tried. The last time I successfully quit smoking (for 18 months), I used the patch and it really didn’t seem that hard.
I’m pretty sure it will be hard this time, seeing as DSB is a smoker and we live together, and also because I’m a much more stressed-out individual then I was when I last quit. I’m ready for the challenge, though. I just can’t keep doing this (smoking) and killing myself off slowly. I want to be free to exercise and do things I need to do and get healthier. I don’t want to become a cancer or heart disease statistic because of something I CHOSE to do to myself.
So tonight right before bed will be my last cigarette, and when I wake I’ll slap on a patch and put a lozenge in my mouth (because I was so advised by my doctor), and I’m hoping that this is a battle I will win. Any support or kind words are appreciated. 😀
This is how my anxiety starts. First, my legs feel a little wobbly in the hip joint. It quickly moves on to leave me with a feeling of dead weight in my stomach and then a tightness in my chest. And then my throat closes up and I can’t breathe. These are all just bodily sensations related to anxiety, and I constantly have to remind myself: Rose, you’re not dying!
Sure feels like I am though. I think most anyone with anxiety problems can relate. And also to the fact that, sometimes, that shit comes out of nowhere. I mean NOWHERE. Sometimes I can talk myself through it, sometimes I can seek comfort with DSB or my mom, but a lot of times, I just have to take a PRN Klonopin.
I used to be better at working through my anxiety or panic attacks or whatever you want to label it. Seems like now, though, the only thing that works is the Klonopin. Now, mind you, I’m not doing this every day, several times a day. It probably happens two or three, sometimes four times a week. But that still seems like a lot. It hasn’t always been so bad.
The flashbacks, the nightmares, the negative tape in my head, the images that flash through my mind. They are more severe now than they have ever been and I can’t exactly pinpoint why, although I think it may be that I have stopped working on those things, stopped working on suffering through them, stopped working on the in therapy.
Therapy is a joke with my current therapist. I leave from a session, not even knowing what we talked about, because it is mostly her talking and me half-listening, and not trusting her enough to actually talk about and work on the things that are bothering me the most.
It is crazy for me to stay in therapy with her, but I have talked with my support system and they say (and I agree) that I still need therapy, at least to some degree, for now. Maybe I need something other than DBT therapy, maybe I just need a different DBT therapist. I know I will not go to group, and I am firm on that. It doesn’t help me and I don’t like it. If that means I can’t have a DBT therapist, I am fine with that.
I have been somewhat proactive today, in that I called and left a message for Goddess of Mindfulness to contact me so that I can talk with her about the issue, maybe she can make a recommendation. I also called a few agencies here in town and found no one that is accepting new Medicaid clients. I will hold off on making any more calls until I speak with Goddess of Mindfulness, and am hopeful she will have a suggestion or strategy.
I am trying to do something about this before my next therapy appointment on the 9th (next Friday, one week from today). I really don’t want to go see her and have to fake my way through another session. I suppose I could be brutally honest and just tell her like it is, but I don’t want to be kicked out of the center and I could really use some advice first. It is clear to me (and my support system) that I need therapy, and it is clear, to me at the very least, that my current therapist is not cutting it. I am hopeful that something will change soon.
I’m not a religious person, so I won’t ask you to pray, but light a candle or send good thoughts my way. I could really use them right now.
There is something I am not doing right now that is remarkable. I am not doing this thing now, when in the even not-so-distant past and my entire life, I would be doing this thing. I am not sure how I am not doing this thing, but not doing it feels good and I want to acknowledge it.
I am not worrying. I am not obsessing and catastrophizing and making myself sick with the bad news I have so recently received. I am maintaining a calm that I feel, believe in, inside and out. I am curious as to why I have been so calm in light of the distressing news, but I think the reason for it is pure love. For the sake of love, I am putting on a brave face and making it my own.
As mentioned a few posts ago, DSB was to have some imaging studies done to determine if his gallbladder was shot. They did an ultrasound and found growths on the adrenal glands of both kidneys. The doctors believe the growths to be benign, but ordered a CAT-scan in order to look into the matter further. They still believe the growths on the adrenal glands are benign, but they found what they believe is a malignant mass inside one of his kidneys. We were told they would need to take out his kidney.
DSB is being brave about it, and so am I, but to be honest, I think we’re both just not willing to acknowledge the fear that surrounds the situation. We keep going about normal life like nothing is wrong, and really, what else are we supposed to do? My mind is so much different than it was a month, a year, a decade ago that I can see the logic in not worrying, not making a big deal. We just go about our day like it’s any other day.
The next step is to see a urologist on Monday. We should know more after that. For right now, I know that I’m going to keep ignoring the fear when it creeps in and keep life as normal as possible. I owe that much to DSB, for all the times when he ignored his fears when I was a mess. He was strong for me, and I will be strong for him. There’s no other way.
That’s right, I am off work for the next FIVE days. I would say that I hardly know what to do with all of that time, but you’d better believe, I’ve got big plans. Today it’s the dentist, grooming for the Kizz, and haircut for me. Add a trip to Sam’s for the shop and it’s a day. Saturday is my nephew’s birthday party, and I’m gonna have to get out and buy that huge, super-powered water gun so I can follow the tradition of the marshmallow gun that I gave him for Christmas. Bet his parents just LOVE me.
Things in RosieSmrtiePants-land have been getting steadily better. It seems that my headaches are getting figured out. Tooth pain = massive headaches. I also think that all of the work stress makes it even worse, hence the vacation. I need to recoup and relax for awhile. I haven’t taken any time off for over a year, where I wasn’t either sick or going to the doctor. It’s gonna be NICE. Too bad the weather doesn’t look like it’s going to cooperate very well, but I have plenty of “inside” things to do.
I’m still taking Cymbalta regularly and I really think that makes a lot of the difference. I have been able to steadily decrease my Klonopin dose and am now only taking 1mg at night. There for awhile, I was having to take a little bit PRN, and I so HATE doing that. Yes, it makes me feel better, but I don’t want to end up addicted. Which is really altogether ridiculous, considering how little I take and how infrequently I take a PRN. Sometimes it’s just the thought of…aghhh, one more pill to take. Anyone who takes meds reguarly can relate to that, I do believe.
This past weekend was lovely, minus the severe weather. We had QoB and Big Dog’s 25th anniversary party and it was a smashing success. I think everyone had a great time and the best couple I have ever had the pleasure of knowing enjoyed themselves, as well. It was really great to see people that we haven’t seen in quite some time, but was not so fun to drive 70mph trying to out-run a storm. Let’s just say that I had such a hard time doing so, because I was taught to drive sloooowwwly out at the lake, that someone had to hop in my car at a stop sign and tell me to “put yer foot on it, girl!!” Good times…I am probably going to be teased about that for the rest of my natural life. Someone might even bring it up at my funeral 70 years from now…that’s how hilarious everyone thought it was, after the danger had passed, of course!
I went back to church last Sunday for the first time since the week before Easter. I have been avoiding it like the plague, mostly due to headaches, social phobia, and my stalker. I am really glad I went back, and realized that I had sooo missed it. I just feel so clean and hopeful and fresh after I go. Like maybe all my sins have been washed away (at least temporarily). Hmmm…I think that is why a lot of people go to church…for the minty fresh feeling. 🙂
After church, I went and visited my Grandma for the first time since Christmas. That is a relationship that I have historically had a really hard time with. When Grandpa died, I spent a lot of time being angry that it wasn’t Grandma that died and my Grandpa was still here. I held onto that idea, taking every misstep and bit of obnoxiousness from my Grandma as adding fuel to that particular fire. I have really been praying for patience and forgiveness and understanding, and am hoping that I am getting over that hump. Realizing that Grandma is in her last few months of life made me wake up. We had a really good visit and it was like being around the Grandma that baked cookies with us, although I remember her more as related to Grandpa, as it seems like my sister was always with my Grandma and I was always with Grandpa. But, she was like the old Grandma. No, not down on her knees scrubbing the kitchen floor three times a day, but the Grandma that cared and wasn’t hateful. Not like the Grandma that always said, “Your grandpa loves you,” without telling me that she loved me, too. I am really coming to a point that I realized that she did the best she could with the emotional intelligence that she had gained (and lost) over her years. I am grateful to God for giving me a good visit with Grandma, because she does have many bad days and I could have very easily come to her on one of those days where she wasn’t talking. She has pretty much stopped eating and drinking, and hospice has been called in. At least now I can say that I am making an effort to have her in my life, instead of really blocking her out.
Well, here I am…appears that I made it through winter without too many glitches. The last month has seen lots of changes, most for the better. Since it has been so long since I have posted, and I have so many things on my mind, this could be a long one.
Dr. Love and I broke up about three weeks ago. It was probably a long time coming and I shouldn’t have been as shocked as I was. Things hadn’t been bad, but there hadn’t been much happiness, joy, or love. It had come to the point where we were mostly roommates, forced to share space, both of us being annoyed about it. The breakup has been for the best, and has really awakened me to some changes I will have to make in my life if I want it to be a long, happy one.
Exactly two days after Dr. Love and I broke up, I rescued a very cute, sweet, terribly skinny and abused female Yorkie from a nearby city. She had been dumped on a gravel road out in the country, and somehow made it to a farm where she was picked up by the family that lived there and taken temporarily to their sister’s house inside the city. I found out about her through an email that was sent out by one of my mom’s co-workers and then sent to me. I knew at once that I had to have her.
She was getting used to me, getting accustomed to Kizzie, and then last weekend I went to visit my sister. QoB watched Birdie for me, and I anticipated no problems, but she is a very skittish dog. Everything was going fine at QoB’s with Birdie and mom’s other dogs, when Birdie went walk-about around 8:00 p.m. on Saturday night. I was heartbroken. When I hadn’t received a call (she had a tag on and I filed a missing dog report with the local shelter) by Tuesday, I was convinced that she was gone forever. It had snowed on Sunday night and I just didn’t see how that tiny dog could have made it. My best hope was that someone picked her up and decided to keep her.
Much to my surprise, I received a call around 9:30 p.m. on Wednesday asking if I had lost my dog. I was dumbfounded and in shock. I had really written Birdie off, believing I would never see her again. I went and picked her up and she was a mess. She had lost all of the weight I had been able to put on her, and was covered in cockleburrs. And of course, was filthy dirty. She was so excited to see me, though, and I was overwhelmed. I had said that I was going to get rid of her if I got her back, because I couldn’t deal with all of that drama and heartbreak. When I brought her home, she got into a fight with Kizzie, which strengthened my resolve to find her another home.
By the following evening, after spending about 20 minutes with Birdie and Kizzie together, seeing how happy Birdie was, how happy I was to be around her, and how good it was to see Kizzie so excited, I knew that I was going to keep her and nurse her back to health, physically and emotionally. This poor dog has been through hell and back. When she was found, she was over a mile from where she had went missing. I firmly believed that God wanted me to have this dog. I don’t care how corny that sounds. I believe.
With Dr. Love gone, I am trying to figure out what makes me happy. I keep telling everyone, “I’m fine, I’m great,” and maybe in some ways I am. I feel more free, but I experience terrible loneliness and cry often. I have spent a lot of time in my life being alone, and doing fine with it — it has been awhile though. I know it will come in time. I have to remind myself that I am grieving something that I had always thought would get better and last forever.
One of the things I know I am going to have to do if I want to attain any level of happiness is to stop f’ing with my Cymbalta. I have taken it, it has worked well, and then I stop. I just stop and I don’t know why. Ok, I do know why…I feel better. I convince myself that it is something other than Cymbalta that makes me feel good, and I just stop. When the low days hit, I blame it on a lack of sleep or the weather. It is not the friggin’ weather. It is a damn chemical imbalance in my brain that can be righted with a small blue and white pill and I am so willful in this area it kills me.
In other “let’s-try-to-be-happy” news, I have been walking, eating right, trying to lose weight. The progress is slow, and the knees are painful, but I want to live for a very long time and that isn’t going to happen if I don’t get at least some of this weight off. I want to be more active and not be so restricted by my size. I know I can get there.
I tried to quit smoking on January 10th and it is a damn uphill battle ever since. Some days are better than others, some worse. I just keep trying. That’s all I can do.
I have been thinking about getting involved in a local church. I feel that I had forsaken God for years, and find that He has not forsaken me. I am humbly grateful for all I have and all I can give. I’m sure there will be more on this topic later, as I try to find a church that I enjoy. For now, talking to God makes me feel more whole than I can remember.
Jeff Buckley, Hallelujah
This is the song I wanted to put for this blog, but couldn’t find a video I could embed. Try this link.
I realized yesterday that I haven’t done a single mindfulness exercise since I moved into this new house. Additionally, it seems I have stopped practicing mindfulness all together, here within the past however long. At least that’s what it feels like.
I have started to notice that I am having a lot of intrusive and obsessive thoughts. They spiral, they go out of control, they so go there. And then back again. And then there. I have become stuck inside of my own brain. There is a part of me that wants to get out, and a part of me that would rather just stay there.
I have been doing some evaluating of my health here in the last month or so. I feel like shit. My weight has gotten to the point that it is keeping me from doing things I once enjoyed, and also keeping me from things necessary to function. It’s not pretty.
I am considering Lap-Band surgery. I have had a weight problem since I was young, and have tried to control that problem since I was in my mid-teens. I go up and down, up and down. Off and on Weight Watchers, trying low-carb, joining a gym, buying a Bowflex, taking diet pills, exercising into pain and then relapsing on food. Nothing has given me the results I desire. And I don’t desire to be thin. I just want to be able to function again. I want to have energy and I want to be healthy for years to come.
It has been quite an experience for me, reading all of the forums and literature about Lap-Band. It is anxiety-provoking, because I wonder if I can do it, and it is exciting because it is a new possibility. I would have to radically change how I eat and live. I would have to do that anyway in order to lose any weight.
If I don’t want to end up dead at 35, I will have to radically change my eating and exercise patterns, whether I get a Lap-Band or not. I question if I can do it. I wonder if my overall life pattern of apathy toward improving my health can change. I am asking the question and not getting an answer.
I am going to a seminar on Saturday about the procedure. Hopefully that will help me decide if this is something I want to do and something I think I can do. I want to be sure. This is serious.
If this blog seems forced, that’s because it is.
Sometimes, I have to practice a little opposite-to-emotion to get through all that willfulness I have churning inside me.
It is so easy to get caught up in the day-to-day drama of life. I find myself thinking of a day as a “bad day” if the littlest thing goes wrong. Sometimes I can’t see the forest for the trees, if you will, and miss out on all of the great things that are happening.
Dr. Love and I, my dearest family, my loved ones…we all have our health. We’re not dying, starving, dealing with a horrible disease like cancer or a stroke. Of all of us, Gavin is in the worst shape, and his health is really turning with the tide as he is able to get on a pain regimine and do physical therapy. We are blessed with our health. Makes all the difference in the world.
Both Dr. Love and I love our jobs. We have great supervisors, we help people, and we feel good about it. I was very fortunate to have a job crisis (when my employer cut my position) that worked out to my advantage. I was able to stay on at my job in a slightly different position with a better employer. I like my job even more than before, mostly due to some major changes in the population I serve and the addition of other programs I am able to be involved in. I could not ask for anything more out of my job. In a time when so many people are unemployed, under-employed, or hate their jobs, we are very fortunate.
I have reached a point in life where age has become my friend and my mental health is now more stable than it has ever been. It has allowed me to be less selfish with my time and love, be more supportive to those I most care about, and generally be a happier person. So many years spent in misery, and now any misery is short-lived. I can honestly say I am at the best place in my life that I have been in some time, maybe ever. So many things have fallen into place. Kismet, karma, kismet, karma.
I am very fortunate to have the best support system one could dream of. I have my love, Dr. Love, my parents are always there for me, and I have a real relationship with my dad again. Add to that my step-sister moving closer and the ability to spend time with her, her husband, and their children. I feel very lucky to have all of this love around me. So many people just don’t have this, and I absolutely treasure my parents and Dr. Love. They are there for me, no matter what, and that’s a great feeling.
These moments of clarity and deep insights are beautiful and amazing. I can say that Goddess of Mindfulness has played a big role in this. She has been there since the beginning, and I am so happy I was able to return to her wisdom and kindness five years ago. It is a joy to see her and talk about my life, work through things, big and small. Not everyone is able to have a treatment team like I do, the opportunities for growth that I have had, the ability to be myself and grow through the care of the best clinicians I have ever known.
For the most part, I have been able to come to peace, to rest, to have a firmer definition of who I really am. I accept myself, sometimes grudgingly, but it is a process and I am getting there. I know a peace now that I have never felt before and I really think it is because I am finally growing up. At age 29, I know, but 29 is so much better than 25, 21, 18, 15, 12. Best I have ever been.
And I couldn’t have done it without you…and you…and you…and you. I love you. You know who you are.
Nothing like a lack of blogging to make one think. Or not think, for that matter. I have spent the last month pretending like my new job is not stressing me out. Part of me thinks that this job can’t possibly be stressful, because that would mean that I am symptomatic. Well, that’s just not the case. Studies indicate that starting a new job is right up there in the top five of the most stressful things in life. I am not struggling with starting a new job because I am bipolar…I am struggling because I am HUMAN. Talk about radical acceptance.
I have had a hard time with the concept that my behavior is not always indicative of my mental health. The way I react to things isn’t always mediated by bipolar disorder — as QoB says, life is more of a factor of age, of being human. Why this is so hard to accept, I can’t quite put my finger on. I think it has to do a bit with passing the buck, blaming my imperfections on something that is largely out of my control.
So, work has been stressing me out. The jump in hours worked per week, the type of work changing, trying to learn something new, getting to know my co-workers…and coming into a job that hasn’t been done since last October. There is no wonder that I am feeling the strain from time to time.
Yesterday was markedly less stressful than the past few weeks have been. I don’t have any discharges this week, and, after having a few discharges in the last two weeks, I am getting to know what I need to do pre-discharge so that things don’t have to be so last minute. I did come home yesterday and tell Dr. Love that I must not have worked enough or hard enough because I didn’t feel stressed out. Sometimes the things that come out of my mouth, out of my head, really boggle the mind. Of course, he was supportive and reassured me that I am just learning my job, that he was sure I did work hard. And I did. I felt slightly guilty for taking off 30 minutes ahead of time, but I was really itching to get home and take Wizzah to the dog park before the weather got bad. After an hour at the bark park, I was really happy that I did take off early. And I only have 30 minutes to make up at some point during the week, which is easy as pie.
It is a truly beautiful thing, what Dr. Love and I have. We understand each other so well. He knows that my little spaz-outs are only that, and does not take them personally, just redirecting me to reality and to the fact that I’m not livid that he hasn’t taken that damn chair down to the basement that I asked him to do two weeks ago, but that I was stressing about the house needing to be picked up. Our relationship has become so much stronger in the past few weeks, I think mainly because I stopped focusing on his issues and started focusing on my own. It adds a new dimension to our relationship, one where I am not nagging, obsessing about his job search or whether or not he did something I asked him to do. Love is bigger than that, and I’m so happy that I found it.
I have been trying to focus on my physical health, pushing past denial and coming to terms with the fact that I am not getting any younger and my bad habits will take a toll in the long-run. My biggest problem is portion-control and I am working on that a few different ways. At lunch, I am taking Lean Cuisines to work (thank you, Adriana) and am packing my breakfast and healthy snacks. At home, I am trying to measure what I am eating, not worrying so much about WHAT I am eating, but HOW MUCH I am eating. Sounds simple, but it’s difficult in practice. As always, a work in progress.
I’ve been giving thought to quitting smoking, as well. I think that I am going to give it a go, using Chantix. I have quit before using the patch but have had absolutely no luck with it the last few times. I am feeling more ready this time, though, and I think that’s what I really need in order to quit. Let’s just say that I’m psyching myself up for it.
Hallelujah, baby…it’s the weekend! And I’m not sure where my cell phone is, and that’s ok. I’m not worried about the stupid things my clients might do, the 2 a.m. crisis calls I might have to field, the irate landlords calling at 6:00 a.m., or the local hospitals blowing up my phone 24/7. I know I keep saying similar over and over, but DAMN! It’s almost surreal to have a weekend, to have my evenings free, to be forced to get off the clock after my 40 hours.
Work is going really well. I am staying super-busy, which makes the week go by really fast. I feel like I actually know what I’m doing now, too. After a talk with my supervisor and a few strongly placed words with the person who is supposed to train me, I was given the bare bones of what I am supposed to get done, when I’m supposed to get it done by, and who to call/email/fax/send smoke signal to in order to get it done.
I think that I mentioned that I am employed by the medical/mental health contractor, but my office is over in reentry on the Dept. of Corrections side. At first I thought this was strange, but now I’m thankful. There are three other people in the reentry office and we’re all in our own little blue cubes. (I’ve never had a cube before!) I really like two of the people, and the other one is tolerable. The two that I hang out with, Queen of Corpses and Prince Hot Dog, share a lot of the same ideas as I do about corrections, work ethic, and “the system” in general.
Also, QofC and PHD are both interested in weight loss and exercise. I started WW recently and have been doing okay for the most part, but am struggling to exercise. QoC and PHD and I eat lunch together every day, which has helped me greatly with portion control. Also, we walk outside when it is nice, and once it gets nicer we are talking about going and walking around some trails that are nearby. I think this is a really good idea because when I come home, it seems like the last thing I want to do is exercise. I don’t think it is imperative that I walk/lift weights after I come home from work, but it needs to get done at some point during the day. My thought is that I can do cardio over my lunch hour and then do the Bowflex when I get home. I just need to fall into that routine, which I am working at doing. I think it will be even easier since it is getting nicer outside.
I have been both looking forward to and dreading this weekend for a long time. It is the weekend of the yearly basketball tournament that Dad and I go to in the big city. It has always been a really good time and definitely makes for good bonding time. Going to basketball games is one of the very few, maybe one of the only ways that I feel we can connect without him driving me crazy or hurting my feelings. But patterns repeat themselves and I end up feeling screwed. For this weekend, Dad insisted on taking my stepsister’s son, BuddyBoy. What the FUCK? Okay, let’s take the one good thing we have going together and throw a six year old in the mix…a six year old that already dominates my Dad’s time and is chosen all of the time over me. Seriously. My feelings are hurt and I am pissed.
I tried to talk with him last night on the phone with him about it, but Dad is so oblivious sometimes that it’s ridiculous. I really think he is emotionally and socially retarded…really do. I finally gave up and have tried to work on having an open mind so that I can enjoy my tournament. Let’s just say that I’m really struggling with the open mind part. In honesty, I feel like pushing Dad and that damn kid down the steps at the stadium. I know that sounds petty, but years and years of similar behavior on Dad’s part have made me bitter.
There is nothing to do but
Radically Accept.
Radically Accept.
Radically Accept.
FUCK.
Now that I have myself all worked up. 😀
I need to start setting some daily goals. I think it will help me to be more focused and mindful about my behavior. For this weekend, I need to:
1) Practice sacred self. I don’t know how long it has been since I have done this.
2) Work on being open-minded and willing when it comes to BuddyBoy and Dad. This should be a real trial.
3) Stay on plan for exercising and diet. Shouldn’t be terribly difficult, although I know there is some stadium popcorn in my future.
Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe.
Death Cab for Cutie, What Sarah Said
This video is friggin’ cool. And the song reminds me of hard times that I went through not that long ago, and it makes me proud how. far. I. have. come.
RosieSmrtiePants 