Random Thoughts

There are days when I sit pensive and review things in my life.  Yesterday was one of those.  I’m not sure it’s always a good idea to do this.  Looking back I smile at the wonder I had as a child, the dreams I had as a teenager, the ambition I had as a young adult, the joy I had becoming a mother, the smiles my children gave me as they were growing up, and I remember how much I loved their father, and the reflection they gave me of that love for him.

So, one might think, with all those great memories, what is wrong with looking back on them?  I suppose the combination, frankly, of admission of lack of knowledge of how to deal with what was not so good.  Had I focussed on that first paragraph, would things have been different?  Might I have alluded my eating disorder, and later my reliance on wine to tame the wild knots of stress in my stomach?  Would I have made different choices and refused to try to please everyone, but instead simply please the needs inside of me, not all others’ expectations of me?

Realistically the woulds and mights really mean nothing now.  My children are growing up primarily with their father and friends, my husband (now ex) is loving someone else, and my ambitions have dried up.  Gone are the days of wanting to make it in a man’s world, of over-extended hours of volunteering, or over-extended hours of working.  Gone are my needs to prove anything to anyone but myself.  Found is a life of dogs, writing, reading, learning, solitude, in a quaint little apartment with little but my needs to provide for myself and my two little companions, Jenny and Rolly.  Now a third, actually, Sparta my kitten.  I am on-call for counseling for my children the odd day of the month.  I am on-demand counseling for the other tenants in this farm house outside the surrounding cities.  At 49 with several dreams I chased, and somehow caught, but watch fizzle into dust, I do not chase dreams anymore.

I stare quietly outside my window while I type and watch the cars drive by.  I sometimes wonder how much time I have left on this earth, why I kept a squeezy-squeally plastic cow that sits on my desk staring back at me when I glimpse up.  I wonder what steps I want to take forward, and it is a wonder because for the first time in my life I cannot see a path to take.  Not even one less travelled.

Don’t get me wrong.  None of this is depressing.  It’s actually quite thought provoking.  I have three copyrights waiting for a book to be completed, a cartoon character that can easily be sent out for publishing, I have empty canvasses and unopened paint waiting for an artistic hand to pass a brush across them.  I have several books to read, incomplete knitting projects and sewing projects, a flute that has accumulated dust, a box of letters saved since I was 11 years old and a box of over 2000 pictures that need to be catalogued.  I have friends to contact, and family too.  I, however, have, in the past three months, remained quiet, complacent and thoughtful.  For the past month, I have sent out resumes to non-demanding jobs, and become somewhat intrigued by shows on television that I really didn’t care to watch before such as Dr. Phil, Anderson and Dragon’s Den.

I wonder if I am doing this in search of my true self, or simply to take a time out from all the hustle and bustle my life projected in the first 49 years.  The joy, the sorrow, the internal pain that I couldn’t command that fell prey to bulimia and alcohol.  Maybe now without either of those two crutches I’m actually realizing that maybe along the way there was something I missed.  Maybe it was as simple as that first paragraph.

…. just maybe.

 

#3 Boredom… I didn’t throw up tonight, but wanted to… however you and JJ helped me

I’m supposed to write about boredom in this blog.   It is partially about boredom.  Not many would understand this.  I was bored.  Bored because there was no one in my life… or so I thought.  So I called my sister.  She was cool.  I told her I didn’t throw up my anger, frustration, fear of not being loved and boredom.  She told me it was okay if I did.  I told her it wasn’t, and that I was proud I didn’t.  I didn’t eat and throw up my boredom, my anger, my pain.  I called out for help.  I think this all came from watching Charlie.  He made a difference in my life.  Controlling mother, absent father (although he did show up in a dream when Charlie almost drowned) , whimpy brother, loser nephew…. wow.  His life is heaven next to mine.  Why, you might ask?  I don’t know.  I spent three hours talking to a best friend and the poor guy had to listen.  He listened to someone not far from the Charlie character. Sublime, uncaring, caring, who the hell knows until you get that call.

Funny thing is I’ve been obsessing about Charlie Sheen these days.  A reason for this is this… father.. why the head drowned?… mother.. why controlling and cold… brother why a whimp? nephew why stupid?

I tried to equate it to my life of bullimia, just because I like Charlie. Charlie hates emotions.  I do too, but I felt some tonight.  He has too.  And he hated them.  He didn’t eat them and throw them up, he sexed them.  He still does…

Why did I tonight stop… even if I stopped for some time… I wanted to tonight eat and throw up my boredom, anger, frustration, fear, lack of love?.. Like I said above, I even called my sister and then my best friend??? WHY??  Because I think Charlie made me stronger.  His character lately (if it is a character) made me think.  Think about ME.  Not them.  Not THEM.  It’s about stopping the hurt, the boredom, the lack, the pain, the and so on….  it’s about ME now.  Taking care of ME.  Charlie, in his own sense is taking care of HIM.  May not be right in the way he’s doing it, but it’s HIS way.  I admire him for that.  I don’t agree with everything he’s doing, but for some dumb reason I understand.  I just do.

And so…. I didn’t throw up all the boredom and frustration and hurt BECAUSE I watched Charlie and then called a friend.  A friend I cannot thank enough, but has some semblance to Charlie.  He’s in the middle of me how I relate to Charlie… and HIM how he sometimes is like Charlie.

You know what Mr. Charlie Sheen?  You saved my life tonight… thank you.  And so did my JJ, but you started my reach out.  Thank you.

BTW no you in the show?  No two and a half.  If you get my drift.  I don’t want to watch this show if you are not there… for me to laugh and learn.  and to Ducky?  Please call Charlie… I’m okay that you’re a troll, but don’t discount Charlie.  He’s really more than you think he is.

Why and how was I created?

I thought about this tonight and many other things.  I thought about how all my dogs are not nearly as great as after my family has them for a while.  Where do you think the love came in?  Where do you think all the complaints of how loving they are came from?  OH YA, what would be me.  Their mother.  But like the father of my children, those around my “other”children, who are my dogs, they have to take credit.  I’ve always been the loser.  Speaking of which, bullimia cannot come between these emotions now a days.  Was easier to eat those thoughts up and throw them up, but now I blog them.  My dogs were always beautiful and well behaved around me.  Thing is though, they lived like me.  I didn’t socialize.  They ran free.  So did I.  But now that I lost everything, they, like me, have to adjust to a new life.  It’s not that we were bad to begin with, it’s just we were different.  We lived our lives the way we lived it and we liked it.  We weren’t worse, or better, we just were.  Them and me.  Marly and me.  Jenny and me.  My babies and me.

So today I live with my Marly with my parents, and my three other babies with me, and my sister and her significant other.  Marly – actually Yeller – is apparently so much better behaved now that he is with my parents.  Rolly, my little guy and Peanut are so much more muscular since living with me and my sister and her significant other.  Okay, so here’s the deal.  I am a loser.  Can’t do anything right.  Never will.  OMG… so anti bullimic right now, but so not hungry.  Where I am today is a really weird place to be on so many fronts.  I’m trying to write about today and then digress into my past to where all this began, but I always have another emotion surfacing… that which I blog and then don’t have time to go backwards.  Maybe that’s a good thing.

Having written that, I wonder.  How was I born?  How did I come to be.  Oh yes, this is the title of this blog.  Well… lets see.  Mom was having a nervous break down (as they called it then) around the time I was created.  I never understood that.  Apparently, from one source, mom lay on the couch for a year.  Didn’t want to get up or anything.  Another source said mom painted all the time.  Painted walls.  So I’m confused.  If mom was so busy either painting or lying down and not wanting to get up, which led to someone coming in to help my sisters… all in and around the time I supposedly was created… hummm… how did that happen?  How did I happen?  And why the hell did I happen?  I can’t finish this … because I don’t know.. and I can’t begin either, other than I am here.  I exist against all odds.  No wonder.  No wonder everyone tells me I’m different, I’m not normal, I’m hard to figure out, I’m nomadic, I’m smart, I’m …. different.  And in that word of different, I experience the world of being a BullimiAddict.  Welcome to my life.

Bullimic Backwards Thoughts – Psych EEK

Okay… so I blew my volcano.   I seriously did NOT have issues with bullimiaddict issues.  It was emotional issues from not eating and purging my feelings.  And so through this interesting (step back) OMG (okay you can step forward again) issue I lost it.  I volcanoed (NO not bullimict) my emotions to…

…. you’re waiting…

the one who oh.. ya… the second one that told me I was hard to love.

So he was visiting.  Ya… that last one.  Not the one that caused the scar tattooed with the physical pain to remember him by.  The latest.

OH, you might ask.  No you wont.  But in case you want to hear the story…..  I should have been in a mental institute by this time somewhere in warm weather zone… Yes.  I lost it, the volcano erupted.

Yes.  To the final detriment of my life of love.  Damn… could have eaten the honesty and thrown it up.  Today, like the last many, I chose not to.

It’s not worth it.

However, I did give a great screen play.  And he bought it.  Gotta love a great massage.  No sex required when you cry.  Even real tears of pain, or fake, albeit mine were real, for some reason, (or treason) it becomes that sex is not expected.  So question?  Do men really need that control over love, pain, sex? (and some).  If the answer is yes, then it’s understandable why BullimiAddicts can and will rule.

Pain, not sure #1 or #2

Gotta love “I think I loved you at one time” or “I loved you at one time”… then gone.  Bye bye now. What a way to make a person feel just tremendous about themselves.  Oh no, no bother.  Let me see.  Takes time then suddenly you realize why.  For each of us that may mean something new.  However, I might say that I did throw up yet another “oh I’m so sorry I did your sister” or “I’m sorry I did my ex girlfriend who is now married”… OH I’M SO SORRY… for being a sucker.. and hurting even if I was.. is?  When does this end?

Fun thing is, I’ve fought my disease, which makes me all the more aware of… everything.

Not sure?  I am sure.  It’s time for me to move forward to find … the me who running so fast ahead that she keeps me on my feet and running.

Pain

Okay, so here I am again.  Now I need to share this one.  I’m going to try to do this without crying.  Pain.  Pain is not of a physical nature here.   Physical  pain is somewhat easy (taken into perspective – no disease such as cancer).  Pain.  Emotional.  Hurts are more than basic physical pain.   How so, one might ask?  Easy.  I had given up this idiotic disease until one fateful day when I realized the man I loved loved someone else.  My son drove a ball on a driving range on that fateful day that I found out.  I chose to take him there and teach how to drive.  Unbeknownst to him, his mother, hurting inside, didn’t quite equate the range of her son’s club versus how far away she stood.  To this day I have the scar.  But here is the story behind it:

I felt NO PAIN physically.   I felt no pain at all other than my son’s for hurting his mom.  But I couldn’t feel it.  It didn’t exist in this world of pain I was feeling.  Why?  Because I NO LONGER EXISTED in my husband’s heart.

Okay, so was that pain, pain and pain?

He said, he being my “husband”, the night before, that he… was in love with someone else. Bang.  A bruise on the face the size of a man abusing his wife felt nothing like the bullet that hit my heart the day before but for some reason my heart kept beating.  It wasn’t suppose to.  I should have died.  Oh but I did… but not physically…

You see, this pain I didn’t eat then and there.  It took time for the pain to digest its pain.  Then it started again.  My brain’s side of emotions came out and ate my pain.  My fear that came to be of not being loved in the most unconditional way that I knew how to love surfaced.

I ate her and threw her up once I figured it all out.  I just wanted her out.  Even more so I became someone I was not.  I tried to compete with that person who stole my “husband’s” love.  I did things for him I would never have.  And then I ate myself even more and threw myself up even more.  Nice eh?

NOT.

I couldn’t compete, I realized.  I wasn’t the same colour, the same body size, the same sexual being she was.  He and she did things I just couldn’t bring myself to do, and when I did in a fit of “fight for him syndrome” it went against my values.  Values.  They mean everything.  They stand above law, order and love.  Values.  Dignity.  Integrity.  No matter how much you love, if you go against those values you have for yourself, your dignity and your integrity… a relationship, be it with yourself or with someone else…. it will NOT survive.  Much to the detriment of your children… but it will NOT survive.  And one of the two will suffer in the top of that pyramid of marriage and children.  You get it.  I’m sure.