AOL Blog Controversy

Granted I have been far more faithful to my Myspace blog than my AOL blog for a while now, but I didn't realize there was a big broughaha going on about the ads that now grace the top of these blogs.

Apparently the J-Land population is up in arms that they have to deal with these ads -which are controlled by AOL and not any of us.  Since AOL is a paid service, and everything under AOL falls under that service (journals included), many feel that this is pretty bogus.  Some are going as far as taking their blogs off of AOL altogether - something I realized as I was going through my Favorites folder "Journals", which had a gazillion blogs bookmarked from my avid J-Land participation a year or so back.

Considering that AOL is still fairly expensive in comparison to other ISPs, I think it is pretty cheesy that they milk advertisers for more money just because the blog phenomenon took off. 

I guess it never phased me because Myspace is covered in ads, but it's also a free service.  It's also a better blog service, to be quite honest.  You have a lot more control over personal expression, the blog subscription service is a lot more reliable and it's just more user friendly.  It's a lot better because you can see who's reading your blog, and the networking aspect is awesome.  You can join a bunch of blog groups with people who have similar interests, and now it features a "Most Popular Blog" feature.

I've kept up the AOL journal for those times I feel like discussing personal stuff, and kept the Myspace blog more light hearted.  That's still my intent.

But I have to say the more I think about it, the more I resent that I'm getting charged for AOL AND dealing with ads, for a service that is considerably sophomoric at best.

Therefore, if any of you wish to keep up with me, you can see me on a more regular basis over at http://blog.myspace.com/allgingerallthetime. 

The Emerald City

I've often referred to the Wizard of Oz in comparison to the journey that I'm on.  My sister in law surprised me with a birthday present of The Wizard of Oz, the book, which was totally cool.  She reminded me that being courageous isn't the absence of fear, but action in the face of it. 

How true. 

The good news is the more active you are in the face of fear, the more the fear abates. 

For instance, my writing career. 

The first time I sent out queries for "Fatty", I was scared and apprehensive.  I needed to see a response to validate the work I had done.  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the book did what it was supposed to do.  It entertained an audience for one, which is the purpose of any book.  People connected emotionally with a character I really feared would come across as unsympathetic.

I thought I'd lose readers left and right because of the continual mistakes "Gina" made.  How could anyone feel sympathy for someone who willfully self destructed? 

Truth was, I didn't feel a whole lot of sympathy for Gina myself.  Which is why I've beat myself up for so long.  That negative speak was coming from me about me and it was stopping any good thing from happening to me. 

Through writing this novel, I got to look at this character from an adult perspective, with all I've learned being a parent.  I went through a bunch of feelings reliving my past, anger at the people in my life who let me down, to finally realizing that as many mistakes that they made I didn't have it as bad as I always seemed to think I did.  I went from being angry with my mom to finding a lot of sympathy for her situation.  I could understand now why it was easier to hide in work than deal with a stranger. 

It makes it a lot easier to move on.

So not only did my audience never lose their love for my character, I actually grew to love that kid.  Without realizing it, I comforted that kid who was sad and alone after dad died.  That was a pretty big deal.

And most of all, I was truly myself and I wasn't judged by the world as I expected to be.  I found out it's okay to be me, to be imperfect.

What a revelation!

But that didn't stop me from quaking in my boots when I sent out queries to those big time agents who have the power and authority to either open a door for my career, or keep it bolted shut.  Would they realize the total fraud I always felt I was?  That my writing, while I liked it, wasn't really worth millions of dollars to publish and distribute?

Finally I grabbed myself by the shoulders and said, "Hey!  You're an optioned screenwriter.  That means a professional director/producer believes in you.  Studios have continually given positive feedback.  Get a grip!  You're good!  You have something to say!  For God's sake.... Say it!"

So even though I didn't hear anything for the first two weeks, I sent out more queries last night after my journal entry.  And I wrote a story and sent it to a magazine for publication. 

And to top it all off, I responded to an ad for a contract screenwriter. 

Michael J. Fox was on Inside the Actor's Studio and he said something that resonated with me.  He indicated that he and that class were special - their talent was that they were communicators. 

I never thought of it like that.  I'm a communicator. 

Therefore I have a responsibility to get my stuff out there, because not everyone has that gift and by burying it under fear I'm actually taking that gift for granted.  I'm already good, I simply have to convince these big time agents.

That sounds so conceited.  My years of religious bondage make that unbearably difficult to write without cringing.   I've always waited for "proof".  A sale, namely.  But the proof is that I can write stories that touch other people.  I can take a simple blank page and create a world where one does not exist.  I can create people that make you laugh or cry or love or hate. 

If I'm not convinced I can do that, there's no way I'm going to convince those agents of the same.

Therefore the Emerald City I'm marching towards is definitely one of self esteem.  One that says, I have a right to be here.  I have a right to be heard.  And most frightening of all, I have a right to be seen.

It all comes back to action in the face of fear. 

The next step?  A screenwriting conference where I get to pitch industry folk face to face.

I do believe in spooks. I do believe in spooks. I do, I do, I do, I do, I *do* believe in spooks...

Hello? Is this thing on?

I know it seems like I've fallen off the face of the planet, but I haven't.  I'm still around, and I'm still hanging in.  I'm actually doing pretty good.  I'm more active by far, trying to get a lot of walking in.  I'm easing into this exercise thing, and so far so good.

I bought another Pilates ball and that's on my immediate To Do list.  I just have to find the DVD I bought to go with it several months ago.  That will probably come with a cleaning jag I feel necessary.  Clutter is not my friend, and yet I still cannot part with it.  It's not CHAOS (Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome) but it could be better.

I've abandoned perfection.  I've got critters, both the four legged and the two legged kind.  My house may never smell great or even be totally kept up.  It's better, though, so I feel somewhat in control.

The eating is still iffy.  Some days are good, some days are eh.  But for the most part I've lost weight, which is a good thing.  I weighed in at a whopping 310 on December 2, and I'm back down to 306.  My goal is 10lbs a month, but I'm not going to be rigid about it.  As long as the numbers on the scale is going down or the measurements are going down, I'll be okay.  This is a marathon, not a sprint.  I'll get there by endurance.

Although I did buy a scale for the house.  So far it's keeping me honest and I'm not over-weighing.  As long as I can keep it as information instead of obsession, I think it could actually be useful.

I've also committed to my sister that we would take self defense classes together.  This is my Year (ear ear ear) of Courage (ourage ourage ourage), and one of the things I've always put off until The Great When (when I lose weight, etc) was taking martial arts classes.  I've always wanted to but I always said when I get more fit I'll do it. 

Well, it's not really an excuse when you consider that it's pretty decent exercise in and of itself AND it helps teach the discipline which can benefit everything else.  Basically I just didn't want to be fat and in a class with a bunch of non fat people, who could do the things I don't feel I can do (gym anyone?).  Basically - I'm a'skerred.  So, I'm not going to put it off past January.  That's when I'll allocate funds especially for it, after the Christmas crush is behind us.

I'm also getting out more, like going out for Artwalk this past Thursday. 

Babysteps.

I didn't go to the doctor like I was supposed to on the 7th.  Apparently they didn't have me in their computer, even though I called what.. three weeks ago?  So I went ahead and made another appointment for January.  Steven said that I procrastinated so much I didn't confirm till last minute because I was being passive aggressive about it and avoiding it.  And he's right.  The gynocologist is not my idea of a fun time, and I avoid doctors generally like the plague anyway.

I'm always afraid the next time I see one they'll tell me my bad habits have caught up with me (The Big D), and I'll have some incurable disease that I could have prevented had I been a little smarter.

But I can't keep going through the PMS cycles.  The guys are going to soon take monthly vacations to get away from me.  There's no sense in going through this when there's another way.

This new appointment is pretty solid, I'd think, considering I made it face to face and actually watched them put the information in.  So no getting away from it.  And this time I will confirm.

The waiting is always worse than just getting it over and done with. 

My goal for December?  Not go broke.  I always overdo it on Christmas, feeling like I have to do it bigger and better every year for the kids' sake.  Which is ridiculous because I can't remember any of the gifts I got as a kid, even the ones I absolutely couldn't live without. 

One gift I remember is Mr. Mouth - that game where this little mechanical head goes around in a circle and four players try to flip their little chips into it's mouth when it opens.  The reason I remember this gift?   My mother and my sister and I played it all night long.  Back when I was 9, that was a big deal.

So my goal is to get the gifts that they want, but not drive myself into the poorhouse to do it. 

The real gift is that we'll be together.

And Timothy got the Christmas gift of a lifetime at his ROTC military ball last night, where he finally got to dance with the girl he likes.  He's walking on air.

I can't top that one.

So I guess you could say I'm approaching life consciously.  I'm not living by impulse too much, and if I do I self correct it as soon as I can.  Changing habits to change outcomes.

And I'm still filling out applications and sending out queries and feelers for the writing too.  I'm actually to the point where I can't remember what I was afraid of in the first place.

That, my friends, is progress.

Back to life, back to reality...

Well the weigh in yesterday was a LOT less forgiving than last Saturday.  It showed a 3lb gain. 

Surprisingly though, I didn't freak out.  I wasn't happy, of course, but it wasn't the end of the world.  First, I knew that I had been eating poorly for the last few weeks, so I couldn't really expect anything less. 

Second, I knew that with the monthly fluxuations amounting to only a pound or so, a three pound gain in a week would probably even out over time anyway.

Plus, it was good motivation to keep me on the revised eating plan.

Without the emotional roller coaster of the book, there's really no excuse for me to eat like I've been eating.  Not to say that there was an excuse before, but I feel that writing that book helped trip a lot of triggers that I could feel and deal with at that moment.

I feel a lot more in control than I did before, so I really feel ready to tackle everything, not just the weight.

I've been talking about getting another job for a while now, but I finally got my tush out on Wednesday to pound the pavement and see what I could find.  I applied at the hospital, at Blue Cross, at the Employment Office (state job, great pay) and even at Target.  (I figure, what I lose in pay I can make up in an employee discount).  The next day HR at the hospital called me back to schedule a typing test.

Considering I type 70+wpm and the job requirement is 40wpm, I feel confident that I'll pass with flying colors. 

Anyway that's tomorrow.  It's a temp job in admissions, but it's work and hopefully it'll pay well. 

What I really want are benefits.  We don't have vision or dental, and I really want to get covered.  I want to finally get my smile fixed, I think that will do a lot to boost my confidence.

Jeff gave me a link to another work from home type job with benefits, but I think I'm ready to get out there in the world again.  I'm in a bubble here, and it's really easy to give in to some bad habits (sleeping/eating/etc).  It's time to join the land of the living.

Anyway, I have two minutes left until I'm 36.  Yes I count down to the very minute.

It only really bothers me when I think of all the time I've wasted, and so many opportunities that I've wasted.  Sometimes I feel that life is passing me by, and that is exacerbated by the digits flipping over in my age.

I had a moment earlier today, when Timothy found some of his dad's stuff in the garage, that I had to face mortality once again.

I hate facing mortality, I hate thinking that one day I'll die.  I know it's stupid to worry about the inevitable, but sometimes I just have a moment of panic that I'll die without doing what I want to do or making the kind of mark I want to make on the world. 

That kind of dread hit me today as I was sorting through Dan's stuff and deciding who should get what. 

To anyone else in the world, Dan's logbook from when he went to school to be a trucker would be just a book.  Just a thing.  To the boys and to me, that book is the only tangible thing of Dan we have left.

When it's all said and done, we're defined by what we left behind.  All those things we toil so hard for end up being things that are scattered to the four winds once we die.

It was a sad thing to me.  But it helped put things in perspective.  It's not about the houses or the cars or the stuff that means so much in the moment.  It's about the impact. 

My goal is to make a pretty big impact.  Not just for me, but for Dan and for Brandon and for all the people that I love so dearly.  I want to immortalize us all.

It's a pretty big job.  I'm going to have to be healthy and strong and live the life I was meant to live instead of crouch on the sidelines in fear.

So now that I'm officially 36, the Year of Courage has begun.

Fasten your seatbelts.  It's going to be a bumpy ride.

Official Weigh In

Well color me surprised.  Despite my inches, I only gained one pound in this month I've been off my foot.

That loud clank you heard was my chin dropping to the floor.

In fact, I had so pysched myself up that it would be 315 when I saw 305 I barely processed it.

So this is good news.

It was almost like seeing a loss!

But I do need to get some exercise because I'm feeling flabby and gross from the inches, so I'm going to ease back into a routine. 

Knowing is half the battle, right?

Same Mistake, Different Day

If you're following along in Fatty, you're likely at the spot where I stopped, after a pretty big mistake on my part.

Like you, I was thinking way back then that ok I made my mistake, time to move on.

We were both wrong.

It wouldn't be long before I made the same mistake over and over again. 

Dealing with my promiscuity is not easy for me, and likely the reason my writing came to a complete stop.  I'm so caught up with not looking foolish and I'm going to be a complete and utter fool from here on out.

So, how to deal with it?

Well, the first is to just deal with it.  I have long been caught up in the idea "If it feels good do it," then suffer immediate buyers remorse.  This happens on anything I indulge myself in.  I indulge myself defiantly (I deserve it I'm entitled) then almost immediately when it's over the high crashes and I feel weak and stupid.

It's a painful and unending cycle, as it would seem.

Especially since I've been eating everything in sight while I go through all these painful self examinations. 

Last night, after I ate some fried chicken (which is a no no not just diet wise but with my irritable gall bladder), I felt nauseated by the grease. 

I know eating badly leaves me feeling gross, but I do it because I will not be deprived.  I don't deserve it.  I even make excuses for it.

But it basically boils down to me making the same mistake over and over and over again.

It isn't like I expect a different result.  It just means that I know what the consequences will be and decide that I can live with them. 

So today I measured myself, and I'll probably go weigh myself as well - shoe and all.  I have gained 12 inches since September.  This is not good.  I expect the scale to be even more shocking.  I wouldn't be surprised if it said 315. 

So. 

The first thing I want to do is say that all that is behind me.  I think we both know that it's not.

All I can say is that I'm going to get through today.  I'm going to feel what I feel, even if it hurts.  When I went over the rape/attempted suicide chapter, I sat here at this computer bawling my eyes out and hurting so deep I thought I would disappear into myself.

After I was through I wanted to eat.  Something.  Anything.  Food is my drug of choice.

Instead, I didn't.  Despite my overindulgence there were moments of victory like that.

So I know there is a better way.  I'm not that fourteen year old girl floundering from place to place anymore.  I have to find that strength I know I have and just make a different choice. 

I may stumble... in fact I may even fall.

I cannot be perfect.  All I can do is be me.

From here on in, that's going to have to be good enough.

The epiphanies are hitting left and right

I tell ya.  Things are really getting sorted out in the wash.  The more I work through all this the more insights I get.  I don't regret what I've written so far in the least, even when it was hard to write.

Last night, though, I felt a little apprehension regarding the stuff that comes next.  I'm very shamed by my teen years where I went through periods of extreme desperation for affection.  Add that to a lack of self control and no concept of moderation, and you have me looking very bad and very weak.

In fact, I was trying to figure out how to make the story work without a few key episodes.  Then I realized that since the rape in 1974, I've been hiding myself in one sort of shame or the other.  In order to really set myself free, I have to be myself no matter what that means.

If I hide it, then I'll know I hid it, I'll still feel shamed by it and I'll never be free from it.

So strap yourselves in, dear audience, it's going to be a bumpy ride.  We're talking a full on train wreck with me as the conductor.

I realized today that appearances have meant more to my family than the truth.  As long as we looked like we did the right thing, then it didn't matter what we did behind closed doors.

You can find true integrity that way.  And maybe, just maybe, my inability to feign perfection manifested itself in a very visible and unavoidable imperfection.

Either way, in order for this to work I have to have true integrity.  It doesn't matter what I did twenty years ago, it matters what I learned from it. 

Do me a favor, eh?  Keep reminding me of that.  Because this introspection stuff sucks, especially on in a public forum.

It is my hope, above all, that this book helps some other person from making the same mistakes I did.  That way they won't spend 30 years hiding from themselves like I did.

21,500 words so far

I'll be half way done with this puppy by tomorrow night at this rate.  It's amazing how easily it's coming out.  Really amazing. 

My therapist suggested that I write my life story when she found out that I was a writer.  I resisted at first, thinking there is just too much of me I don't want anyone to know.  But this book would not be ignored. 

Even though I left a "cliffhanger" on the blog, I've written two more chapters since then.  Now I'm up to my seventh grade year.  Junior High, aka teenage hell, especially when you're different.

It's amazing to me how much some of these things still hurt.  I never thought on them much probably for that reason.  I'm the Queen of Avoidance.  Looking at this stuff and feeling this stuff is not a pleasant experience.  In the least.

It's also giving me newfound perspective for my kids.  We don't think we forget what it's like to be a kid, but we really do.  We forget when the center of our universe is being accepted by our peers.  We forget how every single thing is a drama.  When you're that young, you don't have any perspective on what real issues are.  You have nothing to compare it to.

Looking back, knowing what I know now, and living through that awkward teen on the page, brings it all back.  And you realize - it IS a  big deal.  You know it, because you can feel it again. 

I just wrote about the very first time I suited up in the girl's locker room.  It was torture.  In the whole scheme of things now, it's probably not that big a deal.  But then?  It was the end of the world.

I'm really glad that I have undertaken this project.  It's not easy, God knows, but I really feel better.  I'm no longer running from the pain or hiding from the pain - or burying the pain.  There's a certain freedom in that, and peace in that.

It really feels like I'm doing some emotional house cleaning. 

This was necessary.  I'm glad I'm doing it.

Epiphanies

I realized something last night as I was writing chapter seven of Fatty.  I think I know now why I hate to exercise.

Exercise, to me, has always been forced, never fun.  My dad (who was in his sixties/seventies and in ill health) couldn't engage me in physical activity.  My mom, who had been robbed of such things in her own childhood, didn't have the time or the inclination to do it either.  My sister was eleven years older than me, so most of my childhood was spent around other adults rather than other kids.  It made me smart as a whip and creative as hell, but taught me that recreation was sedentary, like reading, writing, watching TV or listening to music.

Having been a heavier kid all my life, school yard games as simple as Duck, Duck, Goose were stressful for me.  I *liked* the fact my teachers loved me and other kids loved me.  Getting any kind of criticism for being under par was horrifying for me.  Therefore I would hate it when we'd play kickball, or any other type of sport, because I sucked at it.

Physical Education was my undoing.  They took something I loathed, dreaded and avoided and made it mandatory.  I hated that.  I wanted to go to school and college, and probably could have lasted a bit longer than I did had I not had to face this grueling and torturous tradition.

I'm not just making excuses by the way - my nineth grade year was proof positive that without the stress of PE I could and did rise to the educational challenge.  Nineth grade, which I'm planning to cover in the book, was a great year.  Being the upperclassman (this was back in the days of Junior High) probably didn't hurt, but also not having to worry about changing in the locker room (horrific) or parade around in shorts that were too tight and showed off the body I'd rather have kept hidden (torture) made them great days indeed.

So I truly believe had I found a way around the PE thing, I could have at least gone past the tenth grade.  I might have even graduated. 

(I'm proof positive that mandatory physical education does not make up for a sedentary home life.)

Anyway, it really got me thinking that I was not conditioned to enjoy exercise.  I never learned how to swim, skate, climb trees, skateboard, play sports - any of it.  The older I got, the more of a freak I became because I didn't know how to do these things, so I just avoided it altogether.

Add that to the controlling, perfectionist people pleaser I was being groomed to be, and you have someone who looks at exercise (even now) like a chore.

So I have a few ideas.

I think it's time that my family get involved in activities.  Jeremiah plays tennis, and I have been entertaining the thought of helping his game by all four of us doing it as freetime on the weekend.  I also think things like miniature golf or bowling (which doesn't exactly trip my trigger, but I am willing to try at least once I guess) could easily replace going out to eat or going to a movie as family outings.

We have a really great state park not too far away, and I know more time there will make Timothy happy.  He's a real nature freak and loves all that kind of stuff. 

I also have been toying with the idea of combining my exercise with my writing.  I could take walking tours of Abilene during all our various community events, then blog about them and share my town (which I do love) with the world.  This does double duty.  It gets me off my ever widening rear end for one, and it gets me out into the public for two.  I need socialization, not isolation.  I was never taught how to socialize OR exercise, so it's time I correct these things that stress me so much.

Hal Sparks had a blog back in September about making his birthday the day of resolutions, rather than New Year's Eve.  He would declare the year as "The Year of" - insert goal here.  Since my birthday is fast approaching, I think I'm going to adopt the same attitude and name this The Year of Courage.

This does not mean it's going to be an exercise in doing things I don't want to do because I think I should.  It means I'm going to examine any reticence I face when approached with a challenge, and if the core of the problem is fear then I'm going to tackle it.  I've recently come to the conclusion that the only person stopping me from being successful is myself.

I don't mean weight only.  Weight is just a convenient excuse to fail.  Primarily I believe if I were more assertive toward my writing career I could be a success.  The thing that holds me back most - fear.

The first obstacle, of course, is Fatty.  Tackling some very hard subject matter (namely, things I've hidden under mounds of flesh for umpteen years) has been  rewarding, exhausting, enlightening and terrifying as hell.

I'm putting myself out there - this person I never felt deserved anything good in her life, especially acceptance of other people, even when that's what I wanted and needed most.  That's scary.  Once we get into the self destructive behavior including early promiscuity and drinking, it's going to be especially scary.  I don't really want people to know these things BUT if this project is supposed to work (and it's already doing a LOT of things for me already) then I have to be honest.  Hiding it all my life made me fat, unhappy, timid and unsuccessful.  As Dr. Phil would say, "How's that workin for ya?"

It ain't.

So far people have been supportive of this project and giving me the comfort I was denied all those years ago.  When people told me they cried during Chapter One I was surprised.  Isn't that strange?  I was surprised by kindness and empathy.  This reaffirms my earlier suspicion that no one is going to be as hard on me as I am on myself, and I really need to start giving people chances.

So I'm going to "feel the fear and do it anyway".  This is who I am, good or bad.  I have to stop being so ashamed of it.

First on my list of things to conquer: Overcome the fear of looking foolish. 

This fear has singlehandedly stopped me more than any other fear I have, and I have em all.  I do not like to try and fail, especially publicly.  Which is why bowling, minature golf, company picnics with things like sack races and physical competitions have always sent me running in the opposite direction.  Even martial arts, which I would love to undertake, is something this particular fear prevents me from doing.  Any kind of group activity, basically.  I don't want to be put up next to someone else and be criticized or judged as being under par.

The most ludicrous of all....

Dancing.

I'm particularly jealous of Ellen Degeneres.

This woman looks like she enjoys every single moment of her life, basically because she's not afraid to look foolish.  (Very few comics are, that's why they are in their chosen profession.  It also might be why I look up to so many of them, aside from their obvious creative brilliance).  She seizes opportunities to have fun.  If they're not readily available then she MAKES them available.  She starts off every single show by getting the audience to dance.

Me?  Not only can I not dance in a bar where everyone around me is drunk and could care less, I can't dance by myself alone in my house. 

That phrase "Dance like nobody's watching" does NOT apply to me.

So it's time to put on my boogie shoes and start dancing.  I might even look into a dancing class for Steven and I once our financial situation improves.  I have no rhthym, I look like an idiot, but that's not what it's about.

It's about seizing every single moment in life and making them count. 

That will be my goal during my Year of Courage.

(Why do I feel like the Cowardly Lion about to embark on the Yellow Brick Road to the Emerald City?)

"How much of it is true?"

This was the question posed to me by Jeff (my best friend) after he read the first few chapters of Fatty.  Our friendship never really took off until after my dad died, even though we met a few months before, so he wasn't aware of all the specifics.

Most of it is true, in terms of feelings.  The particulars or the details are embellished just because I've been so good at surpressing hurtful memories for so long that I really only remember bits and pieces. 

I created Auntie Dee, who is an amalgam of the worst traits of my family rolled into one character.  I really do have an uber-religious aunt she's based on, but she was no where near us when my dad died.  Like I said before, the actual events would be changed for maximum impact for story.

But that eleven year old girl that no one comforted after her dad died?  That's true.

The stroke was true.  The death was true.  Feeling different and isolated - all painfully true. 

In fact, it scares me how true much of it is.  I wanted to use the catalysts to create a character LIKE me, but unfortunately Gina is all me right now. 

Ironically I can talk about the sexual assault and my dad's death so much easier than I can talk about the food.  Talking about the food makes me feel the most vulnerable and exposed of all.

It's going to get worse before it gets better.  As much as I seem to be throwing my family under the bus right now, believe me, my time is coming.  Woo boy, is it coming. 

I said to Jeff that it would be my luck that this book actually sell and would be the final nail in the coffin with my family and me.  He said screw it, write it truthfully and let the chips fall where they may.  I've decided that's the best way to handle it.  I'm not writing this book to sell, really, which is probably why it will.

My life is kooky like that.

I'm pretty much at the end of my rope with my family anyway.  All the feelings that this is bringing up are not pleasant, and instead of pain I'm really feeling a lot of anger.  Anger that I get a lot of criticism for being self centered after I was conditioned to take care of myself because no one else was going to.  Anger that I get a lot of grief for "taking advantage" of my family just because I accept what bribes they give me so they don't have to feel guilty for hanging me out to dry. 

They can't give me affection or trust or unconditional love, so instead they give me grandiose gifts that are supposed to cancel their debt.  But because I take it, that makes me a mooch and a freeloader.

Go figure.

So I've distanced myself from them, especially since my mom got her settlement.  I've decided to tell them I do not want birthday gifts, and I don't want a dime of that settlement money willed to me after my mom passes on.  She can give my part to my kids, but I'm not going to accept it and then live under my sister's ire for how I spend it.

Let her cash in.  I've decided that the price of a relationship with them is too high for me to pay.

We had an unexpected financial setback yesterday to the tune of $700, but I refuse to ask them for help.  I won't ask for an advance, and I won't ask my mom for a loan.  I'd rather pawn my wedding rings to strangers than deal with the guilt I've had to deal with because "it's always something with Ginger."

So I'm going to distance myself from them while I work all this out.  My mom probably gets the raw end of the deal in that she's not the main source of my resentment at the moment, but the current situation feels truly like a throwback to 1981 when it was them against me.

Even with my mom buying a new house I was left out of the deal.  Even Steven, who has real estate experience.

So, I'm done.  Done trying for acceptance and approval.  I have to give it to myself and find some other way to do it than with food. 

Which is all the time with my family amounts to anyway - going out to eat, going over to their house to eat.  Food, food, food.  That's their biggest bribe of all.

Someone's got to say enough is enough, and I guess that someone has to be me.

In hiding

I haven't been around because I've been having breakthroughs that have been way too much to deal with.  They really have "broken" through, and it's been painful and scary and a wee bit too much.  I've just sort of filed them back and would do anything and everything else to keep my mind off of them.  It hasn't been pretty.

Coming here meant I had to talk about them, so needless to say....

Saturday was a sucky sucky day.  My best friend's brother died unexpectantly on a day where I had to come face to face with past demons.  So I had the Mortality Card played right along side all this other crap I've had to deal with.  Lynn was only 45, and no one could have predicted that he would die.  In fact, my best friend's mother has cancer for which she's not getting any preventative treatment, so the whole family has to deal with her mortality on a day to day basis.

This was a total suckerpunch.

But that's how life is, isn't it?

That morning I had a fight with my 15 year old son.  It's not an unusual occurance, we fight all the time about everything.  I just chalked it up to his fighting for his place in the adult world like all young bucks.  I now know it's a much bigger deal than that.

Of all of us, Timothy and I got the brunt of Dan's illness.  We were the ones who actually endured abuse and anger, and both of us felt helpless to stop it.  For Timothy, it's meant that he will never back down from a fight again.  He doesn't want to feel that helpless again, and he feels a lot of self loathing giving himself over to pain instead of anger.

Which was what Saturday morning was about.  The fight was so intense I was afraid we were going to come to blows, and I had never before worried about him striking me.  It was a complete throwback to when I would face Daniel at his sickest and worry that he was going to kill me. 

Ever since Dan went through all he went through with the meds, I've sort of canonized him - especially with the guilt I suffered because of the divorce.  I felt like I abandoned him when he needed me, it wasn't his fault he was sick.  I go back and forth between thinking that I'm beating myself up or letting myself off the hook.  I did stay, and I dealt with all the things his sickness entailed - from the rage and abuse of being untreated, to being catatonic and unresponsive medicated to the gills.  He was hospitlized several times and I was there for him, praying for him, loving him and doing all I could to make the marriage work.  I did not divorce this man for lack of love, even if we had such a turbulent past. 

But this wasn't cancer, this was an emotional illness that could affect my kids and I for a long time to come.  It resulted in the kids getting taken away, and that's when I emotionally checked out of the marriage.  I knew that I had made a choice (choosing to stay married to Dan) and it had sacrificed my kids.  In fact I resented Dan a lot in those days, and I guess that was how I could condone looking outside the marriage for an escape.  Basically I was punishing us both.

I didn't do a whole lot of things I was proud of in those days.  I hate to say but I probably victimized Dan as much as he victimized me.  That is why I can't deal with the abuse, because I feel like Dan doesn't deserve that on top of it all.  He doesn't deserve to be immortalized in that way.

Especially when he was so much more than his disease.  Though he could be a very scary guy back in the day, he was also the kindest and most loving and most emotionally tender people I'd ever met.  His heart would break for total strangers, and he lived his life - especially his last years - in service to others.

That's how I want him remembered.

Apparently Timothy has the same issues.  He reveres Dan and places him up on a huge pedestal.  Neither one of us want to look at the abuse because we feel so damn guilty for how we treated him after he got treated and ceased being that scary guy who impacted us so much.

Basically we fought back when it was safe to do so.

Anyway, the fear I felt in my confrontation with Timothy - who is nearly 6' now and if he struck me it really would have impact - made me realize why being fat works for me.  That's been the question.  Dr. Phil says we don't do anything that doesn't pay off for us in some way, and I never could figure out - satisfactorily - what fat does for me, aside from the superficial way it isolates me from others.

Digging deeper than that, the isolation works because ultimately I don't have to meet anyone else or deal with any variables but the people I already know, who have proven that they will not hurt me.  For everyone else it's a deterrant.  They're not going to get close enough to hurt me emotionally OR physically.

Therefore, ultimately, fat keeps me safe.

Being big means no confrontations.  No one is going to try to bully me ever again, because I'm big enough to bully back.  In that way I'm very much like Timothy.  If someone threw a punch, I'd wipe the floor with them simply because I will never ever be beat down again.  Even though I feared going to blows with Timothy, I was ready to meet them with blows of my own.

And I think that's what scared me most.  All the anger I have regarding my helplessness and my years of being the victim has always been focused inward.  Just one violent confrontation with someone else and I'm afraid it would all pour out.

Because I will not live in fear.  I will not render control of my life to anyone completely, for I cannot trust anyone completely.  Being fat means I don't have to.

So needless to say I've had a lot to think about.

For the record, the situation defused with Timothy and we both talked it out.  But it wasn't after I broke down into tears and vocalized that I wish it had been me who died instead of Dan - because I don't know how to deal with this. 

The therapist is going to get an earful when I go back.  I haven't gone because of my foot, and trying to stay off of it while it heals.  That's not an excuse btw - I haven't done much of anything anywhere, and the two rare occasions I went out it immobilized me the following day.  I've had to let everyone else pick up the slack.  They have to do the cleaning and the shopping and all the other stuff I've gotten so used to doing since I started driving again.

Needless to say, this is hell on a control freak like myself.

I'll go back, don't worry.  I'm going to need to with the book I plan to write in November, dealing with some issues I just absolutely do not want to deal with.

I guess that's all the more reason to deal with them.

A Piggy Update

Well, it's been nine days since The Incident.  I'm still in a lot of pain in my third toe and on the top of my foot, so I went to a podiatrist this morning.  She said that it was a sprain and possible stress fracture, although they wouldn't be able to see that on an X-ray until it began the healing process, usually after ten to fourteen days. 

Here's what my foot looked like on the 18th:

 

Here's what my foot looks like now:

 

She also gave me some more pain killers so basically it's just going to hurt until it doesn't hurt anymore.

Joy.

I tellya, I've been extremely upset regarding weight loss because it seems like everytime I get on track something comes along to knock me off.  This puts off my exercise routine possibly by another four weeks.  So I have been eating to spite fate.  I know it's childish and counterproductive, but it just seems I can't get a break.

And November doesn't look like it's going to be good for the diet either.  I once again decided to do NaNoWriMo, which is National Novel Writing Month.  It's a challenge for writers to attempt a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. 

It's a good writing exercise, and given I haven't been writing anything I thought I'd cut my teeth on this project. 

I was going to turn one of my screenplays into a novel, like I did last time.  So I started reading books, since I was laid up and couldn't do much of anything else anyway.  I read Waiting to Exhale (by Terry McMillan) and April Shadows (by VC Andrews), both of which included an overweight female character who was isolated by her weight.  While the other girls in Waiting to Exhale were dating and having loads of Mr. Wrongs enter their lives, the heavy set Gloria spent her time watching television and eating.

This annoyed me.

In April Shadows, April - the overweight main character - never had a positive boy experience and was consistantly told by her sister how she needed to lose weight, as if that would answer her problems.

None of this is indicative of my experience as a fat woman.  I cannot relate to those who go onto talk shows and cry into their hankies that they don't have friends or boyfriends because of their size.  Here I am, probably a good 50 to 100 more than what they weigh, I have great friends and have been married twice.

I decided to write a book centered around a fat girl, and her experiences - different experiences than what is portrayed in the mainstream media. 

Unfortunately, "Fatty" will probably also be autobiographical as I use my experiences on how I got fat and why I stay fat.

It's going to be a very difficult month.  I tried to talk myself out of it, but my best friend Jeff has encouraged me to write it anyway.  It was also the advise given to me by my therapist - to use my gift with words to exercise my spirit. 

I've come to believe that I'm never going to stop being this 300 pound woman until she has her say.  And this book may indeed be her say.

And even more frightening, I plan to blog this novel like I did my novel last year.  I was going to whitewash it a little bit to make it a book suitable for teen girls - but I don't think that will do the story or my character any good.  I need to look at this unflinchingly.  This will include the sexual abuse, this will include teen promiscuity, this will include religious abuse and neglect and all the other things that have molded me to this person who needs to be fat to be safe.

It's gonna be rough.  I could sit here and proclaim that I'm going to diet my way through it, but I won't even lie.  If it gets too much, I may fall - scratch that, JUMP off the wagon.

This next month isn't about how much weight I lose.  This is about Ginger...finding herself through Fatty, a girl who discovers that being fat didn't make her unhappy.  Being unhappy made her fat.  We gotta heal from the inside out.

So maybe that's why this all happened.  To make me stop and really look at myself the way I am now instead of fall into the trap of liking myself ONLY because I'm doing something about the weight. 

I'm giving Fatty November.  Then hopefully she can help me find a fitter way to manage my emotions.

Which reminds me, time to make that appointment for the happy pills...

This little piggy went to market, this little piggy went to the ER

And this little piggy has a contusion...

This little piggy went owowowowowowow all the way home.

After five hours in the ER, we were told I didn't have a break, but I did have a contusion of my tailbone and of my foot.  The foot is swollen and the toe is bruised on both sides.  I can't tell if my tushy is swollen cuz it's always swollen.

But sitting down is excruciating.

Only slightly less paintful than fracturing my pelvic bone in a car crash back in 1998.

Doc was nice and gave me codeine and a muscle relaxer while I waited, then sent me home with hydrocodone and some muscle relaxers last night.

I finally got doped up enough I didn't feel any pain.

This morning is a different matter.  Last night I was dopey, today I'm dopey and in pain.

I think I'm just going to chill for the rest of the day.

Nothing good can come out of a stoned Ginger.  My writing projects will just have to wait.

(And btw, it's not that I'm prone to using drugs, I just don't like pain.  Daniel used to say it's all in the mind, that you can control pain through will.  That's typical of what a man would say.  My reply: my last son was 9lbs and 11oz and I had him naturally - no drugs whatsoever.  I've had my pain quota for my lifetime.)

It Could Only Happen to Ginger, Take Two

Last week I had a little run in with a mosquito and it won.  It bit me right under the eyebrow and my whole eye ended up swollen shut.

I was not amused.  Thanks to some benadryl I was able to get my eye back to normal.

The only problem that has been persistant is my back.

My back pain, which is in the lower back around the tailbone, shoots pain down my legs and it hurts to sit in one position for very long.  Standing is okay, walking is iffy.

Regardless, I went for my walk yesterday at the park.  I started smarting toward the end so I didn't walk the entire mile but I figured it was a good start.

I was going over topics to cover in my blog as I walked, because that's what I do at the park.  I go over any and all writing projects, and quite often it's stuff I'll end up writing here.

Yesterday it was defining the difference between feeling good (losing weight, feeling energetic, doing what I need to do) between feeling comfortable (not taxing myself through exercise or denying myself my favorite foods).  Feeling good, I decided, was infinitely better.

I stayed on task all day, with the diet, with time schedules - everything.  I weighed in at 303lbs but even that didn't knock me off balance.  I expected to see a gain giving the way I've been eating lately.

I even decided I needed to hear what 300lb Ginger needed to say.  She's not going away till I get it. 

Basically she needs me to validate her.  Not Steven, or friends or family - or even society.  She needs to get that from me.  I need to attagirl her from here till next Tuesday.  Otherwise she will never go away.  That means celebrate the good, learn from the bad and get my moods stabilized quick.

Needless to say I was feeling pretty good coming into today. 

Untillllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll....

I mean it's so stupid, a total comedy of errors I have to laugh almost. 

I have these oil burners to fragrance my house.  In my bathroom I've been using wax fragrance, which melts with the help of a tea light candle and releases the fragrance oil.  I burn them pretty much every day, I like a nice smelling house, so the oil had evaporated.

The wax, though, was still in the cup.  I needed to melt it so I could dump it and add more fragrance.

Normally I do this by using a paper towel folded up to protect my hand.  Never had any trouble.

Until today.

I go in about an hour an a half ago, fold up my paper towel and head into the kitchen to dump the wax in the trash.  I don't put it down the sinks for obvious reasons.  This time, however, the heat burned right through the paper towel, and as I moved the towel around hot wax spilled all over my hand.

I then sprinted to the kitchen trash to dump the wax quick so I can wipe the other, burning stuff off my hand.  Well, yesterday Jeremiah had cleaned up some stains in the carpet and the carpet was still wet.  I, because I'm always barefoot, managed to get my foot wet and when I hit the linoleum of the kitchen lost my footing, bent my foot completely under me and landed right on my aching tailbone.

At first, my main concern was my back.  I told you that's where the pain has been in my back primarily.  Then I realized how badly my foot was smarting something fierce.

My first thought is well, there goes the walk for today.

But now, an hour and a half later, I think I may have broken a bone in my foot or toe or both.  I can't bend my toes very much and I can't lay my foot on it's side without sharp pain.

And my tailbone isn't much happier with me.

Not only will I not go to the park today, I'll probably end up going to the clinic.

And we ALL know what happens when I go to that clinic.

A SHOT.

Not a happy camper.

Again, the whole thing was just a comedy of errors of very weird things that just happened to fall into place.  It would be funny if I didn't hurt.

So far I've soaked my foot and taken some Advil.  I'm doing everything to avoid that dumb shot.

It's not workin.

BUT....

I'm still doing good despite it all.  I feel good and in control, and if I do go to the clinic I'm going to see about a prescription for anti-depressents.

Everything happens for a reason I guess.

This, that and the other...

"Today is the first day of the rest of your life."

That used to be a popular phrase back in the day, I'm afraid I show my age even knowing it.

But, it's true.

Especially since I decided to renew my commitments to my weight loss journey today.

Not just my weight loss journey, though, but everything.

I don't know if you're aware but Reality TV does have an upside.

First of all, it helps you see that your problems aren't so overwhelming.  The people they find for these shows actually have PROBLEMS, so my problems see far more manageable.

Second of all, it makes you grateful for what you have.  If you watch Super Nanny, you think, "Wow, my kids are pretty cool."  Or if you watch many other shows about married couples and their problems you figure out that you have something pretty great.

Not perfect, no.  But nothing ever is.

Thirdly, it helps give you ideas how to handle your not so bad problems even when you do have them.

Case in point: Super Nanny.

If any of you catch this show, Jo, the SN, is a big believer in schedules.  She turns chaos into organization just by a little grid of how people can divide their time and manage their lives.

I'm thinking this might work for me.

Hence right now is "AOL Journal Time."

I think breaking up my day into smaller, more manageable groups will help me tremendously.  Especially when I have to schedule exercise into it.

Which, btw, I'm not especially looking forward to.  My back has been giving me such fits lately (yesterday was a total bear).  But I kinda came to the conclusion that my back acts up whenever I exercise a bunch for a while, then go completely sedentary. 

It's time to get it loosened up and stronger by actual exercise.

I don't plane to overdo it though, so no worries.

In fact, I think today I might just start out slow with a mile w-a-l-k at the p-a-r-k.

Slow and easy wins the race, right?

Oh yes, I must go weigh in first.

I don't wanna.

I don't wanna post it either.

I've started over so many times on this journey so far this year it just seems so empty to start it again.

But another one of my resolutions (no birthday, no new year, just a good ol fashioned wake up and get back on track resolutions) is to be true to my word. 

The good news is I only have to do it for today.

Today is the only thing I have control over.  Yesterday is gone, and I can undo the past.  Tomorrow is not even guaranteed.  Therefore I have to deal with the only real, tangible time I can, and that's right now.

Another good (?) thing about reality tv, I discovered last night quite by accident.

I've been watching Breaking Bonaduce on VH1, the reality show based around Danny Bonaduce of Partridge Family fame, who is going to therapy to get a handle on some of his issues.

Last night, Danny blew a gasket because his wife Gretchen was going to have strippers at her party.  Nothing bad, just a joke her friends were going to play on her.  They were having a slumber party at a nice hotel, and Gretchen is SO not the person who would relish it.  She was embarrassed and giggly but understood it as the joke it was.

Danny, on the other hand, who isn't "allowed" to go to strip clubs because of his sex addiction, got very upset and was going to storm the hotel and beat the hell out of anyone who got in the way.

Danny, also, has been dealing with drinking, steroid abuse and some anger managment issues.

From what I can see, from what I have seen anyway, it appears that he very well may be bipolar.  His moods are very erratic, and this also may be from the steroid abuse, but I think his mood swings came before that. 

It ended with Danny trying to commit suicide because Gretchen wanted to leave him over the whole hotel incident.

After the show ended, I broke down.  I mean, broke down.  I don't even know where it came from. 

But I know how it feels to live with someone who can go off like a bottle rocket, whose anger and mania can be so out of control it affects everything else.

When Danny got mad at the therapist and stood to his feet in a threatening manner, Gretch was right there, standing in the middle to intervene.

I remember the days that used to be me.  Loving someone who didn't love themselves and was ready to self destruct and take anyone in a ten foot vicinity with them.

I lived that way for many years with Daniel.  It was scarier because Daniel, unlike Danny, didn't bother to hide his mania from his kids.  Daniel, for many, many years, was a scary guy who would flip from one personality to the next with little to no provocation, and heaven help anyone that was in the way.

If you haven't lived with this, you have no idea what this does to you, and how you feel like you're walking a high wire with no net every minute of every day.

I remember what it was like to love the one Daniel who would be so caring and so giving and so strong, and yet still hate the Daniel who was insulting, frightening and abusive.  And I never knew, from one day to the next, who exactly I was going to be dealing with.  I would go to work and everything would be fine, then come home from work and he was on the warpath.

It was turmoil.  All the time.  Turmoil.

After Dan got help for his illness (which was really the culprit in the whole scenario), he changed back to the Daniel I loved.  The wounds were still there but I guess I overlooked them because I admired him so much for reaching out for help and then doing what he needed to do for his family.

It was almost sacrilege to even think about the years of abuse and the way it impacted me and the kids.  This has been even more true since he died.

If anyone spoke ill of him the kids and I would be quick to get in their face and defend him and his honor. 

Because there was honor.

Unfortunately, there were also years of living with a person with bipolar disorder and psychotic episodes.  And until last night, I didn't realize it still hurt.

In my ever continuing pledge to keep things honest and stop being a slave to my emotions, I had to stop and acknowledge it.

It doesn't diminish who Dan was to deal with the pain. 

It sets us both free.

I hope Danny and Gretchen get there too.

Life on Auto Pilot

Yesterday was my best friend's birthday.  He's 36.  The next birthday this year in my particular circle is my own.

Turning 36 is really no different than turning 35 or 34 or even 30 for that matter.  I started this journey two years ago and I realize - with much frustration - that I'm still in the same spot.

And worse, I feel like time is passing me by.  While I'm hiding in the safety of my own four walls, and my enormous (and getting enormous-er by the minute) body, chances, and experiences and life is passing right by me.

The chatterbox, in other words, is in full effect.  Especially when I realize that my body is now starting to show the excess I've been indulging in lately.  Things are more jiggly than they used to be and I feel like the Pillsbury Dough Girl.

So in effort stop looking behind and worrying what's ahead, I've decided to make each day a cause for celebration.  I have decided to take authority of my day and the course it is going to take. 

There's nothing that is going to happen today that I cannot handle.  Every decision, even the mistakes, will do their part in teaching me one more lesson life has to teach me.

This is my chorus:

This is my day.
It was created especially for me
By a loving and forgiving Father.
It is my day
To be all I can be
And all the things
I have yet to become.
For there has never been
Nor will ever be
Another as perfectly me
As I am right now.
All my lessons
The trials and the pain
Were there to forge in me
A spirit that will not be broken.
Within me I have the power
To take whatever happens
And be stronger for it
Good or bad.
I may not control my circumstances
But I control how I respond
There is nothing that will happen
That I cannot handle
For this is my day.

Here are a few of my resolutions.

Starting Monday (giving myself an opportunity to get on a sane schedule again) I will begin my eating and exercise regimen.  Take each day as it comes and try to keep a decent schedule.

I plan to take things slow, because my back has been giving me grief.

But I also plan to find a doctor this coming week to get not only my back checked out but finally get on an anti-depressant.  Now that my mood is on a more even keel, I want to do what I can to keep it there.

Most importantly I plan to keep my boundaries.  If my family tries to sabotage my efforts, I'm going to have to make a stand.

Why?

Because this is my day.  In it I have the power to be all I know I can be.  I will no longer relinquish that in order to self destruct.

I deserve better.

Not enough love in the world...

There was a song out in the 80s called "Not Enough Love in the World" by Don Henley.

I've always considered this my theme song.

I attributed it to my horoscope, rather than any emotional problem.

Thanks to this book Codependent No More, I've started to re-examine my position on the matter.

What I always thought was an enormous heart to love might just be an enormous need.

I can trace it back to my childhood, and the author calls this "unfinished business".

I've been pretty open with my childhood experiences and how I never really felt nurtured by my mother.

My dad was considerably older so he stayed at home with me while she worked.  What little time we did spend together was usually disciplinary.  My mother was very strict, almost militant. 

I see bits and pieces of that in my own mothering, although I have endeavored to err on the other side of that coin.  I want to give my children choices, not orders.  Unfortunately, that's come at the cost of the discipline, because I wanted to be more loving to my kids than my mother was to me.  I mistook my need for their acceptance as their love for me, and have been a doormat in their discipline.

In other words, I fold like a cheap lawn chair.

But that's a topic for another day.  I've actually felt more positive about my mothering skills of late.  No need to beat myself up for the mistakes I've made.

Which is really the crux of this blog.

I've decided that there isn't enough love in this world to fill the hole I have inside. I have long tried to escape into someone else so that I can fill this hole, but really no one can do that.  Not Steven, not my mom, not anyone.  Not even God.

Before you try to correct me, I'd like to point out even God needs our help to love us.  If we consistantly reject him or get in his way to do his will in our lives, what he can do for us is limited.

That is the catch 22 of free will.

The fact of the matter is I can't keep searching for this overwhelming love outside because I need to apply it from the inside out.

The problem is, I don't know how to love properly.

And because I can't give it, I can't receive it.

Again, I think it's generational.

My mom was born in 1937, right at the end of the depression.  Her family was poor because her mother - who had a lot ofmental issues - did not know how to take care of finances. 

Her mother didn't know much of anything, this poor woman was so abused by HER parents (locked in closets and things of that nature).

Anyway, she was militant with my mom and her siblings, never allowing them anything other than study and work.  My mom doesn't know how to swim, skate, bike or even climb a tree.

Her childhood - what she had of one - was constantly in turmoil.

Especially when her folks divorced, something very rare in that generation.

It set the stage for what kind of childhood I would have.

Militant, religious and unloving.

Of course, my mom would not consider it an unloving atmosphere.  She equated love with providing for her children so they never had to sleep in gutters like her brother did.  And that we didn't, and I even had a pretty good childhood materially speaking, is a success in her mind.

But she didn't know how to relate to me because her mother never related to her.

The only reason she was close to my sister was because my sister was older.

My mom and my sister both do not know how to deal with kids.  Best seen and not heard, be quiet and do what you're told, don't talk back, etc.

So when the time came that I needed nurturing (after my dad died) and I didn't get it, I searched for it elsewhere.

Like a lot of girls who lose their dads early on in their childhood, I sought out older men for attention and affection.

I mistook both of those things for love.

And I was used like a dirty dish rag because of my need for what I perceived as love.

Just like you can't plant corn and get apples, you can't plant need and get love.  All I ever got was more need.

So often need and love are polar opposites of each other.

Need storms over boundaries that love respects.

Need relies on guilt to get its way, love insists on fairness.

Need denies deprivation where love knows how to say no.

Need clings to people, relationships and things when love learns how to let go and say goodbye.

I would be so plugged into that need that abandonment really became a major issue.  I was so afraid of losing that connection I would do and sacrifice anything to keep it.  Self esteem was one of the first casualties.

The only way any of this will change is if I now nurture myself so that I will know the difference between love and need.

I believe that God had it right in 1 Corinthians 13 on what love really is.

4 Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; 5 it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; 6 it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. 7 Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 8 Love never ends.

I'm sure I don't have to tell you all that I have not regarded myself by these standards.  Therefore it is logical to conclude I don't regard anyone else by these standards either.

I beat myself up for all the wrongs I've done in my life.  If you think the mental ticker I keep for everyone else's mistakes is long, it is shadowed in comparison to the one I keep of my own. 

I was brought up to believe that humility and self loathing were one in the same.  Loving one's self is vanity or selfish.  Religion tells us that is so.  I've pretty much come to the conclusion that religion is a bunch of hooey on a good day.

Therefore I have to push past all the emotional barricades and the religious brainwashing and get to where I truly believe God wants me to be.

Learning how to apply 1 Corinthians 13 to the person who really needs it the most.

Myself.

My name is Ginger...

And I'm a codependent.

Who knew?

Lemme guess.  Y'all knew.

Why didn't you tell me????

So I'm reading this book "Codependent No More" as suggested by my therapist, and I'm seeing myself all over this book.  I don't much care for it, either.

Especially when I have found much righteous indignation in being victimized; it's hard to square things in my head that I, in fact, put myself in that role willingly.

This.

Sucks.

What's worse, I think it's hereditary.  I believe these are traits passed down in my family.

All those things I blame my mother for, I now do - just differently.

But the intent is the same.

For instance, I have long complained that living with three menfolk has tried my patience to the breaking point more than once.

Namely, housekeeping.

Now, I'm no saint in this area - I'm a slob and I know it.

So I especially resent picking up after everyone else when they're sloppy too.  It just feels like if the house is to be clean, really clean, then I'm the one who will have to either do it or tell someone to do it.

Here's how it will happen...

Every few months I'll get manic about needing the house clean... usually during a state of emotional chaos that has resulted in a physical manifestation, like being sick (which is where I am now) 

Being in a clean house makes me feel more in control.  Even if being in control is an illusion (which it is), it certainly makes me feel better.

So I'll clean the house, what I like to call "Mom Clean".  Which means I will attack the nooks and cranies with fervor and get things cleaned that I never noticed were dirty before.  (Cabinet doors for instance)  Sometimes I'll even move furniture, depending on the state of my back, which, unfortunately for me, wasn't so good this past weekend.

Anyway, as I'm cleaning all these places oft overlooked by said menfolk, I will grow increasingly resentful.  I won't say anything, I'll just keep cleaning.   But the more things I find (and look for, mind you), the angrier I get.

Eventually it'll explode into a screaming tirade where I'll berate each and every Testosterone Unit in my house.  They will then try to help me but at that point it's too late and I'm already mad, therefore I will be the martyr who risks life and limb to do what they so carelessly overlooked before... much like I did this weekend - with a bad back and threatened throwing it out again to prove my point.

Instead of making it a family affair and getting everyone involved, I'll feel resentful that I'm being "used" and "taken advantage of".  I'll then start a mental ticker of all the things I do for them without their even having to ask, and they can't even help keep the house clean for me when they know it helps keep my mood stabile.

I've ceased being in control to being a victim, which I always hated to consider myself as.

Codependent.

And it SUCKS.

What's worse, I think I've deliberately set myself up in relationships that either exploit it, or allow for someone else to be codependent of me.

What a sick little circle.

I mentioned in my last blog about having a family bbq in which my diet - which up until then was perfect - got shot to hell.  The first week it was great, those three weeks since the bbq, completely downhill.

But of course it wasn't my fault.  It was theirs for not caring enough about me that they had to center one more family affair around food.  (That's three times now since Sept. 13)

I realized that it was a total reaction to codependent victimization.

I didn't feel I could say no to the bbq, even though I wanted to.  I felt in control of my diet and I didn't feel like I was ready to put myself into a social situation that revolved around food.

But I felt like if I said no, I would hurt my mom and Michelle's feelings and so I went.

And because I felt put upon, doing something I really didn't want to do, I indulged in food because I felt like it was my right to do so.

I haven't gotten back on the wagon since because I have felt so guilty and resentful that I feel entitled to self destruct.

No one else cares about me, so why should I care about myself?

Total victim.

And it SUCKS.

So now that I know what the problems are, what are the solutions?

Well, the book says I must learn detachment first.  I need to detach myself from unhealthy obsessions.  Like worrying if my saying no and being truthful is going to hurt someone else's feelings.

I'm not responsible for someone else's feelings.  All I can do is be truthful to my own.

And I can't allow my self esteem or my self worth to be dependent upon their feelings, their acceptance or approval. 

ie. Boundaries.

I have to detach myself from the emotional triggers that have me reacting, and instead take a moment to think things through so I can make the best decision for me - regardless of how it makes someone else feel.

I can only be responsible for one person's feelings today, and that person is gonna be me.

Self enlightenment.

Who knew?

Yeah, yeah, yeah....

Workin it out...

I haven't been faithful to this journal.  No excuses, just... diet fatigue.

I'm sick of thinking about it, worrying about it and dealing with it.

I've, instead, been working on being me and right now that means being fat.

I'm making ok strides.  It's one step forward, two steps backward some days.

I was doing really good on the diet until my family (ie my mom and my sister) had a bbq.  It was downhill from there.

So I'm not watching what I eat.  I keep my eyes closed as I shovel it in.  It's easier to stay in denial that way.

BUT...

I've been establishing boundaries and I've been getting better rest and I think I'm fully out from my funk now.  I'm even motivated to do stuff in the kitchen (ie cook, ie why my diet is shot to hell), and take care of the house.  This is always a prime indicator I'm back to normal.

Whatever that means for me anyway.

And the diet is never far from my mind.

As a matter of fact I've actually been examining my options.

I got in touch with a former coworker via myspace (gotta love that place), and her pictures showed a big change from the last time I saw her.  She wasn't as big as I was, but she had some weight to lose. 

The photos showed she lost it.

I asked her what her secret was and she said that her boss had paid for her to go to a nutritionist and a personal trainer.  She said it took a long time, but with their help it was so much easier than it would have been.  She said she could understand why celebrities were stick people.

Since I've been going through diet fatigue, the thought of depending solely on other people for these types of decisions appealed to me.  I have steadfastly refused to pay for this journey because I can do this on my own.  While Jenny Craig, Nutrisystem, LA Weight Loss, gastric bypass and Weight Watchers are highly successful, my goal was to avoid spending money on things I needed to learn anyway.

The temptation is, now that I know how to do it, is to just get over this hump here by getting on a program to take care of the little details while I worked out all the emotional BS that goes along with it.

So I've been researching the different weight loss programs to see what fits, both emotionally, financially and practically.

Nutrisystem appeals because you just buy their food and that's it.  No program fees, etc.  I also know Nutrisystem works because I was on it back when I was about 15 and lost 36lbs in 6 weeks.  And I even cheated the program, and it still worked.

The drawback is that it's expensive.  It's a little under $8 a day for the food, and that's just for me.  I would have to eat separately from the family, which would throw their nutrition under the truck - and they don't need that.  I would feel restricted on whether I could go out or be involved in food related activities like family bbq's.

A less restrictive program (and cheaper) is Weight Watchers.  You pay to attend weekly meetings where you weigh in and find support in a group setting.

It's not for me.

I'm socially inept in the best of situtations.  Putting me in this kind of program would add extra stress and anxiety I don't need.  I feel it would be counter productive.

The last program to investigate is LA Weight Loss.  I believe it's cheaper even than Weight Watchers, and it's a one on one counseling.  I could probably use it.  If I understand correctly you have to pay the entire program cost at the onset, which is a higher payout initially - but overall it's a significant savings.

Plus I think it will be helpful to have someone I don't know weighing me in.  I think that will motivate me further to get back up when I fall down.

I'll go to a consultation to find out more. 

Of course, what I really need (motivation) I can't buy.  I've just gotta do it.

Knowing I can isn't enough.  Knowing I'm worth it isn't enough.

I just need to get of my tuckus and do it.

I think it's just time I ask for that hand up for once. 

Which, in itself, is a sign of growth. 

One step forward....

 

I done dood it.

I didn't write the other day.  I meant to, but...life happens.

Anyway I did go to therapy.  And as usual it wasn't as bad as I built it up in my mind to be.  The therapist is a woman and she seemed impressed with the insight that I brought to the session.  She also gave me permission to feel, and that was unexpected.

Before the session I filled out this paperwork where it asked me to specify some of the emotions that I have been having.  Anxiety.  Check.  Moodiness. Check.  Irritiabilty.  Check.  Depression.  Check. 

I think I checked off everything except hopelessness and suicidal tendencies.

Anyway she said that these don't hit us all at once, they can hit us all at the same time.  But that doesn't mean I have to deal with all of them at once.

We pinpointed that the main problem I have is anxiety, and it was because I'm just so overwhelmed with everything.

She also agreed that I should pursue medication.  But she warned that once the medication levels out my emotions, not to give up on the therapy.  She says that medication can only help so far.

She wanted to see me every week, but I can't afford that - even with the co-pay.  I compromised and said every two weeks (basically every payday). 

She also gave me an exercise to help my self esteem, which is really the root of everything - from the weight to my self destructing relationship tendencies.  To summarize, I just don't feel like I'm worth being happy or successful.

So she told me that every day I need to look in the mirror and verbalize out loud five things I appreciate about myself.  We talked about how confident I was when my dad was alive because he constantly boosted me up.  Once he died and that was gone, I probably didn't immediately buy into the negative messages that replaced what he told me right away.  It took time to change my self perspective.

Naturally, then, it will take time for this to work too.  She said I won't feel it right away, and she's right.  You all know I've attempted this type of exercise before, but gave up after a while because my feelings didn't change.

She said that even if I don't feel it, I need to do it.

That will be the hard part.

She also gave me a book to read called "Codependent No More".  The suggestion threw me because I never ever thought I was codependent.  I resisted that idea.  But the truth is I respond more to being needed than to being loved.  That was why Steven's new job threatened me so much.

If he didn't need me anymore, why would he stay?  Or more precisely, if he didn't need me, how then could I control whether he stayed or left?

And it's all about control for me.  I respond more to being needed because I can control whether or not someone needs me by what I do for them.  But love is a lot more elusive.  You can't earn it.  It is either given or it isn't, and that's in control of the other person.

So it looks like I'll be getting this book.  And not a moment too soon.

In other news, I don't think I'll be making it to the walk next month.  Our finances just aren't strong enough to justify the trip.  I feel really bad about it too, because so many people have given so generously.

So I decided I may not make it to Los Angeles, but I can walk here.  I'll spend that Saturday walking a 10km route here in town. 

Not only that but I want to try and match the donations given to me if at all possible.  I still believe in the cause, and that's what is most important anyway.

Therefore I will walk, just maybe not in West Hollywood with the rest of my crew.

It sucks, but what can you do?

I'm also going back to weighing in weekly.  I blew last week because I knew I had a month to go before I weighed in.  It's not keeping me honest. 

I'll just have to figure out a way to deal with the numbers as they come. 

In other words, I'm actually going to have to mean it when I say the numbers don't matter, and I'm more than just some numbers on a scale.

Therefore this journal will return to its true original intent.

A Journey to Me.

Fasten your seatbelts, y'all.  It's going to be a bumpy ride.

I don't wanna go.

I'm just going to be flat out honest.

I don't want to go to this therapy session today.

The thought scares the hell outta me.

This a real test of "feel the fear and do it anyway".

I.

Don't.

Wanna.

I'm not sure why it bothers me so much.  I guess that's a good topic for today.  Figure it out.  Deal with it.  Be honest about it. 

I know they're not there to judge me.  I know it's just my anxiety. 

Knowing and feeling are two very different things.

Right now I feel terrified. 

Seriously.

The only thing I can tell you is that I'm relatively certain I've been packing on weight to buffer me from the outside world.  To hide.

And here I am faced with the fact I can't hide anymore.

Emotionally, anyway.  I've made baby steps not to hide physically, but even that's iffy on some days.  Some days I'd be just as happy never leaving the house.

Today I get to do both, even when what I really want to do is blow it off. 

Or worse.  Put it off.

I hate this.

And did I mention I don't wanna do this?

Ugh.

Catching Up

I apologize for not writing.  I could make excuses but I won't.  I just have kinda fallen away again.

And it's completely silly considering. 

But good fodder for my first therapy session on Monday.

I have begun to recognize my defense mechanisms as they happen or even a bit before, so that's a positive I think.

Tuesday was a hard day, but I spent the first few hours not thinking about things.  I kept myself busy and didn't allow myself to feel or think anything.  My goal at the time was to get through what needed to be done, and taking time to grieve later.

Interestingly enough, during that first part of the day I was totally on track and didn't even think about falling off the wagon.  Normally I would have given myself the freedom to use food if I needed it, but that didn't occur to me until later...

When I started to grieve.

I wrote a blog on myspace in honor of Dan.  I was going to post two but by the time I got here I was out of words.  That song was the best I could do, I was too emotionally raw.

Anyway as I was writing the blog I was listening to The Best of the Stylistics, which is one of Dan's favorite albums.  The floodgates opened and there was no going back.

And after that happened, I started to get hungry.  I hadn't eaten any less than any other day, but I was physically hungry.  I started to wonder if my body is so conditioned to feed once it hurts that what I consider a phyiscal manifestation of hunger really comes from an emotional trigger instead.

Like I said, certainly something to discuss with the therapist.

Anyway, I ended up eating poorly that day, and I haven't been much better since. 

I'm back on track today though.  If nothing, time is improving my recovery time.  I'm able to bounce back just a little quicker each time.

So, I'll come back with a better entry later.  Meanwhile I have to get some stuff done before the high school football team tonight.  Timothy will be part of the Saber Team for tonight's half time performance.

I'll have pictures later of my handsome son in full uniform.

Hearing Dan.

When you're weary
Feeling small
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all

I'm on your side

When times get rough
And friends just can't be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

When you're down and out
When you're on the street
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you

I'll take your part
When darkness comes
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

Sail on Silver Girl,
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way

See how they shine
If you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind

Weigh In

I went to GNC this morning to weigh in and it said 298. 

It's a gain, but ... I'm not upset.

Isn't that wild?

I gained about 4lbs this month, but I'm not upset.

Mostly because I expected it to be over 300, and so seeing 298, so it *felt* like a gain.

But I know that the last month, this last week aside, I was back to using food - in abundance - to comfort me through that difficult time.  When I said I turned into the Girl Who Ate Abilene, I wasn't kidding.

So the fact that I *only* gained 4lbs was good news.

If I weren't back on track, then I would have probably been depressed.  Now it's more like, "Okay, so I slid a bit bit I'm still good.  I'm under 300, and I can keep the momentum going to lose even more."

I'll save the photos and stuff for next month.  I haven't lost any inches to speak of. 

So back to the gym and tackling the exercise next.

Right now I'm going to enjoy my *good* news on a pretty rough day.

God bless the heroes of 9-11.

Monthly Update postponed...

But only till tomorrow.

I had a more important appointment this morning.

Timothy was in our West Texas Fair & Rodeo parade with his ROTC unit. 

Needless to say, it took precidence.

It was a bittersweet morning.

Dan's loss was especially poignant today.

I figure that most milestones the kids go through will have that reaction.  When they graduate... get married... have kids... it's all going to be very bittersweet. 

I know he would have been as proud as I was.  Timothy is growing into a man - I am more keenly aware of that every single day.  When I dropped him off with the other kids, I caught sight of him in my rear view mirror, walking away all dressed up in his uniform.

I seriously broke down and cried. 

But I cried on his first day of kindergarden too.

I'm a big softy that way.

I managed to keep it together while he was marching in the parade.  I teared up but I figure I didn't embarrass him too badly.

You know, I have to admit.  I really didn't want him to join ROTC.  Dan joined the Army to please his dad, but it didn't go well.  He had a problem with authority, and military discipline isn't for everyone.  Figuring Timothy was his dad's son, I had my doubts.

But what really scared me was that I feared he was going to take the first few steps toward a military career.  The thought strikes fear in my heart.  Mostly because I have lost so many people in my life I really don't want to lose anyone else... and sending someone off to war is counterproductive to my plan. 

So I was resistant.  I never forbid him to do it, because I made the decision a long time ago that no matter what my kids decide to do I wasn't going to force my will on them.  They're going to do what they feel is right for them, and that's what they should do. 

I may not always agree with it, or like it, but I can't force my will on them.  Because they're not me.

The only thing I can do is love them unconditionally. 

So, even though I didn't like it, I didn't stop him from pursuing this.

I did, however, express my reservations.  I told him that I was not going to stop him from doing it, but I wasn't going to lie about how I felt about it either.

As he got involved with the program, I've watched my son transform.  He's passing all his classes, he's more polite, more responsible, more respectful. 

The other day I sat him down and I told him, "You need to mark your calendar as a red letter day, because I'm going to say something you're not going to hear from a whole lot of women in your life.  I was wrong."

I then went on to tell him how proud I am of him.  I think it was probably long overdue.

So watching the crowd applaud for him today was especially exciting for me.  Because I know how much he needed to hear it.  He even commented on it later and said that it was cool that people clapped or wooted at him.  I asked him how that made him feel.  He said, "I've been waiting to hear that for a long, long time."

Today was his day.

It was a good day.

And I believe that somehow, some way, Daniel was right there beside both of us, cheering, clapping and crying harder than anyone else.

A Day Late, but Mission Accomplished

I was pretty much useless yesterday.  I've been taking Nyquil for my cold and haven't been sleeping well.  Yesterday was yet another futile attempt. 

But when I got up yesterday (last night) I managed to get some work done overnight and then I waited till 8am so that I could make an appointment.

And I did.  My appointment is Sept. 19th. 

This particular place doesn't prescribe medication, they said I'd have to go to my regular doctor for that.

That'll be step number two.

So... I'm getting there.

I'm getting there.

I'm on track with eating, but still haven't managed the gym yet. 

Baby steps.

Baby steps.

 

A new day.

Yesterday's blog was a scary, scary thing for me.  It never used to be, but since probably the thing with Steven last year, I have left more and more unsaid.  This journal ended up losing its usefulness.  Which is why I haven't blogged nearly as much as I used to.

It is my goal to change that too.

I would like to clarify one thing though.  In all my bitching, I never outlined some of the positives.  Steven and I have some major core problems, but the one thing that we have managed to do through it all is communicate.  Sometimes it takes a big fight to do it, but we do communicate.  We both still love each other, I just think it's a matter of two wounded people trying to fix themselves by fixing each other. 

That doesn't work, by the way.

Steven has his self destructive things he does (namely the porn or gambling or lying) and so I hang in there because I don't think he's being malicious about it.  He's escaping from things in the same way I do.

We both "medicate", just with different things.  Oprah has said on her show that we end up involved with people who are meant to heal old wounds, and I believe that could very well be true.  It's true in this case.  And so we trudge through, as best we can.

And we do talk, we do try to find other ways to manage our marriage.  No one is signing the divorce papers yet and we're both equally at fault for the things that have gone wrong.

Even more positively, I think that we've come a long way from that couple who got together out of desperation and, in effect, escapism.

That being said, I came to an important revelation last night.

I was watching the season finale of Celebrity Fit Club 2 when it hit.  We all know that I'm a results type person, and if I went into something like this (which I have done on a very small scale in this blog) I would expect to lose weight as a barometer of success.

But watching these people and their struggle has helped me tremendously in seeing that sometimes the journey to lose weight isn't really about the weight at all.

Case in point: Willie Ames. 

Willie did not meet a lot of his weight loss targets or fitness goals, and in fact became very defensive and angry when called on these facts.  Needless to say his overall results fell short of the weight loss goals, and in fact he even gained weight during the last weigh in.

But I really don't see that he failed because he had to come to a place - emotionally - that helped him see that weight loss isn't about losing weight.

Sometimes you gotta fix the inside to change the outside.

I lose sight of that so much in my journey - and it's easy to do.  We live in a results society and clearly you can only truthfully see the changes on the scale and in your clothes.

I've suffered a lot of guilt that I have let everyone down in my journey because I have gained weight over all this time.  I have no excuses for doing it - I basically let myself down most of all.  I gave up.  There's no way around it.  I hang in there out of pride, hoping to con all of you the way I conned myself, but I had given up and grew complacent with the hard work I had done rather than do the really hard work that needed to be done.

Yet inside, I was doing a lot of work by focusing on something OTHER than the weight.  I wasn't losing weight, but mentally I was gearing up to make some massive emotional changes that needed to occur before I ever saw success on the scale.

What got in my way was me.  And this last year was my emotional journey to figure that out.

Last night I forgave myself for being so shortsighted.

This whole journey has been here to teach me something, and there's something to be learned from it all - even the times I've failed.

Especially the times I've failed.

That doesn't take me off the hook, I still am responsible for my weight.  But it gives me the peace of mind to move on and take the lessons - all the lessons - I've learned since I started.

Having said that, yesterday was my first day back on a regimented eating plan.  Eventually, as our money situation improves, I'll probably join something like Weight Watchers to combat a few other emotional hurdles I have yet to tackle. 

Number one on that list: I have a big problem asking for help.

No, you don't understand.  I have a HUGE problem asking for help.

This goes beyond the realm of "normal" pride.  This has become something that identifies me as a person.

It goes back to my family situation, as everything seems to do.  I want to do things totally on my own.  I'm used to doing things on my own, and that's the way I prefer it.  Mostly because depending on me, I can't get let down.  And if I don't need anyone, Iwon't be devastated if they left me unexpectantly.

As Dr. Phil would ask, "How's that working out for you?"

Generally, not too well.

So I gotta get over myself.  I gotta get out of my own way.

We've broached the therapy aspect before and I feel it's time to really look that in the face, unflinchingly.

The truth is, I'm scared of therapy.

If I could just go in, get some pills and leave - I'd have done it already.

I'm petrified of going into an office and confronting these demons face to face.

I think it may have something to do with the sexual abuse when I was a kid.  The reason being is that I have been in therapy before and eventually things go there, and that's when I bail.

I'm not sure if it's still the massive humiliation or guilt I feel for that, or what, but I cannot face someone, anyone, and talk about this stuff.

It's a lot easier for me to sit here and write this blog than it is for me to talk to anyone.  In my writing I'm my most honest.

In person, I'm a bit of a master manipulator myself.

I want to please my therapist, not fall apart and look weak and crazy.

Which is what I feel I will do if we open up some of these doors.

Is it stupid?  Of course it is.

But it's the reason I have avoided therapy like the plague.  I keep saying I will do it, but the fact of the matter - I'm too scared to actually go from talking about it to doing it.

My first real endeavor for therapy happened because my ex boss, yes that ex boss, thought I needed it.  So I went, even though I didn't buy into traditional psycho-therapy.  I found a Christian therapist, who happened to be a man.

I went several times, maybe about four or five, before we finally started to tap into sexual issues.

I stopped and never went back.

The second time I went for therapy (not medication, mind you, but therapy) was court ordered after my kids were taken away in 1998.  I avoided it and nearly lost my kids, making excuses to myself that I wasn't the one who really needed the therapy since Dan was the one who had the history with the kids.

I went to one, and that didn't work out because I felt like she was judging me.  She asked me some hard, uncomfortable questions so I bailed.

The next time I went to therapy I found a pretty decent woman who let me fall apart in her office on a weekly basis.  I kepttalking about these things - namely my ex boss - and nothing got any better.  After that therapy ended (on its own, because the kids were returned), I never went back.

I can't see putting myself through that kind of emotional torture when it didn't seem to help.

I can come here, for a lot less money, and do the same.

And I've figured out a lot doing that, the problem is there are some things that I don't know how to fix.  I know what's wrong, but knowing is only half the battle.  I need some tools to get over these mountains, rather than just looking at them fruitlessly with no way to climb them.

I'm not looking forward to finding a therapist to help me do that.

But it has to happen soon because I can't face 9-11 and the anniversary of Dan's death without some kind of anchor to sanity.  I just can't.  The first week or two I came home from Vegas were dark indeed.  Very dark.

Scary dark.

And of course, I'm not going to ask for help to do that, I'll figure out a way to do it on my own.

Because I'm stupid like that.

Don't correct me to be nice - not asking for help when you need it IS stupid.

The good news is I don't have to stay stupid.

I'll make an appointment tomorrow.

Feel the fear and do it anyway, right?