Eat Me

It’s the life I lead, the fear of eating, yet, I’m fat.

It’s really sad that I’ve lived a life being jealous of people who can eat, like I mean really eat. Those who don’t count calories, macros, steps or exercise times, oh how I envy you.

Those people who can live and not care what size they are, and what size they fit into, I want to be those people. I also, want to be alive and feel good, so the jealousy, envy, does it outweigh [excuse the pun] the benefits of counting every moment in calories, exercise, etc so to have that freedom of eating when and how they like. “hey, let’s go get an ice cream”, do you know the terror this strikes in my psyche.

Ask me why, I fear being fatter [than I am already] ask me, just ask me why. I’ll tell you why: As young as the age of 3 I can see myself sitting on a toilet, counting my fat rolls and thinking to myself, I’m a fatty. Where does this type of thinking come from? Yeah, I’m sure you all know where it comes from.

So whether, you’re fat, skinny, tall or short, be cognizant how you comment on someone’s appearance, there is always someone listening, especially children.

I’ll probably go to my grave counting my last calorie, if I made my steps for the day, or if my macros were in line. Because, I’ve spent my life fearing fat and being fat and someone judging me for being fat.

Why can’t I just be Barbi, and yes, I’d love to go out for an ice cream [she says hoping it doesn’t really happen] This is my life, and this is what I was trained to be, and this is why I have depression, anxiety, eating disorder and body dysmorphia. There isn’t a decision I make that doesn’t involve thinking about food and its effect on my body. Granted, I’m strong, muscular and my body is 20% fat, but I hear that is good. However, to me, its a grand flaw.

I can only imagine all the energy I’d have back if I could travel in time and replace all those moments of anxiety and effort towards my body with happy positive thoughts and just enjoy life. Again, children listen to their parents and I’m a prime example of a person who was called ‘fat’ all the time, not just by parents, but family members, school peers and teachers included. My existence was based on my appearance. Now my brain has altered my way of living, its been hardwired to be fearful and anxiety ridden 24/7 of ‘just getting an ice cream”.

I wanted to give you all a bit of insight to why I am the way I am, why I try to move so much, why I keep myself busy, through pain and discomfort so to quiet my discriminating mind. I have no need or energy to judge you, I’m too busy tearing myself apart. Because when I do have that ice cream, cookie, chocolate, cheesecake, I fear it for days, weeks, and I ridicule myself for doing it. I may say, “oh, I don’t care” or “oh, I deserve it, I worked hard”…that fear that settles in me, like the scum of old soup, it can’t be undone.

Carry on, and oh, have an ice cream for me. Discrimination hurts, no matter who you are, keep it to yourself and reach for the top shelf of behaviors, the ones that will make someone smile and carry with them for the entire day.

Thinking and thinking and thinking…

Adult lessons that I thought I had figured out are pretty much gone at this point.  The last 6 months of my life have been a roller coaster of shit and shit and some good stuff.

I quit my job for another of which they screwed me over.  Now I’m unemployed and applied at my past job and yeah, they are ghosting me.  So, guess now, I swing.

A lot of personality changes have occured and with those changes Adult Lessons have resurfaced.  One of the Adult Lessons that has surfaced is forgiveness.  Why has this surfaced.  Well, mostly because there has been a lot of death in the past decade and well, forgiving people before or after they have died is important, I think.

For example, this is a conversation my sister and I have had several times.  Our father was an unemotional asshole.  If there were an award for this type of person he’d be in the top 10.  Why? That’s a whole other blog.  Brief synopsis.  Who allows 6 kids to be abused in every way imaginable 7 days a week by their mother, resetting bones, bandaging cuts, etc.  Then lets add some frosting on that cake, and add emotional abuse by Daddy himself.

So when he died, somehow he became a god of sorts.  To our step siblings anyway.  My sister and I are like, “who in fuck’s hell are they talking about?”  They go on and on about what wonderful father and grandfather he was when he was alive.  So forgive me when on his deathbed he proclaims to my siblings, “you all are a disappointment to me”, I can’t jump on that bandwagon.  Are we a little less confused and caught up a bit?

So back to the Adult Lesson of forgiveness.  The whole God thing after death and such.  I’ve learned to forgive my parents for the horror we call a childhood.  They did the best they could or knew how, its how I rationale it. Doesn’t mean I can forget.  So dead or not, you’re forgiven but your acts cannot be forgotten.  Something to think about isn’t it?

This branches off to the present and since I’ve had cancer a couple of times, facing the old reaper isn’t a first time gig anymore.  Then I started thinking about what people would think about me.  How would I be perceived? How would I be remembered?  Newer peeps in my life see me 180 of who I was 30+ years ago.  Back then, I was a scrappy thing, struggling to survive, having babies that I shouldn’t have had, I was in no way qualified to have a child in my care.  In my defense, I grew up fast.

People back then probably will hear things today that they will do a whole Scooby doo head cocked thing in response and say, “who the fuck’s hell are you talking about?”  This response may occur during many phases of my life with many different people.  This had me doing the whole Scooby doo-head-cocked thing.  Why should I be any different? Exactly! I know you were thinking this too!

Adult lesson: Allow people to change and allow them to be who they have grown to be.  We all are doing our best in what we do.  I’ve grown into this person day by day, shedding layers of asshole-ness and gaining sensitivity, empathy and love for those who need to be loved because others feel they don’t deserve to be loved.

How will I be remembered, I hope its one of ‘she was one hell of a trip’, ‘she loved to laugh’, ‘she loved her kids and grandbabies with her entire soul’, she loved her husband through it all’, ‘she never stopped trying’, ‘Gah, she was a real bitch at times’…etc.  Because that is who I am.  An accumulation of life and it’s changes.  Life twists you, breaks you, allows you to heal and does it all over again and again and again.

And that’s okay.  So during your changing, remember this adult lesson, you’re not alone in it, and grant some people a pass, myself included.  I have a person in my life at the moment that I struggle with ‘liking’ because of all the lousy shit she did towards me, just because I existed.  However, I’m trying to move past it and embrace this person in great hopes that she too is transforming and aware that her thoughts and actions are part of the problem as well.  Let’s hope, I am.

Growing up is hard, it’s even harder when there are invisible chains holding you back.  Let’s name those chains, Ego…yeah, ego is an asshole, always protecting us from what we need to hear.  Pride…always blocking out humility.  Then there is Anger…defending our honor even if we’re wrong.  Let’s not forget, Ignorance…being ignorant of the fact that most of the human race is going through exactly what we are going through.   Last but not least, Jealousy…the strongest chain of all, I’d go for this one first because it can do the most damage.  No good comes from holding on to jealous feelings.  Zero, nada, zip…no good at all!

So the next time you allow those chains to warp your thinking, make a great attempt to unbind yourself and let go, because we aren’t locked in to who we are, the chains are invisible and can be left behind with little to no effort at all.  Okay, a little effort, I didn’t want to scare you off.  It’s work, but if you can’t afford to do the good work of changing, then what is the point of participating at all.  Keep all that shit to yourself and do your best not to hurt others.  With great hope you’ll be remembered for that as well.

In the end, as Ram Dass states: “We’re just walking each other home” I say, let’s make it fun and keep life interesting by enjoying each Adult lesson including the toughest of all…CHANGE…allow it to happen.

 

Barbi

As the Wheel turns, I fall off

The wheels on the bus go ’round and ’round, ’round and ’round, ’round and round, the wheels on the bus go ’round and ’round, all through the town.   There ya go ladies and gents, my life in a child’s song.

I’ve not been given an easy path in this life and many a day, well, it gets just too fucking much and I really just wanna give up…then I mind fuck myself into thinking there’s a grander purpose to my existence and really knowing there isn’t but living the illusion is all I can do because the alternative is would too hurtful to my family, because in some bizarre way they see something about me that I don’t…so for their sake I wake tomorrow and endure the torture until I don’t or can’t whatever comes first. I know it’s a bit dark but I’m tired and there haven’t many that have lived the life I have and review the memories I do on a repeat reel of “Barbi, this is your life”.

I stepped back from writing because I felt it only brought out the dark in my mind.  Maybe it does, maybe that’s all that is there.  I don’t know.  I don’t know much at all, but this life is tiring and my mind is hanging by a thread.  Fearful of a nights sleep, fearful of all the thoughts that can creep in and destroy any happy left.  This is my life.  It’s fucked.  Totally fucked.

When I wake tomorrow and shake the sleep from the brain, I’ll realize its just another day in a prison I can’t escape, never moving passed what I hoped I could.  Because there is something underlying in my psyche that is preventing me from moving forward.  What the hell it is, I have no idea, but I’m getting angry.  More than angry, just plain pissed off and would like to strangle the life out of my parents [they are dead, no worries] and ask them, “what the hell were you thinking???”  “You shouldn’t have been parents in any sense of the word”

Today, I’ve given up, and allowing whatever the Universe has planned for me, well, let’s do it.  Not gonna lie, I’m scared shitless.  I’ve been scared shitless since I took this new job, in this new field, in this unpolished skill that I’m quite sure that I may fail in…what the fuck was I thinking???  Thoughts of grandeur, thoughts of security, thoughts of paying off student loans that haven’t done shit in my life but grow double in size.  Yes, scared shitless, I am.

Having trust in moving forward is tough, here’s the deal.  I get paid when I work with clients.  I work within Autistic Services with Easterseals.  However, no clients, no $$$.  Leaving a reasonable steady job, taking the risk, throwing out stability.  Granted, I wasn’t making squat, but I at least I knew what tomorrow would be, at this moment, I’m in daze of unknown.  Again, what the fuck was I thinking????

I was thinking that I needed more in this life.  To do some good, to make a difference and to pay back my success of making it this far without completely fucking everything up.  So here I write to an abyss of names and faces that I’ll probably never meet in hopes that someone reading this will have a direct connection to the Universe transport my cries of help directly to it.

Being home and doing the grandma thing is awesome, but it doesn’t pay, and I need to work.  Yes, being employed is good mostly because I like to pay my bills and eat.  Weird concept, right?  Anyway, if we could make it, I would stay home, take care of the things that need done, watch the grandkids and just be me.  In reality, it’s who I am and pretty much the only thing I’m good at doing 100%

My plea to the Universe, please let my ‘happy’ shine, find the passion that is buried deep in my psyche remove the worry and fear of failing and allow it awaken and soar.  Help me be and do me for whatever I was intended to do in this life.  Living in this earthy purgatory has become overwhelming.  Lift the veil, I’m ready.

This is so much fun

I get knocked down, but I get up again
You are never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You are never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You are never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You are never gonna keep me down ~Chumbawamba~

Pretty much what we all experience one or more times in our lives.  If you haven’t had hardship, well, I call bullshit.  Or your definition of hardship is well a lot different from mine or anyone else’s.  Whatever the case, there isn’t a doubt that even the most positive person has suffered life blows moments and had to stand up, brush off their tushy and move forward once again.

Life isn’t a series of just good things.  It’s a series of shit happens and it happens often.  Without all that shit, we wouldn’t appreciate the good stuff.  Even in my darkest moments, I can see the light.  Probably one of the factors built-in me of not doing myself in earlier.  Not that I haven’t tried, seems as if I have a guardian angel or something, if you believe in the horse snot, snatched me up at the last-minute.  Whoa, what the hell are you doing, I’d shout, let me die! Nope, I was forced to survive.

I’ve attempted suicide more than once, even simple as playing chicken with cars as a younger person.  Yep that was me heading for you, and you swerved, should have hit me, but the selfish person you are, you swerved and missed me, just so you wouldn’t get hurt.  Ha! See what I did there? Seriously though, life has its moments and surviving isn’t one to sneeze away.

You see, surviving doesn’t take much effort.  All you really need to do is not do anything.  Yep, pretty much.  Look at all that claim to fame you can have just for doing nothing.  I ‘survived’ cancer twice.  I didn’t fight, I didn’t do shit.  I just let them poke, cut, and radiate my body until it was done.  I wept in silence, because yeah, it did hurt.  I was lonely because people were worried that the chemicals from chemotherapy would leach from my body and poison them.  Even better, cancer is contagious.  Didn’t you know????

Anyway, I was left alone to survive.  There ya go.  Thank you to all and your bizarre reasoning to left me to be lonely while I ‘survived’ through cancer.  Guess you were doing me a favor.  Because I did absolutely nothing, and here I am, spoiler, I survived!

Now you see my reasoning behind not being a supporter of surviving.  I can remember comments like, “you got this, you’re a survivor, you’re a fighter”, um okay….What am I fighting and what am I surviving?  No, I’m a warrior you mother fucker.  I’ve been to war and back.  I did not fight cancer, it fought me.  It took my way of living and it fucked it all up.  I didn’t survive cancer, I ran the fuck away from it, placing obstacles in its way so it will never find me again [7-years out from BC, 5-years out OC]

I did absolutely nothing to survive a horrific childhood, poor decisions, etc.  I’m not a survivor, I’m a doer.  Surviving doesn’t take effort, its mediocrity at it’s best.  When people ask if I’m a survivor and then say ‘woo hoo’ , I look at them plainly and say, “ahem, what choice did I have?”  I either let it eat me alive or do nothing and let the doctors experiment on me.  Either way, it was a death sentence.  So I chose the lesser of two evils.

Ha! Yeah…evils.  Or are they? Someday, we’ll replace that word survivor with warrior, or maybe realize, it’s just life.  Simply as Chumbawamba states, “I get knocked down, and I get back up again.  A mentality that will never let you down.  I love Bozo!

.   

Even in my darkest hour, and lately it’s been pretty dark, I’ve picked my ass up and did nothing but move forward and will continue to fight the darkness, seeking light, happiness and joy and as any person with depression can only hope to do.  There is no cure for the darkness, embracing it seems to be the only option.  We need the dark to enjoy the light and vice versa, its seems cliché’ and I agree, I’d like to punch people in the face when they use those kind of metaphors on me.  Yet, deep inside, I know the truth, and each day the warrior in me will continue my journey, training, gaining skills and tools, honing the ability and strength to one day cross-over to the real battle, no longer just a survivor, but now, a badass warrior!

False start, 1, 2, 3 and counting

I truly believe we all start something with the full intent of finishing.  NOT! I start, knowing very well that I won’t finish or at the very least I will fuck it all up.  Yep, pretty much, so when I do finish anything, oh shit-cow, I’m totally surprised.  Imagining myself running down the street naked screaming a declaration of completion with a side course of “really, I’m amazed too, quit looking a my nipples”.

Everyday brings about new prospects.  Prospects you say.  Yes, what omens/signs/nudges will the universe push me towards that will bring some success.  Because you all know it’s worked wonders thus far, right?  Yet, getting out of this mode of thinking is difficult if not downright impossible.

It’s an undeniable, insatiable ability to have faith in hope.  Kinda counter-intuitive to us less than intelligent type. Well, I need to work on that today.  Another piece of not-so-good news has landed before us again, financial of course, we take it up the ass.

Let me tell you a story of girl who has done nothing but make bad decisions from the moment of conception.

1. Choosing the wrong set of parents, they didn’t want me or love me and lied to me daily
2. Choosing the wrong body to be born into and endure the criticism of anyone who thought their 2 fucking cents mattered on the subject of my chubster rolls.
3. Being verbally, physically, emotionally abused for years that I’ve literally lost count.
4. Years of being on my own and attempting to survive, it hurts…
5. Choosing every abusive boyfriend, it was like I was a magnet.
6. Married Mr. Wrong, [caveat of this one, 2 wonderful child I do not regret]
7. Married again for the wrong reasons, but don’t regret it [caveat, I grew as a person]
8. Returning to college
9. Student Loans, don’t do it, it’s a real-time ghost that never goes away.
10. 2 weeks after graduation in 2010 with a master’s degree in science, Human Services, my youngest and only daughter gets married, leaves for North Carolina and I’m diagnosed with cancer.  Triple negative HER BC.
11. Nearly died from chemo, a little dramatic, but I’m damn sure death would have been less painful, ya think?
12. Radiation for 33 rounds, still paying for that physiologically
13. Could not find work because who wants to hire a bald person with cancer?
14. A year and half later I found cancer again, Lucy was hiding in my ovaries this time, bitch.
15. Chemo again, this time, I did die, inside many times, part of me has not been reborn, good parts died, wish I had.
16. Still no work in my field, now its been 3 years, student loans mounting
17. Employer doesn’t want to take another chance in my cancer returning, letting me go by setting me up [yes, I have proof, but no will to move forward]
18. Finally finding work in my field sort of, liking it but working with a bully who has chosen me to be their bitch.  For now…
19. I hate my job a regret it every day, but out of desperation for a paycheck, there’s no way out.
20. Applying for several jobs being turned down, again reinforcing my worthlessness
21. In severe financial distress due to student loans and wondering how are we going to survive any longer at this rate
22. Thankful I have a husband who understands and kinda likes my crazy, even though he’s super judgy.
23. Possible job opportunity ahead, so I spent money we don’t have on a class that could help me with the initial interview.
24. Feeling worthless and not wanting to go forward
25. I’m tired but writing helps
26. 54 and have really nothing to show but a long trail of shit and poor decisions, what a great asset to society I’ve become.

So there now, all that whining is out.  Now welcome to my dark world where with one positive thought, there are five to disprove and squash its benefit.

I do know that others have it worse, others are stronger than I.  I’ve struggled, no hand outs, no winning the damn lottery, no inheritance to fall back on, just surviving, it’s like treading water for indeterminate amount of time with no clear end in sight.

Einstein said, “the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results”.  Yeah, told ya, I’m not super intelligent, but yet, I have no fucking clue of what to do next.  Jung talked about a shadow…I think my shadow is now who I am, a very dark confused human who can fake life better than most, then walk away and hide.

So how is your day going?

Never leave the house without clean underwear on…

Oh the advice we received as young children, underwear, wear it and be sure its clean.  Socks, what if you lost your shoes?  My personal favorite, “be kind to people and they will be kind to you back”.  The Golden Rule, right…I’m beginning to think its bullshit, same with the underwear idea, clean, yes, on, who fuck cares.

Anyway,

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you

A command based on words of Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount: “All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.” The Mosaic law contains a parallel commandment: “Whatever is hurtful to you, do not do to any other person.”  [The New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, Third Edition Copyright © 2005 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.]

I’ve lived that rule, not sure who taught me, but I lived it.  I was pretty respectful to strangers and some people I liked, just kidding, I don’t make friends, friends suck and so does family sometimes.  Its not that I’m not likable, I’m very likable for about 30 seconds or whenever my usefulness runs out.  Yeah, I’m that person.

I’m the default program on your computer, I’m the one that is there when there is no one else, until someone else does come along, yeah back to default mode.  Its sucks, and you ask, “why do it?” Because most of the time, I care too much and I’ll weigh out the alternative.  Guess better to be needed part of the time, than none-of-the-time, and I know what that feels like too.

It’s sort of like this blogging, I don’t do it for likes or comments, I do it to get that ugly bullshit out of my system.  To shout without shouting, to tell someone, anyone my feelings without them landing in my lap the first argument that occurs.  Blogging is my default friend.  It’s always there to listen,  it never comments something back and it always forgets, unless I need the reminder and seek it out myself.

I know some people use it to advertise, or talk about political or societal issues.  Great for them.  Not me, because I can get around myself, I’m always in the way of me, just me…I’ll never move forward because I’m always in the way.  I can’t move past my own shit so to stand for someone else’s shit.  The world could be coming to an end and I’ll be sitting in the corner asking some imaginary listener, “who cares if the world comes to end, who cares if there are people dying,  who cares if I die tomorrow”.  Nobody, that’s who, but I don’t want to give anyone the pleasure of knowing that either.

It’s a strong fact and probably the only time I move around myself, because there are certain people in this world that I care about and will do anything for,  and most of the time it’s not reciprocated.  It’s a truth and I know this.  I’m boring, broke financially, and really no fun to be around, I’m funny but not funny enough to hang with, just convenient and here, always here.  I’m clean underwear and too many times I’m forgotten about, taken for granted, but damn relied on like crazy.

However, not the reason for the darkness today.  I woke up with my internal ‘pissed off switch’ on full blast.  I awoke hating the world, full on knowing that today was going to suck like rotten eggs can clear a room.  It was going to be bad.  My filter was on low and my temper on blast.  Worst part of it all, I had to work.  All I wanted to do was come home hide and write.

I’m a runner and most of the time I can cure these moments of darkness with a morning run.  Beat the fuck out of my body so I don’t have the energy to be pissed off.  It’s a sad case of depression or as I’d like to call it, Depission, it’s a joint venture of the two to really see who can drive me mad faster.  Neither of them win because at the end of the day, we all hurt inside and out.

Well now that I feel like a total pathetic asshole with no purpose with a side of being an idiot for allowing my life to be nothing more than ‘default’ mode, I’ll move on, shoving my piehole with bacon and frozen blueberries.  Go ahead and judge me, it’s better than being ignored completely.

Here’s an idea if you’ve been paying attention.  In our new world of technology its easier than ever to check up on people.  Text, message or do the unthinkable and call and just ask, “how are you?”  Is it that difficult?  I do my best and I do fail a lot, maybe its the reason why I am pushed aside for newer and better friends/people/animals/toys, etc.  You get the drift.

Today I hurt, tomorrow who knows.  Today I cried, tomorrow who knows.  Today, I hid, tomorrow who knows.  Will it ever end?

I see my crying face in the foggy mirrored life I call hell

Smelling my sadness and the dying inside as it swells

The darkness is real should I just give in and accept it all

Or keep fighting it, second, minute, hours, days until I fall

No I keep moving forward for no reason I can explain

Only the hurt as a reminder of the self inflicted disdain

I’m an awful creature, this must be true

For I’m tossed aside, no sooner than my empty worth shines through

Never leave the house without clean underwear on

You’ll never know when you’ll be called back and you’re work is done.

 

 

 

 

Check please! Where is the exit?

Week 2 has started on the Art and Soul Reloaded self-workshop created by Pam Grout and I’m already behind.  Time seems to slip from faster each day.  My energy is zapped and thoughts of just quitting life creeps up on me without worrying if I hear its footsteps or not.  Quitting is very attractive and luring,  it’s no longer coy about its intentions.

Starting a new journey isn’t easy.  Oh you know the whole every journey of a thousand steps starts with the first step which is the hardest, it goes something like that, I think.  Anyway, I not only started one, but I started two.  With great hopes this is the direction of which I should be taking in this life.  What is the second journey you ask?  Or did you, or was that my Cory stepping in again.  Well, let’s appease everyone.  I started a 40 training class for a possible job of which I have an interview for on the 17th.

It’s not as if I’m not educated and qualified, but even the most educated need some extra training right.  It only took me 4 days in which to decide whether or not to spend the $99.00 on the class.  Yep, that’s me, very very confused at the moment.

This is what the world of a depressed person deals with daily.  No one has a clue, I smile, seem self-confident, quite funny if I say so myself.  Yet, as each year goes by, I become quieter and quieter.  My energy, will, motivation, how ever you’d like to term it, is waning.  Maybe because I’m getting older and my ‘giving zero fuck’s’ list is growing more and more each day.  Who knows, but it’s getting darker in here and I’m beginning to like it.

In being confused when anyone attempts to discuss a situation or decision that has taken you a quite bit of time to be comfortable with, tries to discuss the positive or negative side of it, when you’re barely hanging on to the idea of the decision, well, it knocks you on your ass.  Yes, I have a decision bully around me all the time.  Not encouraging, unless this person believes it’s the best for me, or them, or somebody else who isn’t me and doesn’t have my issues.  When they start talking, I search for the exit, breathe deep and sigh as a hint to shut the fuck up and leave me alone or I just may jump into that nice warm comfy dark abyss inside my mind.

Challenging someone like me is like bleeding around a shark.  I will attack and I will flee after the attack.  You poked me, tempted me, now leave me the fuck or alone or I will eat you.  I forgive those who don’t know me, or if it’s in a work situation.  Yet, those who know me, well, you must be a glutton for punishment.  Or maybe, you just like being a decision bully, dream killer.  You may call it being a devil’s advocate, I call it being an asshole.

So today, I go forward, holding my head up high, trying to figure out where the next ‘step’ is going to be and how painful will it be when I take it.  I can tell you one of the steps is going to be in role-playing.  It’s not something I can do or want to do.  Ask me to pretend a grown-ass adult is a child…yeah, how is this even relevant and productive.  Its not, nor can it be and I believe a lot of good people may have been turned away due to a poor role-playing interviewing attempts.  Some people are just better at hands on operations, not fake playing.  If I could fake-play, I’d become an actor and laugh all the time.

Can I have the check now, and where is the exit? Thank you.

The Darkness of Depression*

It’s real, not a phantom condition.  It hurts, it bites and it can destroy all that is good in a person.  It sneaks up in the most ridiculous time and place, in a fashion of which you can’t ignore.  It appears in the mirror it finds us no matter where you are or where you go.  There is no absolute way to ignore it.  You wear it like your favorite clothing, you allow it in and treat it as a friend.  Because most of your life you’ve not ever known a time that you have had not it snuggling with you by your side.

At times, its worth dying for so to stop the pain and tears from suddenly erupting for no reason.  It can create paranoia, it can create a dark, dark world that you want to escape, by any means, it doesn’t matter, just release me from its grip.  It may go away for a bit and you think what did I do differently?  You scour your brain, was it a vitamin, food, what the fuck did I do different, this feels so good.  Then without warning its back, without cause or reason, it’s here and its real.

Depression, is real.  It’s not caused by a zero bank account, of course, this doesn’t help.  Its not caused by a broken relationship, a dying parent or even poochy taking the downward slide to never-never land.  What causes depression?  Well, I could get all educated here, but it’s not the reason for me writing on it.  More, that it’s a realization that I’m tired of the fight,  it or should I say, I’m getting weary of fighting it.  Grasping for tools and the skill to fight back.  I wake up with positive thoughts, or attempt them anyway, and with no avail, it creeps in my brain like a dark fog and tells me that, “I’m the most fucked up person in the universe”.  Do I believe it, if I said no, would you believe me?  No and yes, I do, because the educated part of my brain knows what depression is and mostly why it exists in me.  The vulnerable abused, sad little human on the other side, embraces it because it’s validating what I really feel about myself.

At the age of 12, I attempted suicide.  Standing over the sink with a razor blade in hand, starting the first cut on my wrist, my sister walked in on me.  Shouting, what are you doing???  Normally, we didn’t walk in on each other in the bathroom, I guess by leaving the door unlocked, that small part of my brain, the super tiny insignificant part of my psyche of which I call hope, reached out for help.  It snuck past the dark fog of depression and hopelessness to shine a bit of, “I hope someone finds me before I go through with this” mojo.  She did and well, spoiler alert, I’m here aren’t I.

This was the first of several attempts to end my existence.  I think when I finally stopped searching for a creative way to end it all was when I met my first husband.  He gave me hope and two amazing kids.  My life changed after my first child.  For them I gave up much of my dreams, in return, they are the reason I got out of bed every morning, they are the sole cause for me in moving forward.

I wasn’t the best mom, I know that, and who says they are, well, you’re full of shit.  We manage, we adjust to the child’s personality, we draw the picture in which the child is the canvas.  We do our best with the tools and skills we’ve been given.  Stop judging, you aren’t any better, I’ve learned this and believe it.

Even though life has not been easy, it has been easier to fight the darkness.  It’s as if the educated part of my brain has been working out, all buffed out with muscles and such,  and now it can beat down the darkness, but it takes a bit of effort.

When I go quiet and disappear, call in sick, cancel appointments and hide.  It’s because my brain is having quite the battle.  It’s fighting and even the simple act of talking steals the momentum of fighting the dark.

It’s dark in here, in the mind of a depressed person, or as one therapist said, I was manically depressed.  I don’t believe I am manic, depressed yes, manic no.  If he had lived the life I was dumped into, he’d be depressed too.  I fight, every day, every moment every thought is a challenge.  I have no strength at times to follow any dream because the voice of worthlessness squelched the voice of passion and motivation a long time ago.  Zapping my strength in moving forward.  It steals every ounce of desire to be more than I am, it’s a wonder I’m still here.

So when a depressed person expresses their sadness, or attempts to share their darkness, keep in mind, they are screaming for help.  Please don’t assume you know the darkness if you’ve not experienced it.  Please don’t assume that we can control it, some of us are just better at hiding it.  I was the comedian, I made jokes, I teased, I thought laughter could cure my darkness.  It helps, true, but no, the battle continues.  Listen to them, watch for destructive dark clues, watch for that small glimmer of hope that they hope you can see and discover.

At the ripe age of 54, [I often said I would not live pass 34] I’ve fought battles that some were self-imposed and others, not so much.  I’ve fought battles with blood that was shed but invisible to others.  Think you can run from cancer and not be depressed, what fuck do think made it grow, happy thoughts? Nope, the darkness found a weakness and made a strong attempt to fulfill my wishes to die.  Another spoiler alert.  Sucks right?

This started way before I was born, my mother tried to abide by my wishes, coat hanger and all, another spoiler alert, I made it, again, again and again.  I’m like a bad penny always showing up, again, again, again.  My will and desire are adversaries to say the least, the hidden agenda to my existence is a cry for help not to die.  Dying is the reaction one is seeking to stop the pain.  Because really depression is very painful, for us and everyone around us.  It will stab and poke us until we eventually go mad.

Many think that my habitual ‘no filter’ is an act or possibly intentional.  Not really, more that when things do fly out of my mouth, it’s because there is a lack of control in keeping it in.  At at that moment, the fight is becoming brutal and bloody inside my head.  Not an excuse, a factoid to the Barbi-brain.

We all are different in how we deal.  I don’t believe in medication nor will I get to that point.  I believe there needs to be some sort of battle, eventually, it will end and if anyone else can gain from my experiences, well, it will be worth it.  How it ends, I have no fucking clue, but living through it, well, I’ve been doing that for a bit or two, so I must have some sort of clue.  Yet, I look into the mirror and all I see is this old person, and the sadness of knowing I never took the time to see the young person I used to be.

I’m not crying for help, mostly offering some insight to the depressed brain and to myself.  I get treated poorly at times because I become a ghost, even to myself in many situations.  I’d rather be alone, but want to know I matter as well.  Fucked up thinking right there.  I see people who don’t deserve the attention they get, while I sit here and wonder how much more can I give to get some appreciation.  Am I that much of an asshole that I deserve all this shade?

No, I’m not, this is on you.  Remember that.  The way I deal with other’s shittiness is my problem but if the shittiness didn’t exist, then coping with it would be much less of a problem.

In all, I care too much, too empathetic and some know that, and feed off it.  So be it.  Until the end, I will fight and these blog posts will offer some insight to the dysfunctional fucked up brain of a human named Barbi.  Onward I go and forward I will fall, again, again and again, until I learn to climb.  I’m Barbi, a study of one.

*the post is in its raw form, editing minimally so keep your judgements to yourself, I can fill in the blanks myself.

 

 

To be or not to be…FAT…reminiscing

Forewarned this is pretty raw…oh and pretty pathetic as well. *

 

June 17, 2008 

Scared to be Skinny

            It is another day of being disgusted with myself.  I cannot really say when was the last time I have looked at my body in a naked state.  Sitting by myself the other day, I thought to myself, what am I scared of…why am I scared to be skinny?  It is a question to ponder.  Therefore, I will write my thoughts concerning my quest toward the state of thinness.

            At the age of 44, most of my life has been wasted being fat.  It has inhibited me from moving forward.  Fun events such as going to the beach, taking trips and other excursions that may require my photo being taken are avoided like the plague.  I have allowed my perception of my body to create a world in which is unhappy and quite unfulfilled.  Maslow would be disappointed in me because I have the potential to become self actualized, but have allowed my concern with image management to inhibit any growth toward this goal.

            Disappointed in myself, yes most definitely!  The moment I became self-aware of the physical body, the self-deprecation and beatings also began.  At the age of five, I can recall a daily ritual that I faithfully fulfilled each day.  In the bathroom of which my sister and I shared, there was a mirror behind the door, placed directly in front of the toilet.  I would sit on the toilet doing my business, look at myself, fill myself with disgust, and complete the morning ritual of counting the rolls of fat that made up much of my torso.  One…two…three…yep, they were still there, each time I sat down, I was very aware of these ‘tire’some addition of such a young body.  Then I would look further, and see my thighs, the dimples were forming, the thoughts that consumed this five-year-old mind were demeaning, harmful, and hateful vision toward an innocent self.

            Why didn’t I look like my sisters and brothers?  Why couldn’t I be skinny like them?  I did have a pretty face, but it would be prettier if I weren’t fat.  People would like me more if I wasn’t fat, my parents would love me more if I weren’t fat.  My father would tell me later during the tween years (10-13) that I would be so beautiful if I had not been so fat.  This was a reminder with each look upon his face that held some disgust for a daughter who was a physical embarrassment.

Food was withheld from me; I remained hungry for most of my childhood.  My older sister would comment that at the age of 10 that I weighed as much as she did at 17, we weighed 135lbs.  This hurt, more than you can imagine.  My brothers teased me all the time; kids at school taunted me until I was in tears [then I learned to use my fists instead of my tears].  Everyone seemed to judge me on my weight rather than who I was as a person.  There criticism and the way they thought of me, is what I grew up focusing on in developing my personality.  I believed that everyone judged me on my physical body first, and the rest of my being was secondary.

            Yes, I was facially attractive but the magazines, television, and movies told me I was abnormal and my existence was wrong.  A critical view that the physical body was all that mattered, to the extent on a spiritual level the criticism could not be avoided. By my teenage years, I was doing drugs on a daily basis; black beauties were a vice toward becoming thin.  Further, on down the road I was introduced to ‘speed’, it became my best friend.  For once, I was thin, but it wasn’t enough.  There were scars of my fat body left behind; my mind still saw a fat being standing in the mirror, the roll of my tummy never tightened up completely.  Hours a day I would exercise, body build and work until I couldn’t not work anymore.  However, my inner thighs were bags of loose skin, the tummy disgusting…,and my bubble butt remained intact.  Even at 98 pounds, people would tell me I was pleasantly plump.

My life was consumed by criticism and the focus on my body.  I tried to hide it, fade into the background, and surrounded myself with boys and men who did find me to be attractive.  However, many of these relationships were unhealthy and dwarfed any personal growth as well.

            I discontinued all illegal drugs before becoming pregnant with my son Joshua, I gained over 100 pounds, and I exercised, starved myself, and did whatever I could not to gain weight.  It didn’t work.  Diet pills, exercise, starvation, and negative self-talk were a daily ritual and the damage to my psyche was inevitable, and the harm to the physical body untold.

*Sharing these thoughts are not easy, but a subtle look into the mind of someone who on a daily basis struggled to live in a skinny world, it was cruel and unjust, yet, I’m sure there is a message in there to be gained and shared.  Be kind to yourself, be kind to others, these thoughts are rarely heard among the masses.  Ask yourself, would you be so harsh to judge if you could hear what those who you criticize, think?

Oops, she did it again…and again…

She was a beautiful woman, talented, strong and funny.  He had to have loved her at some point.  My mother was nuts, certifiable Looney tunes, psychotic, personality disorders, she could fill the DSM with all her dysfunction…and yet, she held inside her, growing in her belly, one of her biggest secrets as well as mistakes.There embedded in her belly, uterus, womb, whatever you want to call it, where 4 others once found safety was a female human baby [redundant, I know, back off].  A fetus of which she hated before she had a chance to know her, because of that she desperately attempted with volatile desperation, destroy and kill her before those blue eyes had a chance to see sunlight.   I’m that human.  Her struggle to end me ultimately destined me to struggle, be challenged and fight for my existence in this world, fated me to fill the role as a physical as well as an emotional warrior in this life. [Sorry ruined another plot to one of my stories]Oh how my mother loved her some boy-toys, oh very much, always on the prowl.  She managed and poised herself like a finely trained Philly, always ready to pounce and win the next race.  She would focus on herself and her survival no matter the cost to her or anyone else around her.  She was unique. But I loved her. She was my mom or ‘ Mom-arduke’ as I would call her. Not because she looked like the fictional cartoon doggy, but because it sounded cute and fun and it was a special name that I shared with her, and it made her smile and it made me feel special.  She didn’t smile often and if she did, it was to impress the next suitor; rarely could I make her smile. I know you’re asking yourself, how could you love someone, anyone like her?   I ask you, who else did I have to love, how did I know this wasn’t normal, how did I know the level of her mental illness?  I didn’t.  For all I knew, this was normal, for me anyway.  You hear stories about families who commit abuse, neglect and do unmanageable means of torture to their children and ask, why didn’t they run away? Why because they didn’t know any better, as I didn’t?  Or did I not want to admit it and face the reality of the situation?The joy of feeling a human buried deep in your belly innocent and victim to your every whim has to have some effect on the psyche, positive or negative; you’re sharing those feelings and thoughts to the innocent inside of you, as she did with me.  I’ve often said that our initial contact in being brought into this world is our hardwiring, most of us have the basics, fundamental skills and tools to aid us in surviving then the environmental is the software is downloaded, every song, word, smile, cry, sounds, smells and acts are software, building us to who we are today.   So can we fix ourselves?  Download different behaviors, run virus protection, etc? Hmmm, something to ponder or is it?It wasn’t until I started school and made friends who came from somewhat normal families.  Totally different than mine own, did I realize that our family was definitely not normal, and the ‘things’ that went on inside our home, were anything but normal.  That’s when I knew I had been living a very dark and unusual life to that point, which led to some very corrupt software being downloaded into a very innocent child.I often try to imagine what my mother was thinking when I was conceived.  As I lay in her belly, did she smile as the twitter of butterflies fluttered through her abdomen or did she grimace having to explain who I really belonged to and those flutters were just reminders of a bigger mistake.What was she feeling as she lay there feeling the growth, the tautness of the skin, the thought of the momentary adulteress pleasure, was it all worth it, was this human going to be worth it?  Was I going to be good enough to repair her mistake?  I can only imagine, of course, what her thoughts were at the time, the looks on her face each time I kicked, the thoughts racing in her head, the lies she needed to create to hide the truth.  Oh how she hated me so, or it’s what I was feeling anyway.Everyone knew the truth, the truth growing in her belly day after day.  As each limb grew, each cell divided and multiplied into a larger group of cells that we now call a human.  I can only imagine as I listen from inside those Uteren [not really sure this is a word, probably something Corey made up] walls the yelling, the hate, the accusations, then a fist as it hit one of the walls, over and over again.  I thought was secure, I’m scared. Was this when all my fears, insecurities and unworthiness manifested?  Was I good enough, will I be good enough?  Will those chubby cheeks [my dad loved my cheeks, so he said] wipe out the misery in my father’s eyes, knowing that those blue eyes didn’t belong to him?  That this round little human was not part of him, but how can he deny a child life, how can he dismiss this life?   A life that this child had no choice in choosing.  How could he reject it, reject me?I think she depended on his compassion and those thoughts, how could he deny this child a life, how could he dismiss its existence.  How could he walk away from the 4 of his flesh before the 5th who was not?  How could he…he could not [see spoiled another plot of my story]?That will be a story for another day; we’ll call it Daddy issues.Yet, here I am today, working on removing software one painful program at a time, evaluating each one for its worthiness and beneficial functionality to move forward.  Should I keep the rants of ‘you’re a piece of shit’ or ‘this is all your fault’ and many more like that, maybe they could be beneficial in giving my ego a reality check, who knows.  What I do know is that I need to remove, not just forget, but remove those memories for the sake of my future, of what little time I have left to leave a mark of goodwill and continue the to be a humanitarian without a forced will to do so.Today is another day and being an emotional warrior towards conquering the dark night[s] of my soul each and every day, some easier than others, thankful for knowing I’m getting closer to peace and solace and the natural ease of just being human and having a second, third, fourth…chance to do so.