Physical assault and rape usually comes to mind but other definitions include breached, broken, trespassed, trampled on, infringed. What about those violators who mess with our personal stuff and who have so much disregard for other people’s property? It stirs up mixed emotions. You are filled with infuriation. You are incensed and enraged, but at the same time remember how you should act as a Christian; however, you still want to drop kick them into the next county.
Only have experienced a major violation once when my parents’ house was burglarized in the mid ’60s. It happened in the summertime on a Wednesday night while we attended church. In the desert country of New Mexico a prominent fixture in the majority of homes was a swamp cooler where a window needed to be left ajar. It’s still quite a vivid memory after all of these years and can recall those same disturbing sensations.
Walked in through the front door and turned on the light switch. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. On the desk in the living room sat a board game we played numerous times as a family--“Sorry.” Don and I looked at each other and tried to recall whether we had played earlier in the day. No. Turning we noticed a scattering of phonograph albums from Roger Miller to Les Paul lying on the floor by the stereo near the large paned glass window. Something was definitely wrong. No nerves of steel but trepidation as we walked through the rest of the house. In Mom and Dad’s bedroom the dresser drawers had been rummaged through and the window screen removed. After taking inventory it was determined not to be a lucrative heist just some money, an electric razor, and eggs. The cops arrived and took their usual report. I stared at the gun the entire time. Apparently the intruders (believed to be some kids who lived down the street in the cul-de-sac) came through the mesa, jumped the wall and entered through the opened bedroom window. During the night as I lay in bed, constantly saw eerie shadows in the bedroom window. It was not a peaceful night’s sleep. The violation felt just as strong the following morning.
While living in Houston, Mom and Dad’s Oldsmobile Cutlass was stolen twice while parked at their gated apartment complex. The first time they didn’t know it was stolen until the cops called and they had to go to court to prove ownership. One of the small windows on the backseat side was smashed and a hole was cut in the steering column. The second time Mom and Dad discovered the car missing when they were getting ready to go somewhere. The same window was smashed and although it was not stripped, it still cost to repair.
Last week Jonathan’s car was stolen. It was locked. No shattered glass on the ground. Not a fancy car--a ’95 Nissan--but the rims were not of the ordinary and wheels seem to be the target in that section of San Diego County. After two days, the car was found, stripped of all four wheels, several miles north near a popular casino. It sits in a tow yard accumulating daily charges. Do not know if it is salvageable and since it’s not the greatest of vehicles, somewhat hope it is not--will have to be towed and will need to be stored until new wheels are purchased. The Nissan is the only significant asset Jonathan owns, and I just paid the registration renewal. Unfortunately, Jonathan has no job and no money so it takes no genius to guess who will end up paying. Technically you could say I am also a victim, and yes, I do want to drop kick that individual(s) into more than just the next county.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Sunday, September 23, 2007
EQUAL RIGHTS
Sibling rivalry. The jealousy. The struggle to be the center of attention. More often than not something that happens when the lonely child is no longer number one. Whether those feelings last depends on each individual family.
Don’t know if Don had those feelings when I came along. Jonathan would have been in the minority though--he would have loved a brother or sister and never hesitated to let his sentiments be known. He still feels the void.
This rivalry undoubtedly extends to the animal world. Puppy got fair billing, so it seemed right to do the same for Quinn; after all, he was first. He’s a smart, personable dog with great expressions who would be excellent on the silver screen.
Don’t know if Don had those feelings when I came along. Jonathan would have been in the minority though--he would have loved a brother or sister and never hesitated to let his sentiments be known. He still feels the void.
This rivalry undoubtedly extends to the animal world. Puppy got fair billing, so it seemed right to do the same for Quinn; after all, he was first. He’s a smart, personable dog with great expressions who would be excellent on the silver screen.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
THE PUPPY WITH NO NAME
You would think I’m a brand new Mom with all the pictures I’ve taken with my cell phone. With no help from my Spanish manual, figured out how to send images to e-mail. From e-mail to blog was another issue to resolve. So after lots of research and some coaxing to do this in the first place, here are some pics of that little fellow that has stolen my heart. But believe me, these pictures don’t do him justice.
Friday, September 14, 2007
PUPPY LOVE
“And they called it puppy love…” but not that Donny Osmond song from the 1970s about young love between a boy and a girl. We’re talking about the real thing here, and as my brother used to say, with Jonathan emulating, in a somewhat breathless, distorted voice, “Puppy, Puppy, Puppy!”
My boss bought a companion for Quinn, you remember, the office Jack Russell mascot. See even less work getting done now, but, oh, what a joy! A miniature poodle Bichon mix, tan in color, who loves snuggling in tight-knit places as if bonding with its mother. Need to be cautious where we step or, “Oops!” He’s always at your feet. Fast as lightning.
No names have been picked yet, but my heart is full of love for this little guy. My little buddy. Sweetheart. Precious (doubt a male of any kind would appreciate those last two names). I’m a sucker for puppies and kittens and would rather they stay that way. That mindset alone is one way to avoid the temptation of ownership and quite an enticement it can be until I remember Dante and the mess under the pool table. Guess it’s like grandkids--nice to have around but can return them at the end of the day.
Not so sure I can leave this particular place of employment now but can add dog sitter, referee (between the two dogs), and elimination duty to my job description. Can honestly say I have never worked with a little bundle of fur either lying between my feet or wrapped around my foot. There are no words to express that feeling.
My boss bought a companion for Quinn, you remember, the office Jack Russell mascot. See even less work getting done now, but, oh, what a joy! A miniature poodle Bichon mix, tan in color, who loves snuggling in tight-knit places as if bonding with its mother. Need to be cautious where we step or, “Oops!” He’s always at your feet. Fast as lightning.
No names have been picked yet, but my heart is full of love for this little guy. My little buddy. Sweetheart. Precious (doubt a male of any kind would appreciate those last two names). I’m a sucker for puppies and kittens and would rather they stay that way. That mindset alone is one way to avoid the temptation of ownership and quite an enticement it can be until I remember Dante and the mess under the pool table. Guess it’s like grandkids--nice to have around but can return them at the end of the day.
Not so sure I can leave this particular place of employment now but can add dog sitter, referee (between the two dogs), and elimination duty to my job description. Can honestly say I have never worked with a little bundle of fur either lying between my feet or wrapped around my foot. There are no words to express that feeling.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
STUCK…
Fill in the blank (phrases accepted).
Stuck up.
Stuck with the bill.
Stuck with the check.
Stuck in traffic.
Stuck in the mud.
Stuck in quicksand.
Stuck to my teeth.
Stuck to my chair.
Stuck to my shoe.
Stuck on you.
Stuck on a deserted island.
Maybe you thought of more; possibly one more. The one I purposely omitted from this list. One I had never experienced before until yesterday afternoon and an experience I hope never to repeat.
Always tried to avoid them. Not that I’m claustrophobic, but don’t care for that whoosh sensation that tingles throughout the body as you go up or down, especially on those with glass panels. However, in total honesty, it has more to do with wanting to take the stairs for the exercise.
Would always take the stairs if there was access from the ground level floor; however, in most places those doors are locked and used only in emergencies, but I’ve been known to ride to the second floor and take the stairs to wherever the destination.
Mom and Dad live on the eighth floor of a retirement facility. I visit them on a regular basis and believe not just to use their computer. It was the dinner hour and would not have gone this day except to retrieve some paperwork needed for the next morning. Went up with three residents. Two got off on the sixth floor. The doors closed. The surge of propelling upward was disrupted by a loud clunk. The lights flickered. Darkness. The control panel blank. No movement. Susan and I stare at each other. We are going nowhere. The emergency lights come on and apparently I’m lucky to be in the one that has a running fan. Susan pushed the button that connects to the lobby desk. There is a power outage in the entire building and the paramedics have been called to come to the rescue.
No panic attacks. No heart palpitations. But you still think about all those movies and television shows with scenes of jumping up and crawling through the shaft or rapidly plummeting several feet to the bottom. The paramedics came and with our assistance the door opened. The time was minimal--15 minutes tops but annoying nevertheless.
Stuck on an elevator--not the highlight of my day.
Stuck up.
Stuck with the bill.
Stuck with the check.
Stuck in traffic.
Stuck in the mud.
Stuck in quicksand.
Stuck to my teeth.
Stuck to my chair.
Stuck to my shoe.
Stuck on you.
Stuck on a deserted island.
Maybe you thought of more; possibly one more. The one I purposely omitted from this list. One I had never experienced before until yesterday afternoon and an experience I hope never to repeat.
Always tried to avoid them. Not that I’m claustrophobic, but don’t care for that whoosh sensation that tingles throughout the body as you go up or down, especially on those with glass panels. However, in total honesty, it has more to do with wanting to take the stairs for the exercise.
Would always take the stairs if there was access from the ground level floor; however, in most places those doors are locked and used only in emergencies, but I’ve been known to ride to the second floor and take the stairs to wherever the destination.
Mom and Dad live on the eighth floor of a retirement facility. I visit them on a regular basis and believe not just to use their computer. It was the dinner hour and would not have gone this day except to retrieve some paperwork needed for the next morning. Went up with three residents. Two got off on the sixth floor. The doors closed. The surge of propelling upward was disrupted by a loud clunk. The lights flickered. Darkness. The control panel blank. No movement. Susan and I stare at each other. We are going nowhere. The emergency lights come on and apparently I’m lucky to be in the one that has a running fan. Susan pushed the button that connects to the lobby desk. There is a power outage in the entire building and the paramedics have been called to come to the rescue.
No panic attacks. No heart palpitations. But you still think about all those movies and television shows with scenes of jumping up and crawling through the shaft or rapidly plummeting several feet to the bottom. The paramedics came and with our assistance the door opened. The time was minimal--15 minutes tops but annoying nevertheless.
Stuck on an elevator--not the highlight of my day.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
WHAT A DOPE!
When’s the last time you did something stupid? Maybe it just comes naturally and happens on a daily basis.
Although cellular phones have been around for 30 years, I have only had mine about two years and only because it was a Christmas present from Jonathan (added for a family plan but guess who was paying the bills?) I know the basics or the “how tos”--dial, turn off, turn back on, add contact names, check balance and minutes, and take a picture.
If there is no room in my pocket for a cell phone, I’ll put it in my purse, and since I hate carrying a purse, have a tendency to leave it hidden in the car. After work I went to a job fair at the Courtyard Marriott. The purse with cell phone remained in the car. Before driving home I checked to see if anyone had called. The screen was blank. Confusion. Pressed a few buttons. Nothing. Dead as a doornail! It made no sense. The phone was working when placed in my purse this morning. Although the phone felt hot, it’s been hotter. “GREAT”!!!!!
Arrived home and pushed some more buttons. Utter frustration. Plugged the cell phone into the charger and the charging diagram appeared. Promising but still perplexing. The battery couldn’t have been dead, it’s always on the charger every single night and never had a problem. Maybe it was too hot. In the meantime, got out the manual to try and solve this mystery. Usually read the manuals of all gizmos and gadgets I buy (somewhat anal, I know) but obviously not for the cell phone--the manual was in Spanish and no pictures to suggest a solution. After a few hours checked the screen--fully charged. Still skeptical. Removed it from the charger but it still didn’t work. UGH!!!! For some unknown reason I pushed the orange receiver button (off/on) and VOILA!!
Apparently, cell phones can turn off all by themselves. So, when the screen of your cell phone is blank, try turning it on.
Although cellular phones have been around for 30 years, I have only had mine about two years and only because it was a Christmas present from Jonathan (added for a family plan but guess who was paying the bills?) I know the basics or the “how tos”--dial, turn off, turn back on, add contact names, check balance and minutes, and take a picture.
If there is no room in my pocket for a cell phone, I’ll put it in my purse, and since I hate carrying a purse, have a tendency to leave it hidden in the car. After work I went to a job fair at the Courtyard Marriott. The purse with cell phone remained in the car. Before driving home I checked to see if anyone had called. The screen was blank. Confusion. Pressed a few buttons. Nothing. Dead as a doornail! It made no sense. The phone was working when placed in my purse this morning. Although the phone felt hot, it’s been hotter. “GREAT”!!!!!
Arrived home and pushed some more buttons. Utter frustration. Plugged the cell phone into the charger and the charging diagram appeared. Promising but still perplexing. The battery couldn’t have been dead, it’s always on the charger every single night and never had a problem. Maybe it was too hot. In the meantime, got out the manual to try and solve this mystery. Usually read the manuals of all gizmos and gadgets I buy (somewhat anal, I know) but obviously not for the cell phone--the manual was in Spanish and no pictures to suggest a solution. After a few hours checked the screen--fully charged. Still skeptical. Removed it from the charger but it still didn’t work. UGH!!!! For some unknown reason I pushed the orange receiver button (off/on) and VOILA!!
Apparently, cell phones can turn off all by themselves. So, when the screen of your cell phone is blank, try turning it on.
Friday, September 7, 2007
HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - THE FINAL CHAPTER
Some may think I am out of my ever loving mind to tell all, to air my dirty little secrets or my dirty laundry and can’t understand why I would want to do so. It could possibly be seen as a way to get attention or to convey “the woe is me” mentality. Will admit it was partly for myself but only in hopes of finally solving some issues that have plagued my life for many years. I’m one who needs to solve everything and find out reasons for why things happen. Although never being science oriented, if forensics had been all the rage back then as it is now, would have received a double major in criminology and forensic science.
To the reader this piece of work undoubtedly was considered autobiographical but to this writer it was strictly therapeutic. You can think on these things (that sounds biblical) and about these things but writing them down with such thought provoking agony (and it was) is a whole different ballgame. The eyes are open to really see what should have been so obvious and you face some rude awakenings. There is anger. There is sadness. There are tears. Focus is changed. Perspectives and philosophies are re-evaluated. A new determination emerges.
There is an end to every good book (not that this was)--a final chapter; an epilogue. But how do you conclude a seemingly life story that is still ongoing? Covered a lot of areas. Revealed a lot of baggage. Confessed to shameful acts. Admitted to failure of transforming many flaws. A fitting end to a seemingly therapy session would be a summary and diagnoses.
In retrospect believe the onset of unhealthy eating habits and subsequent eating disorder stemmed from my best friend moving away. Eating disorders are complicated and vary in form but most would agree that all involve a control issue. That always was the truth for me--the only thing I could control. Over the years the cycles changed and the intensity fluctuated but one thing remained constant--when faced with a myriad of difficulties, the focus became the food and exercise merry-go-round. And, yes, let’s not forget to add a little bit of that obsessive compulsive disorder for good measure. I may be overly ritualistic in the exercise department and won’t take a break unless literally puking my guts out, but I can do whatever is necessary.
Could counsel anybody in the proper ways of getting into shape. Am aware what needs to be done and know that I won’t get fat or lose control again but have difficulty conquering those thought processes that tend to lead toward regression. (Maybe another reason for the adage, “Do as I say; not as I do.”) Possibly it relates along the same lines as to why an alcoholic can’t stop drinking and a drug addict can’t stop using, although for me these addictions would be much easier to relinquish--you can live without booze and drugs, but you can’t live without food.
I’ve taken special notice of those women with meat on their bones such as Rachel and Giada from the Food Network Channel and like the muscular arm look. Will admit to being hooked on protein shakes and bars but better that than milkshakes and candy bars. However in all this mumbo jumbo one thing has changed, I do not want to lose any weight because it will inevitably be in the wrong places. (Let’s just say, I don’t think a job at Hooter’s is in the cards.) But I still won’t get on a scale. After almost 40 years, I now realize that long-held truth was a fallacy--I am not in control of the disease, the disease is in control of me.
Most of the shrinks I encountered would undoubtedly link the eating disorder with the depression and some have suggested that the depression was the result of a chemical imbalance. Since drug therapy is not an option, I would have to find alternative methods but will admit that when I don’t eat enough, am overly tired, or it’s that time of month I tend to notice a more disheartened spirit.
On Oprah several months ago a psychologist described depression--going through the motions, no joy, it lays dormant, hopelessness, helplessness, worthlessness, overwhelming guilt about everything and at anytime. Yeah, that sounds about right. Have fought this battle a long time and although don’t consider myself to be in quite the dire mess as in years’ past, there are still times when all of a sudden, for no apparent reason an overwhelming cloud of melancholy lingers. It’s frustrating. It’s disconcerting. It has consumed me with self-hatred. Always heard that you can’t love anybody else if you don’t love yourself. Although I don’t agree and have loved many people, just not myself, maybe the depth of the love is limited.
Recently, I was one of several recipients of an e-mail from a former coworker who sent this particular story as a way to tell us that we had made an impact in her life. The story, which I’ll paraphrase, centered around two high school students, John and Kyle. While walking home from school on a Friday, John was looking forward to a weekend of fun and football. He noticed another guy walking home loaded down with seemingly every textbook. John thought he must be a nerd--who else would study so hard on a weekend. A group of kids approached Kyle, knocked the books out of his hands and tripped him. Kyle’s glasses flew off and landed several feet away. John saw the sadness on Kyle’s face. felt sorry for him, and raced over to offer some assistance. John called those kids a bunch of jerks. Kyle’s smile showed his gratitude. John and Kyle walked home together with John carrying part of the books. He liked Kyle as did his friends and hung out the entire weekend together. Over the next four years Kyle and John became best friends. On graduation night, Kyle gave the valedictorian address and expressed his gratitude to John for the valued friendship that saved his life. Kyle expounded on their first encounter. Kyle stated that he had emptied out his locker that Friday afternoon so his mother would not have the burden of doing it. Kyle admitted that he had planned on committing suicide that weekend, but John’s kindness altered the course of events. A poignant story for sure; a tear jerker to many. We never can predict how our actions will affect others.
Although never intentionally planned like Kyle, I have admitted to being plagued with suicidal tendencies and possibly using the anorexia subconsciously as an untraditional method of “doing the deed” because of a prior family member’s demise at his own hands. But many times over the years I wanted to die; wished I could die; cared less if I were to die. Who else would quit a job with medical benefits to take another one without. It has been over eight years since I’ve been to a medical doctor. Really don’t want to know if something is wrong and unsure if I’d do anything about it once diagnosed. Up until not too very long ago if given a death sentence, my first thought--relief. Pathetic I know, but true nevertheless. Dad’s troubles the past few months have reminded me of the importance of having medical benefits. It can be financially devastating. Also, it is very selfish to have such apathy for one’s own life. There are others involved and you need to think about those that will be left behind. However, death does not frighten me, but I do not want to throw in the towel. Now for me one thing is certain, I would like to get it right before my time is up.
Wish I could be like Kyle in verbalizing my gratitude to those who have made a difference in my life, but it would be so inadequate and not convey the true depth of what is in my heart, and, yes, I’d rather not become a blubbering idiot (that happens enough when writing). Many people have blessed my life but in this particular instance I need to be like Kyle and acknowledge one particular individual who has been instrumental in altering the course of events for me. This by no means downgrades the significance of all the others in my life who have loved, influenced, supported, and encouraged me, many who are also here in Long Beach.
He helped not only from the pulpit, but reassured me with loving and caring words. He encouraged me to start blogging, advertised it, and linked my blog site to his blog site and has supported me throughout (the one comment I know I’ll always receive). He invited plus encouraged me to fill in on keyboard and still wanted me to play after the first rehearsal. He asked me to become a regular member of the Praise Band and continued to give me the confidence I needed to play. Even if the band folds, it has been an honor to be considered “one of the guys.” He trusted me to housesit and Chipper sit when he and Janice were away. So, Greg, your kindness, friendship, loving and caring words literally saved my life and helped me to believe in myself, give me confidence, and make me realize that life is truly worth living. Greg called me his friend, but to me he was more like a big brother who was watching out for me.
Doubt I would win the million dollars on the reality series, but in one of the comments Greg mentioned that we were survivors. Yes, I like that and feel as though I’ve persevered but know that there are so many others who have experienced much worse. Made a lot of blunders in my 51 years of living and always wished I could be transported back in time to alter those choices. However, those errors made me grow and become the person I am today, and now realize that I’m not so bad after all. Instead of feeling bad about mistakes, maybe they should be considered a learning tool in living life.
My spiritual strength is still significantly lacking. Thought marrying a devout man to keep me motivated or even becoming a missionary would get me to the level that would be acceptable in God’s eyes. Studying the scriptures and saying prayers are sporadic at best. I do believe in the power of prayer but tend to become skeptical especially when the outcome is not as expected. Very perplexing, the subject of prayer. Take illness. One individual recovers; another does not. There were many prayers for Dad who received a pacemaker and had triple bypass surgery within a two- week time frame. Several verbally acknowledged that prayer works wonders. What if Dad had died? What if he doesn’t make it through the colon surgery? What would you say about prayer then? Nonbelievers can’t wrap themselves around that concept. Christians, at least this one, struggles with it as well, but then I remember that God already knows the outcome and there is a reason for everything that happens even if we don’t understand why.
This past Saturday afternoon there was a two-hour prayer session, particularly for the search of the new pulpit minister. Who can pray for a solid two hours? If medically feasible, we were to fast and replace breakfast and lunch with prayer time. Needless to say I didn’t fast--somewhat unwise for someone with a history of an eating disorder not to eat and doubt anybody else had walked four miles and played tennis that morning; however, I did do some praying while I ate. We sat in groups of five with ideas presented but no particular format to follow. Public prayer is not my forte, but any form of public speaking is extremely uncomfortable. Contributed with what was on my heart and would have nothing more to say so would be sitting the remaining time in silence. The prayers kept flowing and after not too long a time I was surprised to find words gushing from my mouth several times over the next two hours. Toward the end our group had participated in fervent prayer and shared our inadequacies and innermost thoughts.
Always considered myself a romantic. Never could understand how a person could flit from one relationship to another with seemingly no emotion. Love so deeply and then easily hating so strongly, but it is said that there is a fine line between love and hate. Maybe I read too many romance novels or watched too many soap operas but believed every person had a soul mate--that one and only person they were meant to be with forever. Irreplaceable. No other person could compare or come close. So, for those who felt as I did, rest assured. There is life again. The heart actually has room to love again.
Absolutely adore this guy. Oh, he’s no George Clooney or even Tom Selleck, post Magnum, but he captivated me from the start. There was a very strong connection and it being the modern era, I became the pursuer and kept at it until it finally dawned on me the feeling was not mutual and never would be. (Could I possibly be a bigger boob?) So chalk it up to another learning experience. Oh, still hope to find a special person who will care about me as much as I care about him and if this guy has the same traits, talents, and spiritual devotion as two particular gentlemen (two of the neatest guys around), I will be a lucky gal. However, now it is known that I can fall for someone again completely, with no reservations and no guilt, something I never, ever thought was possible after Carl died. Unfortunately, it just isn’t meant to be with this man. Although he’s single at the moment, I need to get him out of my heart; otherwise, I could end up being in love with a married man. Now, wouldn’t that be rich (talk about your soap opera). It’s times such as these that I wish emotions were like a water faucet--can shut them off with just a turn of a knob.
So, here I sit. Have given up my dream of finding that “perfect” job and finally admit there is no such thing. It’s all a matter of attitude. Decided to again focus only on administrative positions; those that pay well and in stable, well-known places, in the government sector and in school districts. Applied to numerous jobs over the last three months and still tend to think it a waste of time. Have been down this road so many times before with no results and the answers (or should I say rejections) thus far are just as discouraging. Nowadays it’s who you know that counts. Don and Natalie have again taken pity on me and have offered their assistance in procuring a position for me in their school district. Unless something else happens my options are now clear and if I can’t get with a school district in Orange County or back in with the company I worked for several months back, will accept Don and Natalie’s help. (What do they say? Third time’s the charm.) Of course, I might have to sign something in blood. But seriously, whatever one it is will have a decent enough salary and will most likely mean relocating. There will be no more jumping ship. That will be it, but I’ve been known to say that a million times when it comes to bailing Jonathan out of his financial binds. But he’s my son and even if Dr. Phil disagrees, I just can’t seem to let him crash and burn. Would like this vocational pursuit behind me and concentrate on my personal and spiritual life and get off my duff and start doing those things intended as well as finishing those things started.
Writing this 17-part anthology was not a cure all and am aware there will be setbacks, but I am not delusional in stating that I have never been in a better place with attitude, determination, and self-worth. Conversions are difficult and half the battle is determining what changes need to be made and the willingness to take action. Changes from deep-seated courses have already begun but the work is not close to being finished and probably never will be.
Started this series over three months ago and possibly took so long to finish because of the fear of running out of ideas to post. But it’s back to normal length blogs; whatever that means. So, thank you for reading. Thank you for sharing. Some described this particular piece of writing as raw, riveting, and eloquent. Maybe I should use those words to land me a job.
To quote the first half of the title of the 1967 bestseller by Thomas A. Harris that I read as a student, “I’m OK.”
THE END
To the reader this piece of work undoubtedly was considered autobiographical but to this writer it was strictly therapeutic. You can think on these things (that sounds biblical) and about these things but writing them down with such thought provoking agony (and it was) is a whole different ballgame. The eyes are open to really see what should have been so obvious and you face some rude awakenings. There is anger. There is sadness. There are tears. Focus is changed. Perspectives and philosophies are re-evaluated. A new determination emerges.
There is an end to every good book (not that this was)--a final chapter; an epilogue. But how do you conclude a seemingly life story that is still ongoing? Covered a lot of areas. Revealed a lot of baggage. Confessed to shameful acts. Admitted to failure of transforming many flaws. A fitting end to a seemingly therapy session would be a summary and diagnoses.
In retrospect believe the onset of unhealthy eating habits and subsequent eating disorder stemmed from my best friend moving away. Eating disorders are complicated and vary in form but most would agree that all involve a control issue. That always was the truth for me--the only thing I could control. Over the years the cycles changed and the intensity fluctuated but one thing remained constant--when faced with a myriad of difficulties, the focus became the food and exercise merry-go-round. And, yes, let’s not forget to add a little bit of that obsessive compulsive disorder for good measure. I may be overly ritualistic in the exercise department and won’t take a break unless literally puking my guts out, but I can do whatever is necessary.
Could counsel anybody in the proper ways of getting into shape. Am aware what needs to be done and know that I won’t get fat or lose control again but have difficulty conquering those thought processes that tend to lead toward regression. (Maybe another reason for the adage, “Do as I say; not as I do.”) Possibly it relates along the same lines as to why an alcoholic can’t stop drinking and a drug addict can’t stop using, although for me these addictions would be much easier to relinquish--you can live without booze and drugs, but you can’t live without food.
I’ve taken special notice of those women with meat on their bones such as Rachel and Giada from the Food Network Channel and like the muscular arm look. Will admit to being hooked on protein shakes and bars but better that than milkshakes and candy bars. However in all this mumbo jumbo one thing has changed, I do not want to lose any weight because it will inevitably be in the wrong places. (Let’s just say, I don’t think a job at Hooter’s is in the cards.) But I still won’t get on a scale. After almost 40 years, I now realize that long-held truth was a fallacy--I am not in control of the disease, the disease is in control of me.
Most of the shrinks I encountered would undoubtedly link the eating disorder with the depression and some have suggested that the depression was the result of a chemical imbalance. Since drug therapy is not an option, I would have to find alternative methods but will admit that when I don’t eat enough, am overly tired, or it’s that time of month I tend to notice a more disheartened spirit.
On Oprah several months ago a psychologist described depression--going through the motions, no joy, it lays dormant, hopelessness, helplessness, worthlessness, overwhelming guilt about everything and at anytime. Yeah, that sounds about right. Have fought this battle a long time and although don’t consider myself to be in quite the dire mess as in years’ past, there are still times when all of a sudden, for no apparent reason an overwhelming cloud of melancholy lingers. It’s frustrating. It’s disconcerting. It has consumed me with self-hatred. Always heard that you can’t love anybody else if you don’t love yourself. Although I don’t agree and have loved many people, just not myself, maybe the depth of the love is limited.
Recently, I was one of several recipients of an e-mail from a former coworker who sent this particular story as a way to tell us that we had made an impact in her life. The story, which I’ll paraphrase, centered around two high school students, John and Kyle. While walking home from school on a Friday, John was looking forward to a weekend of fun and football. He noticed another guy walking home loaded down with seemingly every textbook. John thought he must be a nerd--who else would study so hard on a weekend. A group of kids approached Kyle, knocked the books out of his hands and tripped him. Kyle’s glasses flew off and landed several feet away. John saw the sadness on Kyle’s face. felt sorry for him, and raced over to offer some assistance. John called those kids a bunch of jerks. Kyle’s smile showed his gratitude. John and Kyle walked home together with John carrying part of the books. He liked Kyle as did his friends and hung out the entire weekend together. Over the next four years Kyle and John became best friends. On graduation night, Kyle gave the valedictorian address and expressed his gratitude to John for the valued friendship that saved his life. Kyle expounded on their first encounter. Kyle stated that he had emptied out his locker that Friday afternoon so his mother would not have the burden of doing it. Kyle admitted that he had planned on committing suicide that weekend, but John’s kindness altered the course of events. A poignant story for sure; a tear jerker to many. We never can predict how our actions will affect others.
Although never intentionally planned like Kyle, I have admitted to being plagued with suicidal tendencies and possibly using the anorexia subconsciously as an untraditional method of “doing the deed” because of a prior family member’s demise at his own hands. But many times over the years I wanted to die; wished I could die; cared less if I were to die. Who else would quit a job with medical benefits to take another one without. It has been over eight years since I’ve been to a medical doctor. Really don’t want to know if something is wrong and unsure if I’d do anything about it once diagnosed. Up until not too very long ago if given a death sentence, my first thought--relief. Pathetic I know, but true nevertheless. Dad’s troubles the past few months have reminded me of the importance of having medical benefits. It can be financially devastating. Also, it is very selfish to have such apathy for one’s own life. There are others involved and you need to think about those that will be left behind. However, death does not frighten me, but I do not want to throw in the towel. Now for me one thing is certain, I would like to get it right before my time is up.
Wish I could be like Kyle in verbalizing my gratitude to those who have made a difference in my life, but it would be so inadequate and not convey the true depth of what is in my heart, and, yes, I’d rather not become a blubbering idiot (that happens enough when writing). Many people have blessed my life but in this particular instance I need to be like Kyle and acknowledge one particular individual who has been instrumental in altering the course of events for me. This by no means downgrades the significance of all the others in my life who have loved, influenced, supported, and encouraged me, many who are also here in Long Beach.
He helped not only from the pulpit, but reassured me with loving and caring words. He encouraged me to start blogging, advertised it, and linked my blog site to his blog site and has supported me throughout (the one comment I know I’ll always receive). He invited plus encouraged me to fill in on keyboard and still wanted me to play after the first rehearsal. He asked me to become a regular member of the Praise Band and continued to give me the confidence I needed to play. Even if the band folds, it has been an honor to be considered “one of the guys.” He trusted me to housesit and Chipper sit when he and Janice were away. So, Greg, your kindness, friendship, loving and caring words literally saved my life and helped me to believe in myself, give me confidence, and make me realize that life is truly worth living. Greg called me his friend, but to me he was more like a big brother who was watching out for me.
Doubt I would win the million dollars on the reality series, but in one of the comments Greg mentioned that we were survivors. Yes, I like that and feel as though I’ve persevered but know that there are so many others who have experienced much worse. Made a lot of blunders in my 51 years of living and always wished I could be transported back in time to alter those choices. However, those errors made me grow and become the person I am today, and now realize that I’m not so bad after all. Instead of feeling bad about mistakes, maybe they should be considered a learning tool in living life.
My spiritual strength is still significantly lacking. Thought marrying a devout man to keep me motivated or even becoming a missionary would get me to the level that would be acceptable in God’s eyes. Studying the scriptures and saying prayers are sporadic at best. I do believe in the power of prayer but tend to become skeptical especially when the outcome is not as expected. Very perplexing, the subject of prayer. Take illness. One individual recovers; another does not. There were many prayers for Dad who received a pacemaker and had triple bypass surgery within a two- week time frame. Several verbally acknowledged that prayer works wonders. What if Dad had died? What if he doesn’t make it through the colon surgery? What would you say about prayer then? Nonbelievers can’t wrap themselves around that concept. Christians, at least this one, struggles with it as well, but then I remember that God already knows the outcome and there is a reason for everything that happens even if we don’t understand why.
This past Saturday afternoon there was a two-hour prayer session, particularly for the search of the new pulpit minister. Who can pray for a solid two hours? If medically feasible, we were to fast and replace breakfast and lunch with prayer time. Needless to say I didn’t fast--somewhat unwise for someone with a history of an eating disorder not to eat and doubt anybody else had walked four miles and played tennis that morning; however, I did do some praying while I ate. We sat in groups of five with ideas presented but no particular format to follow. Public prayer is not my forte, but any form of public speaking is extremely uncomfortable. Contributed with what was on my heart and would have nothing more to say so would be sitting the remaining time in silence. The prayers kept flowing and after not too long a time I was surprised to find words gushing from my mouth several times over the next two hours. Toward the end our group had participated in fervent prayer and shared our inadequacies and innermost thoughts.
Always considered myself a romantic. Never could understand how a person could flit from one relationship to another with seemingly no emotion. Love so deeply and then easily hating so strongly, but it is said that there is a fine line between love and hate. Maybe I read too many romance novels or watched too many soap operas but believed every person had a soul mate--that one and only person they were meant to be with forever. Irreplaceable. No other person could compare or come close. So, for those who felt as I did, rest assured. There is life again. The heart actually has room to love again.
Absolutely adore this guy. Oh, he’s no George Clooney or even Tom Selleck, post Magnum, but he captivated me from the start. There was a very strong connection and it being the modern era, I became the pursuer and kept at it until it finally dawned on me the feeling was not mutual and never would be. (Could I possibly be a bigger boob?) So chalk it up to another learning experience. Oh, still hope to find a special person who will care about me as much as I care about him and if this guy has the same traits, talents, and spiritual devotion as two particular gentlemen (two of the neatest guys around), I will be a lucky gal. However, now it is known that I can fall for someone again completely, with no reservations and no guilt, something I never, ever thought was possible after Carl died. Unfortunately, it just isn’t meant to be with this man. Although he’s single at the moment, I need to get him out of my heart; otherwise, I could end up being in love with a married man. Now, wouldn’t that be rich (talk about your soap opera). It’s times such as these that I wish emotions were like a water faucet--can shut them off with just a turn of a knob.
So, here I sit. Have given up my dream of finding that “perfect” job and finally admit there is no such thing. It’s all a matter of attitude. Decided to again focus only on administrative positions; those that pay well and in stable, well-known places, in the government sector and in school districts. Applied to numerous jobs over the last three months and still tend to think it a waste of time. Have been down this road so many times before with no results and the answers (or should I say rejections) thus far are just as discouraging. Nowadays it’s who you know that counts. Don and Natalie have again taken pity on me and have offered their assistance in procuring a position for me in their school district. Unless something else happens my options are now clear and if I can’t get with a school district in Orange County or back in with the company I worked for several months back, will accept Don and Natalie’s help. (What do they say? Third time’s the charm.) Of course, I might have to sign something in blood. But seriously, whatever one it is will have a decent enough salary and will most likely mean relocating. There will be no more jumping ship. That will be it, but I’ve been known to say that a million times when it comes to bailing Jonathan out of his financial binds. But he’s my son and even if Dr. Phil disagrees, I just can’t seem to let him crash and burn. Would like this vocational pursuit behind me and concentrate on my personal and spiritual life and get off my duff and start doing those things intended as well as finishing those things started.
Writing this 17-part anthology was not a cure all and am aware there will be setbacks, but I am not delusional in stating that I have never been in a better place with attitude, determination, and self-worth. Conversions are difficult and half the battle is determining what changes need to be made and the willingness to take action. Changes from deep-seated courses have already begun but the work is not close to being finished and probably never will be.
Started this series over three months ago and possibly took so long to finish because of the fear of running out of ideas to post. But it’s back to normal length blogs; whatever that means. So, thank you for reading. Thank you for sharing. Some described this particular piece of writing as raw, riveting, and eloquent. Maybe I should use those words to land me a job.
To quote the first half of the title of the 1967 bestseller by Thomas A. Harris that I read as a student, “I’m OK.”
THE END
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