I wrote the first half of this a few weeks ago, then stuck it on the desktop. I opened it, read it, and continued on as indicated where I’ve given today’s date. The difference a diagnosis makes?

I wonder why I’m stuck in my room and I realize:
Because I am content here.

I could live my life inside of a nutshell
and count myself the king of infinite space
if not that I have
bad dreams….

And this is not a bad thing for a girl who is afraid of being sent to a concentration camp. I look out the window on the left where Dee Dee has hung a feral bougainvillea over the clamshell awning, so that its pink flowers fill the window now. They are always in bloom. I fertilized this plant once several months ago, otherwise, I’ve done nothing with it. No longer do I live in the caustic salt air at the seaside…

maybe now I’ll thrive like the bougainvillea.

I needed to prove to myself I CAN be happy with one window filled with beautiful pink blossoms dancing in the wind, playing with light and shadows, frolicking amidst my lace curtains….this is becoming an Owning Pink blog for sure…

It’s not a bad thing, Anna. To be able to reassure yourself in such simple ways. To be able to dissociate from the mess so you can do something active that will allow you to gain the confidence, energy, strength you need to clean up the mess.

You can’t clean up the mess first. A bit at a time and you are doing that…

still you BALK at simple tasks that should, yes I am shoulding on you, should be DONE. Because not doing them leads to ghastly consequences.

ooo you are all excited. You LOVE ghastly consequences. You are in your element, aren’t you?

Wait till everything seems to be going against him, then you’ll see him shine. It’s a joy to watch him…Bernard Cornwall, in the Arthur series, having Arthur’s mistress describe what she’s seen through the years as Arthur has fought his way into the power of a kingdom and gained respect and fear.

yeah. life isn’t a movie, Anna. There are no plot twists. It’s dull plodding. You can’t wait for the deux ex machina to come save the show every month. It’s not a recurring soap opera. It’s your life, child.

Ours. Lets take care of it, OKAY? It’s been hard, so hard. I understand, I empathize (how can I not? empathize with myself, I mean? easy—D.I.D.) and you’ve been overburdened. Your nerves are frayed. You are at the end of your rope. Can no one see how close you are to total breakdown?

No because I hide you when we’re in public. I won’t let you cry and rant. We can do that at home.

Meantime, let’s live a life, okay? This is rehab, only we’re in control. Let’s focus on getting well.

Not making money, not cleaning the house, not doing the laundry,

But getting well.

Inner health. Spiritual wellness. And the rest will follow. Guaranteed. Do you believe in miracles today?

Magic is difficult, and it doesn’t always work, but yes, I believe in it.

Beyond magic there is a hand of god, ineffable.

And on that I can must shall will rely.

ps what means ineffable? LOLzzz not sure…got it from Cats. Sounds good, though, and from context peeps can figure out what I mean to say even if none of us really knows the true meaning of the word.

ineffable |inˈefəbəl|
too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words : the ineffable natural beauty of the Everglades.

Ah, not only did I chose the correct word, the dictionary supplied me with an affirming example: the Everglades. I love when it works out that way. Is it mere coincidence? sometimes. LOL

My feathery soft spirit guides surround and enfold me in their loving wings…they purr…here’s one now…flap flap flap…we can has do this, little chicken-head.

I ate a pop tart and almost puked. Yeah, too much sugar in AM sent you back to bed, huh? Where you most love to be anyway. That’s not a bad thing, Anna, loving your own company.

But even you get a little stale and need some airing, just like a baby. You need your diapers changed, the shit shoveled out so the light can come in. It’s not so hard. People do it every day. Normal people, abnormal people, hurt people, mean people, sweet people, we all do it to various degrees…

what is it like inside the brain of a normal person? I know I’m a person, no better no worse than anyone else. I’m just a tad off. How did my schizophrenic friend put it? 95 degree tilt on reality. Another comrade who did not do well. I tried to be his friend but…once outside the hospital I started getting better and he stayed sick and I was scared and annoyed by him both.

Bast forgive me, I was young. I needed to protect myself. I probably did the right thing, if not in the kindest way.

Same with Dino, nursing student bud.

May 16 2011

Baltimore basements pasta fazool endless rows of houses all look the same how do you know you are home? Aunt Bridgie’s little house probably a lot like Anne Tyler’s Baltimore. Taste of pasta fazool in my mouth. sooo good. but I ate so much i was sick and had to stretch out on the floor of the bathroom. I confessed this to my cousin Joanie she just rolled her eyes.

I served a patient with low mental functioning a triple helping of potatoes because she wanted them, then she threw up. As a nurse, I should have known better. But my little kid put those potatoes on her plate for sure. wink wink. Then was sorry. She learns.

Not all of me is up front at all times. That’s when I seem childlike. Parts of self slither off, craven, until what’s left is the part too dumb to run and hide. Doe in headlights. No wonder I panic.

That’s not nice of you guys. To leave the little one, the precious little one, all alone. Just because you can. Don’t do it. Try. At least some of you stick around. The nice girls. The goody 2 shoes. That’s fine, let the smart arises slink away we’re better off without them when dealing with the public.

And everyone is the public. everyone who isn’t us.

When I answer the phone: public
Step out my front door: public
FEAR grips me. I am exposed. I am sweating now, broke out in a hot flash sweat when I first thought about dealing with the public.

Body doesn’t lie. Palms itchy, sweaty. And I’m all alone in bed with my laptop, not even connected to the internet.
There’s a ballgame going on tonight I’m trying to ignore (we live in the Stadium Trailer Mobile Home Park and you can hear the eponymous stadium’s intercom from my bedroom). Why do I pretend it doesn’t bother me when I can
a. shut the windows
b. make covering noise (fan/air conditioning, even music–oh, wow, that’s right, I have a stereo system, I can play whatever music I want! I had it all set up to work with remote speakers in my bedroom. It worked the first day then never again. *cries* It’s all soooo complicated I can’t bear to go re-set it up again. And that’s probably all it will take. A simple reset. Yet I will sit and cry that I have to bear the imposition of garbled foozball announcements or whatever games they are up to (I am not a sportsfan) while denying it bothers me in the least…

How bizarre. But at least I have an excuse today. I have multiple personalities. What’s your excuse? LOL

No wonder everyone I talk to sincerely tells me, ‘wow, you really understand me’ Yeah, now I realize it’s because there’s enough ‘mes’ in here to assure one of me will match your single you. And that’s…splendid. Isn’t it?

I sure hope so…once the dust settles. My former therapist, my soul friend, the woman who grabbed hold of a human being inside the hollow shell I presented to the public 5 years ago and would NOT let go until she shook me free of my self-imposed cage…I owe her my life yet I have to move on. She’s taken me as far as her expertise can go. (Inner child work. Grief counseling. Freedom from abuse. Spiritual healing. 12 step recovery.)

Small stuff like that. It’s delicate…I can’t analyze my therapist, that would be ungracious. She is a miracle worker. And a human being. With all the faults and blessings of a human being. It seems to me she has a hard time showing that to me, her former student.

(I never wanted to be her patient because I could not help but be her friend. And somehow the ethics of that get sticky by certain measures in certain circumstances. When you’re a zebra on the Arizona plains you can’t afford to turn away a kindred spirit when you find one.)

And my Zebra-ness was used against me when relationships exploded though now I see I was not to blame but was the victim of a narcissistic personality disordered spouse who I chose, as Karma rules say, to fine-tune myself to the person I truly need to become in this lifetime. So no blame. Not here. I can save it for more appropriate time place and space. Is that dishonest? Or efficient?

do I babble on and on like a babblefish because each persona has to have her say before I’m done? And is that why sometimes it’s repetitive but sometimes I surprise and delight myself with what I come up with when the paragraph’s done. I don’t know when to start/stop. start stop stop.


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