Squirrel Radio: The Ordeal

Link to all articles linked to The Ordeal

Squirrel Radio: Ho Ho Ho, The Christmas Edition

Squirrel Radio: Catch Up

Life Principle: Expect Nothing

I EXPECT NOTHING

These are three words, and one of nine idioms, I repeat to myself at least three times a day as part of my journey to live in this strange Human world; attempting to keep my addiction to control, compulsive negative thoughts and anxious tendencies at bay while also focusing on supporting and loving the Humans around me instead of shitting on them. 

Expectations are the probably the #1 way that Humans set each other, as well as themselves, up for failure. I can't, and won't, attempt to speak for anyone but myself but here's what I know: when I come to expect something, either of some situation, someone in particular, or even of myself, falling short of that expectation creates sadness, resentment or worst of all, disappointment. A super hyped up blockbuster hits theatres and ends up falling short of my excitement, I go to a concert but the band I love fails to play my favourite song, I give a friend the perfect birthday present but when my birthday comes around all I get is a belated two-word Facebook post, I go to an interview but instead of acting like the intelligent professional I'm capable of being I allow my Wild Card to derail my chances of landing the job (an archetype I frequently allow to disrupt my more noble ambitions). These kinds of scenarios happen constantly, but it wasn't until I became aware of my expectations that I began to understand that I can actually control the degree to which I allow these things to effect my happiness. So here is the magical, highly logical and perfectly balanced equation (after all, I am a scientist) I constructed to make life a little easier:

Zero Expectations = Zero Disappointments

After awhile it became easy for me to go out to movies, shows, vacations or even mundane shopping trips accepting that I decided to go and make the best of it, expecting these events to be neither mind-blowingly awesome nor God-awful. Once I learned to expect nothing, any amount of entertainment value became a gigantic plus and an easy win; happiness ensues! I learned to expect nothing and everything I received became a bonus. 

Well, the material crap is easy. Allow me to assume that my audience, like me, find expecting things from others, as well as themselves, the most difficult tasks when it comes to practicing this principle. Trust me when I say that there's a reason I repeat this phrase to myself almost constantly with regards to my relationships. I put a lot of time and energy into the people I love; I plan elaborate activities, write notes, design surprises, perform favours without question or promise of compensation, buy and/or creates things, loan money and make other personal sacrifices for them. I'm not even completely sure why I do these things, it's just something I accept about myself; it makes me happy to do things for others. Once someone has earned my trust and love, which isn't particularly hard and often isn't even a choice I give them, I am completely devoted. In the past, however, what ended up happening is that I did all these things EXPECTING RECIPROCITY without even realising it. I went 25 years thinking these expectations were fair; I put in effort so surely so would they, right? Wrong. When my friends and family repeatedly fell short of my expectations, I felt disappointed, unloved and unappreciated.  Only after becoming aware of these unfair expectations in relation to my loved ones' actions and behaviours was I able to see that I was first placing them on a pedestal, then kicking it out from underneath them. When they fell I created resentments and so did they, which obviously only functioned to damage my relationships; it even ruined a few. Please join me in accepting one critical fact, people do what they feel is best for them, not what is expected of them. This is a right that we all have and which should be honoured and respected by all. In this way I came to see that loving my friends and family meant doing things for them because I wanted to, respecting their choices to act as they felt necessary regardless of any brownie points my actions may have accrued.

So here are two examples; and just to prove that I still don't have this shit licked one is prior to my transformation, but the other is very recent. Spoiler alert, the first relationship was lost, but happily, the second continues to grow and thrive; I firmly believe it does so because of my steadfast commitment to this life principle. 

1) One my dearest friends was about to turn 25. She was the first of our college group to do so, though I'd known her longest as we'd worked together since our senior years of high school. It had been 3 years since we'd all gotten together, having dispersed after graduation to various regions of the US to make an attempt at life. I've always been a planner, so I put these skills to use scheming with the other girls to surprise the birthday girl with a destination celebration in Viva Las Vegas. The only thing I asked her to pay for was the plane ticket, the other girls and I covered the rest, including a ticket to the Thunder From Down Under Show. She knew only that the trip involved flying, and she incorrectly assumed we'd be going back to the region of New York that we came from since we were then living in Denver. Once we got to the airport and checked-in she inspected her boarding pass and looked at me with a mixture of confusion, anger and awe when she saw that our destination was Las Vegas. She had yet to find out that our friends were meeting us there. Well, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but I can iterate with certainty it was 3 days of pure debauchery. Five gorgeous  mostly single ladies on the loose, and one with a knack for talking her way in-to and out-of questionable situations (two guesses who). My newly created thinner and confident Self made sure our group got into clubs without waiting and ensured that free drinks were provided. I was exceedingly proud of myself, surely my friend now knew how special she was and how much I loved her. After giving what I perceived to be the perfect birthday gift, I became frustrated when she'd get upset with me over petty things and became confused and hurt when no such grand gestures were reciprocated. Every so often I'd think, "What and ungrateful 'you know what'!, Doesn't she remember what I did for her? Isn't she grateful?!" Well, I won't reiterate the sticky tale, but our friendship ended at her request a couple of years later; something that ate at me for some time. Yet after my transformation and considerable hindsight contemplation I gained some startling clarity. That trip wasn't for my friend, it was for me. I basically used her birthday as an excuse to flaunt my new body in the one place I knew it would noticed and objectified appropriately, with a group of girls I could finally compete with on the sexy scale. My friend was nothing like me. Introverted and shy, Vegas is the last place she would choose to have her 25th birthday and, truth be told, she had a bit of a lousy time. What right did I have to expect reciprocity for my selfish gift?  

2) Well people, I fell in love with a Kiwi, enjoying all the benefits and frustrations of being romantically involved after a lengthy hiatus. Fairly early I discovered that learning to recognize the gifts that one gives in a relationship, how we express and even define love, is as important as being able to recognize how one's partner reciprocates those sentiments. One way to get to know these things is taking the 5 love languages quiz, but I'm still back to dealing with the same conundrum: UNREALISTIC EXPECTATIONS OF RECIPROCITY. I've already stated the kinds of things I like to do for those I love, but it took me awhile to recognise the kinds of things that my partner did to illustrate his love and appreciation. Since he loves in a different way, I experienced a difficult period of time where I felt the relationship was completely one-sided and soon began to doubt the relationship would last. Then I asked myself, what would happen if I stopped giving my gifts because my partner doesn't reciprocate them? I'd surely lose a piece of myself that I cherish because for me the act of giving is better than receiving; but do I have the emotional maturity to let go of expecting reciprocity? Can I give without receiving and recreating resentments? Do I really want the same notes and little recordings that I give? The answer is No. I treasure his creativity, everyday acts of service, ability to make me laugh and view things from a completely different perspective. The question then becomes: Can I accept that my partner will never make some grand gesture or surprise me with expensive gifts? Is he enough for me, precisely the way he is without changing anything? The answer is Yes. I cannot and do not wish to control how he loves me or how he defines his love, it enough for me that he makes that claim. I have made the conscious decision to trust and love him unconditionally, but doing so requires that I practice this principle continually, because loving someone unconditionally means having no expectations of them. Critically, this can also be applied to the Self.

So is there ever a time when setting expectations are reasonable and fair? Yes, I believe so. The difference is that those expectations must be effectively communicated and understood by all parties concerned. Letting each other know and understand the repercussions of falling short of those expectations to mitigate the manifestation of damaging resentments. For example, my partner understands that if he tells me he's going to do something, he'd damn well better do it; but the solution is as easy as not telling me he's going to do something. That way everything he does is unexpected and appreciated.

The point is that expecting nothing of others sets everyone up for success. So the next time a feeling of distinct ickiness creeps in, ask "Did I have some sort of expectation that never materialized and is thus creating resentment and disappointment?" Listen to the answer, accept that 99% of expectations are completely unfounded and unnecessary and practice letting it go in real time. The alternative is continuing to go around feeling entitled, expecting things from people and situations that were never actually promised; it's like creating a "Choose Your Own Adventure: Life, The Disappointment Edition" novel. As for me, I'm writing a happier saga wherein I allow things to happen naturally and respecting other Humans by allowing them to act as they choose and feel is best without expecting them to put me before themselves.

Squirrel Radio: The Experiment Results #4... Hormones, Yay

Squirrel Radio: Experiment Results #3 ... Getting Into The Real Stuff

Squirrel Radio: Experiment Results #2 ... Definitely

Squirrel Radio: Experiment Results #1 .... Kinda

Squirrel Radio: The Experiment

Detox Article

Squirrel Radio: The Nut Doctor Is In!

Original Article Link

Squirrel Radio: Spiritual Mechanics

Link to Original Article

Squirrel Radio: Easy 'No Doz' It

Link to Original Article

Squirrel Radio: Boundaries

Life Principles: Introduction

Reading even a handful of my blog articles illustrates that I've had my share of struggles with anxiety, panic attacks, and addiction in the elusive forms of an obsession with control and an eating disorder. To put it bluntly, I experience mental illness. From time to time the chemicals in my brain become unbalanced due to stress or others factors beyond my cognitive control. In the past when this happened I fell off the wagon and spiralled down into a dark place where, in the clutches of madness, I destroyed both myself and my relationships. I'm open and honest with these issues with the intent of helping others who may need a bit of guidance regarding how to appropriately disconnect from similar compulsive thoughts and behaviours in their own lives, and come to accept their own mania. Understand that I don't have the ultimate answer as everyone's journey of healing takes a different form, but I do Know the principles I implemented served to change the person I was into the person that I am; one who has a more robust method for navigating these rough patches so that I can protect myself and, most importantly, my support network. I can state proudly, and with absolute confidence, that I am a completely different person; I've not experienced a full-blown panic attack in almost three years. It takes constant reinforcement and practice, but preserving my sanity and cultivating loving, lasting relationships is more than worth the effort. This work has allowed me to first accept, and then unconditionally love who I am, despite my past experiences and proclivity for flipping my shit. My method is simple: Replace negative thoughts and behaviours, whether anxious, depressed, addictive or rage-sodden in nature, with more positive, constructive and healthy habits. Ones that expand the distance between the person that is and the new and improved version that is being created. 

I therefore propose a series I'm calling "Life Principles," which will deconstruct and explain the ideals that have effected my own personal growth. Principles I have changed throughout the years to suite my particular needs in the present, but repeat multiple times a day, everyday, to keep me balanced and hold the madness at bay. These principles were collected across a plethora of both spiritual and scientific based literature. I also transcended the 12-Steps of AA, which I've mentioned in a previous and rather brilliant article, recognising its undisputed reputation to heal an addictive Mind. My issue was not alcohol, but replace alcohol with anxious thoughts or a need to control and it is clear that I am a tried and true addict nonetheless. Admittedly, some of these concepts are deeply spiritual and flat-out strange to someone without a High Power, so people should pick and choose as they see fit and interpret these principles through their own filter. I'm not about to judge anyones' beliefs or speculate that a Higher Power is necessary to make these changes. Again, everyones' path is different and I did not start off as spiritual as I have become, but I must concede that spirituality served to deepen my experience and sense of empowerment. Regardless, the only things a person truly need to address their mental illness in whatever form it presents itself is an understanding of the underlying issue, a sincere desire to change and the steadfast belief that they hold the courage, power and determination to effect that change. Be well, be happy.

At first I debated listing my principles, wanting to harbour them and keep them secret; the result of all my hard work. They likely won't make sense to others as they are part of my four year spiritual journey. I've decided to state them here, however, with the promise of explaining their meaning (to me) in further detail in subsequent articles. For now read them, give them meaning and use them to practice where relevant and as needed.

I accept my feelings, and I know they will change.

I celebrate emotions and appreciate their beauty.

I manifest love and happiness.

I make conscious decisions to act with an intention of love.

I expect nothing.

I know that worrying, obsessing and controlling are illusions.

I am patient and accept my lack of control.

I operate on God time.

I let go of who I was a and love who I am.

Squirrel Radio: Fiddler of Palmy

Squirrel Radio: Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Sometimes

Sometimes you run

Sometimes you laugh

Sometimes you are lost 

Sometimes you spiral 

Sometimes you expect too much 

Sometimes you believe the lies 

Sometimes you fight 

Sometimes you hang on too tight 

Sometimes you writhe in pain

Sometimes you let go 

Sometimes you cry 

Sometimes, it's worth it

Squirrel Radio: The Interview

Squirrel Radio: Break Ups and Identities

Definition: Patience

Patience: Awareness and acceptance that one has no control over the external components of their life; most notably, those matters pertaining to other People.

A recent experience led me to contemplate this, for me, extremely elusive quality. I've touched on my internal struggle with Patience in previous articles, but it wasn't until I realized the true nature of this trait that it dawned on me why it seems to remain slightly out of my reach. Critically, patience requires a complete acceptance that I do not, and can not, control anything in my life that is outside of my own thoughts, emotions and actions. Simply put, damn near every aspect of life. 'Shit' happens, and the only thing I can control is how I interpret that 'shit', how I feel about that 'shit' and how I decide to act as a result of that 'shit'.  Acting with patience requires acceptance, which is a quality even more elusive to me than patience! I, like most people and particularly Adult Children of Alcoholics and Americans in general, find a lack of control down-right intolerable. In the past to muster up some patience in a disagreeable situation I've often found myself repeating the Serenity Prayer, especially the bit about "accept(ing) the things I cannot change," those which lay beyond my control.

Indeed, a secondary definition of patience might state: Being content and finding serenity in an otherwise uncomfortable situation. Still more interesting in that a listed synonym for patience is self-control, because a patient person understands and accepts that that is the only form of control they possess.

As an example let's visualize some situations that illustrate patience; parents smiling as their children scream hysterically for reasons they can't begin to fathom, a person contentedly chatting to the 30 people in front of them in the DMV line (and whom also didn't lose their shit when they are inevitably told once they are next that they've filled out the wrong forms or were waiting in the wrong line all together), a Gen-X'er attempting to show their parents or grandparents how to copy/paste internet links or find a video on YouTube.  These people have an admirably high tolerance to the influence of other peoples' emotions and actions, nor do they allow themselves to be victimized or held hostage by these stimuli. A small yet significant subset of the World's population, these people are my fucking idols. 

Conversely we can easily think of examples of the opposite scenario, which is unfortunately also much more common. The person getting pissed off at the grocery check out because the clerk failed to enter a sale price properly, someone irate with a barista who accidentally made a latte instead of a cappuccino, the scumbag in Wal-Mart dragging their kid along by their T-shirt as the kid screams something about wanting a candy bar. 

Warning, in true Squirrel fashion I'm about to take this in a completely different direction. Ok, I'll admit it; I got dumped. In an attempt to figure out what the fuck happened I contemplated some of the issues that kept coming up, and the road blocks that ultimately led us to realize the relationship just was not going to work out. I thought perhaps if I could've been more patient, moved slower and learned to be more relaxed, I could have made the relationship work. My problem was that the guy did not seem to want to spend time with me. By his own admission he was a time-selfish person, and since I'm much the same I didn't think it would cause an insurmountable obstacle. This characteristic, however, came to make me feel rejected, confused and resentful. I told myself I was too needy, expected too much and would ruin the relationship because I couldn't relax and accept that I had no right to control how someone else chose to spend their time. For me once I heard "I love you" there should have been a commitment to incorporate into each others lives; a critical difference in our way of thinking and how we expressed love. Everyone told me that I needed to take it slow and be patient. I fought against everything I was feeling instead of just accepting my emotions and feeling secure in who I was and what I needed in a relationship. I'm not a relaxed person, for me patience and acceptance are a process that require time and practice; skills to be honed since they are not inherent to my nature. Instead of supporting and loving myself through that process, I denied my needs and lost my sense of identity (I'll discuss this topic in detail in an episode of Squirrel Radio). This was neither my fault nor his, we just weren't compatible in our relationship needs and/or had different concepts of what constitutes a committed relationship.

What I have come to realize is that patience does not mean moving slowly in an relationship, it means accepting that I have no control over how slowly someone else moves or their other emotional needs. Yet honouring my own needs is paramount and it likewise requires patience; I have no control over where they came from, I just know now that if I deny them my normal happy and loving Self becomes compromised. For a relationship to truly last, these needs should be naturally sated by both people. Though relationships require work and maintenance, efforts being shared equally, I learned that if it feels like something is being forced it's not going to work and that is OK. Sometimes love is simply not enough.

Relationships aside, I've always recognized the usefulness of implementing this quality into my personality; who wouldn't want to act as a serene example amongst a background of chaos? Providing an unrelenting positive example for other Humans to witness, rely on, admire, and hopefully, pay forward. While going through my first transformation in early 2012 I came to understand that my life goals where to learn humility and patience through this Human experience. Well, I've been kicked in the balls by life enough now, mostly in the form of tempering my addict and anxiety driven mental illness, to have learned humility (for the most part, but damn, I do have a lot of kick-ass qualities too!); but I admittedly gave up on the patience component, thinking it wasn't that important after all. Wrong! I now recognize that relent was my inability to surrender control, and I'm thankful for this new perspective so that I can re-attempt the lesson from a different angle.

Though it doesn't come naturally to me, I can learn to possess and embody patience, at least to the degree to which I am capable. It will be extremely difficult, require constant conscious decision-making and continual acceptance to break my old behavioural habits. Remaining serene when what I really want to do is put my foot through a wall or yell at someone to hurry the fuck up is no easy task. Reacting is much easier than choosing to act differently. Yet I'm optimistic that the change will be well worth my effort; especially if it allows me to cultivate healthy relationships, letting them evolve organically instead of forcing them past their innate boundaries. Critically, I want patience with my own emotions and needs. The ability to accept them and let them flow instead of telling myself that I have unreasonable expectations. I am who I am, a pretty, smart, funny, honest, emotional, work in progress; and protecting that inner unconditional love is the only way to ensure that I can give it to someone else.

Squirrel Radio: Shit's Gettin' Real

Links:
Leaving America Part 1
Leaving America Part 2

Squirrel Radio: Live From Auckland!

Squirrel Radio: Fat Chronicles Part 1

Squirrel Radio: American Entitlement and Cheaters

Links:
Leaving America Part 1
Leaving America Part 2

Video that inspired my rant.

Squirrel Radio: Birthday Banter and 21st Century Dating

Squirrel Radio: Intelligent Inebriates and Political Bullshit

Squirrel Radio: What the Fuck?!

Link to Universal Benefits of Exercise

Squirrel Radio: Star Spangled Kiwi

Squirrel Radio: To Exercise or Not to Exercise, that is the Question

Thought of the Day 18-Jul-15: I Could Be The One

I just seriously think everyone should see this video. Wow, just wow.

Squirrel Radio: First Episode!

Zombie Fingers Part II: The Last Piece of the Puzzle!

Today I mentioned my finger/anaemia issue to a co-worker that I only see on my Sunday shift. They took one look at my blotches and said, "Well Mate, you may be anaemic, but those spots aren't going to go away with vitamins. That's called Chilblains, I get it too [showed me their hands], it's actually really common. There's nothing you can do about it but don't worry too much, you'll only see it in the Winter." WTF?!

Apparently I should be wearing gloves 24-7

Two seconds on a Google image search confirmed their diagnosis, and once I read about the condition using the link above there was no denying that's what is ravaging my fingers. I wondered why the Virginian MD failed to mention this dermatological scourge, but I assume she thought the anaemia was related, if not the cause, so addressing that issue took precedence. Interestingly, all the information about this malady comes from sources outside of the US. It doesn't seem to be a popular topic there, probably because it can't be cured by something made by Pfizer.

So, Chilblains afflicts people with poor circulation and therefore experience frequently cold extremities. The majority of people get sores on their feet, but hands and even earlobes and noses are also common. Though my feet seem to be fine, my hands haven't been warm sine 2007 (seriously, that's when I broke my internal heater my burning off it's fuel source; aka, lost weight). I believe the most likely cause in my case is, again, poor nutrition; going back to my anaemia and related issues.

Anyway, something squirrely happens to the underlying vasculature when people, like me, have cold extremities and they touch something hot or otherwise warm up these areas too fast. When I read that statement I thought back to the first time I noticed my sore spots. I was in the lab at Hospira, and my favorite way to pass the overnight shift was to load and unload the dishwasher. The dishes that came out of this washer were no less than a million degrees, and since my hands were always freezing I loved putting them away fresh out of the washer. Coincidentally it was also dead Winter and I'd run out of Vitamin D pills, a disputed remedy for Chilblains. Interestingly, I'd been washing dishes for months in that lab, but never developed the sores until then. Flash forward to my NZ migration. I can pin-point the reappearance of the blotches and precisely two things come to mind: One, I had ran out of both my Vitamin C and Multi-Vitamins, and two, I had started doing a protocol for Total Ash almost every day. This particular protocol requires me to heat silica crucibles to 600C. I'd always wear an oven mitt when removing them from the furnace, but people marvelled as I frequently took them in and out of the 105C oven without any gloves to weigh them to obtain my result. Not to mention that since my hands are perpetually cold, I love to submerge them in hot-as water or just rest my hands on top of heaters, ovens and steam baths. I've even been known to place them in my toaster oven for a bit when I'm particularly desperate.

So, we've now identified the cause, what about the treatment? Amongst many debated remedies such as vitamins and ointments, the only real treatment for Chilblains is to stay warm and not allow the extremities to experience intense temperature fluctuations. What kind of fucking treatment is that?! It presupposes that I'm cold and/or have poor circulation by choice. If I stayed in an environment that was maintained at my optimal temperature I don't think I'd like my other companions, because surely I'd be in Hell. Shit, sometimes I actually think that my high heat tolerance means I'm the Mother of Dragons, or at least have Targaryen blood! I've said it before and I'll say it again, shedding my insulation and thus my ability to keep myself warm is the only thing I regret about losing weight. It was an unforeseen consequence. The only time I feel authentic internal warmth is after 15 minutes of high intensity cardio. It's no wonder I'm a gym-junkie! Anyway, the only remedy I plan to try is to stop picking up things that would melt the skin of an ordinary person and hopes that helps. 

On the bright side my outbreak, painful and ugly though it may be, is nothing compared to some of the more severe cases I saw on my image search. Be thankful that I didn't share them, but if I wanted to inspire nightmares, I could have shown some. Though images of Chilblains aren't nearly as bad as 'Black Hairy Tongue.' (Note: WebMD link does not immediately show a picture, give it serious consideration before actually looking at an image; it's impossible to un-see.) 

Thought of the Day 04-Jul-15: Zombie Fingers

A: Hi, I'm your diseased digit, can you please go see a doctor before I fall off?!

I'll be the first to admit that I tend to worry about shit that isn't really a big deal while ignoring signs of legitimate concern. See exhibits A and B, respectively. I had been trying to hold out for a Permanent Resident visa status so that my health insurance would kick in, but yesterday I finally gave in and had my slowly dying fingertips looked at by a doctor.  Suspecting I had contracted some sort of flesh-eating bacteria or fungal infection, I made the call when I noticed new spots on my other hand which meant it was spreading. I would never have guessed, not in a million years, the nature of the underlying issue.

B: If you're fingers look like this, it is NOT NORMAL!

After a 2 hour wait at an urgent care facility because my immigrant status does not allow me to schedule regular doctors' appointments, I was (embarrassingly) relieved to be called by a doctor with an obvious American accent. For some reason knowing that she was trained in the States (even in Virginia, Zing!), put me at ease. Also, becoming qualified to practice medicine in New Zealand as an immigrant is damned-near impossible, so I was fully confident in this doctor's competence, despite her Southern origin, haha. I immediately launched into the tale of my zombie fingers: The first appearance of these strange, red, sore, dry, hardened, blotches on the fingers of my right hand occurred about ten months ago in the US, shortly after beginning work in a chemistry lab. When I left that job and moved to New Zealand they went away, but reappeared about four months after taking up similar work here. Surely I had some kind of hand dermatitis, an allergy to a chemical ubiquitous in such laboratory environments; right? Wrong. 

Dr. Daisy Mae took my hand, turned it over to look at my fingernails, then asked me to looked up towards the ceiling as she inspected the white areas of my eyes. She then asked me if I was a vegetarian, to which I proudly proclaimed "hell no." Yet with 100% certainty and without hesitation she stated that I was anaemic. Uh, no, sorry; she must have thought she was talking to someone who did not meticulously analyze and plan everything they put into their body, taking in the perfect portions of protein, fat and carbohydrates to keep their preciously well-oiled machine in ship-shape. That is the person I am. Not too mention the fact that the primary sign of anaemia is fatigue and lethargy, qualities I disdain above all others, and had certainly never experienced. Shit, I'm a bundle of energy at the worst of times, if I'm anaemic now and correct the issue, I may well spin off into outer-fucking-space!

After hearing her out and seeing the images of anaemic fingernails (see below), however, the evidence was irrefutable. Dr. Miss Virginia went on to explain that the patches were caused by a lack of oxygen to my extremities; my fingertips were, in fact, becoming necrotic and the tissue was dying which in turn causes soreness from inflammation. Awesome. That's also about the same time I realized that both times these red spots materialized were instances when I went off my otherwise extremely faithful regimen of abundant vitamins (both multi and extra vitamin C). The most recent lapse being that I had run out of my US supply and I simply refused to pay the exorbitant price of vitamins in New Zealand. Well guess what the current treatment was to be? A daily high potency multivitamin as well as an iron-vitmamin C combo supplement. Over $100 bucks later I just hope they kick-in in time to stop my fingers from craving brains.

My nails have looked like this for a very long time; how could I have known?

Imagine my shock when I saw (what appeared to be) my nails on an anaemia diagnosis website.

More concerning, though I may eat plenty of iron and other essential fuels thanks to my fastidious eating habits, that doesn't necessarily mean my body is absorbing them. Thus, this anaemia is likely a sign of a bigger issue, but that investigation really will have to wait until I have insurance. I suspect that the ultimate diagnosis will also link to both my chronic constipation and struggle with low blood sugar levels. Clearly, my body is not properly absorbing or responding to nutrients.

So, not consciously realizing that this news affected me on any real emotional level, my flatmate made the observation that I was acting a bit more abrasive than normal. And oh the beauty of my filterless mouth, speaking the truth that had been eluding my Mind until I heard its own words: "I don't want to be anaemic! I do everything right, eat all the right foods; so why is my body still broken?! I lost weight to be healthy, yet ever since I did my body has been in a slow decline." Sad though it may seem, this is how I view my current situation. 

In comes the difference between knowing versus believing. I know I am whole, I know I am a good person with good intentions, that my Body is not completely failing me; but I don't believe it yet. Hearing this medical report reminds me that I am very much fallible, and it's frustrating. Another reminder that I can't control how my body processes what I eat. Still, I'm grateful that I don't have a flesh-eating bacteria. It's also easier to accept given my naturally optimistic tendencies. My one glimmer of hope is that this anaemia, which has been longstanding without my knowledge, has been causing other issues that I did not attribute to an actual medical problem such as moodiness and persistently cold extremities. As such, the treatment may bring relief of ailments I didn't even know existed, realized only in their absence. Yes, that is where I will place my focus, because choosing the positive isn't always easy but it is certainly better than feeling sorry for myself. I am no victim, it doesn't suite me; I'm going to take my supplements and use the iron to kick this anaemia in the nuts!

Thought of the Day 02-Jul-15: Conjuring The Patronus

While talking to a dear friend and colleague yesterday I made an analogy that I thought so fitting that I feel compelled to share the notion in hopes it can empowers others. This friend and I relate on the topic of anxiety and depression and as they'd recently needed to alter their neuropathic pain medication recently, they experienced a bout they described as 'thinking its never going to get better.' That definitely hit home with me.

There were three times in my life when my chronic anxiety led to perpetual panic and, effectively, nervous breakdowns. I wrote about finding ways to deal with these episodes previously, and hilariously I might add. So, as we discussed this bleak sentiment and the sheer horror, terror and hopelessness that it manifests, an image immediately came to mind that was perfectly fitting. I said, 'it must be what it feels like to be around a Dementor,' and she agreed as we giggled about being dorky Harry Potter fans. I sincerely hope that many people who read this article don't understand what I'm attempting to describe, but most Humans feel this way to some extent or another at some point during their life. Those plagued by chronic emotional disorders certainly know it all too well. It's the feeling that the clouds above are so thick that the sun will never shine again, or an endless darkness that will never lift. It's a though happiness has never been felt before, nor will it ever be felt again. Worst of all, there seems to be no way to improve or alter this forlorn state. Unmitigated destitution.

Ooooohhhh, scary!

Naturally the next step, taking the Harry Potter theme a step further, is to ask: What is my Patronus? Who or what can I think of or remember during those times of utter darkness that will begin to gleam some light through? How can I tap into my inner power to blast away that fog and kick that Dementors ass?! I know my answer, but everyone needs to have an answer for themselves. It may take some trial and error to discover the answer, yet evoking ones' Patronus is perhaps the most beneficial practice one can do for emotional fortitude.

Rrrahh, badass!

Happily I could actually feel (my ability as an Empath, a future article I'm currently working on) the positive energy begin to flow back out of my friend as their medication began to work again and the fog began to clear; resetting to their natural optimistic state. And though for some medications are an essential tool that their Patronus wields to defeat the Dementor that's upon them, that foundation of positive energy that one can conjure despite the negative forces surrounding them is crucial to their emotional stability and state of happiness in this world. 

Thought of the Day 31-May-2015: Oh, To Be Young Again

Today is one of those days where I simply feel overcome with gratitude. Despite (or perhaps inspired by) a fairly narly hangover, I reflect on yesterday's adventure with my two future flatmates with such delighted sentiments that I'm going to straight-up recount the episode. Not to gloat about how happy I am in New Zealand with my new friends, but to appreciate it; knowing how far I've come, both literally and figuratively, to get to this fun-filled niche of my life. Full disclosure, it was a tried and true night of shenanigans. 

Westpac Stadium, venue for the 2015 FIFA World Cup Games in Wellington. Affectionately know as 'The Cake Tin' by the locals.

Our initial purpose in going to Wellington was to watch a couple of the 2015 FIFA World Cup Football Games taking place throughout New Zealand over the next couple of months. My co-workers, friends, and flatmates in T minus 1 week are quite keen on Football, playing on leagues themselves, and I love big sports events in general, with the exception of American Football. I was also happy to go and see a sport that I could actually understand. Though this assessment will rile the Kiwis, the other popular NZ sports utterly confuse me: Rugby, a homo-erotic version of American Football without all the padding and hedonistic tackling; and Cricket, Baseballs lazier brother that can last as long as a Quidditch match. After discussing it, we decided to stay in Wellington after the game to enjoy a night of not-so-well-mannered-frivolity by checking out the crazy Saturday night scene on Courtney Place.

Game 1: Argentina Vs Panama, 2-2

The games were really exciting and fun despite the notoriously awful Wellington weather, which also did not disappoint. It was wicked cold and windy, and it rained on and off the entire 4 hours. Yet these trifles were nothing that couldn't be overcome by 5 layers of clothing, relocating to a covered section, electric hand warmers, lattes, hot chips, pulled pork sandwiches, constant cheering and TS's homemade bourbon. Both games were ties, and the level of sport was incredible to watch. It was also really nice to not give two shits who won or lost because I had no vested interest in any particular team. Though I'll admit, the Austrian team was especially European and gorgeous.

The happy Flatmates, me, DC and TS. Brrrrr, but Yay! 

By the time we walked to the hostel on Courtney Place and checked in it was 10pm and Wellington was starting to come alive. The Boys downed a beer while I made a feeble attempt to counteract my hat hair and put on my sexy dancing boots. We started out the night at a great little Italian eatery where TS treated me to the most delicious Sauvignon Blanc and  Portobello pizza I've ever had to celebrate the submittal of my Permanent Resident Visa application. Though DC wasn't feeling well, he rallied and went to the first bar with us, TS's choice; some place famous for it's selection of microbrew's on tap. I got a NA spicy ginger beer, needing a small respite from alcohol if I was going to last the night. As a side note, if I ever leave NZ, I'm importing ginger beer to where ever I go; it's delicious. I don't even care that they don't sell diet ginger beer!!

The next place was my choice, and as one might guess, I wanted to DANCE! I love nothing so much as dancing. We went into the first place playing a good song, and I was a bit disappointed when the bouncer indicated he did not want to check my ID. Since it was my shout I went to the bar to get us all drinks. A guy who turned out to be a Russian-born Kiwi asked me what I was drinking and I told him I didn't know yet since I hadn't ordered. I got something called a Ginger Mule (noticing a theme here?), which basically tasted like a gingered mojito (yum!). That guy must have gotten a few too many Vodka and Red Bulls, because when he came up to me on the dance floor a bit later he put one in my hand. I danced with him for awhile but decided to meander over to TS since the Russian spilt most of his drink all over me while we were dancing.  TS and I danced for a long time, having tons of fun and intermittently waving to DC who was happily bobbing around a table, watching our stuff. He was also being persuaded by a chick, but though I enthusiastically told him to 'go get it' he opted to remain where he was, haha. Meanwhile, TS and I were making up a move we will hence-forth refer to as 'The Venus Flytrap' wherein we hip-thrust-trap any unsuspecting dancers that either one of us should want to ensnare. What fun! 

The next thing that happened damn near put a dent in my night. Some asshole, dancing with some classically beautiful blond, gave me a look like I was seriously one of the most hideous things he'd ever seen. It is not an image I will soon forget; I wish I'd never witnessed it. Now, there are two things of which I know and attempted to find consolation in in that moment: One, though not drop-dead gorgeous, I am a pretty girl. Two, I can dance my ass off. Concerning the latter, I know this because Black people, yes plural, have told me so; and as all White people know a Black person, particularly Black woman, do not compliment White girls on their dancing unless they are truly deserving of that admiration. Still, I felt myself loosing steam as well as my zeal for dancing, seeing that horrid look on his face over and over again; remembering the way the bouncer didn't want to ID me, to say nothing of the fact that I'm the oldest of our group of friends. I tried to divert my thoughts and energy, focusing on TS who was obviously delighted by his BFF, rallying my dancing spirits. I remembered myself. Am I a victim? Fuck no. There was no way I'd allow some douche-bag to get me down and mar one of the most fun nights I'd had in years. And as though my Higher Power wanted to reward me for those self esteem boosting sentiments, a very very young and handsome bloke began dancing with me. When I asked him how old he was his answer was 'old enough,' to which I laughed heartily. He told me that I was an exceptional dancer and that he'd rarely seen girls that could move like me. Then he took me up to a roped off level where only VIPs could go, and when I asked why he could do that he answered that he was a part owner of the club. Woah! So then I really wanted to know how old he was, and he admitted that he was 20 which blew my mind even more. After stating that I was 30, his reply was that I was still beautiful and an incredibly sexy dancer. I ate up those compliments and beamed. By then the Roomies were giving me the signal that it was time to move on so I gave the lad a quick kiss, thanked him for making me feel young again, and bounced.

Oh, and on another side note, one of the things I love most about New Zealand and that it is perfectly acceptable, and indeed common, for guys and girls to be friends; best friends even. In the US it seemed that no one could allow a man and women to be friends without assuming that something sexual was happening between them; and if one was out dancing with their friend it would certainly scare off any other potential dance partners. Not so in New Zealand. When I guy wants to dance with a girl they do it regardless of whoever else is around. It's simply refreshing! It was a bit cumbersome however, when a muscly 23 year old picked me up and carried me off like a friggin' rag doll last weekend at a club in Palmy. When I asked TS and DC why they hadn't stopped the brut, they laughed and said it looked like I was having fun so they didn't want to interfere.

The second to last place was a low-key and mostly vacant place DC picked because they were playing Tool. I took things way back by ordering a SoCo and diet, and enjoyed repeatedly toasting with the Boys over such things as having awesome, non-judgmental, flatmates who also have similar musical tastes. Indeed I'm anticipating having two of the best flatmates in existence. Sure they are smelly boys, but we are all active sorts of people and share an enthusiasm for social interactions. DC plays the guitar and loves to sing as I do, and TS plays the bass and also makes his own wine, spirits and beer, having obtained a degree in food science. Not to mention they seem to accept and love my ridiculous American Self for reasons I'll never fully understand. Score!

We finished the night off with the one and only thing that could truly solidify our already formidable relationship; we went to the Strip Club. What happens in those joints stay there, I will say that it was nothing short of phenomenal and I have an even higher admiration of my friends now. It was there that I also got my second huge confidence boost of the night. Perhaps it was the liquid courage in me, but I felt positively convinced that I was both fitter and a better dancer then the girls I saw perform. One was particularly portly, but I became so captivated my her confidence and obvious ability to do her thing regardless of the thoughts of others, that I damn-near fell in love with her. What's more, I heard no snide remarks or japes, nor saw any sideways glances or looks of disgust; the Kiwis dug her, so I fell in love with these incredible accepting, open and honest people all over again. By then it was 4am. I was sacked and had started losing my voice, much to the Boys' delight, so we went back to the hostel. Being too drunk and/or lazy to crawl up on a top bunch, I told DC to shove over and slept next to him. One hell of a night.

It was a good time, but I'm with you Ron!

And so I look forward to next Saturday and living with my best mates. Knowing the Boys, DC especially (damn, even his initials foreshadow the inevitable event), I'm guessing our house is going to be most lively on the street, with plenty more shenanigans and misadventures. We already have about 10 parties planned!

DC will most likely be wearing a Spiderman costume.

Definition: Insecurities

Insecurities: Those traits, whether physical or emotional, which serve to remind someone that they are not yet the person they wish to be and/or make them feel broken. An open wound in the Soul, exposed for all the world to see. 

It's typically quite easy to identify the insecurities of others since we lash out in pain when someone pokes at these wounds. They is a plethora of typical insecurities, such as a lack of wealth or education, or a any number of mental and/or physical ailments. People tend to avoid situations where they fear these insecurities may rear their ugly heads. Worst still, many people are completely unaware that they possess such insecurities; using their ignorance of their own shortcomings as an excuse to treat others poorly who do not, or can not, hide their deficiencies. When it comes to insecurities, a little self-awareness goes a long way. Since I'm painfully self-aware, allow me to share one of my worst as I analyze its toxic effects on my self-esteem.

Admittedly, I have many insecurities. Ironically, these are the things I talk about them most, as if I'm begging others to excuse them or to attempt to make others understand that they are not baseless, fearful of their inevitable judgement. The Confessional mentioned my fear that I'm chronically unable to have a normal loving relationship for several reasons. Additionally, fear of codependency, shame of my American background, mental illness concerns related to my addiction to control, extremism, eating disorder and constant anxiety constantly plague my thoughts. Still more profound, these insecurities compound which ultimately lead to low self esteem, making self acceptance difficult and self-love nigh on impossible.  Indeed, I have only to analyze a statement I've repeated to myself a million times over to convey this sentiment: "What mother would want her son to bring home a barren foul-mouthed American covered in tattoos?!" 

Is that really the image I have of myself? Sadly, it is. Granted, I don't mind my swearing or tattoos, but looking through the eyes of another, it's easy to see than these deficiencies would make me an undesirable daughter-in-law. I've often told the men I'm with that they should find someone better, yet I never truly understood why I thought this way. Last night, however, I realized that there is one wound in particular which has scared me worst than all of the others combined, a wound I'm not sure will ever truly heal; my inability to have children. Oddly, this insecurity does not bother me specifically; I seriously do not want children for many reasons, and I'm steadfast in this resolve. The wound opens when I see its impact on my self esteem and my ability to consider myself deserving of love. Simply put, I will never allow myself to be with a man who wants children. Great men deserve to have children, thus the logic follows that I am not worthy of great men. Unfortunately, for various reasons, I think almost all men are great. 

The confidence I seemed to have mustered when I wrote about Child Rearing becomes compromised when I realize that I'll very likely be alone in this life; especially when talk of such things with potential future partners reminds me of this physical deficiency. Some days facing a lifetime of purely superficial relationships is comforting, others it's terrifying. I didn't ask to go through menopause at 25, nor did I want cervical cancer to rid me of half my baby plug. Nevertheless, it's my reality. Worst yet, I don't know what worries me more, that I feel this inability makes me an unworthy partner, or that I'm immensely relieved that I'll never have children. My potential partners deserve a life including children as much as I deserve one without them. I was hoping to find someone who would be so sated by the happiness with all aspects of their life, as I am, that they would not feel the need to procreate; but some days I reminded that this is extremely unlikely. 

Until such a day I get a grip on this topic, however, I will do what I've always done: rely in a wide circle of dear friends (largely consisting of men and girls who aren't girlie), each of whom I will shower with the immense amount of love and energy I have to give. So long as I maintain these alliances, the loneliness stays within the range of non-existent to tolerable.  

What If?

Though chronic anxiety has many emotional and physical stimuli, I had always supposed that the majority of my own and many others' anxiety was based on negative 'What if?' questions. Generally, people concerns themselves with the following:
- What if I fail out of school?
- What if I can't find a job?
- What if I get sick?
- What if I, or a loved one, gets in a car accident?
- What if I end up alone forever?
- What if I can't pay my bills or put food on the table for my family?
Specifically, mine look something like this:
- What if I'm emotionally incapable of having healthy relationships?
- What if I have a low-blood sugar and/or panic attack?
- What if I get fat again?
- What if I get sick of where I am after two years, as seems to habitually happen?
- What if my incessant chatter, made worse by my abrasive American accent, annoys people to the point they don't want me around?
- What if I get injured and can't work out anymore?

For those plagued with anxiety, these doomsday scenarios play on a constant loop. Still worse, these thought patterns have become habitual which means our brains are on a default 'Oh Shit' setting relating to anything cast into our future. Since we're always waiting for the next ball to drop, we fail to take pleasure in the present moment, resulting in unhappiness and compounded anxiety; convincing ourselves we'll never be happy. The best example of this is the one that terrifies me the most; I can't start a relationship without seeing it's horrid and inevitable end. The beauty and excitement of the entire courtship is ruined by my incapacitating fear that I will inflict pain on another, or experience pain myself. For me the latter is the worst of the two, but since I largely experience emotions through others, in the ends it's the same; pain all around. Others tell me to just take it day by day and enjoy what's in front of me as easily as they tell me to simply relax, which frustrates me to no end. If I knew how to deal with these thoughts I wouldn't be anxious. People giving me this advice as though it's as easy as ABC just pisses me off and makes me feel emotionally inept.

Anyway, one day on my favourite podcast, the Nerdist, they proposed an interesting concept: counter negative 'what ifs' with positive 'what ifs': What if I get a promotion at work? What if this trip goes well and I really enjoy myself? What if I meet the partner of my dreams randomly this week? etc. I liked the concept and attempted to make a practice of it, but after some musing I had an interesting epiphany which led me to conclude that these questions may be just as emotionally paralyzing as their negative counterparts. Though certainly mentally unsettling, negative 'what ifs'  are not the actually basis for my anxiety. Asking these types of questions, nonsensically, can lead to sentiments of relief and empowerment once I realize that they aren't going to come true. It makes me feel like I won, that those bad things didn't happen because I planned adequately and worked hard to prevent their manifestation. In short, I grabbed life by the balls and made it cry Uncle! When I began asking positive 'what ifs', however, I became sad at the thought that they would likely never come true, which made me feel disappointment. The point of asking either negative or positive 'what if's' is the same; neither are likely to come true because everyday life is pretty ho-hum. Neither the shit I worry about, nor day dream about, ever comes true! Indeed, the worst 'what if' question, for those who are unhappy, is 'What if nothing changes, and this is as good as it gets?' I've only just experienced this by moving to New Zealand. For the first time in years I'm happy. If things change I'll deal with it as required using the new support network I've established, but if things stay the same I'm content with that as well. This especially makes me feel like I've experienced at least some small victory against my anxiety.

So, what is the basis of my anxiety? Succinctly this: I hyper-analyze EVERYTHING. I get stuck in my own head, dissecting every thought and producing billions of other microscopic thoughts until I want to beat my head against a wall to make it stop. From basic social interactions, to deciding what I should eat or how I should spend my day, to complex scientific concepts, my brains' response is always the same; blow it up into tiny pieces and rapidly put it back together in various ways that are aesthetically pleasing and/or make more sense to my warped Mind. When I'm confronted with disorder or chaos, it becomes so overwhelming I generally become incapacitated until I can establish at least the lowest level of order and go from there. This is why I find even minor changes difficult to face, a change represents disorder to my carefully planned and highly ordered agenda. The maddening analysis begins anew.

Here's what this looks like in real life: One day at work I was faced with the fact that I, alone, had to test 18 lots of Cholic Acid to our most stringent protocols; highly complicated testing I had not been trained on and there was no time for such training. I'd also have to complete all the related paperwork for quality release. I promptly found an isolated room in which to cry for about 20 minutes while my mind totally unhinged. During this time I used my super processor to dissect what I should do: Should I quit if I was truly dissatisfied in my work? How would quitting affect my permanent visa? What could possibly make me happy in this scenario? After all, I had not moved to New Zealand to be unhappy. Deciding that taking pride in my work ethic and intelligence was all the motivation I needed, I dried my tears, rolled up my sleeves and resolved to kick the challenge in the balls.

What if I can always find a way to somehow raise to the occasion? What if I hit the wall but get a grip and kick ass? What if I work my ass off and use my formidable resources to ensure a win? Yes, that sounds reasonable, because that's what I've always done; so why worry?

Gobble Gobble: The Painful End to a Three Year Addiction

I initially wrote and published this work shortly after the break up with my one and only boyfriend/fiancé of 3 years. I took it down, not wanting to air my dirty laundry, but think it is time it's reposted. My feelings were natural and honest, and I'm not ashamed of them. This may be an emotionally taxing read, however, so take heed.

December 15, 2012

There’s nothing more infuriating than someone telling you to “Just stop thinking about it” or “Let it go”.  How exactly does one accomplish that?  If you’re looking for an instructional manual, you won’t find one here or anywhere else, believe me I’ve looked.  But I will share some points that helped me through my current situation; particularly during the dark days when the break-up with my fiancé prompted me to do utterly insane things that I would never normally do, and would in fact label them as desperate attempts performed by a mad-woman.  Fanatically checking my phone for calls or texts, checking my email, hoping to see his car in the parking lot or hoping to have him spontaneously walk through the door, take me in his arms and tell me everything could go back to the way it was before; back to our old familiar, comfortable and unhappy lives.  I’m proud to have kept it together enough to stay away from his new apartment and work, avoiding becoming an all-out stalker. 

The last time I saw him he was with the ‘other’ girl.  Two nights later on Thanksgiving Eve, while staying at a friend’s apartment because I couldn’t bear to be in our old one alone, I had a dream in which they sat me down and told me every reason, in painful detail, why he had chosen her over me, how and why she was better than me, and what she could give him that I could not.  I thought the pain would kill me.  It took considerable treadmill therapy and a forlorn text to combat that one.

After that, there was a week-long period of time where I still couldn’t let go though he’d already been out of the apartment for two weeks.  I texted him though I knew I shouldn’t, and I was angry at myself for not being strong enough to let him go as easily as he had obviously let me go.  It finally culminated in one night when I, in hysterics, begged him via text to call me so that I could get closure.  I wanted an apology damn it; I deserved to know why he had rejected me.  His response pointed to my complete lack of giving him a moment’s peace, and that I was ultimately distorting the situation.

That night I realized I was no longer dealing with the man I had fallen in love with, and I was grieving a relationship that had already ended; I could even pinpoint the beginning of the end.  In fact, neither of us had been our typical selves, or happy, in a long time.  Neither of us caused the displeasure for the other, but nevertheless our proximity has caused the negativity to be felt by both.  His depression and my anxiety were co-dependent conspirators; saboteurs of our relationship.  Imagine my surprise when it dawned on me that my addictive personality had struck again! This time so subtle I didn’t see it coming on and settling in.  The love, affection, adoration, constant companionship and comfort he provided were well worth the times I cried so hard my eyes swelled shut.  Have you ever stopped an addiction cold-turkey? Gobble, gobble.

Another scary realization occurred to me; I had thrown him out.  I don’t have to defend what I did; after finding emotionally disturbing texts to another girl on a phone line I paid for while he went to college needs no justification.  My emotion of rejection was also just, as I had begged him back twice since initially throwing him out, including the night I saw them together.  Both times he told me he was on his way and I waited on the couch both nights; he never showed.  Was this projection of powerlessness and victimhood my way of seeking the pity of others?  If so, I know I don’t deserve it; I can’t possibly comprehend what that act did to his psyche, and it must have ultimately served as the basis for his decisions with regard to me and our relationship.

The initial inability to let go was due to the non-acceptance of the situation, my addiction to the love he bestowed upon me.  Even though it wasn’t great towards the end, it was certainly better than being alone.  I was even aware of his new ‘friend’ and his emotional connection to her, but he had told me they had ceased their correspondence.  In hindsight, however, when everything miraculously cleared I saw that I was holding onto mistaken beliefs regarding what had happened, and also how he felt about the situation.  I imagined them together laughing at my naivety, doubted that he ever really loved me and truly believed that if I had worked harder, I could’ve prevented this situation and made him happy. 

The painfully simple fact is that I cannot know how he feels, and will never know; he may not even know.  He is coping in a manner controlled by his Self, Mind and Body.  This lack of knowledge of his feelings seems foreign to me since we have been so close for so long.  I came to think of myself, indeed identify myself, as his wife and eternal caretaker.  Now I’m in complete darkness having to guess, and I’m bound to guess wrong.  I think of the most painful scenarios imaginable because I, like all other Humans in this situation, have become a tried and true masochist; all rationality flies out the window because deep down we mistakenly think, for some sick reason, we deserve to feel pain and not love.

The morning after the last time we ‘spoke’, I woke up and told myself I was alone, but ok.  That first day I didn’t truly believe it, but I kept repeating it and believed it a little more with every passing day.  One night I simply lay on my couch, closed my eyes, took deep expansive abdominal breaths as I listened to soft mediation music.  I had no intention; I simply wanted to focus on the present.  Suddenly an image arose of a snake tightly wrapped around my ankles preventing me from stepping away from the past and into the present, thus preventing me from moving on with my ‘new’ life.  The snake, of course, represents the pain and the other overwhelming emotions I’ve experienced as a result of this separation.  During my meditation I simply waited for the snake to loosen its grip, and calmly walked away from the binds, feeling a great inner peace thereafter that I was able to maintain for hours.

I also came to realize that my true inner struggle was a result of my inability to reverse or ignore my feelings for him; we had loved each other, mutually and profoundly.  Instead of pretending the love never existed, or replacing it with resentment, I will embrace it and put that energy into further action.  I will continue to love him, and also myself, by letting go completely and relinquishing all control.  I'm not completely ready yet, but I will be.  Our ‘Self’s' were pulling us towards independent paths, and those signals should be honored.  His ‘Self’, and everyone else’s, deserves respect and the acknowledgment that they can take care of themselves and their own problems.  It is not my responsibility to clean up everyone else’s mess as I’ve believed my entire life.  Furthermore, by trying to control others, I’m taking away their inherent freedom and opportunities for ‘Self’ discovery and growth, while driving my ‘Self’ utterly crazy. Gobble, gobble.

I am human, I am not perfect and I have limitations.  This inner peace comes in transient, fleeting waves; but the fact that I can generate it at all gives me hope.  I still expect to experience the pain and fear associated with my loss from time-to-time, but I have the mindfulness to recognize the source of those emotions which originate due to my mistaken controlling-perfectionist identity and emotional addiction.  The inner peace, however, enables me to see that there is no fault, no blame and no anger in this situation. I can, and will, let go.

Phew! Who needs a drink?