Get Up. You Didn't Hurt Anything But Your Pride!

With grace and excellent form.....I slipped and (mostly) fell in a public place today. Imagine if you will, me looking so much like I was 'catching a wave'...arms out, one foot out front, the other knee on the floor. It was a '10' for sure. You may giggle. I did.

Cold Turkey

(Or more appropriately, 'Lukewarm Turkey')

Last night I drank the last Carbonated Diet Beverage in the frig, in the house.

I have decided to quit filling my body, all day-every day, with those chemicals. I mean, that can't be good for me...right? And the reason it's 'lukewarm' turkey instead of 'cold' turkey...I will allow myself a Carbonated Diet Beverage when dining out. I'm OK with that.

Meanwhile, I have a lovely (and HUGE) pink mug full of good-for-me water which my body will be in shock after consuming. "Where are the chemicals?" my body will no doubt start asking me. But I hope it asks nicely and quietly.


Cheers!

(2 1/2 hours Post-Publishing) My body is asking, not yet screaming, for the chemicals. I have a slight headache and I'm assuming that's the issue. sigh.

(24 hours without a Carbonated Diet Beverage) Yee Haw! I think the headache earlier may have been from not eating.

My Life Preserver In The River Of Denial

Living In Denial

I have no idea WHEN it happened, but at some point in my life, or perhaps it was gradual, I decided it was OK to deny myself. Deny my desires, happiness, pleasures, dreams, and most importantly, my NEEDS.

You know that basic question that everyone asks and everyone has an answer to, "What did/do you want to be when you grow up?" I have no answer for that. I do not have any memory of wanting to be a doctor, a teacher or an astronaut, a vet, princess or a wife and mommy, like so many other little girls do. This makes absolutely no sense to me. Perhaps I was never asked about my desires, had no one to foster them, or maybe I really didn't have any 'dreams'. I just don't understand how that's possible.

I have no memories of playing dress-up or make believe. I didn't live in a fantasy world like so many little girls do. There is photographic proof that I owned baby dolls, but my mother has always told me I never liked to play with them. There are no videos from my childhood showing me dancing around, whirling and twirling like a ballerina, or singing into a pretend microphone.

I don't know why. But what I do know is that to this very day, my being is wrapped in reality and sealed with facts. It is still very difficult for me to 'pretend.' (I am often envious of children playing make-believe) I have difficulty visualizing. I need to see it done to believe it could really exist. Deny possibilities. Bank on for-sure (which is NEVER for-sure, so imagine how that went for me)

I have distinct memories of wonderful times spent with my Granny and Grandaddy (biological father's parents), but must have known on some level that these times were fraught with tension for the adults involved (bad feelings between my mother and the ex-in-laws). So I never talked about how much fun I had being with Granny and Grandaddy. Deny pleasure. Or be a betrayer.

My basic needs are few. But I believe my MOST basic need is the security of unconditional love. Parents are the biggest influence (good or bad) when it comes to unconditional love and what that means to a child. (side note: I know that parents love their children unconditionally, but a child needs to FEEL that. All the time.) I can't honestly say I remember feeling this insecurity as a young child. I'm guessing I must have. I distinctly lived it during my tween, teen and adult life. It's quite sad and still makes me cry. (note: At this VERY moment, I am denying my own feelings. This is a huge struggle to admit these things. Fear, guilt and that damn feeling of conditional love have me questioning revealing these truths. My truths. Is what I'm doing betrayal?)

These things, and more are what prompted the title to this writing. Living in denial. Denying myself. Denying the truth. The truth as I know it.

I have spent most of my life and wasted way too much energy hiding what I want, enjoy and need. Why? Because I didn't believe I deserved any of it. How can a human being thrive in such a tormented mental state? It ain't easy and it ain't fun.

When I was a teenager,  I was told that depression was a sin because I was only thinking about myself. I was told to go pray for myself and my behavior. Really? I was devastated by this. Not only was I disappointing my mother, but I was also disappointing God. Now, we weren't really a church-going family, so I didn't have a clear understanding of God, so I believed my mother. When I was 28 years old, I was diagnosed with depression. And put on medication. Are you freakin' kidding me? There's an answer to this hell in my brain. Why did I torture myself by not getting help for so long? Because I did not know my sinful depression was actually a chemical imbalance in my brain. For somewhere around 13 years I thought it was my fault. I was labeled as selfish, and I believed it. "Suck it up, get over yourself. Quit feeling sorry for yourself." This was my (not healthy) self talk. During this time, I did not allow myself many good things. It actually took great effort to make myself miserable. How screwed up is that? It would have been much easier to enjoy life's good times. But I didn't deserve that.

(You cannot imagine the guilt I feel already for this. The reason I keep going is for the freedom I hope it will bring.)

I'm a rule follower, which is not a bad thing. But one reason I'm such a rule follower is that I grew up in fear of breaking the rules. Of course now I ask myself, "And what horrible thing would have happened to you if you broke the rules? Just a little." There was no physical punishment for me. I never got a spanking in my whole life. My punishment was emotional. (feeling like a betrayer)

(I have to clear something up. Emotions and words are rushing through my mind so quickly, I can hardly concentrate. This writing is random and probably mostly out of order. But I cannot allow my perfectionism to distract me. In years past, I would have spent hours organizing my thoughts in perfect order, using politically correct explanations of my feelings and emotions - which is DENYING them. And being very careful so as not to hurt any one's feelings should they read this. Obviously, I am not a professional writer. Don't judge me by these ramblings. Or do...I don't care.)

OK...What was I talking about? And where was I going with it?

Good grief.

(post publishing note: After publishing this, I realized that I sound so miserable, when that is not the case at all. My life now is about no longer denying myself. I'll write about that, but tonight, I'm just so tired.)

Oh, my aching head

So it's after 2am and while it's not unusual for me to still be awake, I am really screwed tonight. I had to take migraine medicine about 7pm which knocks me out. I slept until after 10pm, waking with a dull 'regular' headache. So here I am, napped, with no sleep in my near future.

I really should keep some kind of headache log. Today I'm pretty sure it came on because I didn't eat enough. By the time I did eat, it was too late. A nagging, but able-to-still-function headache turned into a full-blown migraine. At that point, there is no fighting it. I take the chemicals required and crawl into dark, quiet bed. Waiting. Some years ago, at the mercy of hellish migraines, I invented my own chemical concoction to relieve the pain. Against the advice of my 'physicians assistant'. Idiot. Well, what do you know...Now there's an actual prescription medication which I should receive a royalty for! Anyway, when I crawled into bed at 7pm, and lay there waiting for the medication to kick in or me to pass out, I realize I hadn't taken half of my concoction. Crap. In no way could I drag my heavy hurting head out of bed to the medicine cabinet. Crap. So I laid there and let the tears fall. Tears from the pain, and tears for my friend who has just suffered a devastating loss. Crying is no good for a migraine, by the way.



This photo has absolutely nothing to do with the blog, but it makes me happy so I included it

Psychologically Genetic

Now, I completely understand that this is probably not a real scientific or medical term. Forget about trying to prove to me why it can't be possible. I get that. But the phrase makes sense to me...and really, in MY blog, that's all that matters.

Follow me here:
I have an older brother. He is an alcoholic. His biological father was an alcoholic. My brother only lived with his biological father for a couple of years, maybe three. There is alcoholism in our mother's family; her brother and father. Although we did not grow up in a home of alcoholism, we were occasionally exposed to the behavior.

I believe alcoholism, or the tendency for it, is hereditary. I understand that children of alcoholics are pre-disposed to the disease. All of that makes sense to me.

But here are my questions:

*If someone came from alcoholism, but didn't know it (maybe they were adopted), and was raised in a home without alcoholism, what are that odds that they would become an alcoholic?
*If someone KNOWS they come from a history of alcoholism, are the odds more in favor of them becoming an alcoholic, even if they weren't exposed to it on a regular basis? And if the odds are higher, wouldn't that be psychologically genetic? "I come from an alcoholic, so I must be doomed to be one."
*What's the difference between the children, from the same parents, who become alcoholics and those that don't? How is my mother not an alcoholic, but her brother was? How is my biological father not an alcoholic, but both of his brothers are?
*I understand that someone can become an alcoholic because of psycological reasons. What are the odds that someone who didn't come from alcoholism becomes an alcoholic?

The statistics don't matter, in the big picture, because I still believe that no matter what genes we have, alcoholic or not, we are each still responsible for our own behavior. And it drives me crazy when alcoholism is used as a crutch and an excuse for stupid behavior.
There, I said it.

Blueberries and Golden Sunrises...

This was the next to the last weekend for blueberry picking at Blueberry Hill Farms in Edom, Texas. That cinched it...we are going blueberry picking! In years past, we have bought pounds of fresh blueberries straight from the farm, but had never picked them ourselves. We LOVE fresh blueberries so I decided this would be a great adventure.

Now, I have been known to come up with some GREAT plans that begin in the wee hours of the morning, only to decide when the early morning alarm goes off, that it wasn't such a great idea. "Never mind...We'll go later." This time was different. You see, 'Watch a beautiful sunrise' is #32 on my 40 by 40 list. The blueberry fields open at 7a.m. And it's DANG hot here during the day. So here's my plan: We get up really early, around 4:20 a.m. (for those of you who don't know me, I don't usually see 4:30 a.m. unless I've been up all night), we'll be on the other side of Dallas when the sun rises (#32 complete with photo op), blueberry picking around 7:00 a.m when they open, and done before it gets too freakin' hot. (I don't DO hot!) What a great plan! I got everything prepared last night so all I had to do was drag...err, I mean float, out of bed at 4:20, wake the boys, get dressed and hit the road. Yee Haw!

.

My son has my wit. When I woke that little sweetie up at 4:30 and gently told him it's time to go pick blueberries, he asked "Can't we just by them at Sam's?" That's my boy!
My husband is such a good sport. He just goes along with all my cockamamie plans and never complains. We hit the road just after 5:00 a.m. He drives so I can put on my makeup...that's VERY important when blueberry picking. Psh








Sure enough, we are out of the cities when the sun starts to rise. Absolutely amazing! Hubby pulls over on the side of the highway so I can take pictures, twice.
#32 ~ Watch an amazing sunrise. Done. And thank you God for that pleasure.



On the road to Blueberry Hill, we come across a cow in the road. No worries though...She was only checking the mail.


We finally reach Blueberry Hill and we are the first ones there! We picked blueberries and a handfull of blackberries (that's all that was left) until it got too hot outside.




The folks at Blueberry Hill Farms were genuinely kind and very helpful. We shopped around the country store and made our delightful purchases...Somewhere around 16 pounds of blueberries, Cherry-Blueberry Preserves and a fresh-from-the-oven blueberry muffin. Blueberry goodness!





And that ends our blueberry and sunrise adventure. It was a great experience for us. And I can say, "Our hands are the only hands that have touched these blueberries." (this makes total sense to those of you who know me)




P.S. We did take detours on the way home, but that's another blog for another day. I LOVE detours!