Author: behoxie

Coffee, juice (Vitamin C & Vitamin V-vodka), wine. The rest you can find in wordpress in: The Word According To Behoxie

The Gift & The Curse of an Empath

I began writing this while sitting in the ER for the second time in a month with my 88-year-old Father and umpteenth all-time record.  After feeling the need to explain and justify every little damn thing in my life for years, I’m ready to explain what it’s like being an Empath.  My signature line is, “I have two speeds.  I either feel bad or I feel guilty.”  This is not only for my benefit, but for all the others out there who possess this gift/curse, of which there are numerous.  I have already identified these traits in quite a few of the younger generation and we old timer’s didn’t figure it out until we suffered for years.  So, this is for the up and coming star seeds, indigo children, and clairsentient’s-in-training as well as any individual who possesses any modicum of empathy.

Emergency Rooms and Hospitals are a place of great anxiety for a highly sensitive Empath.  As I was writing this, as an ER Doctor explained to the women behind the next curtain that she was in congestive heart failure; an immobile diabetic on dialysis who couldn’t breathe.  All this poor woman wanted was to go home and be surrounded by her family.  When I went out to corridor to get water, the hallway was lined up with a homeless man, two overdose patients, and parents clearly broken to the point of wondering if this would be last time their child would be saved.  It was my complete undoing and by hour #4, I started to lose my shit.

For as long as I can remember, I was always felt odd and displaced,  jumping out of my skin at times, my brain in perpetual motion as I trotted among no particular-type of friends.  In fact, I had a vast array of friends throughout my childhood and 50+ years – all uniquely different.  In fact, I rarely mixed my groups of friends because subconsciously I didn’t think they had enough in common to enjoy each other’s company; and I wouldn’t be able to handle any rejection of each other, so I kept the friendships separate.   I ran with all types:  the good girls/boys, the bad girls/boys, the cigarette smoking motor heads (some of these were even girls), preppy Lily Pulitzers, a few church youth groups, neighborhood drug addicts & alcoholics-in-training, gays, and lesbians.  I was drawn to them all, and have maintained a good many friendships over the years.  I have also managed to cut out a few that served no purpose other than their need of me to be of service to them.

What is like for an Empath?

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You need alone time, yet you’re never alone.  All it takes is a smile, a compliment or a thank you and you’re guaranteed to know the life story of any person you come in contact.  Complete strangers tell you everything and you listen intently because you’re fascinated and a good listener; and somehow they feel better just talking to you for that short period of time, and they will tell you so.

Empaths like to be outdoors.  We need to be outdoors whether it’s at the ocean, beaches, or walking around new towns/cities.  Personally, I only gravitate to outdoor shopping plazas versus indoor malls.  The confinement of an indoor mall is too confusing, and way too many people’s energies for me to mentally handle. Indoor malls are right up there with the ER of places to avoid, if at all possible. I even order my favorite body lotion online and pay a shitload more to avoid having to go to the mall.

Three things that will send an Empath spiraling:

  1. We know when you lie.  We may not call you out on it, but I assure you our body language, our words, and the total rejection of your being gets the point across.
  2. Listen when an Empath gives advice because chances are real good their advice is accurate, and they know things way before you do.  If you keep asking the same advice, you’ve become an askhole, and we will eventually have to avoid you completely for sanity reasons.
  3. Empaths can identify these dark souls within just minutes of a conversation.  When I’m in the company of a Narcissist, a wall goes up and I become very combative and I have to struggle to keep my replies and body language under control.   You’re better off excusing yourself and walking away from the energy than engaging because the outcome has the ability to become explosive.

The downside (curse) of being an Empath:

  • Empaths are natural healers so unless you identify and understand your Empath traits early on, you’ll try and fix anyone struggling who crosses your path, and you’ll learn some real hard lessons here until you set healthy boundaries. I learned this the hard way and it took some extraordinary people to teach me that I needed to burn some bridges to my island.   Empaths are a gravitational pull to many who walk this earth, with a heavy concentration in the severely damaged. The statistics show that 1 out of 25 people suffer from the following personality disorders:  Narcissist, sociopath, and psychopath behavior.  I’d say it’s more likely 1 out of 15 people.  Those other 10 are just holed up playing video games and just not identified as yet.
  • Alone time is coveted by an Empath for recharging purposes, but it isn’t easy to come by because you’re always surrounded.
  • TV. and social media are our ultimate unraveling. I cannot watch the news or read news/social media articles that display mass murders, bombings, animal cruelty, and so forth.  It will sap my energy for days.

What an Empath absolutely needs and loves is:

  • Like-minded individuals with the same belief system who can embrace the simple things in life. We don’t like clutter and can’t function with or around it. I haven’t mastered this yet.
  • Money means nothing past what is needed for survival. I’ve sat on a milk crate in a tiny kitchen of a family of 11 living in a 5 room apartment.  I’ve also sat in a palatial kitchen of a wealthy man with a personal cook that overlooked the water.  I would take the milk crate any day.  I prefer humble, genuine people that don’t have the need to flaunt.  In the end, graves are all the same size.
  • Animals gravitate to Empaths. I have no fear of any animals. I leave my turkey carcass for the racoons on Thanksgiving, feed them marshmallows, and I have actually witnessed them knocking on my back door for some grub.  The latest addition to our family was a scrawny stray kitten who found his way into our home and hearts, and we are now his staff.  Thus why we named him Moses since he walks on water.
  • Laughter and a good tribe. There is absolutely nothing better than being surrounded by people who make you laugh, laugh with you, laugh at you, and have the ability to find humor even in the most inappropriate circumstances.
  • Children and Special Needs children/adults are pure love. Their minds aren’t cluttered with anything but living in that moment and love.

In closing, I went away with my dear friends for the weekend and we saw Earth, Wind & Fire/Chicago in concert.  We laughed for 34 of the 48 hours we were together.  Even after minimal sleep, I felt renewed and exhilarated and said as much to my tribe.  I spent 7 hours in the ER the following weekend, and had more sleep than the weekend prior.  However, the next day I was not able to string two comprehensive words together, spent 4+ hours on a lounge chair passed out drooling, and was physically and mentally debilitated the entire day.   I attribute it to the energy source:  Positive/upbeat energy rejuvenates you.  Negativity/sadness/narcissistic/energy vampires debilitate you.

Choose your tribe wisely Empaths, and recognize the traits early on.  It will save you time, heartaches, and headaches.

 

 

 

Shit My Kids Ask

This is a short blog post to honor the next generation of rising adults who shared with me that they do not possess the capability of reading anything more than a Facebook post or Instagram hashtag due to their Attention Deficit Disorder.

I have even limited it to a word count that they can relate to – exactly 666. I’ve also added a link to help in keeping them focused.   I learned about this website last week when photos were snapped of my niece body harnessing her 3 year old’s temper tantrum because she wouldn’t let him steal toys from a store.  Thus, making her an “Asshole parent.”

http://www.assholeparents.com

First, you spend 20+ years answering THE questions:

Mom, where did I put my shoes? My MomMomMomkeys? My phone? My wallet? My coat?

Mom, is Good Friday when Jesus was Born? (10 year Catechism student failure)

Mom, can you put money in my account?

Mom, can you text me your log-in and password for Amazon? And what’s your credit card number?

Mom, what happens when a tampon gets stuck?  How do you get it out? (Try a Dyson vacuum)

Mom, where’s your nose hair trimmer? (Oh, you mean “my bikini” trimmer?)

Mom, is baking soda the same as baking powder?

Mom, how many months can chicken be in the freezer? (for as many as you leave it there)

Mom, what’s the Optimum password?

Mom, what’s my Social Security number?

Mom, do you have my passport?

Mom, what’s the difference between unsweetened and semi-sweetened chocolate?

Mom, I have a bad toothache.  What should I do?

Mom, I have a rash.  What do you think it’s from? (photo sent)

Mom, do I have AAA on my car? (car is dead)

Mom, can you buy me a case of organic tampons?

Mom, can you make me a gynecologist appointment?

Mom, can I borrow some underwear?  I’ll just take your thongs – you’re too old and that’s disgusting.

Then they morph into semi-adults and you have to put up with this shit:

Mom, why don’t you drink water?

Response:  Because I’m holy.  I prefer turning water into wine as per Bible verse John 2:1-11.  Not to mention when we were kids we were outside 12 hours a day.  If we went home, “She” would make us do stuff like chores.  The “She” being my Mother.  You didn’t see us walking around with a 32 ounce bottle of smart water strapped to our ass.  We took a sip from a hose and that sip lasted 6 hours on a summer day.

Mom, Did you call the plumber for the broken spigot?

My response:  What’s the rush? The hose has been outside all winter, and it’s frozen solid. I’ll call when it thaws and it really needs to be shut off.

Mom, did you call the builder to get a price?  ….For the damage when the tree fell against the house and on the deck.

My response:  Here again.  I don’t need that deck until pool season.  It’s only March, so what is the rush.  I still have my Christmas decorations up outside.

Mom, did you call and make the appointment with the Accountant to get our taxes done? (since when do we file “jointly” with our offspring?)

My Response:  Yea, so all of you little shits can get your refunds automatically deposited into your checking accounts and then I have to strong-arm you like a collection agency to squeeze your portion out to pay the Accountant’s fee?  Of course they all plead poverty after they just got the deposit.

Mom, I’m taking the cat to have her eye removed while you’re away. It’s only $2,300 so we’re even on that transmission you bought me.

And the summation as I age and my family’s plans for me:

“Don’t worry, B, we’re never going to let you go.  We’re gonna hook your life support up to the generator.”

Perhaps I could start the sister website:  www.assholekids.com and post a photo of me lying on the floor after eating the “special” chocolate chip cookie.

Peace out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m a Classy Lady Who Says the “F” word A LOT…..now

Source: I’m a Classy Lady Who Says the “F” word A LOT…..now

I’m a Classy Lady Who Says the “F” word A LOT…..now

I recently received what I refer to as a back-handed compliment on my serious blog posts about addictions.  Within that compliment, I was also complimented on my other posts however my “potty mouth detracts from the message.”  Here’s your response sweetie…..can you visualize it?  I can.

A little family history of the “F” word.  We were forbidden to use it growing up, and I didn’t use it (not at home anyway).  My Mother referred to it as the “scum of the earth word,” and she would’ve whacked us with her wooden spoon or worse.   I did not use it while raising my children.  I said a lot of other naughty words (don’t lie we all have our favorites like asshole), but never the “F” word.  I endearingly referred to my three children as “the little bastards” when they hit late teens and then that morphed into the little “F’ers” when young adult shit was going down, and trust me it was warranted.  I do not use it around all the babies and children in my life.  In fact, I call people out, “Language!”  We have an almost 4-year-old parrot with that elephant memory crap going on.  Her parents are screwed.

However, time, circumstance, stupid and/or shitty people paved the way for me adopting a full-time potty mouth.  If I had to pinpoint the start of potty mouth, I’d say it began around 2010 with the death of my boss.  I had to deal with an unorthodox Finance Director, Dick clogs (definition:  his name was Dick, was a Dick and wore clogs).IMG_5185

Next up was the narcissist, egotistical Interim Superintendent, the Vixen Bitch on Wheels.  Added to that, we got a creepy-make-your-skin-crawl Interim HR Director who would’ve been a perfect candidate for a medication trial for sociopath behavior.  Sprinkle that with some corruption and deceit saturating our Town, I’d seen, heard, experienced ENOUGH.

Then there are some of the real beauties in my department – a book in and of itself.  Here’s 2 examples out of 2000 – You can say you can quit, pack up your shit, walk off the job, get paid personal time for 3 weeks, and return to work thanks to that sociopath HR Director.  Then we have the bonus employees that never work a full week the entire year….Hit #1 for sick on the sick line.  The testosterone/ego level working in a 43 man department save for a few good men is reason enough to shoot expletives out like a machine gun.

Cursing –  I believe cursing verbally and written is a much more mature alternative in maintaining control than acting on it and smacking the shit out of Askholes, Fucktards, Shitoids, Fucknuts, and daily Dicktarts.  I won’t even get into my personal life because this is a post, not encyclopedia volumes.

If Assholes were planes, this place would be an airport

What I enjoyed the most when called to the carpet on my potty mouth was this particular individual’s selective memory.  I guess I must’ve had my head rocket launched up my ass during many a conversation and witness to many parent-child outbursts when the “F” word was used as a verb, adverb, adjective, command, interjection, and noun.  Don’t you just love when selective history gets all revised in someone’s head and then they get all righteous?  I think that’s called born again Christian.  You had to be born again because you FAILED miserably the first time around.

What I like about being me is I am an adult or professional when warranted, and you will know where you stand.  Sadly, for some recipients I’m not going to lie.  In fact, if you’re an Askhole, Fucktard, POS enough times, you’ll get a brutally honest written lashing either meticulously professional or dripping with sarcasm because chances are I’m tired of your piss poor behavior.  Just ask some of my relatives, friends, or co-workers.

A couple of days ago, I got the book slapped at me by my own personal friend/psychic medium with the words, “I saw this, didn’t even open the cover, knew it was for you.”

IMG_5199

I consider myself an enhanced version of the same person of years gone by. I pride myself on doing at least one good deed every single day because that’s how I was wired by the Big Dog himself.  Although I’m not a big church go’er, I enjoy attending any service other than Catholic, and chances are better than good I’m spending that time doing something more worthy or kind for someone in need.  If you’re going to let anything concern you, you may want to pick a few from this summary:

If I wanna have a potty mouth, you’ll have to take the good with the bad otherwise I’ll catch y’all on the other side.  I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life.  Saying bad words is like doing an hour of yoga but much more gratifying.  God bless you.  After all, he blessed me with my potty mouth.

2 of 2 – Another Birthday in Prison – A Young Man’s Journey of Heroin Addiction

Source: 2 of 2 – Another Birthday in Prison – A Young Man’s Journey of Heroin Addiction

1 of 2 – What I’ve Learned About Depression, Addiction, & Suicide

Source: 1 of 2 – What I’ve Learned About Depression, Addiction, & Suicide

1 of 2 – What I’ve Learned About Depression, Addiction, & Suicide

This is seriously ONLY the tiniest snapshot of young people who have crossed the threshold of my home & life over the years:

A teenage boy whose Father was an alcoholic.  His Mother tried to run him over with her car.

A young man whose Father was an alcoholic, and when he came home drunk, he would wake him and his brother and make them fight each other when they were just toddlers so he could watch.  Their Mother wasn’t strong enough to stop the madness because her soul had been manipulated than obliterated by their alcoholic Father.

A young girl whose Mother was an alcoholic often passed out and unresponsive.  The child would clean up the aftermath. Her parents were divorced and her Father lived elsewhere.

The son of an alcoholic Mother, this man suffered depression, and died of the disease himself.

You get the point.  Every single one of these people were struggling one way or another with either drug addiction, depression, alcoholism, risky behavior and some even attempted suicide.  I have listened to each of their stories, and lived through it with some of them.  This doesn’t make me an expert on addictions, behaviors, or mental health issues.  However, what it did do over time was help me to understand the bigger picture, the whys and the hows, and the impact of what a dysfunctional childhood and/or mental illness can lead to.  In addition, I learned about improper dispensing of medication, over medication, ill-supervised dispensing of medication that led to mental breaks, horrific withdraw, or worse mortality.

That knowledge also led me to the avoid ignorant and judgmental people. An example of this is I attended a dinner party and the conversation veered to a recent rash of suicides.  One of the other guests made a very harsh comment that she has no use for even trying to process how a person could get to that low mental state, it’s ridiculous, and she doesn’t care to ever understand it, change the subject.  I always say blessed be those whose lives are not touched by any of this and never have to achieve any level of having to understand.  I only gravitate towards people of genuine caliber now, especially devoted Mothers that possess empathy and desire for understanding versus ignorance and judgment.

Depression, alcoholism, heroin addiction, mental health issues are within every day people walking beside you-

A co-worker, a young businessman commuting into the city, a policeman, a famous sports figure, a teacher, a doctor, a parent, a child, a sibling, a best friend…. addictions and mental health issues have no one target group.  It’s all-encompassing as we’ve experienced so abundantly in our lives and through the media.

This is a precursor to a Heroin Addict’s story.  The young man who wrote it asked me to assign him a ghost writer name.  Speculate all you want because it doesn’t matter at this point.  I’m sure he and his family felt shamed enough over the years, but sadly they have plenty of company and support groups now that heroin addiction has reached a crisis level.  They certainly do not stand alone.  Heroin addiction destroys lives every single day.  What this family didn’t know through their years of despair was they’d be the fortunate ones because their former addict is alive and will most likely be an advocate for helping others overcome heroin addiction.  A pearl in the oyster so to speak – imagine that.

In conclusion, we all may play a key role in someone’s life who is struggling.  We can love them, guide them towards the resources that can help heal them, be an ever-present source of strength, BUT we cannot walk their path for them.  I’ve learned this the hard way too many a time.  None of us have the power to heal what ails another’s body and soul.  They have to want it, do it, and change their course.

So, to my dear friend who was forced to incorporate “tough love” with her drug addicted daughter, bless you.  You loved enough.  You did enough.  You sacrificed enough trying to help make her whole.   It takes more unconditional love to walk away.  It’s her journey.  Don’t let anyone tell you different.

 

2 of 2 – Another Birthday in Prison – A Young Man’s Journey of Heroin Addiction

Beware.  My story is a cautionary tale. I’m sure everyone has heard the phrase, “You don’t know what you got til it’s gone,” but I doubt that its context was meant to describe family, friends, morals, the essence of your being, or your soul.  When dealing with opiates though, that’s going to be the most expensive price you pay, to say nothing of the material and superficial things you will also most likely be forfeiting.  It’s also very difficult to see it coming even in light of the examples of substance abuse we all have witnessed, whether from personal experience or through media and other outlets.

In reference to me, I had personal experience to it prior to being caught in its vice – an alcoholic Father and other alcoholics sprinkled throughout my family tree but generally speaking, I experienced it through my Father.  So to say that I had not been warned would take away from those dearly bought experiences I lived through growing up.  Throw in money issues and “normal” problems, things could be tense at times, and at others worse.  Luckily for me, I had and still have, a caring, compassionate, and loving Mother whose a saint in my eyes for always sticking it out with me.  Some are not afforded that luxury.  An aunt and nana who want nothing but the best for me.

I was an earlier bloomer I’d have to say (at least in some aspects) without older siblings to influence my decisions and behavior.  I had an eye for “discovering”things on my own.  My first “discovery” with relevance to this story was pot.  Some wacky tobacky I found of my Father’s.  It must have been the end of 5th grade or beginning of 6th.  Whether the former or the latter still a very young age.  I decided to sit on it.  Drugs were first being discussed to us and part of me feared that I would quite literally, possibly die on the spot if I tried it.  A short time after that though a thought had occurred to me.  Being the little genius I was I deduced that, “Hey, Dad smokes this all the time, and he’s not dead.  Actually he’s a strapping healthy guy,” being a blue-collar worker whose job revolved around physical work probably had something to do with that.  Not the smoking of marijuana.  Never the less, I decided I would try it.  That I believe is when I was at the top of the hill and then began my very abrupt descent to where I’m sitting now – RHU (restricted housing unit:  the jail within the prison) in the State of Connecticut’s Department of Corrections system.  The path I took down that long, sloping hill was not a short one.  I would have to estimate it at about 15 years of trials and tribulations, not just for me but for my family and friends.  So, to discuss all of it at some length would take a lot more than one mere blog entry.  The beautiful woman who asked me to write this for her can surely attest to that.  So, in the interest of time I will fast forward then pick up; pot went to pot and mushrooms, pot and mushrooms went to pot and PCP, pot and PCP went to pot and cocaine, pot and cocaine went to pot and opiates.  After that it was opiates, pot, and if any of those other things were around, hey why not?  After I began smoking pot regularly, I realized something in the morning when I woke up.  Why do I feel so strange?  Like a stranger who is trapped in someone else’s uncomfortable skin.  So, I smoked some pot to pontificate on the matter and I realized once again being the little “genius” I was, that actually I feel great now.  What was all that crap about feeling like a stranger?  I feel like a million dollars!

That right there was the single worst precedent I could ever set for myself.  Suppress the feeling with more drugs, as opposed to solving the problem like I should have done.  That feeling of waking up every morning got worse and worse until it was like a nightmare sitting through those moments waiting until I got high.  Nothing felt worse than those moments, or so I thought.  Because you see, all those drugs I mentioned (save for the opiates) mentally drag you down.  Your body’s lacking endorphins and other “happy” hormones so you feel depressed.  Then on a day in 2006 the mental transcended into the physical, paired with the mental.  I know the exact year because of a certain event.  A friend’s Mother’s boyfriend stuck up a CVS with one of my toy BB guns.  He was holed up at a motel in Stamford when me, my girlfriend at the time, and my boy whose Mother and Mother’s boyfriend it was.  When we got there the room looked like a pharmacy.  Dozens upon dozens of prescription pill bottles, among them 80 mg Oxycontin (now extinct thank God).  The equivalent of legal heroine, one molecule from the mark.  A pharmacist’s distributor bottle was given to us (about 4x the size of a regular prescription bottle), and I have not looked back until now I guess.

Oxycontin was probably one of the single best feelings in the world next to sex and then shooting heroine.  Once the OC’s ran out, and the stealing and conniving began, heroine decided to make its appearance and following that as if it could get any worse, the devil (heroine), initially forgetting his trusty pitchfork decided to stick it in my arm.  Imagine something better than an orgasm, instantaneous to the point that the moment you push the plunger, the taste hits your tongue and like the Pink Floyd song lyrics, “you have become comfortably numb.”  Now imagine holding that for an extended period of time.  Then imagine it suddenly vanishing and the gravity of your situation (the stealing, lying, cheating, sometimes to your own family and the people who love you most) comes crashing down on you all at once like a tidal wave.  Then you’re drowning.  It’s morning time.  Thoughts rushing like an out of control train through your mind.  I can’t believe myself.  My friends can’t stand the sight of me.  I’ve stolen and lied to them.  What type of person have I become.  I want to stop, but the pain of my actions are too much.  My family can’t stand the sight of me.  I’ve lied and stolen from them.  On top of all this hopelessness, I’m cold, but I’m sweating.  My stomach hurts.  My nose is running.  My back aches.  My knees ache.  My elbows, hands, feet – it all aches.  Maybe I should bundle up.  Now I’m roasting.  Take the layers off.  Freezing again.  While all of this is transpiring and you feel like you’re about to drown, you look up.  Floating on the surface is a life-preserver with a bag of dope and a needle on it.  Commence pushing the plunger down, instant relief.  Not just relief – instant euphoria.  Instant release.  Wake up tomorrow, repeat cycle.  Unless you do something about it because eventually that cycle has an end.  Prison, rehab, death, or life.  Life can stem from rehab or prison (as I hope in my case).  Life does not stem from death.  Once that happens, permanent end of cycle.  It’s a terrible waste all the lives that have been abruptly snuffed out due to this powerful drug, and my heart and prayers go out to all the families that have had contact with it.  Especially where a life was lost as a result.

Don’t let that life be lost in vain.  Use it as a tool.  Let some good come out of it.  A lesson about the dangers of opiate use.  I’m one of the lucky ones.  God, in all his greatness, has had the fortitude to incarcerate me when things get out of control, rather than make me pay the ultimate price.  That’s why I know he has a plan for me, and how I know that the plan does not involve getting high.  Every time I’ve entered prison I’ve had to detox, and very uncomfortably without the aid of medical assistance.  In here they give you aspirin for every ailment.  In the hierarchy of pharmaceuticals, aspirin is a pauper working the fields and opiates reign as king.  So, aspirin has zero effect.  Luckily you’re not going to die from opiate withdraw, it may feel like it and you may want to, but you survive.  I’m surviving.  I’ve been in prison all my 20’s, a 3 year sentence, 20 months, and I’m currently serving an 8 year suspended after 4 years sentence.  I’ve been incarcerated for almost 2 1/2 years.  I’ve experience 6 months of my 20’s, and I’m about to turn 26.

The offer to write this could not have come at a better time.  I’m currently in RHU which is solitary confinement.  Nothing but you and a hole in the wall, a mattress, three squares a day, a book, a pencil and paper.  In my teens I was a person of tremendous confidence, completely unjustified by intellect and ability.  Until I found my way, I should have avoided exposure like a vampire avoids sunlight.  Drugs transformed me from a Mr. Good Guy to a Chucky doll.  I was hanging out with people who at best were evolutionary cul-de-sacs.  It would have been foolish of me to have bought green bananas because my days were numbered.  I like to believe that I’ve matured.  In here I try to fill my time with reading, writing, working out and keeping in touch with my first and second family.  Now I  know that the highest form of knowledge is knowing that you know nothing at all.  Freedom and life for me is very precious.  For me to speak on the valve of life is not a tactic used for the benefit of telling you this story or for other people, but far deeper and far more personal.  Never more than when my life on drugs and in her was virtually defenseless.

There is little I worry about besides my family (myself included) and my need to make my life and all the decisions I’ve made matter.  Most things are barely of interest to me; a beautiful day which others take for granted, reminds me that each moment of life is precious, tomorrow is promised to no one.  I resolve to be informed, but not defined by my suffering and to live in the future rather than the past.  It’s hard for me to talk about this aspect of my life.  Part of me still lies to myself about it.  At first appearance, you wouldn’t believe me capable of the things and lifestyle I described.  That’s why it’s so hard to talk about. It’s like I’m wearing a mask and when I talk about my past I feel the mask slipping and giving people a glance at the person I don’t want to be anymore.

Barbarita’s actually been begging me to send her stuff like this and writings out of my journal.  The person behind the mask is someone I don’t even want her to see and she’s closer to me than people in my own family.  I decided I should though.  False pleasures often turn into genuine pain and unless people speak about these things rather than turn them into a taboo then people will continue experiencing the false pleasure of opiates and in return feeling its geniune pain.  I want more than anything for that not to happen.  Thank you for hearing my story.

The time that I have wasted is my biggest regret,

Spent in these places I will never forget.

Just sitting here thinking about the things I have done,

The crying, the laughing, the hurt and the fun.

Now it’s just me and my hard driven guilt,

Behind a wall of emptiness I allowed to be built.

I’m trapped in my body just wanting to run,

Back to my youth with its laughter and fun.

With reality suddenly right in my face,

I’m scared, alone, and stuck in this place.

Now memories of the past flash through my head,

The pain is obvious by the tears that I’ve shed.

I ask myself why and where I went wrong,

I guess I was weak when I should have been strong.

As I look at my past it’s easy to see,

The fear that I had afraid to be me.

I would pretend to be rugged, so fast and so cool,

when actually I was lost like a blinded old fool.

It’s time that I change and get on with my life,

Fulfilling my dreams for a family and wife.

What the future will hold I really don’t know,

But the years that I have wasted are starting to show.

I just live for the day when I’ll get a new start,

With the dreams I still hold deep in my heart.

I hope I can make it,

I at least have to try,

Because I am heading towards death,

And I don’t want to die.

 

S3 Gentle Reminder Little F’ers ooops

Mirroring what I do at work because I try to remain slightly professional, I’m sending a “Gentle Reminder” that today is SATISFIED STAYING SINGLE DAY or S3.  Okay, I admit that while typing a gentle reminder for the 2nd or 3rd time, it’s usually accompanied by a Tourette syndrome-like twitching and the F word sputtering out of my mouth preceded by Mother or Dumb…or an antonym like wad, tart, ing asshole.  At this point, I’m just happy I don’t actually type it and hit the send button because my fingers fly way faster than my brain.

So….I was so excited about S3 day that I prematurely posted this back in November. However, my prediction about the Xmas shit being ripped off the shelves and replaced with satin hearts on December 26th was spot on because I witnessed it firsthand.  I hit up Walgreens to fill my candy jar with the 75% off Xmas candy because sales are one of my many little addictions.

So….since that preemie S3 post, I’ve learned that the Tuesday prior Valentine’s Day is called “Red” or “Bloody” Tuesday.  It’s the most popular day of the year for break up carnage to avoid having to purchase lovie a card or buy roses.  Then again, you could just kill two birds with one stone and opt for January’s “Dissolution of Marriage Month.”  After the holiday season spent with the family, January is the #1 month for filing divorce papers.

February 11th, a mere 3 days before Valentine’s Day.  I just love that there is something for everyone.  We’re all a little special you know.  I know I’m repeating some of what I posted on this, but I don’t give a shit.  I did say I would celebrate S3 day by perhaps taking a trip to a tropical island, and I did Darien-style.  Instant gratification.  A month early because we need everything instantaneous in my town.

I had the pleasure of observing couples getting off of spectacular cruise liners to bicker and be glued to their stupid phones, all the while I’m looking up at the spectacular blue sky, down at the powder white sand and over at the turquoise sea.   It just reiterated that “Marriage is  like paying an endless visit in your worst clothes.”  I had more meaningful conversation with a group from Bogata, Columbia and my Spanish consists only of bad words and body parts we can’t really talk about freely in English (all thanks to my restaurant employment with my South American contingent).  However, I spent an entire afternoon with Bogata, laughing and enjoying their company immensely.

So….again this is my Top 10 of what I miss about being married or why I am grateful that I am no longer married:

  1. I miss the shock factor on my ex’s face of purchasing a brand new car and telling him when he got home from work he had to drop me off to pick it up.  A crowning moment. 
  2. I am grateful for no longer getting an electric mixer, frying pan, a bird feeder or a hot pink Hanes Her Way sweat suit as a Christmas or Birthday gift or perhaps a gift card purchased in the check out line at Stop & Shop.
  3. I am grateful for no longer having to buy men’s boxer briefs.
  4. I am grateful for no longer having to listen to the droning on about retirement plans starting at age of 40. (Next up – funeral planning yay!)
  5. I am grateful for no longer having to share my walk in closet or 5 bureaus. (Chances are I wouldn’t need that space because I would’ve had to curb my clothes-whoring addiction)
  6. I  do miss going clothes and shoe shopping and having to cut off tags and smuggle it all in little by little from the car. (See #5)
  7. I do miss having to sympathize with my Ex who would moan and carry on about not feeling well, allergies, headaches, sports injuries, etc., or checking his ass for hemorrhoids. The sole reason men were anatomically incapable of giving birth, and I wouldn’t be writing this because the human race would be extinct by now. (Yea, missing those ass checks…..NOT)
  8. I miss watching the psycho pack the car for the family camping trips and making the kids cry.
  9. I am grateful for no longer having to hang his postal truck ornaments on the Christmas tree. (However, I do miss the shit boats of cash tips & liquor during the holidays)
  10. Last but not least, I miss the classic line,  “Why didn’t you tell me you needed help?”  Well, gee hunny, did you not see that floor mop wedged in between my ass cheeks simultaneously mopping the floor while I was making dinner, and holding a baby? Or was that not a big enough clue?  Oh, you’re tired from work?

If I was to ever give advice……

  • Fall in love with someone who will make you their world, but not their entire world.  It’s healthy for women and men to have a circle of friends…it just is….no matter how far your childhood or soul friend moves, keep in touch because you will reconnect someday due to time and circumstance.
  • Fall in love with someone who is never in competition with you or you competing with them.  Never make it a competition who does more, works more, gets more free time.  No one ever wins that competition.
  • Fall in love with someone willing.  Someone who loves themselves first because if they don’t, they certainly won’t know how to love you.
  • Fall in love with someone who accepts your quirks and you theirs.  Don’t bother trying to change them because you won’t succeed.  Like zebras, the don’t change their stripes.
  • Fall in love with someone who is crazy for children whether or not you ever have them.  Children are the windows to the soul.
  • Fall in love with someone who loves animals, and would never do them harm.  Someone that an animal will gravitate to because animals are more often a better judge of a person’s character than humans.
  • Love the people in your life that love you back.  You will never be lonely if you love and are loved back.  It doesn’t take just one person to fulfill your life.
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I wish you all a very Happy S3 Day and/or Valentine’s Day.  Whatever day you choose, make it a good day.  Go grab a Lovie, your tribe, a friend, a senior and surround yourself with love.  There’s plenty out there for the grabbing.