Your Crazy is Showing

Narcissist self portraitSo here’s the thing, I’m crazy. Not in a Have the Lambs Stopped Crying, Clarice? crazy. But enough to warrant psychotherapy and be excused from the occasional jury duty order (my bright idea that, no doubt will kick my kharma down the road, I’m sure).

So how crazy is my Crazy?

Being an adult entertainer in my former life twenty years ago, grabbing my ankles on stage was just another day ending in “y.” You’d think unveiling my official medical diagnosis to the World Wide Web would be cake.

You’d think.

Pumping the breaks on conclusions jumping off the screen, I’ll say this: I’m happy to report this post isn’t coming from a locked down facility with padded walls. But the mere fact this scene was a vacation fantasy from my life during some of my worst depression days? There’s the rub.

One of my favorite writing tasks was to sum up my memoir in six words, thanks to friend, Larry Smith and his brilliant Six Word Memoir empire. My post was well received and actually ended up being a feature on his website. Check it:

Ex-stripper turned writer. More exposed now.

So although my comfort in performing in the buff six days a week was in check, I can’t say the same for sharing too many personal details of my mental illness. Let’s just say I have issues (mainly PTSD from childhood and trust issues with men – go figure). I’m sure your working on your own pu-pu platter of challenges. Delicious, no?

So why even dangle the carrot at all, if I’m not willing to dish my dirt? Because it’s important to know you’re not alone. If you’ve ever obsessed, beat yourself up, hacked your partners phone or email, cyber-stalked, self-sabotaged, cheated, manipulated or all of the above – rest assured – you are far from being the only human being whose mental health flew off the rails at one time or another. Not that any of its cool. It’s just not as uncommon as you think.

Life is messy. Our Crazy can sometimes show.

We’ve all been caught. And like toilet paper stuck to our shoe during a night out with the gang – we realize it – have a laugh – remove the thing and get on with our night. If only obliterating the cause and effects of our unstable behavior was this easy.

I have a friend who knew her boyfriend of three years was cheating with a co-worker. Not only did she break into his house for “proof” – she dressed the part, complete with black ski mask, pants, turtleneck and flashlight. Quite a dramatic scene of desperate measures. So many years later, we laugh about now. Why? Because it’s cray-cray, and we’ve ALL been there.

My most recent lover (we’ll call him William) is a dear friend and I’m thrilled we can laugh about our Crazy now. Trust me when I say, at the time, it wasn’t pretty. The shame spiral I caused within my own personal psyche was insane – pun intended. But after the dust settled and we shared intimate whys – the pages turned. We both know our going to the dark side within the space of our relationship was really just our way of navigating through the things WE needed to handle – as individuals – for ourself. Most lovers are unfortunate casualties of Crazy.

Of course, there’s a limit and everyone’s tolerance barometer is different. But for the most part – we hopefully learn from the messes we create and take steps to stock up on emotional paper towels before even needing to lay them out.

Some people refuse to admit to their Crazy. These finger-pointers have their own set of issues that shine an even brighter light on emotional and mental accountability. At least when we cop to our shit, we’re moving the needle of progression. There’s nothing pretty about denial of behaviors so obvious to everyone but them.

We don’t need to be proud of our cringe-worthy moments. But it does help to remember that for the people who truly love us (that includes our own love of self), forgiveness, understanding, and one helluva sense of humor goes a long way.

“Think of your head as an unsafe neighborhood; don’t go there alone.” ~ Augusten Burroughs

Thoughts?

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A lesson in Weird

Years ago in the mid-nineties when my niece was around seven years old, we passed a book store during one of our special one-on-one days. I loved hanging out with Sydney (still do) – especially since my sister and I couldn’t be more different.

My older sister Laurie is the left brain, practical, problem-solving thinker. Me? I marinate in my right-brain-ness; satiating on the creative, fanatical, finger-painted wonder that is my messy life. You want neat, tidy, brilliant, finance-managing and scary-smart logic? Laurie is your gal (I’m in awe of her brain, actually). I’ll be in the music aisle dancing to Earth Wind and Fire, swinging my unkept auburn locks while my overly-priced-candle burns away – wondering where all my money went.

When it comes to the thinkers and feelers of the world, no one is any better or worse than the other – we’re all just wired differently. It’s actually pretty great, once we get past our “my way or the highway” vibe.

Two polar opposite sisters in a dysfunctional family always makes for some interesting dinner table talks; and proved surprisingly educational when it was just my sister’s daughter and me on this particular day.

“Eeew, she’s so weird.” Sydney was referring to a magazine cover photo of Gwen Stefani in the window, in all her blue-haired, bedazzle-faced glory.

“I know. So cool!” I exclaim.GS

Tossing me a look as if my own head of hair was blue, she continued.

“You think it’s cool?”

“I do!”  By the look on Syd’s face I  knew my words needed back-up. “She dances to the beat of her own drum. She blazes her own trail, not caring what anyone thinks of her style. She’s expressing her creative side. So cool.”

“Yea, but it’s weird.”

“But weird is good.”

I could tell she was trying to wrap her young head around my words, and I appreciated the fact that she was trying to expand her mind. But for a kid, the possibility that being different is actually cool is way too foreign.

When we’re young, all we want to do is fit in. If you were different, you were weird. And weird is another word for YOU’RE NOT ONE OF US, which translates to, YOU’RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH, leaving our wounded hearts to believe I’M NOT LOVABLE. Dangerous territory and not one I was capable of tackling within the space of light-hearted hang time during a stroll through the mall.

“Okay…” Her inflection sang to the tune of “if you say so, Crazy Auntie!”

We both smiled and continued on to the movie theater.

It’s been over a decade and I cannot tell you the name of the movie we saw that day, but for some reason our Stefani exchange stays with me. Is it because my Dalai Lama-Obi Wan Kenobi teachings were so brilliant that it’s impossible to forget such wisdom? Probably.

But more than likely, my explaining to a young girl on the verge of her teen years that it’s ok to be weird helped shine light on my own insecurities.

As a young woman in her 20s with scars on her face, PTSD from sexual abuse, who chose the stripper pole over a college campus, I needed all self-esteem boosters I could get.

So thank you Sydney (and Gwen). More than you’ll ever know – and just by explaining how great it is to be unique – you helped me embrace my own weird – and reminded me just how cool it really is.

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Imagine that

The flickering nightlight threaded in the crack of your doorway is a lighthouse. You’re eyes close and you’re there, high above the sea. The howling breath of the night knocks you over, cursing your safety. She whispers in front of a thunderous roar, laughing at you as you clutch to your favorite animal under the blanket. You open your eyes and see more darkness. You cry out for safety, waiting to be rescued.

When you’re a five-year-old, seconds are forever – an eternity when waiting for reality to save us from the boogeymen and monsters underneath our bed.

For some of us, the indelible line between fear in our mind and safety of what’s actually real, bleeds over. It’s a watercolored fingerprint of our suffering from long ago. What once was feared in the darkness on our bedroom floor, now breathes under our skin. No amount of time, booze, blow, sex, cupcakes or insert vice here will erase the reality of our past. It’s fucked. But do we need to be? Like, always and forever, fucked?

A survivor’s acceptance on the road to healing comes at a lofty price. It means rolling up our shame, lacing our truth with personal responsibility, and getting real about how as grown ups, we’re doing everything in our power to avoid getting real.

The most amazing, precious thing about aging in this tortured life of ours is that we have more control than we realize. Who we were as children does not mean that as adults, we’re destined to wear a neon sign flashing “VICTIM!”, “FUCKED!”, or “BROKEN!.”

My truth: I was raped at thirteen. I was a victim. My dad split when I was two, I was abandoned. My step-father was an ass. I was abused. I numbed my shit, I am an addict. I traded my sexy for power, I was a stripper. This is part of who I am – but it’s taken me countless hours and truthful tears to learn – it’s never going to be all that I am.

If you find yourself repeating old patterns, self-sabotaging your happiness, falling back on “it’s because….” – time to remember: we are not the sum-total of our suffering. We are empowered for having survived. Switch the hard wiring in your brain and work on the real you – not the person you turned into – or think you need to be – because of what happened.

“You have to crawl into your wounds to discover where your fears are. Once the bleeding starts, the cleansing can begin.” – Tori Amos

 

*If you or anyone you know needs help regarding sexual abuse, please go to RAINN (Rape, Abuse, Incest National Network).

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You’re not a Pussy

I was seventeen. He was 27. A one-night-stand-turned-partner in bed, turned roommate “boyfriend”. A coke dealer who spoke with his cock and screamed with his fists.

Three years and nine months we lived together. We fucked and fought like animals, but walking hand-in-hand remained elusive.

“I’ll never walk with you because of your skin.”

The attention is better than none at all. With him, I feel alive.

I knew no other way.

It was my first day at the ad agency and the drive to a client meeting was long. My boss behind the wheel was cocky, convinced he was just being funny. Conversations of where’d you grow up? quickly morphed to, so…you boning anyone?

“I’m so glad I’m a good lover.” He boasted while turning into the parking lot.

This is a good job. Don’t say anything. Be flattered he feels comfortable enough with you to go there.

I knew no other way.

We’ve been dating for months. He left his phone unattended during one of our overnight sleep-overs. Temptation sold out to my worst fears realized – I painfully asked the question, taking a peek at his phone. So many sext messages. My stomach flipped and I was sick.

We never did say we were exclusive. Some of his time is better than none. We have such amazing chemistry.

I knew no other way.

There’s a time to shrug your shoulders at the world and give in to the daily shit of life. Someone cutting you off on the freeway? Go ahead, buddy. You’re not worth the stress.

When your self-worth is tested, especially when at a low – this is where you need to remember that YES, you may have known no other way – but that was yesterday. Today, you’re focusing on strength – finding your voice.

What is it that you WANT? If you find yourself in the throes of life not surrounding yourself with people, opportunities and challenges that don’t serve your happiness – ask yourself why.

The cinderblocks of I’m not good enough may fall deep inside your soul – but YOU have the power to stop pouring the cement. Time to stop believing that crumbs are the same as a seat at the table.

There IS another way. You’re NOT a pussy. You’re a fucking LION who’s learning.

Conquer your kingdom (you’re worth it).

“When You Hold Onto Your History, You Do It At The Expense Of Your Destiny.” – BT.D. Jakes

 

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21

The water was choppy and colder than I was used to, but on this triple-digit day there was no debate.

“It’s too hot”

“Right!?” He was faced-down on his towel, but the beads of sweat on his back agreed.

“I’m going in.”

I stood up, brushed the sand from my palms and pranced my completely naked, out-of-shape ass in front of everyone on the nude beach and walked.

As my body floated with the current, my belly and me had a moment. I laced my fingertips across my navel and exhaled with determination to get back into stripper shape. Fine – as close to stripper shape as a middle-aged broad can get.

“You just have to get all the way in, then it’s awesome!” I was thirteen, bragging about how I had the balls to brave the cold (it only took the afternoon to submerge myself completely).

Once I was swimming, my eyes surveyed the people along the shore. It didn’t matter that my body wasn’t perfect. That a crowd of strangers saw my cellulite and buddha belly in motion. I was comfortable in my skin. I wasn’t happy with my body at the moment – but holy fuck – I was happy.

A swell lifted my body – and the water mirrored my breath – sighing with me in the realization of just how far I’ve come. Continue reading

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When a text becomes a blog

When it comes to texting, concise is always better. But when you’re a writer – well – sometimes editing isn’t our bag.

In texting with a friend whose turning 45 soon, I sensed he wasn’t really present (a good barometer of how tight you are is when you can peg their vibe in a word).

Sure, it’s easy to be off a little when trying to decode those annoying short text replies – and forget about trying to hear inflection. What’s sarcasm to one person, may be totally misinterpreted by the other and the next thing you know, you’re in the midst of a totally unwarranted bitchfest.

With close friends though, it’s easier to read between the texts. The subtext of their replies is rife with emotion – and we either press for answers (“what’s up?” “are you okay?”) or we let it go, giving them space to breathe.

I knew my fellow partner-in-crime was reflecting a bit especially since his birthday is looming. So when he confirmed , “I’m just in my head”, I was in no way gonna pry.

Still, the writer in me wouldn’t dare miss up on an opportunity to share my thoughts.

And just like that. A blog is born.

I realized after reading my marathon text, that I could really say this to every one of my loved ones – including myself.

Wanna read it? I was hoping you would.

“There’s a comfort of knowing we aren’t alone. Even when we wanna be left alone.

People pop up in our lives at what seems to be the worst (or some would argue perfect) timing. We take mental inventory. Ask hard questions we have no desire to know the answers to right now. We wonder if things will ever be different – will we always be fucked up with certain things or people?

Will we ever get a break?

Our own worst saboteur is ourself. We know this. We are frustrated by this and morph our stress into anger and sorrow.

But remember all of it is normal, expected shit when it comes to our mental evolution.

I don’t believe broken hearts are meant to heal completely. We just learn to live with and allow our strength to draw from its survival.

Our stories shape us. And I don’t know about you, but I believe the most amazing, inspiring and lovely people are walking around with their own fucked up stories. Their tattered hearts are the most beautiful because they embody what’s real and raw. They beat with more passion and endurance.

Keep honoring your heart.”

Quite possibly the longest text I’ve ever written.

Happy birthday, friend. You’ll always be so cool.

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St. Elmos Crier

I just finished watching St. Elmo’s Fire. It’s been twenty years since I saw it last and boy, what a difference the decades make.

I always loved this movie because I was attracted to the tightness of the friendships. I also identified to Demi Moore’s character “Jewels”.  Back then, I thought she was the fun one. Tonight, I saw her as much more than the party gal. I saw myself in exactly the same way. It hit me by surprise and delivered much introspection.

All the signs of addiction, depression and mental instability were wrapped up in Moore’s husky voice, fire engine red hair and black lace tights. I loved the Billy Idol mural in her apartment and those hot pink walls were awesome. I started to cry a little during the scene where she locked herself in the apartment and sat on the ground shivering. I’ve totally done that.

It’s amazing how some old movie from your 20’s can make you appreciate how far you’ve come in your 40’s. Some movies just stick.

So tell me, what movie from your childhood (or 20’s) sticks with you?

KikiBeachStretch

Soon

When your lashes unlace to greet the light. Your body uncoils, unwrapping your flesh from her thread-count comfort. You discover reassurance. It’s close to normal, this sacred breadth you’ve reclaimed as your own. You stretch, allowing your lungs to expand and release within the space of familiar. What’s old is slowly new again.

You are singular but not small.

When brushing past a stranger in a crowded room, their fragrance leaves a familiar trace – something happens. You inhale detailed Technicolor memories – setting the dragon free from slaughter. There’s no use in sleighing the visions of who you were with them. You unleash the reality, welcoming their face, their hands on your body, their taste on your tongue. Falling among the trace of tears that struggle to emerge are fragments of your smile.

You are longing, but embrace living.

When driving home isn’t met with worry. Anxiety falls into the lap of acceptance. There is no one on the other side of the door. Your phone is silent. You curl up to the empty space, making peace with alone.

And a song is just a song.

Soon.

Soon you will find the familiar reflection. Your smile, unorchestrated without agenda. Free-falling within the space of your heart, you find yourself. Your laugh laces her fingers with acceptance and time.

When you slip under the covers. Your eyes slowly drift. Your thoughts aren’t far behind. They whisper. Soon. Soon. Soon.

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Forgive WHO?

We’ve all been there. Turned into that person we don’t recognize. Our brains hold our happiness hostage, giving pain where pain doesn’t need to exist. We unknowingly sabotage our hearts because our perception of reality is altered thanks to a heavy dose of What We Wish To Be The Case.

Perception is horrifying when the lens we choose to view from isn’t based in what’s real. The trick is knowing that we are choosing to stay in the clouds.

Red flags are not welcome signs waving from across the field. We aren’t bulls who need to charge at the first sign of danger. Seriously. Danger doesn’t equal excitement. Healthy doesn’t need to be boring (is this just a drug addict thing?).

I can’t speak for any other PTSD-Drug Addict-Sex Abuse Survivor-Ex-Stripper, but for me – the lessons in reality come at a lofty price.

Between planning a huge life-changing move, my story-telling series, and licking wounds from a recent breakup (talk about being in denial), it’s all I can do to keep it together.

So how do we get real with ourselves without beating our hearts up in the process? For starters, we need to forgive. Not the ones who’ve hurt us – but ourselves.

We can point the finger all we want, but let’s face it – at some point, when it comes to living through pain based on patterns we keep repeating – we need to look at our own choices. Once we realize we have more power over our happiness than we realize, the best thing to do is wrap our hearts around our loving souls and forgive us.

There are so many things I’m not proud of about myself. So many actions I’d love to take back. Tomorrow is another day. Another chance to get it right. New beginnings that shed old patterns. How lovely it would be to have a clean slate with the one person who matters the most, who we are always the hardest on – us.

So tell me – What do you forgive yourself for?

 

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Ch ch ch changes

I’m not one for change. I like what I like, and that’s it. Even when I think I’m happy, turns out, I’m just content with the way things are. Content is all well and good, but it doesn’t scratch the itch we all have in terms of personal fulfillment.

Content may be the symphony, but Happy is the dance.

Have you ever said “I’ve always wanted to…” and never found a way to make it happen? What about that thing you’ve been putting off because you just don’t have the time or energy, but it’s still on the front burner of your mental dream list?

When a friend passed unexpectedly last week, I literally felt shock waves throughout his circle of friends and family.

Tragedy has a way of waking us up.

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Markus D Manley

I wasn’t terribly close with Markus, but that’s the thing about him – you didn’t need to be to have his influence wash over you. He was and continues to be a light of unparalleled energy and intent.

From our very first conversation, I felt his vision and passion for the arts. I saw myself in him; the way our eyes lit up when exchanging stories and professional plans. He was a visionary and person of substance.

As so many of us have and still do, I looked up to him as a dude who got his shit done. What he wanted, he sought and conquered. What he envisioned, he created. Check out his Continue reading

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A Narcissist’s Harem: Are you in one?

* After reading these two brilliant pieces: Narcissistic Harem’s In A Nutshell – Why it’s time to stop envying the ex and various hanger-on’s ; The Narcissist and His Harem: Why You Should Decline Membership - I picked my jaw from the floor and felt compelled to share:

 * * *

Let me start by saying that although my tag line states that I’m in recovery from narcissism, the term is a very tongue-in-cheek way of saying I’m a recovering addict.

Addicts are narcissists in our own delightful way – in that when we’re using – it’s all about us. Hopefully, after we pull our heads out of our ass, this darling trait dissipates and a much more level-headed, compassionate and thoughtful person emerges.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, the purpose of this post isn’t to gab about my addiction or recovery from drugs. I’d like to shed some light on something I’ve been working through after a recent personal heart-wrenching experience I really brought on myself. Again. Familiar heartache induced by my own denial that somehow, if I were enough – my prince charming would change.

As I alluded to in yesterday’s post, thoughts of:  I’m old enough to know better! creep in whenever  I trip myself up, having not learned the valuable lessons the universe keeps trying to teach me. I can’t seem to get a clue. Or worse, I know exactly what I’m getting into (when I relapse, date an emotionally unavailable man…), but my “fuck it” switch is on – and I don’t care how much pain I’m serving myself on the back end.

You don’t need to be an addict to date the wrong person. And by wrong – I mean to say – a person who is not in a place to open their hearts to you because they have work to do on themselves. We’ve all been there. Maybe the chemistry is too strong, they’re so much fun, or they live right up the street and it’s too convenient NOT to date them. Whatever the reason, we dive head first.

Fast forward to the moment we realize – somewhere between the snorting laughter and multiple orgasms, we’ve slipped. Our world is smaller. We become obsessed. Every thought, action and daydream is about how we can serve our love. Our friends tread lightly, showing us the obvious red flags, but they know we’re in too deep.

MSBWNot every person we’ve dated who was clearly wrong for us is a narcissist, but check out these basic characteristics and see if any ring true:

1. Extremely confident.
2. Charming beyond compare.
3. Has many friends of the same sex (a “harem”) – most, if not all are previous lovers.
4. Requires excessive admiration [regularly fishes for compliments, and is highly susceptible to flattery].
5. Plays on sympathy.
6. Is the life of the party. Always “on” – a “people person.”

This list sums up just about every man I’ve ever been involved with.

There’s a catch-22 with dating a narcissist – or even someone who isn’t diagnosed, but just has some narcissistic traits – they’re so much fun and charismatic, it’s hard to see underneath it all – that they are manipulating our hearts to serve their hungry ego.

To be fair – the last man I dated isn’t a monster. Far from it actually. If anything, we’re so much alike in terms of our personal history and struggles. He used to tell me I was the female version of him and I beamed with pride. The issue isn’t how much of an asshole a narcissist is (my guy was actually quite dear), it’s that they don’t realize what pain their behaviour causes because they are so wrapped up in their own turmoil.

These people aren’t evil. Like every human being, they have a story. They didn’t wake up one day and decide to manipulate, lie to and cheat on the people they are closest to. They’re protecting themselves against what they fear the most – intimacy, abandonment, heartache. Reasons aren’t excuses, though – so even when knowing our partner doesn’t mean to – it doesn’t make our staying with them (and putting up with disrespect) okay. At some point, we need to take personal responsibility.

I remember early in our relationship, I was invited to meet he and his friends for drinks. When I arrived, I met them – all female – and already knew he had a sexual history (and current status) with at least one of them. I held my cool, and at the end of the night as he walked me to my car, I hugged him and told him I wasn’t going to be part of his harem.

On the drive home, I felt proud. I finally held my ground and stood up for myself with a man I was dating.

Three days later he was in my bed.

As much as I knew deep down he wasn’t available for anything serious, I listened to his confessions of love and adoration over and over again, trying to ignore the constant texts from numerous women at all hours. I knew he was still meeting women via on-line dating sites, sleeping with others. I still stayed.

So why, after knowing all of this did I fall from my self-esteem soap box? It’s easy, when you’re co-dependent and struggle with feeling ‘not enough’. We think “If I’m pretty, skinny, sexy, funny, smart enough – more than any of the others – he will pick me.”

cbAfter a few months, my insides began to turn. I finally realized I was manipulating myself as much as anyone.

After meeting a lovely women he invited to join us for drinks, I got the wake up call I needed. When he left for the mens room, his new lady friend asked if he and I were dating and she was floored to learn we were still lovers. She shared with me how he was texting her daily and flirting with her – and that she was thinking they were on the threshold of dating. She was me, six months ago.

It’s been a few weeks since having any contact with my ex. I don’t harbor any resentment or blame with him, and I hope we can circle back and reconnect one day. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t miss him – but what I don’t miss is the feeling of being in a competition with his other harem members. I don’t miss the needy, insecure person I was turning into, who I’ve fought so hard – for so many years to change.

For some, standing up for ourselves and never settling for disrespect is natural. Then there are people like me, who are still learning to believe we are worth so much more than what we’ve ever allowed ourselves to feel.

Sometimes holding on give us strength. But when it comes to dating a narcissist or someone with narcissistic traits, we only get stronger when finally get real with ourselves. We need to let go of the belief they can be serious dating partners.

Thoughts?

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Objects may seem larger

“Dear, it’s no good feeling sorry for yourself. You’re gonna have to overcome these difficulties. And you might as well do it with some style.” – Doris Mann (played by Shirley MacLaine)

Shirley MacLaine is my girl. I’ve loved her ever since The Apartment, and when she rocked Doris Mann in Postcards from the Edge, my adoration exploded.

Doris Mann bubbles over with the type of moxie only movie screen legends seem to pull off. Such is the beauty of cinema. Somehow a morning vodka-banana protein shake doesn’t seem that tragic in the land of make-believe within the context of dry humor.

Denial is fun. Until it’s not. Kinda like when our “fuck it” switch goes off when we chose curtain number three, against our better judgment. And when you’re an addict, well, all bets are off. What’s fun about making the right choices? How will my brain be stimulated with such vanilla flavored normalcy?

The older we get, the smarter we’re supposed to be. In theory. Then there are times when when our fuck ups are so epic, it’s hard to believe we’ve evolved past term papers and learning permits.

It’s a well known fact that the age we start using drugs is where our emotional and mental capacity shuts down and stops evolving. In many ways, I’m still very much a teenager on the verge of a mid life crisis. The moment life tends to feel like it’s normal – like everything is as it should be – I whip up a huge batch of chaos in my favorite flavor of denial.

My non-addict friends are left scratching their heads.

“If something or someone is bad for you – why do you continue to go there?”

“It’s fun.”

“Is hurting yourself fun?”

“I know. It’s fucked up.”

“It is.”

“I’m fucked up.”

“No, your’re an addict.”

“Same thing.”

The hardset part about an addcit falling on our ass is owning the fact that no one tripped us. No one forces us to fuck up. Our brain is sick and we tend to make all sorts of fun choices when faced with the universe’s temptations.

Ever taken a piece of birthday cake at the office because your co-worker is passing them around – and you’re trying to lose weight? It’s the same thing. Sort of.

So chaos is created, and we fall on our ass. Now what? Feeling sorry for ourselves is the usual modis operati quickly followed by self-hate and shame. How could I be so stupid? I’m old enough to know better! Once we get that out of our system, the real work begins.

It takes a lot of balls to talk about the elephant in the room; especially when you’re the one who keeps welcoming it back. The good news is that we can learn to switch the wiring in our brain. We can choose to treat ourselves with kindness and love. No one’s really buying our bullshit but us anyway – so we may as well come clean.

The sooner we get real in knowing our chaos is self-induced and understand why we create it in the first place, the faster it will go away. Drama doesn’t equal fun. All it does is create a distraction from the kind of life we all deserve.

Your thoughts?

 

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Divisible by love

*In loving memory of a friend I only just met, but left a profound impact. His creative passion, humor, spirit and support with all he’s known will live on forever. Here’s to you, Markus D. Manley.  You vision will live on.

The next person who tells me everything happens for a reason is getting punched in the face. At the very least an eye roll.

We get it. Life is hard. Shit happens. We are exactly where we’re supposed to be.

Fuck off.

When the rug gets pulled from under us, leaving our bones shattered on the floor and our heads trying to figure out the why – a big “FUCK OFF” to the universe is warranted.

It’s been a few weeks since returning from my writer’s workshop in Guatemala and I’m looking forward to sharing the life-altering ride. Timing has not been kind as of late.

As if my Central American adventure wasn’t enough to knock me on my ass, I returned home to the kind of news that flattens you. We know this pain. It’s the type of agony that leave the fragments of what was once your whole and happy heart to suffocate your faith in the quiet space of an empty room. A place where you once breathed in love, and now sit with in solitude and wonder of how you fell so hard.

We’ve all been there. Hit with insurmountable pain, not knowing why. Still, is the fact that we’ve all experienced anguish enough to earn the knowledge of why? Collective entitlement. Works for me.  There are some kinds of pain we never overcome. We just learn to live with. The irony that we don’t learn why – if we ever do – until the sorrow weaves her way into our blood is nothing, if not cruel.

Ask anyone who’s lost a loved one to an untimely death. Free and happy one afternoon, then you get the call – they’re gone the next. Talk to a parent who buries their child. A lover who witnesses the loss of her partner’s life after lacing fingers with them, wrapped in love just moments before. There will never be a why. And ever if there was, does it even matter? They are gone.

Fuck you.

I read a quote today that resonates. “Grief is divisible by love.”

Nothing will ever dilute the pain when our hearts ache. Not even knowing the why. We are all so fucking fragile and life is insane and fleeting.

Instead of looking for answers, maybe it’s best to let go of the questions.

Surround ourselves with, when true and real will never escape us – what peels us off the floor and holds our hearts with one another in times of suffering  – simply, beautifully, Love.

Grief is divisible by love.

DQ

Blow on this

Introspection is no picnic. Much more fun to live in the clouds, breathing in the intoxicating vapor of denial and frivolity. Getting high on the life we pretend to live has its moments, but there’s no mistaking the gnawing jabs in our gut when we know at some point, we gotta come clean. Bottom line – it’s never as good, or bad as we think.

 “The Only Thing That Is Constant Is Change ” ― Heraclitus 

Part of getting real is accepting change. She’s a fickle beast, cloaked in promises of new and exciting, but beneath her veil, lives the weight of logistical responsibilities and emotional adjustments. Nothing like the vibe of uncertainty to pop a pin in our balloon.

There’s an article in the Huffington Post currently circulating on Facebook called “The 18 Worst Things About Hawaii” which is pretty spot on. Being born and raised on O’ahu for 30 years, I relate to all eighteen, but number five hits close to the vest these days:

gb5. It’s a revolving door 

There is a lot of turnover in Hawaii; people move here for an adventure and then go back to “reality.” While this means you are always meeting new people, it also means that friends are constantly leaving. Be prepared for going away parties to be a social staple.”

Even though I’ve been living off the island for years, the pull on my heartstrings when a loved one moves away still carries weight; it takes me back to feelings of loss and longing I struggled with as a teenager.

Compound the fact my biological father bailed when I was a toddler, and you’ve got some serious abandonment issues. Even if you didn’t grow up in Hawaii, and dad was around, farewells are never easy.

So how do we come to terms with change when it comes to loved ones leaving our inner everyday circle? For starters, it’s a good idea to remember – it’s not all about us. Sure we’re affected, but let’s be honest – most things in life have very little to do with us. We just get caught in the fallout. Our world needs to adjust – and whether we like it or not, it eventually does.

Once you pull your head out of your ass and realize the universe has her master plan no matter how much you fight reality, you realize it’s time to step up. Show a little more support and compassion for your loved one who’s starting a new chapter. It’s never easy starting over – and wallowing in our feelings, instead of wrapping our hearts around the person who’s taking a leap of faith with their life is never a good color on us.

Here’s the thing – when it comes to the loves in our lives – whether they’re platonic, romantic or family – no amount of distance will subtract your bond, period.

I recently embraced one of my favorite people, bidding him farewell. As we held each other I felt the loss immediately. We’ve grown accustomed to folding our arms together, in-between wiping tears and snorting laughter. No longer will there be impromptu movie nights and pajama parties – wine soaked kisses and spontaneous Ferris Bueler days. What skin will my fingertips graze subconsciously as the hours float by in comfortable silence?

As our bodies let go and we collected our breath, he looked in my watery eyes, kissed the top of my head and spoke softly to my heart: “It’s just another zip code.” Even in his departure, he made my life easier.

As I write this post, I’m reminded of that scene. That this sacred, beautiful life of ours is to be explored with the very people who ignite our soul. The sooner we stop trying to understand it, the closer we are to really living – no matter how far apart our zip code.