Bienvenidos Hermana!

I know my posts have been strange lately. I have been in a weird place psychically, trying to recover from a bad year filled with anxiety and failure, a bad relationship which made my weaknesses more prominent and scary. Faced with my age, 29 that is almost 30!!!, and faced with the real consequences of my irresponsibility and slackitude--almost fired, and my new-found psycho-girlfriend traits, I have decided to do something about the mess of my life. This can't continue. So my plan is to get rid of possible physical causes of my problems. Now I am realizing that it is a very real possibility that I have a personality disorder.

I've been in therapy since age 11. I'm still depressed. They started calling me 'treatment resistant' at about age 24. This leads me to believe that my problems go much deeper than a mood-disorder. I should be loving life. I'm trying to figure out what I have to do to achieve that. Already I am seeing some physical changes, I have more energy now than I did before I started the vitamins and changed my eating habits.

Adjusting to life in the suburbs is very strange. And quite annoying at times. The grocery store costs 30% more than city stores. And it is a 20 minute walk to the mega store. I do like having more foods available. The little city bodegas didn't sell much variety. But I miss fresh cheese and herbs. I can't find fresh mozarella! The vegetables are way overpriced and irradiated, I really liked the little chinese produce stores in Harlem and Bed-Stuy. They always had good veggies for cheap prices. I might take the bus into Manhattan for groceries. it's only a 5 minute walk to the bus stop. But it's two dollars each way and would add an extra 20 minutes in travel time.

I've started up with my church attendance again. There are mormon missionaries everywhere. I ran into some who hooked me up with a ride to my ward. I went one time and loved it. One speaker told us how he was raised muslim in Africa and his family cut him off as if he died when he joined the church. The teacher in RS told the story about her conversion. Her son had been killed and she wanted to die too until she joined the church. I really, really liked it.

But I really, really don't like bumming rides to church. Last month, this cute young couple with a baby picked me up and I just felt bad inconveniencing them, so I decided to take the bus home after church. But I couldn't find the bus stop and I was about to pass out from menstrual cramps so I caught a taxi. It was friggin $20!!! So the whole waking up early and walking 10 minutes to catch a bus to church, making the whole commute 45 minutes OR bumming a ride from people is very unappealing. Then I discovered the spanish speaking church that is a 5 minute walk from my house. And they meet in the afternoon like sensible people. I've gone three times now. I could kind of follow the lessons, I had 6 years of spanish classes growing up. They needed a piano player in RS so I played for them.

It's humbling in a good way to attend a church where one is an imbecile. They have to speak slowly to me and repeat themselves. I also think it will keep me more interested if I spend the whole time trying to translate in my head. So, I'm learning spanish. Whipee! This week I didn't have the energy to concentrate on trying to understand so I read scriptures during the talks and went home after sacrament meeting.

So what has happened to this blog? Where are the stories? Well, the thought of sitting down and reliving past dating experiences for a few hours makes me kind of ill. I'm really not in the mood.

The Ice Man Exits

Damn. I've really become pathetic.

"You don't want to end up with me." Like I'm some kind of moron who can't see through your attempt at kindness. Why did you have to insult me with it? What you meant to say was, "I don't want to end up with you." Super. And I don't know where you get off telling me what I do or don't want anyway. You don't have the slightest clue what I want, which is why everything was screwed up. When I was all depressed you thought I wanted you to leave me alone WHICH WAS TOTALLY WRONG. That's why I was so mad at you.

Why did it take you 5 months to tell me that I did something stupid which you have been hanging over my head without my knowledge? No, you left me wondering endlessly what the hell was going on. I tried asking you what the hell was going on and you said, "I don't want to answer that." So fine. I screwed up by doing mean things to you in my sorry attempt to get some reaction out of you and you're apparently incapable of emotion. Great.

The lack of emotion thing was what I liked about you in the first place, being with you was like sleeping on a quiet island in the middle of my hurricane. You gave me rest. Now you give me indigestion. So, we're better off apart. I've gotten the first of my bi-annual heartbreaks out of the way. Perfect timing, halfway through the year. I still have 6 months to get involved with another one and have that fizzle out by Christmas.

I wish someone were here with me, I could use a hug -- He doesn't feel anything. He went home to write his 'after action report' on what he learned from this experience so he can use it for next time. I got on the wrong bus because I can't think straight when I'm upset. I ended up in the wrong town only to find out the only way to get to mine was to walk on the highway over the railroad tracks. But that was after I tried going through the empty lot behind the warehouse. I turned around when I saw the man wearing only his boxers at the other end of the field, under the highway. I'm lucky I didn't get killed. I had to walk home in tears on the overpass--and I just kept thinking that I can't wait until I reach the point in my life when I stop doing things like this. How tired I am of getting lost in the wrong towns. And crying in public places. MOST PEOPLE DON'T LIVE LIKE THIS.

I want to be like him. Happy with his solitary, stable, and miserable life. He is miserable, because it's much easier that way. Because he thinks I'll hate him in 6 months. Why wait so long, eh? And did you have to wait until I got to the bus station? Come on. I thought that's why we went to the coffee shop. I asked you to tell me what was up, but you wanted me to point out the 'fashionistas' on Fashion Ave. You had to wait until I was standing outside my bus. And I still had to ask you to tell me if we were done with this. That is very tacky to have a breakup conversation outside the Port Authority in Times Square. ...ah, but we had the big lion staring down at us.

Why did I give up my lovelife blogging for you? It was not worth it. I also wasted a good leg shave this morning. I hate wasting a shave for nothing! Someone could have been running his hands down these smooth 33" babies. Now, no one gets to touch my smooth legs.

I just wanted one thing to work out. At least for a little while. Enough to give me confidence that I can do the relationship thing. For the first time in my life, I asked someone to commit to caring about me. And he said 'no'. I stood up for myself because I couldn't be his part-time girlfriend of convenience anymore. Either be my full-time boyfriend or go away. He'd rather live without me then have to put any effort into the relationship. Beautiful. I'm not far from becoming a hateful and bitter spinster. Can you blame me? I'm becoming like those crazy desperate women on tv. That's what I most feared and it's happened. I should go find a gay man and move in with him. Completely surrender from this cruel institution.

Where do I find a man who wants crazy? I need a sane man who likes crazy. Do any exist? Of course not. I wouldn't want to end up with me either.

And life goes on.

To My Surrogate Boyfriends

Dearest Ben, and Sweetest Jerry,

How do I thank you for eveything? For the years of faithful devotion and service?
Perhaps I can try.

Thank you for all the pleasure you've given me over the years.
You have never disappointed with a lackluster performance,
Perfection in a package everytime: the sensual way you slide down my tongue, the cool delight of your touch on my anticipating lips, and the feeling of satisfaction you give....

You are always there when I'm blue and need to be cheered.
You never set me aside for more exciting pastures,
You wait until I'm ready for you.
You're never too busy for me.
Your whole life is about satisfying me.
You don't keep secrets from me, you wear your insides on a label that I can read.
I never have to guess what you're made of, or what you want from me.
You have a heart of the purest, creamiest, dreamiest gold. And such variety!
Sometimes with fudge brownies, or heath bars, or the raw cookie dough--you're so silly!

Always there on a lonely Friday night to make life a little sweeter.
And you never leave me--you stay beside me through thick and thick
-- on the side of my thighs you sit in ever-expanding support.
I only have to look down at my widening hips to know how much you love me.
B&J, I love you too.
Kisses! !

Celibate Selections from the blogosphere

I don't often recommend blogs because there are too many good ones to keep up. But I did notice two in particular that I wanted to sugggest my readers visit.

The first blog: Sexless in the City by my dopple-blogger, Anna Broadway. She's also a celibate Christian living in Brooklyn. Though she seems a lot more fun than I am and has a more active love life. In this post she shares an anti-celibacy hate email and her response to such erudition.

The second is: Mission on Mars. It's written by a mormon missionary who keeps the blog secret for fear of retribution. Ever wanted to know what mission life was like? Read it here, the mish is an entertaining writer who has the cover of anonymity. This post describes what it's like to be without woman for 12 months. Missionaries have to stay at arm's length from all women. What does that do to a horney young man? Let him tell you.

Tales from the Reconstruction

I have hit rock bottom. Unfortunately that is my pattern. I'm too stubborn and proud to actually work on fixing my problems until I have no choice left.

Lately, I have been having a hard time. I have no energy at all. I cower at the thought of making a phone call. Day after day passes and I accomplish very little because I don't have the desire or energy to do anything. Some days are better than others. The fatigue seems tied to my bi-weekly menstrual cycle, knocking me out the week prior to it and the week of. Then I have one week with marginal improvement in mood and energy only to start it all again. Then I realized my problems could be more physical than mental. Maybe I have things wrong with my body making me so tired. I don't think like a depressive: I don't hate myself, I don't want to die, and I'm not hopeless. I have tried to tell my doctor this but he is not convinced. Fine, I'll do this myself then.

I wake up each morning feeling tired and crappy. My hair is falling out. I have multiple digestive problems, the likes of which you don't want to read about, I've developed some food intolerances, If I don't eat every few hours I get hypoglycemic, I crave salt and sugar, have a poor appetite, and etc.

The first step in my reconstruction of self was to get off the Diet Coke, which I did mid-April. I had been drinking 1 liter or more per day for the past two or three years. Prior to that I drank 20 or 40 oz per day, since age 22. One day in April, out of nowhere, I remembered reading all these horrible things about Aspartame. So I did an internet search. I read enough scary information, learning that aspartame is a carcinogenic neurotoxin, to stop drinking it. 'Take the Aspartame Challenge', giving it up for 60 days, and see if your symptoms go away. My extreme lethargy, and brain fogginess markedly improved within a week. So i've stayed off of it. This success, has encouraged me to keep looking for ways to heal my body.

WARNING: I'm taking the alternative/natural medicine route. I've had 700 dollars worth of tests done on me by the medical establishment in the last few months. They said everything was normal. Right, that's why I have two periods a month, fibroids, diarrhea, excessive bruising, chronic muscle tension, and everything else.

What causes my lethargy, listlessness, I.B.S. and various digestive problems, depression and anxiety? Probably long-term stress, poor nutrition and lack of exercise. And perhaps, Candidasis, an overgrowth of yeast in the intestines is highly likely one of the culprits. But in order to deal with that, I have to address the causes of that infection--it doesn't happen in healthy bodies. Ridding oneself of an intestinal yeast infection is not simple. I'm trying to cut all carbs out of my diet but that's ridiculous. So I'm lowering my carb intake. (But I keep cheating) I suspect that my recent increase in lethargy resulted from drinking 1 liter of sugar Coke each day. Yeast feeds on sugar, the more refined the better, so I probably caused a flourishing in their nasty little colon colony. I don't drink any soda anymore.

Someone gets Candidasis because they have unhealthy intestines, caused by poor diet and...etc., etc, etc,. I'm working on improving my diet and have begun taking supplements to help my liver and G.I. tract, also eating things to kill the yeast. I had horrible headaches and felt sick the first few days but those have subsided and I feel more energetic than I have for a few weeks. I actually did laundry and washed some dishes! So I am encouraged.

Another culprit may be this adrenal exhaustion thing I've read about. Though, there doesn't seem to be any real research on insufficient adrenal function until one reaches the crisis stage. There have been tests on rats who were put under extreme and continual stress, their adrenal glands grew enlarged at first then after a few months they shriveled up and the rats died. I'm going to keep looking into this. It sounds like a good explanation.

It's all tiresome and confusing. But as long as it seems to help I'll keep doing it. Those of you skeptical of the 'alternative' medical practices need not fear, I'm only doing benign things like taking vitamins and garlic pills.
I'll get some links up here soon. In the meantime, here's the story of my 3 years of non-stop stress. Enjoy!

In Manhattan's Shadow

I have a vision of what life should be. I always have. This life that I have wanted for myself since forever. So I have striven. If the source of unhappiness is unfulfilled desire, then this it then. I don't fit in here.

I never wanted to be a scholar. I certainly never wanted to be a teacher. I could think of few things more horrific. My mother came home from school everyday with the hardness of her job all on her face and booming out of her angry voice. I hid from her.

Outside in the trees of our yard, I'd pretend to be someone else living another life. A shipwrecked pirate girl living on the cliffs by the sea in a big white house with her aunt, she had long blond hair and wore a simple white dress. All the men were in love with her, but all the men were wretched pirates not worthy of her. So she waited by the sea for someone else to come. She climbed down the rocks to sit in the sand and watch the waves, until her family would go looking for her and call her back inside to the housework. She was the first girl I can remember inventing.

Next, I lived as a gypsy woman with a small child. She tried to set up house somewhere but no one wanted her in the village, so she gave that up and joined a new caravan. She fell in love with a white man who never came back for her. But she cooked the most delicious meals and was the most beautiful woman in the gypsy group. She never betrayed her white man for another and because of that she had to live off the charity of others.

For a time I played a middle-aged woman who was very sad and bored. Finally she could fulfill her dream by opening a floral shop. She called it the Monarch Butterfly. Her teenaged children helped her build the store and worked in it with her. Her husband at home didn't understand. Then I think I went on to play the daughter. But my memory gets fuzzy. There was a girl who lived in the woods on a mountain with a nice couple who weren't her parents. I can still see the house in my mind. Different branches of our bottlebrush tree were the different rooms...I'd climb from one limb to the other as the girl lived. When one story-line got tired I'd either make up a new character or pick up an old one.

By the time I was 11 or 12 I knew I was too old to 'talk to myself under the trees' as my mother called it. So I replaced the hours I spent living inside my imagination with television. Hour after hour of useless crap just to escape them. The loud and angry family screaming around me. I wanted nothing to do with them. But I couldn't make this transformation without pounds of guilt. I knew this kind of living was wrong. My mother repeatedly told me so. I knew I was being lazy. But I couldn't stop myself. I knew I could be a good student but I chose not to be. And there the cycle began.

This picture of the J.L. that is supposed to be. Who never has been. Why am I trying to become someone else? It's not just the depression. It can't be. Or, if it is, then this is who I am. Of melancholic disposition. 18 years I've been in treatment for depression. I don't know how to be any different. I don't know how to have energy or be lively and enthusiastic. I've made this part of my identity--one that I always believed was temporary. The good girl, the successful one would come out as soon as.....as soon as.....18 years later, it's as soon as never.

In the quiet of these streets I've had to face me. I enjoyed one week of pure respite and bliss. Then the anxiety struck me down when I realized the semester soon ended and I had finished no papers, yet again. I find myself craving escape. I crave to disappear in the life of someone in a movie or a novel. I think about my work and find it dreadful. At 29 years old, maybe it's time to become me. Maybe it's time for the waiting to end. Maybe this is who I am....

Can't it just be my personality? Can't I stop calling it sickness? Maybe I really am just a solitary and anti-social person. Why does that have to mean there is something wrong with me? Can't I just be of melancholic disposition? I want to stop fighting myself now. I've been this way my whole life--I want to stop calling it a disease.

I watched "The Hours". Quite a boring and pretentious movie. But still, I find Wolf fascinating. She was mad. But she lived her dual life--that of the real world and those of the novels she wrote. I would love to stay home all day writing and imagining, I just can't imagine doing it without guilt. Perhaps I should attempt to write a book this summer. Screw my papers....well, no, I don't want to do that. I do but I don't. I should spend my mornings working and my evenings imagining. We'll see. One thing for sure, I have to stop trying to be someone else.

***It is so nasty and hot in New York right now. I have no a/c installed yet so I'm sweating as I sit at my desk. It's disgusting. I could go back to Florida if I wanted to live in the swamp. Just thought I'd share.***