Jul 13, 2015
Jul 12, 2015
To Read
Walden, by Thoreau
http://amzn.to/1NXwJgr
Walden on Wheels: On the open road from Debt to Freedom
http://amzn.to/1TsTKf2
Entrepreneurship
Jul 9, 2015
If people only knew what I piece of shit I really am....
And another half dozen blog post ideas that came to mind while I was just taking a bath. So far, this privatization has been fucking GREAT. The thoughts are flowing, in a way that I haven't experienced in a long, long time.
DAY 2: Wed
High: D's cheerfulness. Joy. Cuteness, jokes & laughter. The "real" D? The sweet D. The funloving, lovable, heartwarming D.
Low: (all of the above. It's bittersweet. Because it reminds me of how life COULD be, but usually isn't.)
Happy: Discovering/watching a video the most amazing lady beatboxer! omg. LOVE
bit.ly/1MhCPYx
Mad: At myself for not exercising. And for continuing to have a FUCKED. UP. Schedule! Mad that I woke up at FUCKING FIVE P. MOTHER FUCKING M. .....Mad that I wasted so much fucking time on Facebook. UGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!
DAY 2: Wed
High: D's cheerfulness. Joy. Cuteness, jokes & laughter. The "real" D? The sweet D. The funloving, lovable, heartwarming D.
Low: (all of the above. It's bittersweet. Because it reminds me of how life COULD be, but usually isn't.)
Happy: Discovering/watching a video the most amazing lady beatboxer! omg. LOVE
bit.ly/1MhCPYx
Mad: At myself for not exercising. And for continuing to have a FUCKED. UP. Schedule! Mad that I woke up at FUCKING FIVE P. MOTHER FUCKING M. .....Mad that I wasted so much fucking time on Facebook. UGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!
Jul 8, 2015
4: Master Plan (Goals & Action Items) ....IN PROGRESS
6 assignments:
1 Journal Daily: High/Lows plus
things: What I'm angry/happy about…. (identify it)…. show it to c if i want
i can repeat it the same ones every day, if need be, but, in new words, re-written
2 Exercise Daily: 1-10 minutes, (sun salutation, for example)
3 Meetup.Com research, lookup shows, anything social
4 Master list of goals & detailed: do 1 to 2 things from the detail list, and check off
5 Photography:
6 Be mindful of my personal negativity and oppose
Mental, Physical, Social, Spiritual
Immediate to DO
Pick up D's pills (pharmacy is open 9 to 3)
Call Dr. to get anti-depressants, check out numb leg, get referral for shoulder pain
Photography
- Tave
- Watch tutorial to get a general idea how to proceed
- Find templates
- workflow
- invoices
- contracts
- Questionnaires
- Investigate PO Box
- Investigate alternate phone number
- GoogleVoice?
- Find Weddings to shoot
- Craigslist?
- Bidding site?
- As contacts
- Marketing
- Brainstorm ideas for action
- Experiment with adwords &/or FB ads?
- Website Maintenance
- Post testimonials
- create a separate page
- send request to past clients - find a way to make it easy/convenient for them
- post calendar? (topic ideas & schedule?)
- Create contact form that uploads to Tave
- Work on keyboarding & SEO
- Personal Projects
- Appalachia
- Thailand Orphanage (Whispering Seeds)
- Japan: Sachiko's Odissi
- Olympia: RR & the Mahari Tradition of Odissi
- Miss Dixie & the crew
- Montana: Musician CS
- China: Elizabeth Briel's art
- India: Arts of Orissa
- Chronic Pain Portraits/interviews
- CTA Portraits
- Dancers in New York
- Reach out to Rajika
- Reach out to Kakoli
- Ballet? Modern?
- Chronic pain survivor
- Volunteer Ideas
- Followup with Autism Walk lady
- Check in with Anjna & her social work folks
- PHOTOGRAPHY FOR SMALL BIZ services
- Sell photography greeting cards or prints on Etsy???
- Genres
- ContemporaryGlamour
- Day-In-The-Life
- Weddings/Special Events
- Pets
CTA
- Inspirational post cards sets
- Sell on Easy?
- Sell subscriptions?
- Sell for people to give as gifts to inspire loved ones
- Topics
- bereavement/support
- motivation (health)
- For entrepreneurs
- Social Media
- Giveaways (rafflecopter?)
- Post original images
- outsource?
- Invite submissions? (cross-promotion)
- Create myself?
- Re-design Website
- Outsource? Elance, etc
- Create Map/Structure
- Forum
- Profiles
- Content/articles
- Solicit/invite other authors?
- INTERVIEWS/PROFILES: people persisting against odds, achieving their goals, demonstrating courage, strength, resiliency, creativity, uniqueness, inspirational/motivating/encouraging, making the world a better place, breaking the rules,
- Possible interviewees
- Ernestine Shepherd (77 yr old bodybuilder)
- Tao (90 year old yoga teacher/artist)
- Yesenia Gomez (hip hop dancer)
- Misty Copeland (principle ballet dancer)
- Cmda
- CEOs/business owners...._______
- Sarah @BubblyHeart (lost 185 pounds/knee surgery)
- Colleen (FitBee)
- Kickstarter?
- Photographic portraits
- Interviews - podcast? in writing? video?
- Meetups
Health
- Running
- Get new earphones
- Create playlist(s)
- Call Sears & schedule treadmill repair
- Odissi?
- Contact Kakoli?
- Research Trinayan
- Send invite to Pt. Imperial FB group? (free lessons for practice space?)
- Buy a few salwar chemise in big size???
- Change my time schedule to daylight hours! WTF!
- ? research how?
- Food plan
- Mona/Acupuncture
- Massage?
Home shit
- LAUNDRY! wtf!
- Organize/clean
- Create space to work/desk/photoshoot
Social Media/Digital Marketing Consulting Co
Dave Projects
- TV commentary channel
- Medical
- Make appointments
- Shoulder
- Therapist
- Pediatrist
- Eyes
- Weekly Massage in home?
- Find therapist or support group
Jul 7, 2015
On Being Amongst People
These days, he leaves the apartment once a month. His reflections on the doctor's waiting room today,
"It's a lot easier to turn-it-on, when you work, and have to do it every day.
When it's just once-in-a-while, it's much harder.
It's hard to pretend, and have a gracious face in public, and pretend that everything is ok.
That's why I want to move to France.
At least in France I can just be old and crochety.
When French people are in a bad mood, they don't pretend that everything is good.
Here, you get punished for it. "
"It's a lot easier to turn-it-on, when you work, and have to do it every day.
When it's just once-in-a-while, it's much harder.
It's hard to pretend, and have a gracious face in public, and pretend that everything is ok.
That's why I want to move to France.
At least in France I can just be old and crochety.
When French people are in a bad mood, they don't pretend that everything is good.
Here, you get punished for it. "
We drove in silence.
"He's not always like this," I reminded myself.
I'm constantly reminding myself, when I feel my own frustration & discouragement rising.
The car was heavy with his all-to-familiar silent rage - percolating precariously close to the surface.
"Just a few more hours," I thought. "Just a few more hours & he'll have his refill.
I thought about this blog, and the posts that I found while scanning through the unpublished content this morning. Did he REALLY tell me to "Get the fuck out" during our first couple years? Did that really happen? It shocked me to read. God, so sad. I was so vulnerable. And it was so, so scary. I knew no one, had no where TO go to, and no money (around 5 bucks maybe, after spending my last 50 on the "gypsy cab" (which I'd never heard of) to his apartment - it should have cost more, but, the cabbie hugged me, asked me to dinner, and pushed to find other ways to "work it out". I was dazed, and so not in Hawaii anymore.
That was back when his temper was unchecked, and his emotional control at it's worst. I remember the time, so early on, (was it the first month?) that he lost his shit so completely, that he stopped the car and ordered me to get out. Indignant, I obliged. How dare he? I'd rather wander around lost & alone, for hours in the blazing New York Summer sun, wondering where I was, then get back in that car with a rage beast. I'd been through too much, and come too far in my life to go through that kind-of shit again. Never again! So, get the fuck out, I did. And had no idea what to do next. It was pre-GPS, and I didn't know where I was. Not even the name of the town. Do I find a police station and ask for help? Go inside this Target, and ask a customer service to find me a shelter? Or find a quiet corner to hide and sleep overnight? I don't think I even had a phone.
We've come so far since then. I'd say these days, we're pretty much equals, and the relationship & our personal development has evolved. But, it's been a long road, and still, I silently ponder, how much have I sugar-coated my perception of our relationship? Has this been denial, and if so, how deep and far reaching does that denial go?
The doctor wanted to know why there was only fentanyl in his system, and no dilaudid. After taking urine tests the past few visits, D was armed and ready. He expected this question, and told the doctor the truth. The pain is too bad, and he runs out of his pills too soon. By the end of the month he only has the pain patch. (Thus the excruciating ER visit last week, when he forgot to change his pain patch, and went into withdrawal. I called the ambulance while he rocked, and moaned in pain, and whimpered out like a wounded dying animal). There wasn't room behind curtains, so his cot was in the middle of the room pushed against the nurses desks. I while stroked his arm, and tried to fix his long, matted, greasy hair while struggling to not to burst out into tears. I didn't want them to judge or mistreat him. After staring at the huge digital clock on above the nurses heads for 20 excruciating minutes while he moaned, I thought I would explode with grief, and finally found a nurse that was willing to make eye contact with me.
"Excuse me. Do you know how long until he can see the doctor? Can't you just give him something? Please! He is in distress!"
"Just a few minutes, we have to wait for the doctor."
32 minutes later the the doctor finally showed up and brought him some relief in the form of oxycone & valium. His eyelids lowered, and he drifted into a brief and rare moment of peace. She was a person of color, which was an added relief. Less possibility of being branded & stereotyped & mistreated. More possibility of some humanity and care. Then KATG went live, which brought ME some relief. I typed feedback from his bed in the middle of the ER, by the nurses station that yes, doctors are crazy & the system is fucked. The synchronicity was awesome & wild & needed & made an awful moment better and bearable.
But his pain doctor, this man who D feels is his only true advocate, understood D's dilemma, "You must have developed a resistance to it." And switched D's oral pain prescription back to the oxycodone. We headed to the neighborhood pharmacist where I waited in the car and compulsively scanned social media, tried to take pictures of my incision to see how it looks, and tried to ignore my weird, jittery fatigue & nervousness.
A text popped up "HE'S REFUSING TO FILL MY PRESCRIPTION."
"What? Why!"
"After 21 years of being my pharmacist, he's refusing to fill it because he says the dose is too high. He says he doesn't like my doctor."
"Omg! Ok. Don't worry. Don't argue. Just come outside, we'll go to CVS. It's ok. Don't worry." I texted back.
"Ok"
He stepped out of the heat and filled me in.... "What right does he have? It's a legal prescription." "What basis does he have not to like my doctor, is it because of his name?" (African) "He's making these judgement calls, and talking about it all in front of of all these people!" "I've been taking pain meds for a decade!"
I know this drill. It's the persecution of addiction. The never-ending cycle of condemnation and relief. The merciful and evil hand of medication. The relentless, harrowing life of pain.
The pharmacist suggested a different doctor, and gave him a name of of a man at the hospital a mile away. D was enraged. He called his doctor, "Tiwana, the pharmacist refused to fill my prescription. What can I do?" And she found him an alternate pharmacy that would agree to fill it, 30 minutes away, and we raced there before they closed at 7.
He got his pills.
He was irritated by the route I took home, and snapped at me. Driving makes him nauseous. "Why would the GPS take us this way?!" (Another reason why he won't go anywhere. Other than the pain doctor.) He won't even visit his elderly Grandma anymore, whom he loves more than life itself, because she's 45 minutes a way, and more often than not, we'd have to pull over on the highway so he could vomit. Awful.
"At least we get to see something new?" I offered, with probably too much enthusiasm.
"WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I WANT TO SEE SOMETHING NEW. I'VE LIVED HERE ALL MY LIFE. I'VE BEEN HERE A MILLION TIMES. I AM NAUSEOUS AND I WANT TO BE HOME."
The disgusted jab lingered. Not another word was said.
Until now. The other D is here. The talkative, happy D. Cheerful. Chatty D. The true D, I like to believe. The D I so rarely get to see. Telling me about the characters in the show he's watching. I try to be polite, but I don't know what he's talking about and I don't care. And also, I feel like a ball in a game of ping pong. I'm tired. And it's a lot to take in.
"Wow. You're so cheerful. Did you take the right amount of pills, or extra?"
"One extra," he smiled, sheepishly.
"Ah.... Ok... ....Do you want a Diet Coke?"
I'm constantly reminding myself, when I feel my own frustration & discouragement rising.
The car was heavy with his all-to-familiar silent rage - percolating precariously close to the surface.
"Just a few more hours," I thought. "Just a few more hours & he'll have his refill.
I thought about this blog, and the posts that I found while scanning through the unpublished content this morning. Did he REALLY tell me to "Get the fuck out" during our first couple years? Did that really happen? It shocked me to read. God, so sad. I was so vulnerable. And it was so, so scary. I knew no one, had no where TO go to, and no money (around 5 bucks maybe, after spending my last 50 on the "gypsy cab" (which I'd never heard of) to his apartment - it should have cost more, but, the cabbie hugged me, asked me to dinner, and pushed to find other ways to "work it out". I was dazed, and so not in Hawaii anymore.
That was back when his temper was unchecked, and his emotional control at it's worst. I remember the time, so early on, (was it the first month?) that he lost his shit so completely, that he stopped the car and ordered me to get out. Indignant, I obliged. How dare he? I'd rather wander around lost & alone, for hours in the blazing New York Summer sun, wondering where I was, then get back in that car with a rage beast. I'd been through too much, and come too far in my life to go through that kind-of shit again. Never again! So, get the fuck out, I did. And had no idea what to do next. It was pre-GPS, and I didn't know where I was. Not even the name of the town. Do I find a police station and ask for help? Go inside this Target, and ask a customer service to find me a shelter? Or find a quiet corner to hide and sleep overnight? I don't think I even had a phone.
We've come so far since then. I'd say these days, we're pretty much equals, and the relationship & our personal development has evolved. But, it's been a long road, and still, I silently ponder, how much have I sugar-coated my perception of our relationship? Has this been denial, and if so, how deep and far reaching does that denial go?
The doctor wanted to know why there was only fentanyl in his system, and no dilaudid. After taking urine tests the past few visits, D was armed and ready. He expected this question, and told the doctor the truth. The pain is too bad, and he runs out of his pills too soon. By the end of the month he only has the pain patch. (Thus the excruciating ER visit last week, when he forgot to change his pain patch, and went into withdrawal. I called the ambulance while he rocked, and moaned in pain, and whimpered out like a wounded dying animal). There wasn't room behind curtains, so his cot was in the middle of the room pushed against the nurses desks. I while stroked his arm, and tried to fix his long, matted, greasy hair while struggling to not to burst out into tears. I didn't want them to judge or mistreat him. After staring at the huge digital clock on above the nurses heads for 20 excruciating minutes while he moaned, I thought I would explode with grief, and finally found a nurse that was willing to make eye contact with me.
"Excuse me. Do you know how long until he can see the doctor? Can't you just give him something? Please! He is in distress!"
"Just a few minutes, we have to wait for the doctor."
32 minutes later the the doctor finally showed up and brought him some relief in the form of oxycone & valium. His eyelids lowered, and he drifted into a brief and rare moment of peace. She was a person of color, which was an added relief. Less possibility of being branded & stereotyped & mistreated. More possibility of some humanity and care. Then KATG went live, which brought ME some relief. I typed feedback from his bed in the middle of the ER, by the nurses station that yes, doctors are crazy & the system is fucked. The synchronicity was awesome & wild & needed & made an awful moment better and bearable.
But his pain doctor, this man who D feels is his only true advocate, understood D's dilemma, "You must have developed a resistance to it." And switched D's oral pain prescription back to the oxycodone. We headed to the neighborhood pharmacist where I waited in the car and compulsively scanned social media, tried to take pictures of my incision to see how it looks, and tried to ignore my weird, jittery fatigue & nervousness.
A text popped up "HE'S REFUSING TO FILL MY PRESCRIPTION."
"What? Why!"
"After 21 years of being my pharmacist, he's refusing to fill it because he says the dose is too high. He says he doesn't like my doctor."
"Omg! Ok. Don't worry. Don't argue. Just come outside, we'll go to CVS. It's ok. Don't worry." I texted back.
"Ok"
He stepped out of the heat and filled me in.... "What right does he have? It's a legal prescription." "What basis does he have not to like my doctor, is it because of his name?" (African) "He's making these judgement calls, and talking about it all in front of of all these people!" "I've been taking pain meds for a decade!"
I know this drill. It's the persecution of addiction. The never-ending cycle of condemnation and relief. The merciful and evil hand of medication. The relentless, harrowing life of pain.
The pharmacist suggested a different doctor, and gave him a name of of a man at the hospital a mile away. D was enraged. He called his doctor, "Tiwana, the pharmacist refused to fill my prescription. What can I do?" And she found him an alternate pharmacy that would agree to fill it, 30 minutes away, and we raced there before they closed at 7.
He got his pills.
He was irritated by the route I took home, and snapped at me. Driving makes him nauseous. "Why would the GPS take us this way?!" (Another reason why he won't go anywhere. Other than the pain doctor.) He won't even visit his elderly Grandma anymore, whom he loves more than life itself, because she's 45 minutes a way, and more often than not, we'd have to pull over on the highway so he could vomit. Awful.
"At least we get to see something new?" I offered, with probably too much enthusiasm.
"WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I WANT TO SEE SOMETHING NEW. I'VE LIVED HERE ALL MY LIFE. I'VE BEEN HERE A MILLION TIMES. I AM NAUSEOUS AND I WANT TO BE HOME."
The disgusted jab lingered. Not another word was said.
Until now. The other D is here. The talkative, happy D. Cheerful. Chatty D. The true D, I like to believe. The D I so rarely get to see. Telling me about the characters in the show he's watching. I try to be polite, but I don't know what he's talking about and I don't care. And also, I feel like a ball in a game of ping pong. I'm tired. And it's a lot to take in.
"Wow. You're so cheerful. Did you take the right amount of pills, or extra?"
"One extra," he smiled, sheepishly.
"Ah.... Ok... ....Do you want a Diet Coke?"
AM I BI-POLOAR?!
I mean,
WHAT.
the F U C K.
is WRONG with me?
Thank god sleep finally came! At least for a few hours before getting up now to take D to the pain doctor at 4. That fucking doctor. I wonder what he'll have to say about our ER visit last week, that fucker. That FUCKER!
My thoughts! My head! The weird racing anxiety. The restlessness and general weirdness. The crazy! The impulsive privatization here, and sudden invitation to Chemda.
WHAT.
the
F U C K
was happening??????????
Am I crazy? That was crazy?
omg!
God I'm tired. I'll bring this computer and try to work on my life outline in the car. I hope I'll be able to think straight enough to do it.
WHAT.
the F U C K.
is WRONG with me?
Thank god sleep finally came! At least for a few hours before getting up now to take D to the pain doctor at 4. That fucking doctor. I wonder what he'll have to say about our ER visit last week, that fucker. That FUCKER!
My thoughts! My head! The weird racing anxiety. The restlessness and general weirdness. The crazy! The impulsive privatization here, and sudden invitation to Chemda.
WHAT.
the
F U C K
was happening??????????
Am I crazy? That was crazy?
omg!
God I'm tired. I'll bring this computer and try to work on my life outline in the car. I hope I'll be able to think straight enough to do it.
I just went private.
The incision on my face stings. It's 6:11am. I tried, but can not sleep. My mind is tired, but racing. There are so many more things I wanted to share. My mind still feels disorganized & muddy. I'm feeling a strange mix of hopelessness and hopeful. And for the first time in the 10+ years of this blog, I just went "private".
I remember what a therapeutic space this used to be. And then we met, and it ended. I could no longer speak freely, without fear of judgment or betraying trust, or hurting feelings. The dynamic completely changed, probably, for both of us. I was his muse. Then we met and moved in together on the same day, and our writing simultaneously screeched to a halt. Was that the beginning of his decline? Of mine? Was his decline inevitable, and my presence just an unrelated casualty?
C has assigned a task of writing daily. And I remember what a powerful daily practice that used to be, so I will give it another try. Again after all of these years.
I remember what a therapeutic space this used to be. And then we met, and it ended. I could no longer speak freely, without fear of judgment or betraying trust, or hurting feelings. The dynamic completely changed, probably, for both of us. I was his muse. Then we met and moved in together on the same day, and our writing simultaneously screeched to a halt. Was that the beginning of his decline? Of mine? Was his decline inevitable, and my presence just an unrelated casualty?
C has assigned a task of writing daily. And I remember what a powerful daily practice that used to be, so I will give it another try. Again after all of these years.
Jul 6, 2015
HIGHS/LOWS, ANGRY/HAPPY
Day 1:
HIGH
Talking with C & getting assignments...
(Taking a shower, going outside, to talk with her from the car, human connection, brainstorming, hopefulness... (Shook me from fog & forcing me to do something somewhat "normal")... I literally had to set an alarm yesterday for 7pm today in order to be able to talk with her at 8pm. That is how FUCKED my "schedule" is right now!!! So crazy & messed up.)
LOW
Waking up at 5pm. Struggling for over an hour to open eyes and stay awake)...
ANGRY
Angry at myself for not taking my dog outside
Angry at myself for not getting food for my buddy - (what will he eat? nothing? but, i shouldn't give up? but, he refuses almost everything?) Just bought a salad, and nothing for him... Feel like a total asshole!!!!!!!!!!
At myself for getting a donut after talking with C
HAPPY
Writing here, now... :) :) :)
HIGH
Talking with C & getting assignments...
(Taking a shower, going outside, to talk with her from the car, human connection, brainstorming, hopefulness... (Shook me from fog & forcing me to do something somewhat "normal")... I literally had to set an alarm yesterday for 7pm today in order to be able to talk with her at 8pm. That is how FUCKED my "schedule" is right now!!! So crazy & messed up.)
LOW
Waking up at 5pm. Struggling for over an hour to open eyes and stay awake)...
ANGRY
Angry at myself for not taking my dog outside
Angry at myself for not getting food for my buddy - (what will he eat? nothing? but, i shouldn't give up? but, he refuses almost everything?) Just bought a salad, and nothing for him... Feel like a total asshole!!!!!!!!!!
At myself for getting a donut after talking with C
HAPPY
Writing here, now... :) :) :)
Post Life-Coaching Thoughts...
The thoughts and ideas are tumbling in fast. Just experienced my third life coaching session with the talented and awesome C.... Brainstorming...
I felt SEEN. (Call-back to my first post here....)
What is: wanting to feel seen? What does this mean?
Is this almost primal? Wanting a legacy? Wanting a life to mean something? To be remembered? Valued? Is this why people have kids? Write novels? Crave celebrity status or fame? Or want to accumulate? (Money, and things, and....)
What is feeling seen?
The validation of my existence?
Not being alone?
Bridging a connection to another human being?
Feeling understood? What is feeling understood? The reduction and lifting from the burden of shame.... Feeling normalized and "OK"? ....I don't know...
SHAME as a re-occuring theme in so many aspects of my life: self-talk re: my projects (they're "cheesy/silly/embarrassing")... (She noticed & called me out on this)... The influence of SHAME on my career choices/and lack of choices.... SHAME in regards to my self-concept/weight/self-esteem. The impact of SHAME on my social life - being avoidant. And just generally, the constant presence of SHAME in my daily internal-dialogue.
Re-vitalizing, and renewing my commitment to multiple projects, not just photography. Including this blog.
And I am already forgetting.... What else was there?
MEMORY CHALLENGES. Confusion. The need for structure and a schedule and routine and goals. The challenge of timelessness in our home - closed curtains, darkness, TV, completely devoid of any sort of regularity or adherence to time.
The significance of POWER in relationships. Everyone holds a certain amount of power in the eyes of others. It's present in every interaction, and although unseen, influences everything! (IE: the power dynamic between employee/employer, men/women, white ppl/poc, teacher/students, patient/doctors, old/young, even tall/short people! everything! everyone!!! all the time!)... In this way, I feel like my relationship with C could be even extra helpful, because she holds a great deal of "power" because I've been aware of her for years previous to our meeting. I think this might actually inspire even more drive to be "compliant" and willingness to make and meet my goals, as defined together in our sessions. And this might be helpful, because, complacency is a huge challenge at the moment.
IE: Do I even care? About, ANYTHING?
.....IE: Losing weight, exercising, healthy eating.... "Do I even care?"
Why? I haven't had a very convincing answer for myself... I think it's safe to say, I need help with this. I need help caring. And who better to help than someone I already admire and appreciate, and trust. Who I'd like to stay connected with and to like me! (embarrassing!) ugh. gross.
My 6 assignments:
Is this a version of self-care?
I've never thought of it this way before....
When I sleep 16 hours, and sleep through the entire day, it's kind-of cocooning... I'm wrapping myself in blankets, and burrowing in.... Nothing exists. I'm untouchable. Can't be reached. It's disorienting &; upsetting, but maybe it's safe. It's escapism. Denial. Fear.
Creating small baby steps, and goals, and accountability... Those are lifelines that inviting me to reach out and step away from the abyss.... They're concrete, and powerful. Daunting & exhausting, but, life-affirming, and make sense. I want to go forward, because it makes sense. If I'm going to be alive, I might as well try to make it work.
I felt SEEN. (Call-back to my first post here....)
What is: wanting to feel seen? What does this mean?
Is this almost primal? Wanting a legacy? Wanting a life to mean something? To be remembered? Valued? Is this why people have kids? Write novels? Crave celebrity status or fame? Or want to accumulate? (Money, and things, and....)
What is feeling seen?
The validation of my existence?
Not being alone?
Bridging a connection to another human being?
Feeling understood? What is feeling understood? The reduction and lifting from the burden of shame.... Feeling normalized and "OK"? ....I don't know...
SHAME as a re-occuring theme in so many aspects of my life: self-talk re: my projects (they're "cheesy/silly/embarrassing")... (She noticed & called me out on this)... The influence of SHAME on my career choices/and lack of choices.... SHAME in regards to my self-concept/weight/self-esteem. The impact of SHAME on my social life - being avoidant. And just generally, the constant presence of SHAME in my daily internal-dialogue.
Re-vitalizing, and renewing my commitment to multiple projects, not just photography. Including this blog.
And I am already forgetting.... What else was there?
MEMORY CHALLENGES. Confusion. The need for structure and a schedule and routine and goals. The challenge of timelessness in our home - closed curtains, darkness, TV, completely devoid of any sort of regularity or adherence to time.
The significance of POWER in relationships. Everyone holds a certain amount of power in the eyes of others. It's present in every interaction, and although unseen, influences everything! (IE: the power dynamic between employee/employer, men/women, white ppl/poc, teacher/students, patient/doctors, old/young, even tall/short people! everything! everyone!!! all the time!)... In this way, I feel like my relationship with C could be even extra helpful, because she holds a great deal of "power" because I've been aware of her for years previous to our meeting. I think this might actually inspire even more drive to be "compliant" and willingness to make and meet my goals, as defined together in our sessions. And this might be helpful, because, complacency is a huge challenge at the moment.
IE: Do I even care? About, ANYTHING?
.....IE: Losing weight, exercising, healthy eating.... "Do I even care?"
Why? I haven't had a very convincing answer for myself... I think it's safe to say, I need help with this. I need help caring. And who better to help than someone I already admire and appreciate, and trust. Who I'd like to stay connected with and to like me! (embarrassing!) ugh. gross.
My 6 assignments:
1 Journal Daily: High/Lows plus
2 things: What I'm angry/happy about…. (identify it)…. show it to c if i want
i can repeat it the same ones every day, if need be, but, in new words, re-written
2 Exercise Daily: 1-10 minutes, (sun salutation, for example)
3 Meetup.Com research, lookup shows, anything social
4 Master list of goals & detailed: do 1 to 2 things from the detail list, and check off
5 Photography:
6 Be mindful of my personal negativity and oppose
How did she come up with these so quickly? How did she hone in, and identify, and assign, all within an hour? There's so many issues, and so many things I wanted to talk about with her, and so many things to share, and so many issues..... She cuts through the bullshit, and just fucking ASSIGNS. (How does she know if they're the right assignments?) But maybe this is exactly what i need. To just fucking START. Just some place to start. And cut through the "analysis paralysis" and "perfectionism" and the inertia.... And maybe it's much less important, aka, NOT important at all what it is my assignment is, but rather, that i'm simply DOING S O M E TH I N G.. That there is forward movement, and routine, and life beyond sitting and TV..... Holy shit. Pathetic. But true. ....And there it is! The shame, and negative self-talk... The mental poison that infects me. So, I will counter it: (As per #6 of my assignments).....
NEGATIVE SELF-JUDGEMENT/thought
"My current meandering floating life of nothingness/schedulelessness/isolation is pathetic/embarrassing/awful" (which is probably why i had so much anxiety/shame/embarrassment going into my call with C today. I want help improving, but, I'm ashamed of how much help I need. I want to be worthy? And to be friends? And to be liked?)
OPPOSING thoughts:
It is not pathetic, because......
What immediately comes to mind, is things like, "i can actually do better... I've done better before... It's just temporary... etc"... But, I actually don't think these are opposing the shame and judgment of being non-productive... These are just justifications that kindof sidestep the self-recrimination. I feel like I need to dig deeper here... Why do I have to be productive, and goal oriented in order to not feel ashamed? Would I be a bad person, or worthless if I didn't achieve? That's so sad and crazy. Of course not. Is my buddy a bad person because he lives in isolation, and watches tv every day? No! But, I do feel for him. It does make me sad. I want more for him in life. I want him to feel fulfilled and enriched, and happy. Is he now? I don't think so. Am I? Definitely not. But, at least he's not burdened with the added layers of shame that I heap onto myself....
"Floating in life is not pathetic because.... 10:52pm to 11:05pm I've been trying to complete the sentence, I still can't...
I'll try this...
"The BENEFITS of floating, and no schedule, and no structure are....."
Freedom? relaxation? less stress? self-indulgence?... a protected state?...
Is this a version of self-care?
I've never thought of it this way before....
When I sleep 16 hours, and sleep through the entire day, it's kind-of cocooning... I'm wrapping myself in blankets, and burrowing in.... Nothing exists. I'm untouchable. Can't be reached. It's disorienting &; upsetting, but maybe it's safe. It's escapism. Denial. Fear.
Creating small baby steps, and goals, and accountability... Those are lifelines that inviting me to reach out and step away from the abyss.... They're concrete, and powerful. Daunting & exhausting, but, life-affirming, and make sense. I want to go forward, because it makes sense. If I'm going to be alive, I might as well try to make it work.
I might as well try to make it work.
Life-coaching as an antidote to depression?
Being forced to be alive to and accountable, forward moving, and a surrogate source who cares (until i'm able to care on my own?)
Life-coaching as an antidote to depression?
Being forced to be alive to and accountable, forward moving, and a surrogate source who cares (until i'm able to care on my own?)
Jun 29, 2015
#LoveWins
Out of nowhere, the United States Supreme Court has ruled that gay marriage will be legal in all 50 states. Never in my wildest dreams did I think this was possible. Amazing. And wonderful. Too good to be true! A win for humanity and justice and goodness and hope.
Something Has To Change
So often in life, I've found myself angry and resentful and hurting. "Where is everyone? Where is family? Friendship? Family? Anyone who cares?" Internally I'd lament. Scanning photos of tropical vacations, and smiling children, and backyard barbecues on social media, I felt even more alone. "No one cares." There was no communication, no connection, no real live humanity in sight. No presence in anyone's lives. There was the 500 square feet of this studio. The small urine soaked patch of grass just behind the pathway to the elevator. A disinterested stare at Starbucks, from a barista waiting on my order. And the very occasional "hello". Alone.
I wanted to end it. Often. I was suffocating. Alone.
I now lived not only in the same state, but the same city as my brother. Year after year passed. No phone call, no invitation. No interest. Alone.
Surrounded by millions and millions of people. Living in a building with hundreds of people. Living on a floor with dozens of people. Home with a man. Suffering. Alone.
And now that I think about it, it was quite ironically nice of me to not end it out of consideration for all of these people who expressed very nearly zero interest or concern for the state of my life, and hadn't the time or inclination for meaningful connection.
On the other hand, what effort had I made in life to forge meaningful connections in any consistent way?
Not much.
Was it my fault? Theirs? Or more disconcerting, no-one's. Perhaps, beyond personal, individual failings, it reflects a much bigger, more important issue. A microcosm of a widespread systemic failing. A symptom of diseased society, sick with isolation and materialism, confused priorities, and disconnection. A nation of narcissists, clamoring for the spotlight, fishing for likes.
It's an unhealthy, empty trajectory. Relentless selfies won't bring peace.
I wanted to end it. Often. I was suffocating. Alone.
I now lived not only in the same state, but the same city as my brother. Year after year passed. No phone call, no invitation. No interest. Alone.
Surrounded by millions and millions of people. Living in a building with hundreds of people. Living on a floor with dozens of people. Home with a man. Suffering. Alone.
And now that I think about it, it was quite ironically nice of me to not end it out of consideration for all of these people who expressed very nearly zero interest or concern for the state of my life, and hadn't the time or inclination for meaningful connection.
On the other hand, what effort had I made in life to forge meaningful connections in any consistent way?
Not much.
Was it my fault? Theirs? Or more disconcerting, no-one's. Perhaps, beyond personal, individual failings, it reflects a much bigger, more important issue. A microcosm of a widespread systemic failing. A symptom of diseased society, sick with isolation and materialism, confused priorities, and disconnection. A nation of narcissists, clamoring for the spotlight, fishing for likes.
It's an unhealthy, empty trajectory. Relentless selfies won't bring peace.
Jun 20, 2015
So, my face was peeled like a banana...
It's been a week now.
I'm doing well, but it's been somewhat dramatic. I have no feeling or sensation in my ear and most of the left side of my face. Extremely odd to touch my ear - feel like a piece of rubber attached to my head... Gives me the creeps a bit... I'm extremely grateful that I did not really have any facial paralysis though, as that was a very real possibility as it's a potential side effect of messing with the facial nerves. Disfigurement, scarring, numbness - these are all quite insignificant, in my mind, but not having the ability to smile, or create facial expression would have a big impact on quality of life, I think. Because in essence, my ability to communicate would be compromised. Also, I'm a rather dramatic, facially expressive person. Aka: being a cornball is pretty fundamental to my person. I'm not sure how it would be, if that physical ability was compromised.
Stayed overnight in the hospital. And to be honest, I enjoyed it. I loved the camaraderie of my 71 year old roommate and her extended family visits. (She was 1 of 15 siblings, and the are all very close, she told me). I also loved the visits from the nurses, and the aids, and the breakfast in bed, and the beautiful view from the window. I could honestly stay there forever. Well, maybe not forever, but I sure didn't mind it.
Also, there's something about sickness that made me feel safe and loved. By contrast, sickness can also evoke loneliness and fear. So, actually, I'm feeling shocked that I just wrote that. Now that I think about it, loneliness was a huge issue right before the surgery. ...Maybe a truer statement, is that sickness is emotional and real. I felt so vulnerable. But also alive, and connected. Maybe I felt safety in that vulnerability. No not safety, comfort. Maybe I'm trying to say that the vulnerability (or lack of safety).... WHAT THE FUCK AM I SAYING>>>>>>>!>!!>?!>! ok ignore this whole paragraph?!!?!? ....
Thinking....
When I was wheeled away to surgery, I felt fear. When I found myself surrounded by nurses, doctors, and anesthesiologists, and they were preparing to administer anesthesia, I suddenly felt sensory overload and cried. I was scared I would have a panic attack. I was so embarrassed. Then insisted to everyone that I was ok, and don't worry, don't worry, I'm ok, it's just physical. Mortified.
That was before.
But when I was waking up, and their was darkness, and just a voice, "How are you feeling Indigo?" The fear had left. I answered, eyes still closed, "Nauseous and thirsty." And had full confidence that the voices heard, and would help. I had surrendered. I felt surrendered. Maybe that's the "safety", that I felt? Like a child, no responsibility, no expectations, barely conscious. Before long an ice chip appeared in my mouth. I don't know how it got there, I don't know where I was, I don't know who was with me, but I said I was thirsty, and the ice chip appeared to quench my thirst. And it was heavenly, that ice chip. Truly incredible. .....Just like my first meal of mush after the surgery when I had been wheeled back to my room. "THIS IS BEST SOUP I HAVE EVER TASTED IN MY ENTIRE LIFE", I explained to my brother who was sitting in my room. He laughed, but I didn't know why, because I was not kidding. It was truly divine.
Why?
What made that that mushy bland food, and simple soup so amazing? It could be related to the drugs, but I think it was more than that. There was something about the entire experience that felt... Almost spiritual....
What was it?
I'm doing well, but it's been somewhat dramatic. I have no feeling or sensation in my ear and most of the left side of my face. Extremely odd to touch my ear - feel like a piece of rubber attached to my head... Gives me the creeps a bit... I'm extremely grateful that I did not really have any facial paralysis though, as that was a very real possibility as it's a potential side effect of messing with the facial nerves. Disfigurement, scarring, numbness - these are all quite insignificant, in my mind, but not having the ability to smile, or create facial expression would have a big impact on quality of life, I think. Because in essence, my ability to communicate would be compromised. Also, I'm a rather dramatic, facially expressive person. Aka: being a cornball is pretty fundamental to my person. I'm not sure how it would be, if that physical ability was compromised.
Stayed overnight in the hospital. And to be honest, I enjoyed it. I loved the camaraderie of my 71 year old roommate and her extended family visits. (She was 1 of 15 siblings, and the are all very close, she told me). I also loved the visits from the nurses, and the aids, and the breakfast in bed, and the beautiful view from the window. I could honestly stay there forever. Well, maybe not forever, but I sure didn't mind it.
Also, there's something about sickness that made me feel safe and loved. By contrast, sickness can also evoke loneliness and fear. So, actually, I'm feeling shocked that I just wrote that. Now that I think about it, loneliness was a huge issue right before the surgery. ...Maybe a truer statement, is that sickness is emotional and real. I felt so vulnerable. But also alive, and connected. Maybe I felt safety in that vulnerability. No not safety, comfort. Maybe I'm trying to say that the vulnerability (or lack of safety).... WHAT THE FUCK AM I SAYING>>>>>>>!>!!>?!>! ok ignore this whole paragraph?!!?!? ....
Thinking....
When I was wheeled away to surgery, I felt fear. When I found myself surrounded by nurses, doctors, and anesthesiologists, and they were preparing to administer anesthesia, I suddenly felt sensory overload and cried. I was scared I would have a panic attack. I was so embarrassed. Then insisted to everyone that I was ok, and don't worry, don't worry, I'm ok, it's just physical. Mortified.
That was before.
But when I was waking up, and their was darkness, and just a voice, "How are you feeling Indigo?" The fear had left. I answered, eyes still closed, "Nauseous and thirsty." And had full confidence that the voices heard, and would help. I had surrendered. I felt surrendered. Maybe that's the "safety", that I felt? Like a child, no responsibility, no expectations, barely conscious. Before long an ice chip appeared in my mouth. I don't know how it got there, I don't know where I was, I don't know who was with me, but I said I was thirsty, and the ice chip appeared to quench my thirst. And it was heavenly, that ice chip. Truly incredible. .....Just like my first meal of mush after the surgery when I had been wheeled back to my room. "THIS IS BEST SOUP I HAVE EVER TASTED IN MY ENTIRE LIFE", I explained to my brother who was sitting in my room. He laughed, but I didn't know why, because I was not kidding. It was truly divine.
Why?
What made that that mushy bland food, and simple soup so amazing? It could be related to the drugs, but I think it was more than that. There was something about the entire experience that felt... Almost spiritual....
What was it?
Jun 2, 2015
Dear C,
Thank you so much for you flexibility last night! I am SO sorry! I feel like I've been in a bit of a fog since we last spoke. Because my surgery was rescheduled, I ended up having the week to myself, which sounds great! ~An awesome opportunity to finally do all the things I've been dying to do (i.e.: finally set up the studio management system I finally picked (after months of research), finally finally FINALLY FINALIZE my pricing, create some marketing PDFs, organize my apt... etc), but instead, I choked! I slept all day, stayed awake night, and basically did 1 of two things at all times: watch standup comedy, or compulsively research medical stuff related to the surgery. And that's about all I can remember of the entire week. I'm pretty sure I didn't even leave the apt? I don't know? It's a blur? Who am I? What day is this? What happened? And then it was Sunday morning, and I was like "oh shit! what was my homework?! omggggggg!"
I am so sorry!
I think I was in serious denial about this medical thing (tumor removal & simultaneous news that I might have lupus???)- I didn't think much of it at all. A couple friends texted me, "UM> ARE YOU OK WITH THIS? HOW ARE YOU?" And I was like, "Um yeah! sure! why not? Of course! it's fine!" (??)
....AND THEN I STARTED READING...
And then I couldn't stop.
There were so many side effects, and it was so crazy, and so surreal, and I was having trouble mentally absorbing what I was seeing.
"THIS IS A FOR-REAL, LEGIT, ACTUAL MAJOR OPERATION. MY FACE IS GONNA BE PEELED LIKE A BANANA. I MAY NEVER FEEL MY EAR AGAIN. I COULD LIKE A STROKE VICTIM FOR LIFE. Seriously. WHAT. IS. HAPPENING. HERE"
The doctor had been so casual and quick & in a hurry? Like, "no biggie - see ya laterz" (Maybe that's New York style?)
But, consolidation prize: i am gonna have one sweet badass scar down my neck! Like a boss!
So not ALL bad. i can say I was in a knife fight and kinda not be lying.
I actually think that much more physical considerations, it's evoked some emotional stuff. I've been the primary caretaker of my partner for the last decade. He's an amazing, beautiful soul and I love him. But knowing that he won't there while I'm in hospital, the way I have been for him all of these years, kinda re-ignites the loneliness of our unorthodox relationship that I usually try to mentally repress down.
So anyway, maybe that's an overshare, but, I wanted you to know that I sincerely appreciate our time together, and wanted you to have some context to explain a little bit about my "disembooogelaated" state last night!!! It wasn't because I don't care! I SO CARE! And am SO excited to work with you. :)
In fact, I better go, because I have homework to do! STAT!
Warm regards,
Indigo
May 30, 2015
NEVER!
It's never too late.
It's never too late.
It's never too late.
It's never too late.
It's never too late.
It's never too late.
Never!
It's never too late.
It's never too late.
It's never too late.
It's never too late.
It's never too late.
Never!
May 29, 2015
After so many years.
Without looking at old posts, I have no idea where I left off. Maybe a year ago. Maybe 5. Why am I writing here again? Haven't I outgrown this place by now? Not at all. I suspect I'm just as immature and insecure and self-absorbed as ever, even now after four decades of the same. And I continue writing posts as I think - when I walk, or sit, or lie down and drift off to sleep in bed. This is my sacred place. Where I am my most authentic self. Even if it's just a construct in my head.
I lost my Director job in a moderate shroud of infuriating scandal. Too painful and old to go into today, but just know, that eventually, I came to a place of peace with it. I know that I was wronged. I know that I did good work. I know that I was respected and loved. And I know that it taught me difficult but important lessons about life. I was freed, in so many ways. From the naiveté of youth, from the bondage of expectations, from the entrapment of security. And now with that behind me, I'm finally, finally free to construct the life that I choose by my own design. There could be no greater gift! The following years of despair, and doubt and fear, and frustration were worth it. All worth it.
I lost my Director job in a moderate shroud of infuriating scandal. Too painful and old to go into today, but just know, that eventually, I came to a place of peace with it. I know that I was wronged. I know that I did good work. I know that I was respected and loved. And I know that it taught me difficult but important lessons about life. I was freed, in so many ways. From the naiveté of youth, from the bondage of expectations, from the entrapment of security. And now with that behind me, I'm finally, finally free to construct the life that I choose by my own design. There could be no greater gift! The following years of despair, and doubt and fear, and frustration were worth it. All worth it.
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