. Bad Seed .

11054476_1042644772431636_2984777582140298064_nPLEASE CLICK THE PICTURE TO READ THE FULL ARTICLE. IT’S WORTH THE MOMENT TO READ THE EXPERIMENT AND READ THE OUTCOME. IT RESONATED WITH ME.
— In the pic below: Left facing apple got glowing, positive input. Right facing apple got all smack talk.
Words can make you sick. And heavy. And dark.
Words can make you light. And radiant. And energized.
Words infuse.
Words refuse.
Words bless.
Words protect.
Words energize.
Words heal.

MORE OF THIS ARTICLE CAN BE READ BY CLICKING THE APPLE PICTURE

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I really needed to read this today. WOrking and processing through my counseling appointment last week, which was geared around negative self talk vs. positive self talk, this was a visual example of what is taking place.
In an odd observation, I find it rather cathartic and hopeful that the “Bad Apple” is in the hand of the arm with a butterfly tattoo. It may be preserved, internally, as bad, but it has a chance of metamorphosis. The seeds are still there. The seeds can be replanted, thus creating a new growth.
We all have the potential for new growth. We just need to wash away the “rotten” words we keep fertilizing our mind, body and soul with. We need to turn over the soil, and learn to water, feed and encourage in a more positive manner.

. Getting Happy with Life .


So, Easter came and went. I spent it with my mother watching a few movies. No Easter dinner, no treats, just a quiet evening with mom. I am so okay with that, no complaints here. I did notice, however, that a lot of friends posted a lot of family pictures; usually husbands or wives with kids running amuck.

Today is the day after Easter. Today, I am processing my thoughts and feelings. I am lonely. I wanted nothing more than to have someone amazing to hop in the car with me and go check out some ruins, ghost towns, old mills… anything worthy of photographing. I love my mom, but, it just didn’t meet the needs of my desires and dreams.

Today, because of the lonely, I found myself checking out Craigslist’s dating profiles. Don’t judge, I was curious. I got about five profile in and stopped. I literally said to myself out loud, “I don’t want this. I’m not ready for this.” However, in my head I was saying, “You’re too fat, you gargantuan lard ass.” Yes, literally those are the words and voices that go through my head.

I continually tell myself that once my mental and spiritual well being is back on a healthy path, my physical will follow too. Now, I am highly doubting this is even a possibility. I’ve been toying with the idea of a bariatric surgery. I Just don’t know anymore.

The only thing that I do know, for sure without a doubt, is that I AM continuing on the path of counseling and healing. I just told my counselor last week that, “If I die alone, I’ll be completely okay with that.” I feel there is strength and validity behind what I said. I mean it, to the fullest. But that does not alleviate the fact that I had a very lonely, “alone”, moment this weekend.

I am truly content with my dogs and my son. I can come and go. However, I would love to be able to have someone jump on board and travel with me…. someone besides my mother. I am almost damned near 40 yrs old. I want to see and photograph many things. . . with someone fun; a soul mate. This does not mean a lover. This is just some with the same vibe that can swoop in and fly with me.

Part of the problem being this age and finally finding myself, is that all my friends are already found; husbands/wives, kids, jobs they’ve held for 15+ years, a sense of self. I look at myself as a failure because of the sheer amount of jobs I’ve been on.

All of these negative thoughts and life identifiers is exactly why I need to stay put, stay in counseling and continue to grow…..

Alone.

(For now at least)

A day of steady.. blows to the gut.


Shit I work out in counseling – Although it’s not really worked out it, it’s just floated to the surface.

I never really realized how .. mean I am to myself until a friend said something the other day about western state. Aparently during the hike, I was beating myself up under my breath. I mean, I know I am in my mind. I never realized how vocal I am about it. I thought it was primarily in my mind.
But I catch my mom doing it.
“I’m such a dumb ass”
“What a fucking idiot”

And then I noticed … I do it too. “Come on fat ass.”…”cow” fat ass” toad” dumbass” ugly nasty cow”.

The truth behind all the fat / body positive posts is that I’m hiding behind that.

I would love to be substantially thinner; 180 ish.
I flood my page and my eyes/mind with images that it’s okay to be a fat girl; because that’s all I am.

But, I hate it. I hate not having energy. I hate being short of breath because of my sarcoid AND my weight. The two combined are killing me.

I would love to be able to wear clothes that I find adorable, unfortunately they stop at size 22.

I hide behind it, because I’m trying to convince myself I’m okay.

I’m talking this out with a friend. She says to me, “What would YOU tell you? If all those “tapes” disappeared, what would you really say to you?”

Truth be told. If I memory banks were magically wiped, I would be reverted to a child like state. I would have no clue how to positively encourage myself. I have never had that.I have never, in my life, been reinforced. Or taught how to reinforce confidence myself. 

That’s a sad, sad thought. 

Put it in your dream journal, you freaking hippie.

Today, has been the one year anniversary of my fleeing my abusive situation. One year. One year should be enough to toughen up, pull on my big girl panties and move forward. It has not been that simple. I am sure it would have been more simple if I hadn’t side tracked myself into believing I was ready for love again.
Michael, was a deceiver.. he was a liar in the purest sheep’s clothing. He led me to believe I was in a safe place to fully open and begin healing. He encouraged me to open, flourish heal. In a lot of ways he damaged me more than my batterer did. He took what was left of my trust, my faith, my ability to stand up and heal myself. And I allowed him to do it.
I need to get up off of this couch. I need to get a move on again. I am crippling my own damned self by this personal talk of ‘no good’, ‘no worth’ and all the other horrible things I say while sitting here slowly disabling myself.
I have fallen hard a few times these last few years, and even though I have gotten up each and every time, I have found it has been getting harder to do so. This last plummeting event has proven so. But you know what, I’m up. I may not be fully functioning, but I am up. I have risen. I have risen in my own way, in my own due time, but alas, I am standing.
I need to embrace my weird. I need to marry all my differences into one amazing being. I’m an odd duck, I know this. So I need to stop trying to conform and fit into some idea of what I “should” be and accept who I actually am. I’m hiding behind fear (so, so much fear) and I need to get up, this one last time, stay up and own who I am. I have written about this numerous times. I know this. I believe this on a intellectual level, I know this. It’s getting the rest of me to pull the line.
I queried a few of my friends to find out what they think of me, who they “see” me as:
* retrobilly
* rockabilly
* retro
* eclectic
* ghosts
* geek
* hippie (my son calls me hippie all the time)
This really is what is thought of me. I have convinced myself that they see ‘fat’, ‘pathetic’, ‘poseur’ … Nope. This is all my own crippling thoughts enabling my decline. Well, no more.
So, I need to get up and get dressed. Make an effort to embrace who I am. (of course, with all this said and done, tomorrow may be a very different view point.)

Bare Bones

I had a conversation with someone this morning in regards to domestic violence, getting out and finding myself again. I am literally bare bones. I am stripped down to nothing trying to rebuild, and I have no clue where to start. A few things were said that really triggered me, and I felt I needed to write a blog to work through what it was exactly triggered me.
She said to me, “You need to find you…. and where you want to fit in your own life.”
After she had written this to me, I broke down and cried. Since she said it, I have been crying periodically. This took place about noon; it is now 8:32pm.
I cried because of the reality in which her words stung. I don’t even know where I fit in my own life anymore. I cried because I didn’t know how to respond. I cried at how exposed and raw I feel. Through sinew and marrow. Through cells and bile. Through surface and core. Raw, bare bones. 
I know, I know, I know. I’ve read all of the quotes. I’ve listened and heard all of the motivational comments from friends. I’ve processed it. I sit here daily, on my couch, without motivation to do anything… without motivation to even care to do anything. I have big ideas in my head of things I want to do. Things I dream of achieving. But I sit. Daily. Not caring.

So here I am, open and available, and all I can motivate myself to do is sleep. I am nearing my one year anniversary of getting out of the abusive relationship, but the abuse hasn’t stopped. I’m more abusive towards myself. I can’t flee myself.