Common Dream Theme + Privacy Problems with My Father

This is not my image. I found it here: https://www.flickr.com/photos/michaeltuuk/5620126644

 

I have a lot of dreams that involve going into a bathroom then not having any privacy. Either a bunch of toilets are in one big area/room or there are no doors on the stalls.

In one recent dream, just as I went into a stall, the door changed into a shower curtain and the upper part of the stall became the rod for the shower curtain, while the metal walls that made up the stall, disappeared.

In these dreams there’s either a line of people at the door and they are streaming in, or there are groups of people inside the bathroom itself. Or if there weren’t a bunch of people inside the bathroom already, as soon as I go to use a toilet, they suddenly appear, taking away any privacy I had.

I see the lack of privacy. But I’m updating this on 10/27/16
It was originally written on 9/30/15.

I spoke to a therapist about this recurring theme and he mentioned that it pertains to the potty training period in childhood. But how that fits I have not been able to figure that out. And the therapist didn’t elaborate leaving me to think he wasn’t clear either. I think he needed to know more about me before being able to interpret this running theme in dreams for me.

But in looking it up and not really feeling satisfied with what I found, the thought of feeling vulnerable and exposed came to mind.  These dreams started long before I started blogging though, so even if it does pertain to a feeling of vulnerability and exposure by blogging, it’s more than just that.

I would have to remember what was going on in my waking life first I guess, before figuring out what I felt vulnerable about when having this sort of dream.

There could also be more to it, but I’m not coming up with anything at the moment. However, this did bring up some lack of privacy issues I had in my family home with my father.  See below:

Knock before entering

As a teen, my father would just open my bedroom door without knocking. The older I got the more frustrated I got about this.

When he’d barge in, I’d ask him to stop and to please knock from now on.

More than once he responded with, “It’s my house, I can walk into any room I want.”

Other times when my timing was right and I would catch him at a time he was thinking more reasonably, he’d agree. But when the opportunity presented itself he’d knock, but then wouldn’t wait for a response and just open the door. (1)

When that happened I asked again and specified that he also wait for an answer.  Just writing about this now feels crazy making. It helps me see what an entitled POS this man could be. I felt tormented when it came to the things he felt the need to control. I mean who needs to explain to a grown ass man that when you want him to knock that he should also wait for a fucking response to be sure it’s OK to enter.

God forbid he allow his teen age daughter some privacy. That would mean relinquishing some control. I get so angry at him even now for that teenage girl.

Trapped. That’s was how I felt in that household. I could never put a word to it before. And it explains a lot of why my relationships failed on my side.  The feeling of being trapped results in wanting to escape and this manifested in pushing people away. (2)

But with my father it resulted in me continually trying to get his permission and approval. And to get him to hear and understand me.

The door to the bedroom I had in my adolescence (we lived in a few different houses) had a lock on it but I wasn’t allowed to lock it. When I did lock it and he tried to walk in, he’d bellow from the other side, “OPEN THIS DOOR.”

When I did he’d seethe, “Don’t ever lock this door again.”

Periodically I’d lock it anyway.

When I asked “Why not?” He replied, “Because it’s the type of lock that if anything happened to you on the other side of the door while it was locked, I wouldn’t be able to get to you.”

Even as a teen I knew this was bullshit. And he used that made up reason each time he found it locked when I’d have the guts to rebel, which wasn’t too often because I was afraid of his reaction.

It was one of those little button locks that sat underneath and to the right of the door knob. These can’t be unlocked from the outside and there is no key. However, the door was a hollow core door. My father, who was more than 6 feet tall, in his early 40s and of average build, would have had no problem whatsoever breaking down that door, if it was ever even necessary.

The man had serious boundary issues along with those control issues.


Notes made on 8/27/2018:

(1) Passive aggressive behavior.

(2) But wanting to be loved, I would pull them back in after pushing them away.

Advertisements

Changing Gears: Notes and Thoughts to Self

It looks like this blog is going to take a bit of a turn. Well, actually it’s me who is going to take the turn.

I started this blog originally to write about my progress and my feelings about any writing I did or rather I’d been planning to do about my childhood and the abuse I lived with. Well, not just my childhood, because I was abused and bullied by family up until a few years ago.

If that’s not clear and I don’t think it was, I’ll explain a little. Recently I read a book called Writing as a Way of Healing. The book is kind of a tutorial on how to write about things that hurt and still effect you and your life. Most specifically childhood abuse.  However, the author also suggests to keep a journal about how you feel about the writing process itself. Well, I was going to do that here, journal my feelings about the process. But the process hasn’t really started or hasn’t gotten too far.

I figured I’d blog about my other life process too since I want to do things like eat healthier and get into better shape.

So instead of blogging about my process since that’s boring and not really helping me all that much, I’m just going to use this blog to write about the events themselves and my feelings about them. I want to be aware of the ‘feels’ part. I want and need to feel all the feels and write about them too as I write about the events.  Because apparently, writing about what happened only, isn’t enough to heal. I need to write about how I felt about it too. So… (1)

Just keep in mind it won’t be in order. I like the idea of going through my journals and posting the stuff that comes up as I read those. Eventually, I will, without a doubt come around to the time that my dad was dying, which was the original thing I wanted to focus on writing about. (2)

There isn’t much to say about how I feel about the process anyway until I actually start to write. I started to write about specific events in my last post and I found it difficult not to, while writing about the process and progress of going through the journal itself.

And as far as the process for the other parts of my life, it’s pretty easy. I feel shitty when I don’t follow through, eat junk and don’t do some semblance of exercise. And when I do, I feel at least accomplished for that day.

Besides, who cares what I ate for breakfast? Who cares what time I got to bed? Not even I care much anymore. I’ve been fighting myself on getting to bed and getting up early for so long I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

I also want to mention that I read a blog post by a writer the other day and what she said influenced me quite a bit. But I think it was subconsciously because I was negating her words as I read.

She was talking about how writing about writing is basically a big snooze fest. My words, paraphrasing hers. And I tend to agree as I stated above. I intended for the process journal to not be read (although not set at private.) But I found it helpful when I went into some personal things and got responses via comments.

Updates are good but a day to day, blow by blow. Um, who needs a nap? (3)

Something else the author of this blog post I’m referring to wrote, is that when it comes to being an author in this age of technology, your name is your brand. As an aspiring writer, writing about my family’s toxicity and dysfunction, I’m not sure how that’s going to work.

I’ll probably continue writing about this particular topic under a pseudonym.

That blog post is by Kristen Lamb and it’s here.

Notes made on Aug. 27, 2018

(1) So what anyone needs is personal. I got the idea of needing to feel what I felt as I write from the book I read, Writing to Heal or whatever. I have also since read another book called Unloved Daughters where the author says to be the observer as you write. So yeah, got sucked into trying to do what someone else is saying should be done.  Whatever is right for each individual is the right way to go about it for them. Maybe one or the other, maybe both, maybe neither. Maybe you don’t want to write at all. Maybe painting or drawing is your way. Whatever works for you.

(2) Okay seriously, I really want to loosen up here. Plans and outlines are fine. But like I’ve said before, I usually don’t follow through. I have some stuff in mind. But there are times I just gotta wing it. I can’t plan from one day to the next how I’m going to feel. I can’t always plan what I will write from day to day. I’m sure some writers and bloggers do.  Or if something may come to mind that I will want to get down right now and be deterred from the plan.  I’m at a place and have been for a long time where I just have to let whatever comes up, out and not plan much when it comes to this blog.

I also want to mention that I started a blog even longer ago than this one where I started to ‘tell my story’ and moved here for a few different reasons that I prefer not to get into at the moment.

(3) I made myself laugh reading this again.

Reviewing an Old Journal: Rediscovering the Manipulation of My Sister and My Mother

I finished my ‘to do’ list yesterday, except one thing. I wrote that I wanted to get through an entire notebook (journal) yesterday and that didn’t happen. It was the last thing I did from that list and it wasn’t until about 8:00 pm that I started.  But what I did do was to get through a section of a three subject notebook. I don’t have much doubt that’s contributing to my feelings of depression this morning also. (1)

I didn’t find anything pertaining to the time of my father’s terminal illness. I didn’t think I would though because that particular journal dates back to 2009. But it was on top of the pile, so I figured I’d start there to minimize the overwhelm.

It’s alarming to see the same basic themes running through me and my life back then, as today. I struggled with authenticity just like I still do today. I struggled with depression, as I have since I was 18 but probably long before in reality. I struggled with communicating with my family and being treated with respect.

One particular thing that stood out was my sister’s treatment of me.

I took her dog into our house a couple times while she and her family went on vacation. Both times she promised to pay me for it. Both times she broke that promise. The second time I did it I was still angry about the first time. But instead of speaking up I kept silent.

I know there’s people that would probably say, “It’s your sister, you should do it for free.”

Well I would disagree in our situation. Besides that, she’s the one who insisted on compensating me. She’s the one who initiated the topic of paying me. Whether it was all planned to manipulate me into taking her giant Rottweiler into our small house, I don’t know. But it was her husband who dropped off the dog with her young son. Pretty much assuring I wouldn’t bring up the subject of payment. Then when they got back, the husband picked the dog up again. (2)

Later when I spoke to sister on the phone she told me ‘We’re going to do something for you. We just don’t know what yet.” (3)

It breaks my heart that my sister could treat me this way. I’m also angry. I had actually forgotten about that until I read it last night. I want to go back in time so much and tell her how shitty that all was and that if she can’t come through on something, don’t fuckin’ promise it. (4)

It’s not even the not getting money that hurts and disappoints me. It’s the fact that she thinks and feels so little of me that I’m not worth much but to lie to and manipulate.

Makes me even more confident in my staying away from her and cutting her out of my life.

I’d also written some about my parents and their neglect and abuse from childhood. In fact one incident effected me so much that I wrote about it twice. (5)

Between last night and this morning, I got into a small battle in my mind about writing about all this. And then I realized, one of the big reasons that adult children hesitate to write and sometimes never write about it is because we still want to protect them.

The other big reason we hesitate to write about what happened is because of shame.  Our own shame and the fear of being judged for what they did to us. Somewhere along the way, society has brainwashed many of us into believing that if we got abused, or hurt in any way we must have deserved it. (6)

Last night I kept thinking about how I still want to believe my father loved me. I think he believed he loved me. But I don’t think he really knew how to love. Abuse can be confusing because I wasn’t abused continually every moment of every day. My father and I had some fun times together too.

When I was younger, I believed my mother was the good parent, the nice one, the patient one. The one who didn’t yell. (My father didn’t yell, he bellowed.) My mother was the one who let us do things that my father didn’t. We didn’t have to walk on eggshells when he wasn’t home. She was less drama and I could be a kid for the most part.

But there was neglect too. I did have friends and spent quite a bit of time playing with them, but when I was in the house with no friends, I played alone a lot.

When I was 9, one of my small pets died because my mother had not been keeping an eye on my sister who was 3.

I went to school without homework being finished when I was just in first grade. And then was abused by the teacher for it.

I went without a Winter coat one year in high school. And where I’m from, a Winter coat is a necessary item. I compensated with a sweat jacket underneath a jean jacket.

And then there’s her enabling of the abuse my father inflicted most of the time.

I list those things above because I do see most of them as a mom’s responsibility for the most part. But it’s really both parents who were responsible for these things. I don’t hold my father too responsible for the death of my small pet because he was at work. My mother was home. She was just downstairs, while my sister was upstairs.

The homework was an issue because my father was abusive when he “helped” me. Simply avoiding him wasn’t always possible when I was six. But I certainly tried. I’d ask my mother to help me and much of the time she’d say, “I don’t have time right now, ask your father.”  It’s quite likely that I was too afraid to ask my father the night before. I remember the incident that I have in mind on the above mention of homework. I tried to play sick the next day but my mother figured out I wasn’t and that it was because of the homework being done.  She got me dressed and took me to school.  Still with no homework done, she sent me into the wolf’s den

In the end, while my father was dying, my mother teamed up with my sister to triangulate and manipulate me. At first, she had me fooled into believing she validated and understood me during one particular conversation between the two of us, then threw a dig in as well as excused an incident of my brother raging at me as “just an emotional reaction.”

The dig? I’d been talking about how we all walk on eggshells around each other (my siblings and me). I said that it wasn’t just me. She said, “No, it may have started with you but it’s not just you anymore.”

When I went to address it a day or two after (because it didn’t register right away when she’d said it), she said to me, “You know, Aura, can’t you just call me and say hi? Just have a light conversation. Does there always have to be an issue to discuss?

In my opinion I waited too long to sever ties with these people.

I’m also questioning this healing capability of journaling. I posted a video where Dan Mackler talks about it here.

I’ve journaled…a lot. Not recently, but I used to. So why am I not healed?

One reason I think is because I allowed my family to still be a part of my life for so long. I allowed them to treat me like a dumpster and a doormat and I allowed them to manipulate me. But in my defense, I really didn’t know what exactly was going on. I can’t even be sure that if I had been so aware in my 20s, 30s and even part of my 40s that I would have severed ties.

I knew something was wrong. I’ve known since at least from my early 20s that there was dysfunction in my family.

I know now it was a lot more than dysfunctional. It was toxic. But each time I attempted to confront something or resolve something, I walked away feeling like it was me who was the problem. Because, after all I was the one holding onto the past. (7)

Even when later I would feel the anger again, or the confusion or sadness or depression, I would still think it was mostly my fault, my problem in one way or another. Sometimes I would know it was one of them being an asshole, but I would still blame myself because I didn’t address the problem immediately. I kept thinking that in order to fix the issues, I had to be quick on my feet and confront the issue right when it came up because if not, that would mean that it was too late to discuss it.

I would be shamed, guilted or told it was in the past, even if only less than 24 hours had passed.

I would at times feel so astonished and perplexed after a confrontation or an attempt at discussion because I would walk away from it, feeling beat up.

Seriously, there are only so many times you can get beat up and knocked down to get up and go back into that fray. Eventually when you get up, hopefully, you’re going to actually walk in the other direction.  I finally did.


Notes from the above (Added on 8/27/18)

(1)
This has been proven to myself since then. I know that when I go through past written shit it opens wounds and effects my ‘mood.’

(2) I had doubts about her setting this shit up for reasons of manipulation. I still had blinders on. But I know within myself that she was indeed manipulating the situation and avoiding paying me as promised.

(3) Um…how about paying me the amount of money we agreed on before you even left for your fucking vacation???

(4) Going back in time: Yeah, the plan (ugh, I hate saying or writing that) is once this blog is organized (posts in categories) I want to write letters I won’t send with exactly what I want to say and posts about shit that happened, only change the outcome with things I wanted to say and would if i could go back in time.  I mean in this case, I’d just tell her to fuck off. Kennel your dog. We have a cat and I don’t want him eaten by your dog. You’re full of shit about him being okay with cats whether you lie about this intentionally or not, but a rotty isn’t gonna cuddle with a cat he doesn’t know.

(5) This isn’t the last time this has/had happened. I’m sure there are stories told more than once on this blog. In fact I know I go into more detail about some of the specific points I mention in this post.

(6) The reasons I mention for hesitating to write are all correct in my opinion, but I also think that some people don’t write or look back into journals is because it causes a lot of pain and anger and it’s too difficult to relive such shitty treatment.

(7) This is what I was told I was doing, as if it was a bad thing, an unhealthy thing. It was me who was the problem and if I could just forget about it, everything would be fine. This is BULLSHIT! This is assholes deflecting their responsibility onto you. Don’t fall for it. It’s easy to get brainwashed into such crap when it’s repeated over a lifetime.

Life and the Absence of Writing Progress (Some heart info in here too)

Geez. I haven’t posted in three days so I thought I’d better do that, if only for my own peace of mind because progress in writing isn’t going all that well. I have intentions and plans but no results as of yet.

Probably fear and my old/new friend “Scattered”, but a lot of it is being the irresponsible kid. “I don’t wanna.”  I’m not one to say, “Just get over it.” But that is one thing I do gotta get over. Being an adult I really do need to bite the bullet as they say and ‘just do it.’ Am I allowed to use Nike’s slogan?

So anyway, as I said, no progress in gathering notes. I feel like I’m trying to achieve some sort of momentum or traction. Like I have some invisible ducks to put in a row before I actually start to write or even gather my notes. The notes need to be gathered, though, that’s a definite.

Right now I’m listening to a not so far off jack hammer in action and I’m thinking, “There’s something I won’t miss.”

Not that I hear jack hammers everyday, but lately there is a lot of road construction around here. I think it’s the electric company laying new stuff under the streets. My town has been full of closed roads this summer and most of those roads are narrow, neighborhood and what you’d call back roads. The roads I use, so I can stay off the main ones.

In fact before I started writing, I walked into the room where my computer is and my kitty in a rare occurrence sleeping in the windowsill. And I could smell diesel. My first thought: “I won’t miss that.”

We are close to a fairly main road that is used for coming out of the city as well as coming off of a highway a few miles up from us.

I remember as a kid how I’d feel sick to my stomach when one of my parents stopped for gas. The smell made my stomach gurgle, as it did during the morning ride to school and later to work when we/I got stuck riding/driving behind something that used diesel fuel.

Luckily, even though I sometimes smell it in the mornings, it’s not as bad as being behind a vehicle that is expelling the waste of diesel out of the tailpipes. Closing the windows helps, but it sucks to have to do that on nice days like today. It’s overcast, but the temp. is perfect. I love the fall.

But that jack hammer is going to probably give me a headache. So…

As I’m writing it’s occurred to me to write a list of…well two lists. Since we’re moving, I want to do a list of what I’ll miss and then a list of what I won’t miss. I’ll do that in post form here. I think it will do me good too.

Other Progress

In the way of writing and blogging, I quickly went through some things I’ve written in the past, other than the things pertaining to abuse. I have a few different niches and I’m looking at this as a way to organize. That way it isn’t so overwhelming. The progress is a list of each topic/niche and a summary. I also have photos I’d like to post as well, maybe do something like a Wordless Wednesday blog with the pictures of my cat and the other cats around here.   (1)———-

That’s a subject to make me laugh and smile, something I really need more right now to balance out this sadness and grief.

My back is feeling much better, in fact the pain is gone completely. So it must have been muscle and not my ribs. Thankfully.

I did some floor exercises on Saturday, mostly ones I learned in PT for a herniated disc. Despite the  heart palps, I need to find a way to exercise in this way because the herniation still causes some pain, especially if I sit for long periods of time. I’m surprised it wasn’t effected more after lifting that heavy bin.

No cardio but I still got heart palps that night. Also, I notice they start at night, which brings me to my sleeping pattern progress. It’s not going so well.

The other thing I’m questioning as far as the heart palps and I think I mentioned it in the last post about this, is the concentrated dietary oils. I in fact had a salad with a dressing made with olive and sesame oils on Saturday as well, and I actually felt the palps starting shortly after I ate that salad. (2)

My eating habits as far as the food itself goes is pretty good. No junk and no take out.  It appears though that I’m going to have to really observe my reactions (not something new) to different foods even though they may be deemed healthy by the masses. They may not be right for me. I’m struggling with the timing of the meals though because I’m not getting up according to circadian rhythm. And that’s because I’m not going to bed according to it either.  This frustrates me but I also know this is a choice on my part.

This isn’t my own progress but Mr. B got a lot done in the garage this weekend. I think he got some momentum going by Sunday (yesterday) and we’ve now got some pretty interesting things sitting in our living room.  The plan is for him to be out there on the weekends up until the weekend before Halloween to go through everything (or as much as he can) out there and decide what he wants to sell, clean it up and bring it around front and into the living room. That way, we’re not hauling everything around the night before and the morning of our yard sale.

Right now we’ve got a nice pile going in a corner of our living room of some pretty interesting stuff. We needed to move a floor lamp and a chair into the dining room for more room.

One other thing that I got was the refinishing of a black board frame I’ve had since the 70s. I used it to draw on and play school with it. It had a couple rock band names written on the frame in magic marker. I sanded the whole frame down and then painted it with a stain that had a glossy finish ‘built into’ it.

It’s getting listed on craigslist before attempting to sell it in the yard sale. I have a couple other big things for craigslist as well.

I have a ‘To Do’ list to get through today of a few items. I had a checklist of three yesterday and did them all. So pat on the back from me to me. 🙂

As for my writing and doing all the other things I want to do, I think one part of the solution is to stop spending so much time reading, and get myself writing, posting, taking pics, organizing, packing, etc.

And work on that circadian thing.

And just to add, I’m not against reading. I love reading. I have learned a lot from reading. I am learning a lot from reading. I’m not going to completely stop reading. But I spend whole days reading sometimes and that’s what I’m talking about when I say I need to stop reading so much.

Update: Friday, June 2, 2017

Quoting part of the above post:
“As I’m writing it’s occurred to me to write a list of…well two lists. Since we’re moving, I want to do a list of what I’ll miss and then a list of what I won’t miss. I’ll do that in post form here. I think it will do me good too.”

I never did this. I really want to stop announcing things I want, intend or plan to do because I then don’t. Not that I’ll do it if I don’t announce it but at least I won’t be making empty promises to myself or others. It’s not like I’m thinking people are reading and holding me to everything I say or even remembering. It’s something that is important to me though, for self improvement purposes.

About the black board: It sold at the yard sale. I got some interest in it on CL but that prospect fell through. Tbh: I wish I’d kept it, especially after refinishing the frame. That thing was no joke either. Heavy and great quality.

Reading through this again, I see how little progress I’ve made in the last couple years and it’s depressing. I never followed through on getting any book together or finished with sorting through all posts.

It’s basically the story of my life. I plan and I plan to plan and then never implement the plan. Time to stop talking about what I’m going to do and just do it…or not.

I want to mention though that I did sort through posts yesterday and pulled out the ones pertaining to the guy I had an affair with from 2009 until 2012. A lot of emotions there and some cringe worthy stuff. I feel so pathetic about some of the shit I wrote and expressed. My intention was to purge them onto their own blog but that remains to be seen at this point. If I do that, comments will be disabled.

Another update on 8/27/18:

(1) I’ve been doing this over and over periodically. I roll my eyes just thinking about it while I know I should not be so hard on myself. There is a reason I’m so scattered.

(2)  It’s rendered/cooked and rancid fats that are the culprit of the palpitations and irregular heartbeat. I’ve done much more observation and I wonder how I didn’t realize it sooner. I mean I obviously suspected it here but was still unsure. Seems pretty obvious now.

 

Daily Details Including Heart Palpitations + Link and Video for Childhood Trauma

Not my image and I don’t have a link. Sorry.

I did nothing toward the logistic progress of any book yesterday.

I have some things listed on eBay and something sold so I packaged that up.  That task seems to still take me longer than I’d like. But I was more efficient about it than I’d been in the past. Maybe breaking it up into chunks was helpful for me. PTSD can really do a number on focus and organizing.

I made sure to not get too anxious about doing it right away. Just because an order comes in doesn’t mean you can’t eat first if you’re hungry. So that’s what I did. In between I got some laundry going too, since I had to go to the basement to get the big box of bubble wrap anyway.

During the actual bubble wrapping and boxing the items, I listened to a video on Self healing trauma. I’ll link it below. The guy has a website too so I’ll link that as well.


My meals were on the healthy side: A smoothie for breakfast; a salad with chicken and the ranch dressing I made yesterday from cashews, for lunch; and poached eggs with cheese and rice for dinner.  The cheese isn’t the best choice but eggs with cheese is just so tasty.

I had also done some reading in the morning, so my breakfast didn’t happen until about noon. And I spent too much time on Facebook during the whole of yesterday.

I got out for that bike ride, just as I’d planned but don’t think it’s a good idea to include that in my exercise plan anymore for now.  I do need to get outside more though, so I’m thinking along the lines of walking on flatter ground for short distances. Soon it will be getting darker much earlier so I will need to get that in earlier, perhaps before eating dinner would be ideal.

I had some really bad and scary heart palpitations last night that started after dinner and got worse as the night went on. So by the time I went to bed, things inside my chest were quite uncomfortable and alarming.  This isn’t completely new and I’d experienced them before after some somewhat high intensity cardio. High intensity for me means pushing up a few hills on my bike.

Given past eating habits, fairly recent weight gain and my continual depression and grieving process, this isn’t so surprising. I said the palps aren’t new, but they are new in the bigger picture since I’ve only been experiencing heart palps for the last couple (if that) years.  They are mostly mild, when I have them but I’ve experienced more intense ones, one other time before last night.

At first I thought they were coming from having eaten the salad dressing which contains some olive oil and sesame oil. In the past with careful observation, I’ve noticed the palpitations have started immediately after consuming concentrated oils, such as the two mentioned. But then I realized, although the oil may have contributed, it was the bike ride that was the real culprit.

I took a few supplements that I’ve heard and read from some naturopath doctors that are good support for the heart. One I included was niacin and I believe that opened up my blood vessels enough to get the palpitations to stop and regulate my heart again.

I hadn’t taken niacin for quite some time and the last time I did, it hadn’t had such an intense effect. But last night it only took one capsule and within ten minutes (if that) my skin felt like it was kinda burning. Not generally a pleasant feeling. But feeling that, made it feel like it was working for me all over. The skin on my face particularly was pulsating, my sinuses were swelled up and I had to breathe from my mouth, but my heart had calmed down so I in turn did also.


Please note this DISCLAIMER: That I said I BELIEVE the niacin helped. I am not a doctor and I don’t KNOW for sure if this helped. Do not take this as medical advice. Do not take this as a claim for a cure. Whether it stopped my palps for the moment or not, it certainly did not cure the problem. Such an issue as heart palpitations calls for seeing a doctor.


Click here to check out the website I referred to above. The website is called Wild Truth written and run by Daniel Mackler.

The video I watched yesterday also with Daniel Mackler:

Edit: August 25, 2018: As I read this I’m reminded of the heart palpitation scares I went through. I had some really intense episodes that I thought would end me a couple nights there. I notice now that I have them after an outburst…which obviously puts my body into huge stress. So I think the palpitations are closely related to stress as well as the other things I mentioned. They did calm down for a while but then have started back up again.
What gets them going:
Rendered/cooked/bottled fats
stress
foods that cause histamine responses.

Sorting Thoughts and Emails from My Father + Some Daily Detail

This was a plaque my mother gave me years ago. I sold it, which is why I have a photo of it. Not sure why, but it seemed right for the post.

A muscle pain in my back really knocked me out yesterday. Luckily I have a friend who is a massage therapist and she was able to see me yesterday. It helped a lot but I was depressed and completely dysphoric afterward.

I thought about things I’d like to do and things that need to be done and was interested only in going back to bed. But then I did get some writing done by hand first thing in the morning. I was drawn to it to the point of need. A good part of that need was worry of losing what I’d wanted to say.

The mornings, as soon as I wake up is generally the time that my brain starts working in a writing way. I don’t always take advantage of it, but I need to start. (1)

Most of what I’d written though is something I’ve written before, either by hand or keyboard. So that tells me that writing doesn’t release the pain the issue causes all by itself. (2)

And just writing that, I start to feel tired again, I want to give up, throw my arms up and say, “You know, forget it. There must be something more productive to do.” (3)

I’m finding it difficult to get my thoughts organized enough right now to produce an Open Office file that I could just simply upload to Kindle. (4)

Do I really need a table of contents? And if I do can I insert it later? Because I have no idea what it will be if I have one at all after writing. I guess given what I want to publish, would constitute chapters. That would make sense and therefore a table of contents. But just the writing of it alone, and then combining that with the need to put the conscious effort of having to make it Kindle compatible is making me anxious as hell. And again I procrastinate. (5)

But I remind myself I did do something yesterday towards it. In fact what I wrote by pen was much more descriptive and emotional than what I wrote by keyboard a couple days ago. And even if I did write the same ‘scene’ before, there will be something different about the way I wrote it yesterday morning.

And since I had an appointment to see my friend in the morning, I was up by 6:15 am yesterday.

Just to recap progress, I have gathered emails between my father and me and printed them out. I also drew out a calendar of the last and first two months of that year to see the timing of emails. I noticed that there were chunks of silence between emails when he didn’t need something from me.

I also went through other documents, I’d written via keyboard and sorted those into their own folder as well.

Other things to be done:
I want to go through some other emails that I exchanged with a friend who helped me immensely understand the abuse and how emotional abuse and family scapegoating works. I’ll be printing the ones out that pertain to that topic around what was going on at that time: First few months of 2013.

I also have some stuff I wrote by hand in journals that I want to sort through. Hopefully they can also contribute to organizing my thoughts and write something that really illustrates what happened and serves to heal the wounds it created. (6)

I’d like to figure out how to give it some background as well.

I was treated like a doormat and a dumpster for those few months, but the factors that allowed for such an environment didn’t happen overnight or exist in a vacuum. And it wasn’t the first time I was treated like that, it was just the first I was becoming awake and aware to it.


Other Stuff

Exercise: Yesterday was another day of no exercise. But given my back muscle pain, that did feel better yesterday, was still an issue. When I turned over on the massage table yesterday, I felt the pain shoot through my mid back around to my chest.

It’s a lot better today, but it’s still sore. I’m planning to take my bike out later in the day, before it gets dark. But that remains to be seen. That shouldn’t entail too much back use or even much arm use. It’s really just to get out for fresh air more so than for the purpose of exercise. There’s some little roads I can ride on to enjoy nature and take it easy.

Food: For breakfast (yesterday) I had rice and poached eggs.  The eggs are good that way (over rice I mean) if you don’t want to eat bread. Later I caved for potato chips. I know much of it was being depressed and looking for comfort. I made a ranch dip from cashews to go with it. (7)

That dip is really a dressing recipe and I’d planned to make it anyway to eat on salads with the chicken I made. Thinking that will be my (better) choice today.

That being said and done though, I didn’t eat as many chips as I normally would. I didn’t feel fulfilled or satisfied by them and I stopped eating them before the bowl I’d poured some into was empty. So back in the bag they went. They wouldn’t be here at all if not for my roommate though. Not that I blame him for my weakness. I just wanted to make clear I didn’t buy them. (8)

Sleep: Despite my exhaustion last night I still didn’t go to bed til about midnight. And since I didn’t really have dinner, my stomach was growling. Luckily I can sleep on empty and I didn’t go give in to the hunger. It was too late at night. (9)

This morning I woke around 8 and stayed up. Read a little. I took two other books out of the library besides the writing book I mention in this post. And again, I picked another winner. It’s nothing to do with writing though.

For breakfast (this morning) which wasn’t until about 10 or so I had a banana/peanut butter smoothie, made also with some cashew milk I made myself. (10)

I also talked a little to Mr. B. (my roomie) about selling some stuff and getting out to the garage to sort through the stuff this weekend. He’s a pack rat, but he’s agreeable and knows this shit has to get done. At first I suggested listing on Craigslist and then thought better of it. I think a yard sale, despite having to have it in October will be better. We’ll get rid of stuff in one fell swoop and won’t have to arrange meetings with individual humans to buy things.

And since I no longer care about the cleanliness of the house, because my focus is on what’s needed for us to move,  we are going to start this weekend to bring the stuff around from garage to living room. We live in a small house and the stuff will take up a good portion of the living room, but to hell with dragging it around from the garage the morning of or even the night before. Preparing a bit at a time will relieve some stress.

Depending on what happens at this one, we may have another one the month before we move. Famous last words though.


Update Friday, 6/2/17
I wish I’d written the name of the book I’d mentioned above.
We didn’t have a garage sale the month before we moved. Garage/Yard sales are exhausting.
KIndle ebooks: There’s a project that went onto a back burner. It looks like I wasn’t too clear on why I was gathering emails. Looks like it was for an ebook. I still want to do that, but when/if it happens, it will more likely be for the blog and for insight.


Edit: August 25, 2018

(1) Using the word ‘need’ doesn’t seem to really be a good way for me to look at things. It’s like making a cut and dry statement. Maybe it would be a good idea to write at any time I feel the pull to do so. Is there a need though? What if there’s a more urgent need at that time instead?

(2) I’ve been struggling quite a while about whether writing about all the shit from the past is actually helpful or not, at least for me. It seems it can for some and it seems that it may make things worse for others. I think I’ve experienced both.  There’s something missing. Looking back can only go so far. There comes a time that looking forward is pertinent for thriving.

(3) As adults sometimes we have to power through shit we don’t want to do but have to do. It’s a fact of life. This is not where I think the word ‘need’ doesn’t fit. You do need a roof over your head (basic need). And some people in order to have that  need to work. But if you’re doing something that causes more stress at the moment and doesn’t feel like it’s helping at that time, then perhaps that is intuition/inner self saying, “You know, this is not healthy for me to do right now. Please put it down and go do something else, like take a walk, have a meal, cuddle with your dog. Sometimes distractions are healthy.

(4) Clearly not ready for this.

(5) So much anxiety. This stems so much from childhood. When I struggled to understand something and got stuck with my father ‘helping’ me, he’d lose patience so quickly that I became scared to even try after a while. If my answer was wrong he was intolerant. What happens now is the frustration of the learning curve makes me angry, causing me to avoid learning and pursuing new things.

(6) I see where I was going with this now. A memoir (ebook) about the surrounding events of my father’s terminal illness and death. It’s a good idea.

(7) I no longer believe that cashews are a healthy food. And even if I did, nuts in general are not well digested.

(8) A little support would be nice. He is actually a bit more than just a roommate. However, this support will not come consistently. He really isn’t to blame, but we have both been inconsistent and return to old patterns after attempting new ones. I’m on my own here. If I want to change I need to discipline myself and not worry about what he does or what he has in the house to deter me.

(9) These habits are a huge contributor to my depression and dysphoria. Sleep is of huge importance and not eating means absence of nutrients every organ of the body needs, including the brain.

(10) Jesus! Talk about a disaster for the gut.

Dark Truth Between the Lines

dark_forest

Not my image. I found it here: https://wallpapercave.com/w/rJ7AvQ8

I went through the emails exchanged between my father and me back in 2012 and 2013. I think I know why I forget certain things now. It was difficult to read what I wrote as well as some of the things he wrote. But more disturbing is what’s between the lines really.

Some emails were about getting his furniture and other belongings out of his apartment because he was moving in with a woman and wouldn’t have room for the stuff where he was going. We kept going back and forth about working out a time to do it. Our schedules conflicted. In fact I noticed some contradiction in a couple of his emails as well.

He kept saying he’d arrange to be there when I could get there. He’d even bring his girlfriend down to the apartment if necessary. But later insisted on the fact of being up there on the weekends and couldn’t meet me on any weekends.

But yet he was anxious to get the place cleaned out because he had a dead line and wasn’t renewing his lease. It disturbs me to not have seen this before. He wanted what he wanted but didn’t want to compromise.

I remember one weeknight going there to pick up some books and he mentioned a couple of things each sibling would be taking. When he saw the look of disappointment on my face, he offered something to me, as if it was a consolation prize. In fact the chair he pointed to was broken.

In later emails I could read how distressed and almost competitive I became. Greedy even. And I wanted to avoid conflict with my siblings that I thought for sure would ensue.

As I read I felt sick.

Reading between the lines, it wasn’t about the furniture or any of the stuff.

In the mix of the emails there was one from me to him pouring my heart out about how I felt. About the role in the family I played and how I could see it. How hurt I was that everyone was in denial and that the disbursement of these things should be discussed among ourselves with everyone there.

I had felt like it had been turned into a competition. And whether it was deliberate or not, (which I don’t really know and really doubt because I don’t think my father is that well organized,) the result is the same.

I’ve thought more about it at different times and I wonder if my siblings felt ripped off because I got dibs at certain things when we were younger because I was the oldest.

He dismissed a lot of what I said in that email and professed his love. The important stuff went unacknowledged again.

I didn’t want furniture. What I wanted was for him to hear me. For him to understand me and for him to talk to me. I also wanted my siblings to take me into consideration as well. One thing that really bothered me was a queen size bed that my sister took for her ten year old son to have, when at the time, I was in desperate need of a bed. She hadn’t known that, but no one asked. It was just decided and I had no say.

I realized after I’d finished going through the emails that I spent my life, up until his last days trying to get him to hear me…to listen to me about what was wrong, toxic and dysfunctional. Not every single minute of my life obviously, but there were times I remember now, and can see how it was too hard for him to deal with.

I did the same with the rest of my family too. It was stressful and painful to be involved so closely with my family as my father was dying, knowing that anything I said meant nothing and wasn’t taken into consideration. My feelings were minimized, my sister took jabs at me, my father bitched about my siblings to me, my mother and sister triangulated against me.

I was their dumpster and punching bag.

I would come out of that situation with even deeper C-PTSD than I went in with.

As I read those emails, it hurt to see that I was trying to force so much. Trying to force people into loving me. Into understanding. Into wanting to change and even heal our family and deal with the issues and face them so we could resolve them.

I’m sad that I didn’t just accept earlier that it’s not who they are or who they want to be, so that I didn’t waste so much time thinking that I could somehow get them to see, because even those in denial are aware somewhere, even deep inside, of the truth.

Dysphoria and Shoes Dropping: A Connection

Googles definition of dys·pho·ri·a
disˈfôrēə/

noun

Psychiatry
noun: dysphoria
  1. a state of unease or generalized dissatisfaction with life.

What sucks about dysphoria is that there is no real enjoyment to life. Nothing that really gets me up and at ’em.

The times I’ve felt that way were when I was anticipating getting together with friends, going on a date or I had a job where my crush worked too.

I don’t remember getting excited all on my own or inventing my own reason to be excited from within.

In my last post I talked about wanting to create some excitement for myself by getting into the storage bin with all my old clothes that no longer fit. And it was fun to check them all out and I even felt an underlying determination that I will fit into them again. But excitement? Not really.

It’s sad. I used to think it was depression, that depression was the name of what I had. But then I started seeing a therapist again after an excruciating break up and I was told I probably have PTSD. The break up contributed, but the trauma from a childhood of emotional abuse and neglect.

Now that I spend a lot of time alone and don’t have much of a social life, I’m sure that has much to do with the dysphoria. I like talking to others. I like to learn about other people. Of course I like people who listen as well and those who can help me create a balanced conversation. It doesn’t even have to be one where we agree. In fact disagreements can be fun and interesting, as long as everyone stays civil and there’s no name calling.

Thing is most of my friends are drinkers. So for the time being, while I know I’d be weak and would probably “do as the Romans do,” I feel the need to stay away.

Another reason for the dysphoria, I believe, is that I’m now conditioned to believe that any excitement that I feel will be spoiled, precisely BECAUSE I feel happy. Have you ever been in the middle of screaming with delight over some really great news or some great trip you’re planning, only to be told your dog just died or something equally devastating?

Or how about this?

You’re a little kid, sitting at the table with your family having dinner and you start laughing at something. Something really funny someone just said or maybe a funny face one of your siblings just made. Then suddenly, in the midst of your joy, your father bellows in a loud, sudden and deep voice, “SIT UP STRAIGHT AND EAT YOUR DINNER!”

You are startled. Suddenly the food in your mouth no longer tastes very good and you feel absolute humiliation. You can barely chew and the thought of helping it out with a gulp of milk (as the only choice of liquid) makes your stomach heave a little.

This happens often and your mother does nothing to put an end to it. She might say something like a long drawn out, “HuUuUUuUn!” But in reality she has no power and he doesn’t take her too seriously, because he continues this and similar behavior every time he feels the need to control any situation. There seems to be such a thing as having too much fun.

It’s become an expectation now that joy will be turned to sorrow or excitement to shame and humiliation.

It’s conditioning.

I miss joy and excitement. But have I ever really truly experienced it in the first place?

The Shoe Kinda Dropped

This morning I woke at around 7:15 and got up to pee. I’d gone to bed late (as usual) so I knew getting up at 6 wasn’t going to happen.

I went back to lay down for another 45 minutes but ended up not going back to sleep and when I got up 15 minutes before my alarm, I decided to use that time to meditate.

Not a whole lot of meditating got done since my mind was everywhere. But then I learned recently that you’re not really supposed to silent your mind, but I did catch myself a time or two and said, “Stop.” It’s good to catch yourself and focus on your breath even if you know your mind won’t be blank.

When I got up from my attempt at meditating, I noticed I had what felt like a sore muscle pain. In fact I still have it and it’s gotten progressively worse throughout the day. There was a point in the day that I thought it might be a broken rib but I didn’t do anything that would’ve made that happen. So I was puzzled.

It’s difficult to get good breaths but I can manage and it’s not too excruciating as long as I’m not sitting a certain way. The pain radiates from just under my left shoulder blade to my side along the rib cage there and then around front to my chest. I can only feel it in my chest while sitting up in bed, like right now. But today I was sitting at my desk and it didn’t radiate that far.

I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out what I’d done. I couldn’t remember lifting anything heavy and thought maybe I did something in my sleep. But eventually I remembered. On Saturday, I lifted a bin that had a lot of photographs in it. I lifted it off an even bigger bin that had a bunch of clothes in it that I haven’t been able to wear in a long time.

I felt the need to build up some excitement for bringing my weight down. (Actually getting healthier). In fact I was excited to look at all my cute stuff.

So I remember when I lifted the smaller but heavy bin off the larger bin, I pivoted in such a way that when I did it I knew it was not the right way to have done that. But I wasn’t effected immediately and I didn’t hurt yesterday either. But wow, today has been bad and I’m now exhausted and very uncomfortable to say the least. I have no idea how I’m going to sleep.

Needless to say, my progress in writing was really slow today. I’m sure the pain has something to do with it. But I also found myself feeling stuck. I wasn’t feeling the emotion I needed, to be off and running when I sat down to write. I started a couple different times, trying to start in the right place, to make it sound right, compelling, true, good.

It wasn’t working and I could feel the struggle. I was so frustrated.

I was trying to think of specific dates relating to the end of my father’s life. I really need to tell that story. It’s the last thing that sent me further into a downward spiral and I’ve never completely grieved, even though I cried at his funeral. There’s so much more to it than that. That’s for sure.

In trying to piece together some dates, I remembered some correspondence between my father and me. After finding the emails I needed for that specific information, I continued reading. I found an email I’d forgotten about writing and contained things I’d forgotten feeling at that time  The tears flowed and I thought, “There! That’s what I’ve wanted. To feel, to cry.”

But the tears were a mix of emotions including the frustration at my struggle today.

I also remembered later, that I have journal entries that tell the story and letters to family members that were never sent and never meant to be. Those will help me write my story. (1)

The pain on my left side felt like the shoe dropping. Esoterically speaking, it’s my understanding that the left side pertains to your past.

I’m going to attempt to find a therapist for this process. But I’m not going to let any difficulty in finding one stop me from proceeding however. The distraction of this nasty pain might though.

My subconscious seems to be stopping me mentally, emotionally and physically.

I’m anxious that I didn’t get much done. But I felt a lot more than I have in a long time and I made some discoveries that hadn’t registered for me before, which contributed to the heavy emotion.

I’m still working on the Tag Line for the blog as well as a display name. Not sure what I want to call myself yet. The blog is called Sleeping Tiger, but it’s not the name I want to use for myself. I figure it will come to me some morning upon awakening. You just can’t rush these things. I will also eventually write an “About” page to explain why I chose Sleeping Tiger. It’s clear within myself why but I’m not so sure it will translate in words right now. (2)

Overall I feel frustrated, overwhelmed, aggravated, anxious. I want to get to it while at the same time I want to avoid it. I want to avoid everything about it. The hard work, the emotions, the logistics of piecing it all back together, making myself vulnerable and putting myself out there. And then even looking back at the behavior of my family. Not just their behavior but my own. Talk about cringe-worthy and shame.


Notes: August 25, 2018

(1) It’s really difficult for me to go through those. I did it one day, trying to plow through and I opened up some nasty wounds. After that I was easily triggered and even the slightest irritation was like vinegar in the wound. So I’ve been avoiding all those journals, all those painful memories in writing.  Just recently I boxed up all the stuff on paper just to lighten the mental load.

(2) The tag line still may change but it’s okay for now. My user name is good and I’m pretty happy with it. It’s a start at redefining myself away from my oppressive family. And the reason for the name Sleeping Tiger? Well, I’ve been over thinking it and trying to explain it in too much detail. It’s actually quite simple.

(I’ve never felt safe to be myself, so I’ve hidden and played it small. But I’m angry about that. I’m angry at the people who allowed it and I’m angry at myself for it. I’m sick of pretending and keeping quiet when I really want to say something. I’m sick of bending into something I’m not just because I think others won’t like what I say or even worse, won’t like me. Inside me there is someone who needs to speak out and up and contribute my opinion.)

Writing as a Way of Healing (Book Reference…and some Bullshit)

I’ve just finished a book called Writing as a Way of Healing by Louise DeSalvo and I can’t wait to implement what I’ve learned. What I’m writing here, in this post, the fact that I’m utilizing this blog, is in fact my own spin on one of her suggestions. I’ll get into specifics a bit later about that.

I borrowed the book from a local library recently and I’ve read through it and even took notes, faster than I’ve read a book since the dawn of the internet.

I think it’s because I was ready for it even though it’s something I didn’t know I was looking for. I had actually gone through my Wishlist on Amazon to find some books at the library.

I made a list on paper, and decided on one particular library for a few specific books that were there, and was on my way. In one section, while looking for one of the books on my list, the title, Writing as a Way of Healing, stood out and I took it from the shelf. I felt excited and hopeful as I looked for a chair so I could sit and look through what I actually thought was the answer I’ve been looking for, for years. After only reading through the contents and a paragraph or two I was sold.

I have been struggling for a long time to blog about events in my life. Events that have caused complex trauma and I have in fact been diagnosed with PTSD. I have suffered depression for a few decades along with severe dysphoria now for a few years.

Although I’ve instinctively known that writing about the abuse and other events in my life would go a long way in helping me heal, I have felt strong resistance in blogging about it.

So when I came across this book, published in 1999, I knew it wasn’t going to be about blogging and that it would be geared more toward direction and instruction on how to write, what to write and what to do while writing.

This is an author who has written her own memoir and in the book she talks about other authors and writers who have used writing to heal, which helps a lot with illustration in her instruction.

In the beginning of this weekend, I woke in the morning to the realization that blogging my memories in such a way to heal isn’t for me, and that I was attempting to force something that just didn’t fit. What happens much of the time when I start writing a blog post about an event, I find that I either can or I do keep writing much longer than a post really should be. Not that there’s any set limit but I think there’s this unspoken thing that says, ‘Don’t write a 30 page narrative in one blog post.’

So I’m going for writing Kindle books. Of course I have to write them first before they can be uploaded. So there’s the technical learning curve as well as the memoir writing learning curve. But what the hell. And after reading this book, I feel like I’ve got a better understanding on memoir writing than before.

I’m not an experienced writer, although I’ve journaled, written letters, and used to really enjoy writing in school.  I think I’ve wanted to be one but didn’t know how to go about it. I remember writing something a million years ago and sending it off to a bunch of different magazines. When I told my father, because I was so excited about it, he got angry and irritated, saying, “Whadya do that for? That’s not how you submit things to magazines.”

He never told me how before this though but I guess he just assumed I was supposed to know. That’s the type of fuck nut he was.  I seem to remember him telling me through his condescending irritation that I was supposed to pick one publication and mail it to them and wait for them to respond. If rejected submit to another, and so on.

I had no real easy way of finding this out though, so not sure how I was supposed to know. There were plenty of opportunities for my dick weed of a father to tell me though. He had written things himself that he submitted to magazines.

I thought about pursuing writing in some way while I was in school but I’ve never had the confidence. A result of the trauma no doubt.

I know the ease of self publishing on Kindle bothers and probably even infuriates some professional writers and authors. And I can see why. I know there’s a lot of junk out there, and pretty much anyone can slap anything up there.

One suggestion the author of Writing as a Way of Healing gave, was to keep a ‘Process Journal.’ A journal in which you keep track of your experiences through writing. Your emotions, your ideas, etc. And this is the way I see blogging working for me.

Right now and as I had reached the final pages of the book, I began feeling excited, anxious, nervous and even scared. There’s a lot to be dealt with and heal from. So I’m certainly excited to be on the other side of that. I’m scared and anxious for the time spent, bringing the past events and pain into the present so clearly. I know it won’t be easy.

I’m nervous because when I get excited about something, I either don’t start because I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop or I do start and the other shoe drops.

The fact that I’m interested in writing Kindle books, makes it pretty obvious that I’m interested in earning an income this way. My priority is to heal and hopefully help others understand they are not alone if they are going through or have gone through similar events or emotions. But to heal and earn at the same time would be a dream come true.

That being said, I don’t see it as the only way to earn a living though. I used to be a pet sitter but have been quite inactive for a lot of years. Recently I looked up jobs on Craigslist to see if any pet sitting companies were hiring, since it would be faster to get a job doing it rather than starting a business doing it. And every ad demands you put in a lot of hours, basically be available most of the time and flexible as well as be in great shape. Which makes complete sense. And being in need of money right now, it would be a good idea. Except for the fact that it’s a physically demanding job.

Not to mention having to be available at the sound of a phone call or a text, isn’t exactly conducive to healing.

To give you an idea of how out of shape I am though, I do walk one dog, one day a week for a neighbor. Throughout the summer, by the time I was finished the walk I felt so exhausted I could have feasibly had a nap. I find myself zoning out into the daydream state throughout the day after our walk.

This is probably, among other things, an adrenal issue. So it’s obvious I need to heal physically as much as I need to heal emotionally.

I have not been taking care of myself, despite having been sober since January 1 of this year. I was a binge drinker and although I’ve craved beer here and there, I remember the commitment I’ve made to myself to stop for the year and that is working. I figured committing to a year, to something I thought might be difficult, would give me a better chance of sticking to it. Using the word commitment has helped immensely. And by giving myself a year to be sober, it’s easier for my psyche to accept than if I’d said, “I’m never going to drink again.”

You could implement this with anything you have a problem with. And I’m definitely going to now.

So in addition to all of this, I found out today that my roommate and I will need to move in six months time. Emotionally neither one of us are ready. Physically neither of us are ready. Financially we are not ready. I feel really anxious about having to move so much stuff. He has so much stuff including a bunch he doesn’t use. Getting him to let go of just about anything is like trying to pry the ring from Gollum’s hand. “My precioussss.”

It’s hard to be someone who would prefer to be a minimalist while living with a pack rat.

Why don’t I just move out on my own? Because I’m not financially able. And that’s all I’ll say about that right now.  Probably another good subject for a book…How I ended up living with Mr. B.

I’ll refer to my roommate as Mr. B from now on. It’ll be easier.

I have a plan, though not written out yet. And I think the 6 month dead line will help me a great deal. For years I’ve had difficulty with depression and as I said above I’m really out of shape, heavier than ever and I’ve been feeding my face junk food, the replacement for the vices I have given up to this point.

I have eaten healthy before, I have done self study on nutrition and supplements. So it’s not because I don’t know what to do. It’s because I’ve been treating my body like shit, because I haven’t cared about myself and have slacked on eating well, exercising and getting proper sleep. I’ve been slowly feeling more and more depressed. I get more and more away from a self I have never really known.

My plan isn’t complicated it’s just a matter of implementing it.

Sleep between 9:30 and 10 each night, including weekends. That leaves out tonight, it’s after 10 already. But writing this out is important to me.

Up by 6 am. Meditation for 20 minutes to half hour.

Breakfast within the hour of getting up.

Exercise for an hour.

Shower.

Write for a few hours.

Lunch

Doing things pertaining to selling some of the stuff here that needs to be gotten rid of. Mr. B has actually agreed to sell some things and I have some things as well that I don’t need. And once a week as I mentioned before I walk a neighbor’s dog. So that fits into this window of my day as well.

If time allows I would love to get outside for a walk (not the day I walk the dog) or throw some frisbees, take a bike ride.

Dinner between 5 and 5:30

Write here on the blog (Process Journal)

Goals:
To publish my first Kindle book in a month. (By October 21) I think is reasonable. My stomach turns as I write and think about that.

To be down 25 pounds (or more) by the time we move.  Altogether my goal is to be down 50 pounds in a year from now.   By eating healthy (for me) and exercising. I might as well go ahead and reveal that I’m 185 according to our bathroom scale.

The reasons for the goal on health is to feel better and look better of course. But I want to be in good enough shape to start dog walking and pet sitting again, whether I do it for myself or an already established company. Plus be in good strong shape for moving all this STUFF.

As for blogging as my Progress Journal: my intention is to post here every night. So I can utilize it to mostly keep track of how I feel while writing. I’m thinking the blog is a good way to keep me accountable as well.

Thing is I know I’ll want to blog about other things too. Like our progress in our moving adventure, my progress in weight loss. Maybe even talk about food. I don’t know, just life in general. But I guess I’ll have to see how it works out.

At the very least, I think I can keep up with 3 nights out of the week posting here. But as long as I stick to my schedule and don’t waste my precious time on Facebook or watching endless videos on YouTube, I should be good.


Edit: As I re-read through this on August 25, 2018 I have such difficulty not editing it as I read.
The book I mention, at this point, I don’t even remember much of it now. Reading about how I’m planning to write Kindle books, I’m cringing. The story of my life seems to be me saying or thinking, “I’m gonna do this and I’m gonna do that or I want to do this and I want to do that.”  But that’s all it is, just talk. I never do anything. It’s been since 2015 and I still have yet to write a Kindle book let alone really commit to this blog or anything really.

At the end I’m all, “As long as I do this and as long as I don’t do that…”  Crap, my patterns are all the same, since I can remember. It doesn’t help that I’m depressed. It doesn’t help that my emotions and energy levels are not consistent. The day I wrote this, I felt like I meant everything I wrote.  But I’m sure by the next day or two, I was like, Fuck it.

There’s no process journal. I didn’t lose any weight before moving. I don’t stick to a schedule and I’m still staying up way to late to be healthy.

These are still things I want to change, but saying I’m gonna do it, isn’t gonna get me anywhere.

I could just leave this private I suppose, but I wrote it, as cringey as it is.
I probably…no, I definitely should not be so hard on myself. After all, I can use some of what’s here to refer back to.

It does hurt, frustrate and alarm me to see that I’ve written intended goals in the past only to never pursue them. There’s a lot of instances of that kind of thing as well as written things I’ve referred back to, only to see absolutely no growth.   That to me is very serious.