Voyage 200

Posted on August 8, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

8-7-13 7:42am

I woke up early today. Mom and Don left for his MOHS. I ate oatmeal outside. My body is tired but I’m awake. Two of my fingertips are part numb. I am lounged on the couch.

I did something risky last night. I listed my Voyage 200 on Amazon. If you’re not familiar, the Voyage 200 is an incredibly fancy gadget, also known as a calculator.

For me it was a status symbol. Only a few of us had one. I would often borrow the teacher’s. Then I convinced the Department of Rehab to buy me one. I treasured but never used it. It’s still in the box. It’s been 5 years.

I love math. I always have. I got an award in the 5th grade for being the only student to ever ask for “more math please.” It was a puzzle, a game. It could twist my brain.

I loved calculus – especially my teacher. She was great. She made learning fun and turned it into a small group experience. I had 2 semesters with her. Then we had a falling out. It was more of a nuclear detonation. I had been in the hospital and was unable to drop her class. Instead of giving me an incomplete, as we’d discussed, she failed me. I haven’t gone back to math since.

I’ve held on to this calculator as a sign of hope, of what could be. I don’t want to let go of the dream. I was smart. I wanted to finish school. But every time I try I end up back inpatient. Yet the calculator is always there in the corner of the living room, both taunting and reminding me of what I could’ve been. What I still might be.

Now my need for money has surpassed my need for memory and it’s time to let it go. (deep sigh) It’s the only thing I own that’s worth anything. That’s a little disheartening to me. I think I’m ready to let go. I’ll most likely cry when it sells.

Voyage 200, here’s to the separate voyages ahead. May you find a safe, loving home. And may I find peace of mind.

Comfort Drive 2013

Posted on August 5, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

8-5-2013 12:25pm

It is officially that time again – Comfort Drive season. I’m excited. The Comfort Drive is a drive to collect needed comfort items for inpatients at Sharp Mesa Vista Hospital. Mesa Vista is a local psychiatric hospital I have spent much time at that has many times saved my life. Often patients end up there from an emergency room or unexpected route and are without the many comforts of home. Simple things like a hairbrush, outfit or art supplies can not only make someone’s day but change their outlook on the hospital stay and their life. After all, many of us are there because we want to die, have tried to kill ourselves, or have come close.

I wasn’t sure what would come of the drive last year. I just put the flyer out and prayed. The support was amazing. I delivered 27 boxes and 6 bags of clothes, shoes, hygeine products, art supplies and random fun stuff. The stories that came back were striking. One in particular sticks with me. A teenaged boy came in with very big feet and shoes with holes in the bottom. His parents wouldn’t buy him new shoes and he couldn’t afford them. Staff said he had literally walked through his shoes. Someone found just his giant-sized shoes in the drive boxes. They said he cried when he got them. It takes a lot to make a teenaged boy cry. The stories kept coming in.

When I’m a patient I try to bring everything I’ll need and I usually end up giving to others who didn’t have the option to pack. Comfort is so overlooked. I can change a life with a chapstick or a shirt I no longer want. I can bring somebody hope.

I created this project last year and the response was overwhelming. I’m hoping this year it will be also. The drive runs through the end of August this year and the flyer, with a list of items to give, can be found here http://www.dbsasandiego.org/resources/Comfort-Drive-2013.pdf. Please give if you can or share the event with your friends (Facebook event https://www.facebook.com/events/295755200568357/) Put a flyer up at the office or church. Get together with friends and hit the dollar store. You could even make teams and see who can gather the most comfort.

I am on the hunt for donations year-round so don’t worry if you can’t help out now. Keep me in mind and send things my way! Thank you SO much for your help. You can’t imagine what it means.

Feeling in my feet

Posted on July 27, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

7/25/13 4:05pm

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One awesome thing – feeling in my feet. I love that I can feel what’s under me. I feel the rocks and crevices, nothingness. The feeling tells my brain what to do, how to react, how to narrowly not fall off that cliff. I feel the coolness of grass under me, sense the firmness of the ground. It allows me to feel the floor and to move with it.

I love that I have feeling in my feet. I can sense pain. I can thwart danger. I can adjust my balance. It also tells me when I’m injured, when I’m tired, when I need to stop.

Sometimes the feeling in my feet brings me pleasure. It allows a massage to relax me or a tub of hot water to soothe my stress. It warns me when I walk in the ocean if the water is too cold before I get hypothermia. It allows me to wriggle my toes in the sand with my mom, which makes me so happy.

Feeling my feet lets me know just where to place my tap to make sound and where to put a bandaid before I get a blister. It lets me enjoy a soft rug. It also lets me know when I step on a crack. And I can’t forget it lets me feel like I’m flying when I swing barefoot. I’m so thankful for the feeling in my feet. :)

27

Posted on May 6, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

5-3-13 10:12am

27. Mom thinks it’s the magic number, the number when everything clicked. Really, it’s just a number. Although I hear ____ say, “27. Now that was a good year.”

I turned 27 March of this year. It was not a remarkable day – appointment, lunch with Mom, major crash, terrible pain, OCD group. But my mom says something around then changed. She attributes all my recent growth to a number. Figures. She’s been in Texas. Today I feel great. A little dizzy, awake. Change is hard work.

A month or so before my birthday I spent 3 weeks in the hospital (see “Even Dark Clouds Pass.”) When I got out I was still going through it. The time since then has been fireworks. For the first time in years I started an antidepressant. I added structure & a complex schedule. I updated my day list and started using it. It is a list of things I do every day in the morning and evening that I keep in a page protector and check off with a dry erase marker. And I started BrainPaint, which I believe to be the key to my success.

BrainPaint. A simple notion. Painting with your brain. Ha ha! Not so fast, my friend. I paint with my brain indeed. BrainPaint is automated neurofeedback. EEG leads tell the computer what my brain is doing and the computer makes real-time fractals (pictures) and music to guide my brain into the wave pattern it wants. Forget training a dragon. Train your brain!

I’m doing BrainPaint at Healthy Within under Dr. Divya Kakaiya. She determined what areas we could work on. I’m almost through my treatment. I don’t want to stop. I go 3 times a week. I consider it an outpatient program even though it’s not. It’s not all peaches & cream, but BrainPaint saved my life.

I feel tired of writing.

I have 3 pages of what’s changed since BrainPaint that I may choose to share here later. Most notably, I don’t want to die every day anymore. I’m sleeping, brushing my teeth (yay!), and can tolerate being at home. Kinda crazy. I even got my permit. I am blessed that my mom was in Texas for the past month. Without limits or rules or judgement or simply the energy of another person I’ve been able to settle into life, to blossom. I’ve been repotted.

27. I like it.

Benefits of Pain

Posted on April 10, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

4/10/13 9:35am

Forces me to slow down, to be mindful of each thing I do
Refocuses my attention on God
Shows me what is and isn’t important
Humbles me
Makes me greatly appreciate the little things when they come back
Gives me permission to take care of ME
Allows me a space to heal
Reminds me this is His plan, not mine
Increases my empathy towards others
Purifies me
Reminds me of all my blessings
Shows me how frail I really am
Causes me to seek help
Causes me to want to apologize & forgive
Breaks down my walls/barriers/facade
Lets me cry
Takes my focus off of thoughts & feelings
Gives me new perspectives

I am thankful for pain.

Even dark clouds pass

Posted on March 15, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

3/8/13 7:31 am

I just woke up to pouring rain. It’s my birthday. I take this as a sign God is washing away my pain. From the comfort of my bed I see blue sky under the dark dark clouds and it’s taking over the sky. It never left. It was just temporarily covered.

I am warm, comfy in bed propped up against three pillows in a soft shirt my friend gave me and my Cookie Monster pants. Bright orange and pink socks on matching palm tree sheets. God is good.

I got out of the hospital on the 15th. Nineteen days. The most painful experience of my life, to my conjecture. And probably the best. 19 days. I don’t want to forget those days.

I went in for a severe mixed episode, rapid cycling from suicidal & lethargic to euphoric or agitated energy about every 20 minutes. I had two doctors because Dr. N was on vacation the first week. Dr. H was great. She put me on a new med that calmed the cycling but it caused such bad muscle problems that I could barely walk. I had dystonia in my legs, stomach & back. But my mood was great. At first. Until the pain wore on me and I couldn’t take it anymore.

When my doctor came back (sunshine) we stopped all my meds in 2 days to start over, find a baseline. We’d reached a deadlock. Ah, the pain. We expected either my body would get better and my mind would get better or my body would get better and my mind would freak out and we’d fix it.

Instead, my mind did much better than expected and my body flipped out. (remembering) Pain. Attacks of being stabbed in the neck with burning knitting needles that would break like thunder into muscle spasms all over my body. Out of control blood pressure. Random spikes in bp and pulse. The muscle spasms at night hurt so bad I couldn’t move or talk. They became constant. My face twitched so bad I couldn’t see straight, made me dizzy. My fingers were constantly tingling & freezing. My feet tingled. The roof of my mouth tingled. I wasn’t sleeping or eating. I became frail, which was pleasing to me but angered my doctor. I hid under the table from the voice in my head, heard an unfamiliar one for the first in a long time. My hands would stop working & turn cold and purple. My doctor didn’t know what to do.

God sent me angels. I could see and feel them with me. He spoke to me. He came as a hummingbird. All around me was God and I was never alone. I cried out to Him to take me home. I was so scared but He was not. He told me, through the words of my mouth and a cloud, “Don’t take your eyes off me. It is written,” quite firmly. I knew the storm was coming. I didn’t see the glory. Before each spike in pain I would hear God’s song. He gave me music. Calming songs would start before and play through and my angels were with me. I was never alone. Heart racing, shaking, body writhing, unable to breathe. They would ask if I was nervous, having a panic attack. No. I felt calm.

Many days of this wore on me. With no psych meds my mood was all over. I wanted to die. We started adding back in meds, building a new ground. The staff were amazing & my fellow patients priceless. Friends. Something finally clicked and I was ready to come home.

Which brings us to now – 3 weeks later. It is my birthday and I feel good. I can’t remember the last birthday I felt good or even semi-ok. Last year I screamed and cried and refused to get out of the car and slept most of the day, reclused. Today I feel good. It’s morning and I am awake. The birds are chirping. My kitty is watching. The clouds part and I feel JOY. Praise God!

This whole experience has drawn me closer to Him. I’m listening. I’m paying attention. I joined a church choir and am reading “The Story.” I don’t feel as scared. I’m taking care of my body, trying to lose some weight. I even want to decorate my room. Goals seem possible.

A different life seems possible too. I don’t feel trapped. I get to choose what to do and what not to. I can move in any direction. That said, I am still exhausted. Trying on shoes last night knocked me out. I am exhausted but not weary. I see the light. Praise God.

May 27 be the best year yet.
My goal is to LIVE.
My theme: Break the Rules.

Even dark clouds pass.

I am so blessed

Posted on January 13, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

1-13-13 6:55pm

I am so blessed. I taught dance for the first time today in about ten years. It felt SO good. It was ME. By chance I met a little girl who wanted to dance and her mom said it’s okay. She’s about 7. I didn’t ask. I bought her some tap shoes and brought my pink duct tape. She wanted to tape her headband to her hair. Lol. Her favorite color is pink like mine and I had a blast. We jumped up and down and walked like ducks and cartwheeled and ran around and still made progress. She is so sweet. I feel like me.

I didn’t want to go today. I was so down and discouraged. And I was afraid I would get in trouble for teaching in the back of an existing class. I organized papers and sat on my bed and stared. Literally all day. I was so cold that my fingers and toes were numb. Just be. But I put myself together to go and I’m so glad I did. I had a blast and the teacher wasn’t angry but surprised and delighted to have the option of having kids learn there too. I’ve never been much one to teach kids but I can adapt.

I have my own odd way of teaching. More quirky than odd. I use shapes and movement and chairs and build things up backwards. And it works. If you stick with it. I’m grateful to have the opportunity to find myself through teaching this little girl, even if only for today. I love dancing. And dancing loves me. (sigh) I am so blessed.

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Jesus Loves Me

Posted on December 5, 2012 by writingtowardshappy

12/4/12 8:15pm

Dear God,

THANK YOU!

I am waiting for the trolley. I feel joy. I breathe in the cool night air. I breathe. I breathe… I feel calm. I listen intently to crickets and the sound of car tires over rail tracks and the wind. German discussions drift…

My hair blows softly over my face.
I’m free.

I’M FREE! (sigh)

I can’t explain the joy sitting here brings me. Folding laundry. Listening instead of just hearing. The deep appreciation of rising from the ashes, of being released from pain. I see colors. I taste. I feel God again.

19 days of pain have led to this beauty. I am set free. I savor the feeling. I know it is just for a time but this time is mine.

(break to talk with Ringo on the trolley)

(zap) I look forward to projects. I eat colors, swallow time. I am pink and the whole world sings. Of joy, of deliverance, of me. My face smiles without me. I watch. She is beautiful when she’s happy.

This week I realistically contemplated going in. Today I don’t need to. When I see my doctor tomorrow the pain will be a story. I will be able to talk, unlike last time, and to think. I think. Anyway, there is such a difference. Like flipping a switch. I am glad to be on this side.

I could not appreciate gift without loss. Now I take it in, prepare and wait. Rest. Thank you, God. Weepin’ may endure for a night but joy comes in the morning. Amen.

–

My whole body tingles.
Joy comes in the morning.

(sing Brett Michaels’ song “Joy Comin’.”)

–

As my muscles being to hurt again, remember this feeling.

I used all my energy today.
Now I’m melting.
At least I can poop.

7 If I can feel such joy on Earth, can you imagine what it’s like in heaven?

FG I don’t know.
Probly pretty awesome.

3 Sparkles and unicorns!

13 Dragons & fire.

25 Peace & quiet.

7 And angels.

13 I want to paint the sky with a dance and pour out the rain.

FG And for things to be okay.

3 Jesus will like my unicorn.

7 And I want to ride a sunset.

3 Jesus loves me.

FG I know, baby. He does.
Jesus loves me.

Joy

Posted on December 3, 2012 by writingtowardshappy

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12/3/12 1:56am

In writing tonight about sadness and pain I am reminded of joy. I felt such joy singing today. I sang with my choir at a nursing home and for a few moments all of it was gone. God sang through me and I was filled with hope. My director said he’s going to call me Merry now because I’m so joyful. It’s true. Singing brings me such joy, especially gospel. I need to remember and do it more often.

Listening to God

Posted on October 29, 2012 by writingtowardshappy

10/28/12 11:36pm

I’ve been listening to God lately. It’s an interesting thing.

I’ve been growing in my faith lately. A lot. It’s strange to me but quite welcome. I’m having a lot of memory problems and other issues so I don’t remember if I told you or not. Last week I watched this sermon online and it struck a chord – Family of Origin Part 5: The Lost Child. I’ve been attending The Rock Church sporadically and hadn’t been in a few weeks so I decided to watch online. It was just what I needed and it talked about something I hadn’t thought about in awhile – the still small voice.

I hear that voice a lot. The still small voice that tells me what to do. I hear it more lately. No, I think I just trust it more lately. It tells me things and I do what it says. I’m never sure why I’m supposed to do these things or go these places on instruction, but there’s always a reason. I find myself in the right place at the right time, even though it was exactly the wrong place to me and I’m often upset about being there. The voice tells me where to go and what to say and whom to say it to, or not to. It redirects my path when I’m straying in a different direction, creates anxiety when I’m headed away or tells me to stay through the anxiety when I’m not supposed to go. Or to give or to compliment or to pray.

I am at once comforted and confused by this voice. The still small voice of God. I am comforted because I trust it and believe I should do what it tells me. I feel I have a companion, like intuition or a gut instinct that’s always right. But I’m confused and sometimes I doubt. Not because I don’t believe or I think it’s wrong but because doing what voices in my head tell me to hasn’t always turned out alright. It gets really scary sometimes and I end up in dangerous situations or do risky things. Or I give away all my money or run away or in some other way harm myself. I want to listen and obey this voice in my head that sometimes tells me to do things I don’t understand but that don’t seem bad, but I have a hard time trusting that He’s not one of “them.” The them that are out to get me, who tell me things in my head. Who scream at me and haunt me in the night. Who make me believe bad things and hurt myself. How do I know the still small voice is safe?

I guess the answer is that I don’t. I have to take it on faith. It’s just hard trying to tease out mental illness from religion when they’re so closely tied together. When God or experiences with God are such a part of my illness, or what society calls illness, it’s hard to know what’s real. I believe that when I am manic I’m not delusional, just closer to God, more able to experience Him and His presence. Somewhat of a spiritual emergency. When I’m experiencing weird spiritual things I have a choice to categorize them as spiritual experiences or psychiatric symptoms and how I define them determines the course of action. But what I’m hearing lately I don’t consider either. I just hear the voice of God. I listen for it. And I’m surprised because I follow it about 90% of the time.

I’m listening to God. I feel peace. In the midst of chaos and crises and illness, I feel peace and assurance. I seek to raise others up, to show love. I’m becoming a better me. Listening to God, letting Him work through me.

Excited to be Alive

Posted on September 12, 2012 by writingtowardshappy

9-12-12 6:30pm

I feel excited to be alive.
I prayed earlier to feel the Holy Spirit in me and to be filled with healing. Around 5:30pm something changed. Every cell tingles, sparkles with the love of God. I feel excited to be alive. Not just alive, which I rarely feel. I feel happy and connected and free.

(big sigh)

I could float up in the sky…
I feel happy. I feel free.

I don’t feel manic or depressed or paranoid. My head does hurt. I sing. I want to be alive. I want God to work through me for His good. I want to be.

I’ve believed in God all my life, but today I feel God. I don’t ever want it to go away. I raise my hands and twirl and sing and pray. I’m so thankful. And to think it started with a healing card. ;)

Willing to grow old

Posted on September 8, 2012 by writingtowardshappy

9-8-12 12:12am

I just caught something when I was proofreading the last post.

“When asked what I think love is my answer lies along the lines of finding someone to grow old with.”

I thought about that for a moment. For love I am willing to grow old.

(maple syrup pause)

I always thought I’d die before I got to this age – 26. And along the way I’ve never been pro-life. Not in regards to abortion but to living. I want to die a fair amount of the time and I don’t ever want to be old. But in that moment there was a spark. I’d be willing to grow old if I didn’t feel alone.

(goosebumps)

Wow.

I will drink water

Posted on August 4, 2012 by writingtowardshappy

8/3/12 9:42pm

I will drink water. It will cleanse me, form a shield to protect me from drama and stress. A readily-accessible remedy. I’ll grow me a magnetic bullshit shield lined with peace. I will call this a distress tolerance skill. It also fits into PLEASE Master. Self-care combats the stupid people, builds tolerance. Makes me into a warrior.

Open to God

Posted on July 18, 2012 by writingtowardshappy

7/18/12 6:17pm

I went to an ANAD meeting today. (I’m feeling anxious right now.) I went to the meeting and I realized how grown-up I am, how much progress I’ve made. I am not in that anymore. I’m not even in me. I worked for S-. I’m being opened to wisdom.

I have better boundaries. I understand why I do things. I practice mindfulness and DBT. I plan. I take care of me. I let things go.

Today last year I checked into CAP2. I could barely talk. I wanted to die. I was terrified. Dr. N was mad at me for giving up. I was so tired that I didn’t have it in me to try. Too tired to want to get better.

(deep breath, crickets) zap.

I rested. Then I did the work. And all year I’ve been working, learning, growing. Experiencing. Life.

I am more able now to deal with tsunamis of emotion. I can handle physical symptoms without freaking out. I made it through several crises, one of which I really would’ve preferred to be inpatient for, on the outside. I did it. And I’m doing it. I’m doing it.

My set of symptoms hasn’t changed much, but my ability to deal with it has. I also have stuck faithfully to the charting system I created with Dr. N in the hospital. July 28th will mark one year. It’s been good seeing him often and having a system we both understand and agree on. I trust him.

I’m finally to that point of being able to think about creating a life worth living. I want more for me. Marc wanted me to do that in 2008. I wasn’t ready. I don’t know what it will look like – probably a lot different than the picture in my head – but I’m open to ideas. I’m open to what God has planned for me. I’m open to God.

I am free

Posted on July 18, 2012 by writingtowardshappy

7/18/12 9:30pm

Thought of the Day

I am not an asset.
I do not belong to anyone.
I belong to God.

I choose whom I work for, when and what I do.
I set clear boundaries.
I enforce me.

I am on a journey in a set direction and nothing will deter me.

I am free.

Grown-up things

Posted on July 4, 2012 by writingtowardshappy

7-4-12 10:46pm

I didn’t feel like sitting in traffic so I walked 3 miles after the fireworks tonight. Fireworks make me cry.

As I walked I talked to myself and God, enjoyed the cool night air, the freedom to move and to be me. I was thinking about a DBT lecture note in my journal:

Acceptance allows gentleness – making room for something in our lives without approving or judging.

I thought about Mom and Don and about independence. I’ve been thinking and planning and dreaming lately about what I want and what my future could look like. It greatly raises my anxiety. So as I walked and talked to God I tested out some positive affirmations, things to say to myself to make it less scary. I came upon this one that hits the spot:

I can do grown-up things without losing me.

(breathe…) I can do grown-up things without losing me. Growing up scares me. I don’t want to do it and thinking about it freaks me out. Like someone trying to kill me. But I can do grown-up things without losing me. Or killing me. Or changing me. I like me. I love me. I need to keep loving me.

Comfort Drive!

Posted on May 30, 2012 by writingtowardshappy

5-30-12 10pm

So, I frequently donate my possessions to my favorite unit at Sharp Mesa Vista Hospital – clothes, journals, art supplies, etc. I get rid of stuff I don’t need and feel really good doing it. This week I had the idea to have a Comfort Drive and ask my family & friends and whomever else to join me in making a hospital stay easier on the patients there.

It’s called the Give Back Comfort Drive and all the details and what you can give can be found on the flyer here.

Sharp Mesa Vista is a local psychiatric hospital near and dear to my heart. I have spent much time there. I owe my life to them and I want to give back. Often patients arrive without clothes or other comforts of home. Simple things like an outfit, a hairbrush, or shampoo and conditioner can help them feel loved and feel like themselves again. Even a pair of underwear that fits can make someone’s day.

So, go through your closet, hit the store, or ask a friend. Let’s make it happen!

Please share with your friends!
FB event link: http://www.facebook.com/events/100419893433445/
PDF Flyer: http://www.dbsasandiego.org/resources/Give-Back.pdf

There is a great need for men’s clothing and plus size clothing for both men and women.

If you are in San Diego you can drop off donations at a DBSA San Diego group in La Jolla or contact me at michelle@dbsasandiego.org to arrange a pick up.

If you are not in San Diego but want to participate, you can mail your donations to:

DBSA San Diego
8837 Villa La Jolla Drive #12774
La Jolla, CA 92039

Thank you so much!

Sparkle Fun Toothpaste

Posted on April 25, 2012 by writingtowardshappy

4-25-12 1:34pm

Can I just say I love Crest Sparkle Fun toothpaste? Alongside the adventure of trying to learn to cook, I have also embarked on trying to take care of my teeth.

Many of you know that me and oral hygiene don’t exactly mix. And by don’t exactly I mean almost never. I always avoided brushing my teeth growing up. I’d lie to my mom that I did. Aside from a dental “check-up” before kindergarten I never saw a dentist either. When I was 18 I got all my cavities taken care of and got braces. They were helpful not only in straightening my teeth but reminding me to take care of them. But when they came off I stopped working at it. For a long while brushing my teeth made me throw up so I just didn’t do it. Then I got sicker and for the past few years I’ve been afraid to brush my teeth. I’m not sure why.

Anyway, I saw a new dentist this week and got a plan for how to fix up my teeth. Not sure where I’ll get the money but I want to do it. I do genuinely care about my food crunchers. I do love food ya know. Yesterday my doctor was like, “Once you get all this work done, start brushing your teeth.” It would be so much easier if they had pot roast flavored toothpaste.

So when I was at Walmart yesterday buying the skillet I don’t know how to use I stopped in the sample-size aisle and picked up a few mini-toothpastes to see if I could find one I was willing to endure every day. I hate toothpaste, I hate brushing my teeth, and I hate the taste of mint and strong cinnamon. I happened to pick up a kids travel pack with a tiny Sparkle Fun toothpaste and a small monkey toothbrush that could only be more awesome if it shook like a rattle when I brushed. I LOVE it. It has glitter in it and tastes like bubble gum. I’m sure I’ve used it before but it wasn’t called Sparkle Fun, although it is quite sparkly and fun.

I’m proud of myself and really grateful for this thing that is fun and does not taste like mint and makes me not scared of brushing my teeth. You should try it. Might change your life. ;)

Pain is the price of admission

Posted on April 15, 2012 by writingtowardshappy

(a conversation between me & a voice in my head after hours and hours of writing)
4-11-12 1:43am

(big breath)
I am alive.
I am alive.

If I have no control over what happens to or around me and what I do doesn’t matter…
If there is no such thing as should or real…
If I’m the only one my importance matters to, why am I here?

‘Cuz I like it.

(??) What?

I said because I like it. And I always get what I want. You can’t have hugs and the ocean without pain. Face it. You fear life.

No shit. I know that.

Yeah. But you don’t know that you love it too. You can’t see that in order to feel joy, you must know pain. The music comes with heartache. The ocean comes with pain. The dancing comes with a loneliness that pushes you to death. There are no substitutions. You can’t get away. You can’t strain off the bad. It is one.

(stare)

Michelle, you don’t want to die. You want not to feel the pain. The fire inside and the physical stress of your body melting away. But it’s not going away. It’s here to stay. What you do with it is your choice. But, like you said, you have no control.

There is no anti-life pill. You can’t strain out the seeds. Can’t sugarcoat it. You have pain.

You also have music. And hugs, and flowers, and writing and what you see in your head. You have God and the pirates.

(crying)

You have me.

But it hurts so much.

I know.

I’m so scared.

Like Jim said, you don’t have to understand right now.

I just have to be.

Just be.

I love you, Mom.

I love you too.

Acceptance is realizing the pain is an entry fee, a price of admission, to the theme park of life. Non-refundable. It’s your choice if you have fun or not.

The Butterfly Flower

Posted on April 8, 2012 by writingtowardshappy

(stream of consciousness during Electric Ladyland II at Anthology)
4/8/12 6:50pm

Dear Anthology,

I hate your guts and all the surroundings. It would have been EXTREMELY helpful if the girl on the phone had said I can buy some tickets at the door, but not the ones I want and they will be much more expensive. Oh, and a warning that your staff is rude would have been helpful too.

I don’t understand why every time I come here “upstairs is closed.” Last time they told me I had been “upgraded” to the bar lounge. It’s not an upgrade. I Hate the bar. I can’t see, there’s a flashing tv, and it’s freezing.

The music is wonderful but I’m having a really hard time sitting here.

—

I LOVE the music. It breaks free the broken pieces of me.

Your music is the sound of feelings, the color of magenta bold. It braids my brain.

Open my mouth to breathe.
Juicy Fruit gum.

Bandaid for a Brain Bleed. There should be a song called that.

If I were defusing a bomb, I’d like to be listening to this. It snakes though my brain grabbing wisdom.

“Braised bacon” does NOT taste like bacon.

Is there such a thing as an electric banjo?

When the channel is open the feelings are mobile. They dance in the air.
Oh, such color.

When you play, the dots float in the air. You make the dots and they float and dance. And everyone’s dots are a different color, like neurons and atoms. Yours are purple. Mikan’s are yellow. They float upward and build on each other. Voices are twisting bending lines. Everything up in the air. It is an electric ballet.

When the green man sings I hear you play JP’s love. I don’t know why. It is a loving pain that spins to become free.
Brings a warm smile to me.
Shut up, people. Love is made here. The dots disappear.

Pink!

What is that sound? Like a thought bent by riding the train…
Fluid thoughts are much prettier than crooked ones. As actual bacon is better than braised. And jalapenos shouldn’t taste like pickles. Pickled or not.

It is the red dots that get in the way.

Like cat food for the soul.

The music of brown carpet & hugs.

Must dance.

(big smile) I want to be in the dots as they turn orange.
Breathe it in.

Shut up you pre-clappers…
Let the dots fall slowly.

New dots caused raindrops, clear the truth.

I hear the sound of a heartbeat when it cries. Alone.
The texture of the taste of dark red.
Memory full.

Sometimes it is beautiful. And it is nothing else.

(goosebumps)

Michael Londra. That’s what it is.
Too many dots. TOO MANY DOTS!
(whooooo…)

Hummingbird-like dragon makes magic cat food dots for dancer’s soul.
Yes, I like it.
I rock and hum so they don’t explode in me.

(hug from -. “Glad to see you out, smiling.” me too)

Hard to hear Jamie’s awesome solo. When the wall turned blue, the music got softer.

Drum solos always get me.

The dots are like bubbles but don’t fall and take longer to pop.

My cells jump inside me! Aaaaahhhh!
Space Mountain jumping music. :)

(my candle went out – smoke)

The pink is over my soul and the train sounds outside. I love trains.
Smile in the night.

The sound is shiny.

Thank you, God.

Need to bounce! Happy comes when the candle is out.

The music is in my face.
The music IS my face.
She begs to make the orange. (big smile)

Hey, now. Don’t drop the orange ball.

Thank you, Electric Ladyland. Thank you, Jamie.

Writing Towards Happy

The experience of making positive change in my life

Category Archives: Hope