Live a Big Ass Dream for Me

Long ass post…written as a reminder for yours truly more than anyone.

I am reading The Secret right now, which is essentially a Cliffs notes of a Course in Miracles (or the source material for most self help anything’s) But I mean, read anything and gratitude will always come to the forefront. No matter how much I’ve read these types of books though, it took until yesterday for something really important to click in my brain again.

It’s about being grateful for now, but it’s also knowing, trusting, and speaking as though you have to whatever it is you want, because you already do have it. I’ve operated loosely under these principles most of my life intuitively. Evan and I had always struggled with money but I always said “whenever I’ve needed money, I’ve always gotten it” and it was never wrong. We just made everything harder bc all we did was talk about being broke and focus on all the shit we couldn’t do or didn’t have. We appreciated nothing. But that makes me appreciate the converse of me not working anymore so much, because I am quite literally clueless how I’d ever do all of what I used to do again. My guess would be “half assedly” or perhaps “not well at all”.

Another belief I always had was anything I set my mind to, I can do. I have always proven myself right. Every degree, promotion, happy or unhappy relationship…all proving me right.

But for the last 7 years, a dangerous new belief has taken root. Or maybe a dangerous long-standing belief has reared its ugly head for me to handle: I am not okay. I can’t trust myself anymore. I am a fuck up. I am never going to get better. I am a fuck up. I date losers who treat me like shit and that’s what I deserve. I have proven myself right to a degree of perfection. After losing against myself for decades, I’d like to play a new game.

I am not sick. I am healthy. I am in perfect health. I did the one thing I said I would not do. I identified with my alphabet soup. I may have bipolar or whatever, but I’m not bipolar. I may have mood swings, but I am not mood swings. I may have depression, but I am not depression. It’s such a subtle linguistic twist, but the ramifications of self talk and any type of communication when you place yourself as powerless are massive. It’s only lately I’ve let that slip and I have not done well for it.

I am not powerless to any of this. As a matter of fact, all of this nonsense is what makes me powerful. There have been so many weird problems since the lithium went awry and I have been very off track since. I went right into struggling with eating disorders and everything. It was as if i forgot all the past years of coping.

Yet, here I am, a month after and catching myself. In my thoughts, words, and actions. I was really sick. I was thinking and acting like a sick person. To the point I went to the ER Friday as a last resort in “omg what is going on with me?” I have been having a problem with bruising to the point now my inner thighs are literally one giant bruise on both legs.

After my sound medical advice was to start taking a multivitamin to treat scurvy, which followed my psychiatrist and doctor telling me to stop taking any supplements whatsoever, I suppose my bruising was caused by taking the vitamins I needed to preemptively treat the scurvy I developed by not taking the vitamins I was taking that caused the bruising. Clearly, this is a time traveling issue and cannot be solved by traditional western medicine.

Or perhaps, it’s a sign I gotta get my head out of my ass and get my shit back together. Because I don’t trust doctors, because all they’ve ever done is literally make me sicker. Like the time I went to the ER for a breathing treatment and left a week later with a catheter and my first nervous breakdown. The most helpful thing I have gotten to date from a doctor is prescription ibuprofen and prescription tablets of b6. This is quite literally the best PMS I’ve ever had. I’m stable, moods aren’t labile. I had a shit ton of panic attacks on Friday, but that was because I was in the hospital again and me and the medical industry aren’t a good combo.

I trusted my old doctor, this one is meh. The psychologist is the one who told him to start treating me for my PMS so I won’t credit him too much. And I’ve been saying these things for my entire womanhood so kudos to one medical professional for hearing me after 22+ years of being ignored.

And that is where this post can actually start. I am so thankful for anyone and everyone who has actually heard me in this journey. It has been piece by piece. If ibuprofen and b6 are all I needed to get stability, that’s sweet and I’m thankful I have a potential solution that is fairly minimal on the side effects. I am thankful for being persistent and tracking myself and studying myself like a damn guinea pig to figure things out. I’m thankful for the amount of self discovery, growth, transformation, etc all this has taken me. I’m thankful for every person who has walked along side me. For those who have been there when I’m so low I won’t talk to you and pretty much cut you out of my life, for those who have been there when I am screaming about the government hacking my cell phone and that I am Jesus or Mary magdalen or someone important come to save the world (that part is true duh)

But that journey is done now. I am healthy. I am in perfect health. I have a self care routine that includes supplements and medicines, and I am healthy, happy, and completely stable. I will no longer refer to myself – even jokingly – as unstable at best. Because I am so fucking sick and tired of proving myself right. It’s time for something new. Or something old that I’m trying again. Who the hell knows. All I know is I am so grateful for my health, happiness, and wellbeing. For me and all those I love. And all those I don’t even like.

I just can’t see any other logical approach to a seemingly powerless situation than to just take my damn power back and get back to doing what I was born to do: write random shit on the internet and raise my babies. And raise hell. A lot of hell. Cause I’m apparently Mary Magdalene reincarnated. And the government hacked my phone. Is this even me typing??? I don’t know.

What I do know is: 2 years ago yesterday I wrote about seeing myself as an old woman holding my grand babies. I have long, white curly hair. I am sitting on a green rocking chair on a big porch. I can hear the waves crashing as my grandson – who is the spitting image of Tyler only with chestnut brown hair and eyes, begs me to tell him another story. A little blonde girl with curls is climbing on me giggling.

I forgot about that dream until Christmas when we took the kids to a mansion in longport for vacation. We stayed in the house. It was a blue porch and in my dream it was green porch, but other than that, my feet were exactly where I saw me with my grandchildren. That dream came to me at my lowest point – while discussing terminating my lease at Brookside and moving back in with my estranged husband. I was quietly suicidal then. But I had that dream. And I remember hearing clear as day in that dream “just. Hold. On.” So I did. For that badass old lady and those adorable grand babies. Until that dream, I was convinced I was going to die young. Before my 35th. By all logic, I should be dead. I should have crashed into that telephone pole 2 years ago. How I woke up in time and made it to Evan?

When I saw the house, I knew with certainty my life was far from over. I knew with certainty I had changed. I didn’t die in that car that night, because I have babies to raise, I have a husband to love, I have a beachfront mansion to buy and remodel. I have an entire life to live. Over and over. Dream by dream. I am so thankful – and I have a lot of shit to do. Mansions don’t just buy themselves, and I have a 1.75 M check made out to my husband and I that I’m gonna need to cash.

Stephen King made 400k when Carrie got published. I have enough poetry on my hard drive/google drive for at least 4 complete poetry chaplets, and they’re just sitting. I have short stories. I have kids fiction. I have horror. I have any and every little nugget that has ever fallen out of my gray matter just waiting for me to stop telling myself I’m too sick to be the genius I am.

Today’s that day. Today is when I start, and I don’t stop til that old lady closes her eyes in bed one night, and drifts to the next realms. Then I continue…

If anyone made it to the end, thank you. I genuinely hope you start thinking and writing and speaking the same for yourself.

Related:

13 Reasons

For the MOdern MOm

Find the Beauty in Your Tears

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