The More Things Change, The More They Stay The Same.

I’ve had this blog for many years and have utilized it under many different pretenses. Mostly therapeutic. I’ve always found comfort in the written word, whether it’s my own or someone else’s in one form or another. I’ve walked away from this blog time and time again, but I always come back. In the past, I would have some big epiphany that would inspire me to write everyday and finally “get my life together.” I would ride that motivation for about a week before it dies down and I go back to my usual hermit, depressed, distracted self. It’s funny looking back on some of the posts I’ve written that clearly define that “momentary motivation.” I seem like a completely different person but exactly the same simultaneously. That’s a weird thought. I started this blog in 2013, 7 years ago, and I’m utterly amazed at how different my life is from that time, despite my non changing antics.

I’m at a place in my life now that I’m figuring out who I am and what I really want. In order to do that, I have to look inward and heal myself from the inside, out. I have started getting my depression under control after a bad swing earlier this year. I’m working full time and I enjoy the job (the environment is toxic but I’m hoping that changes soon). We’re still living in NC and not regretting the move in any way. Our finances are under control and it’s no longer my biggest stress point. I feel comfortable in the mental space that I’m in to be able to start looking back and repair some damage from my childhood and resolve some trauma. It took a very long time to be able to get to this point and I’m happy it’s here.

I don’t plan on making any big declarations about writing every day or anything along those lines because I feel like I set myself up to fail. I don’t want to do that. I don’t write this blog for other people, I write it for me. If other people see and support me? Great! But it’s not my goal. Things are looking up and I’m excited. I’ll see ya when I see ya!

“The more things change, the more they stay the same.” – Alphonse Karr

The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears.

It can be a very difficult process to reconcile the person you strive to be and the person you’re meant to become.

It’s a constant struggle in my life. Certainly one of the main reasons that I start a new project with complete determination and lose steam a few weeks later. I can blame it on being a Libra or my INFJ personality, but I think it’s more managing expectations. Epiphanies rarely come to me one at a time. When I’m having a good day and I feel like my medications are working – I have this “high” that sends a lightning bolt through my imagination. I become excited and manic – wanting to start a new project and change my life. I become motivated that I’ll feel better once I lose some weight and the momentum will keep me going. The sudden inspiration can come from anywhere and can be about anything.

Recently, it’s been about exercising. I haven’t been active in about six months because of my illness and only recently have been approved to slowly get back into it. I watch videos and Instagram stories of these amazing dancers and the skills they posses and wonder if that could ever be “me” again. I loved dancing growing up – the family, the workout, the music. It was everything to me. I still love it, just from afar. I get lost watching “So you think you can dance” and choreographers on YouTube. I became excited to possibly start doing that again, working out and finding dance classes. The problem is that the follow through is not there. It’s not a time issue – I have plenty of time. It feels like a laziness issue. The obstacle is that I can’t determine if the lack of follow through is laziness or listening to my body.

This also translates to my relationship with food. I know I’ve written about this many times but food is my fickle bitch. I can be really great about cooking, eating healthy and bringing my own lunch for two weeks but then fall into a deep hole of take out and chocolate cake. I know that I reward small victories with food and I also wallow with food. On the days where my body is tired and painful, I will get takeout or delivery since I can’t cook. The laziness will spill into the next day and then I give up on myself and wallow in my failure. Delivery is very difficult to give up – especially in the days of Postmates and Doordash. It’s so much easier to order food now that it’s made a significant burn mark in my finances and my willpower. Not to mention my weight. My current success is that I haven’t exceed three hundred pounds. It’s a sad thing to be happy about but that’s where I am right now.

To be honest, I’m not really writing this with an answer on how I’m going to fix it. I’m open to any and all suggestions. Except saying “Take it day by day” because fuck you.

The person I want to become enjoys working out. I want to enjoy the heat emanating from freshly worn muscles. The feeling of sweat on my forehead and the high of each breath. I want to cook at home and enjoy the simple meals. Consistently bringing lunch (and eating what I bring) – even if I don’t like it. I want the joy of knowing that I saved money and my sanity.

Maybe someday.

 

The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears.  ~John Vance Cheney

I am in the mood to dissolve into the sky.

1,723 days. That’s how long it’s been since my last post. 4 years, 8 months, 19 days. To say that I’m a different person would be a complete understatement. Holy fuckballs.

I’m here today, a changed woman; living in a different state, and with a whole new set of problems. There’s so much to cover that I’m baffled on where to begin. I guess I’ll start with why I’m back and writing again.

My brain (and my anxiety) is currently at capacity. There comes a time when you have to look into a mirror and tell the reflection that it’s okay to need help and to have the need to express yourself. That’s why I’m here. I’ve had many ups and downs and the ugly demon of depression has reared it’s ugly head many times. More often than not recently. I have felt as though I’m under a veil of doubt or a thick fog that I can’t navigate. Hope and inspiration is desperately searching for a tear or opening to breath through. 2019 has been a very difficult year filled with illness, family emergencies, fiscal horror shows, employment issues, and new beginnings.

Fear not though, I will be writing about everything that’s going on with me currently as well as what’s happened in the last five years. I forgot how much I’ve enjoyed the written word, and I completely forgot about this blog. I was thinking it would be nice to put all my feelings into something, exchange thoughts and ideas, and have an outlet for what I’m going through – not realizing that I had that exact epiphany in 2014 and started Vintage Imagination. It’s funny how people change but stay the same. There is a major difference though between now and before – I have a much better support system in my life. I have met people that I have such a beautiful and profound connection with, it’s astonishing. I no longer feel as though I’m simply a friend “of convenience” because we work together or live next door. I have real friends now. Lifers. I have friends from work, friends outside of work and a group that I would Thelma and Louise it with. I love them and they love me. The sheer support and love that has been given to me this year alone is more than I’ve received from anyone in RI (with the exception of two wonderful humans).

So – here it is…

I’m excited to begin a new chapter (again).

This time I mean it (again).

I’m going to stick with it (again).

Instead of putting those phrases into my mind that’s destined for failure – I’ve decided not to put so much pressure on myself and just use this as I need it. I have so many ideas and plans that I don’t follow through. I become immensely inspired and loose steam after a week or two. This is my outlet, my ranting posts, my rage box, my safe space.

Safe space.

That sounds nice.

 

I am in the mood to dissolve into the sky. – Virginia Woolf

Shun idleness. It is a rust that attaches itself to the most brilliant metals.

It’s been quite a while. I know. I don’t have any witty comments or clever responses as to why it has taken me this long to update my blog. I’ve always tried not to put too much pressure on myself to update at specific increments but this seemed ridiculous. It felt like reaching out to an old friend to apologize. At what point is it appropriate? A week, two weeks… every time the phone

Artist Unknown

is picked up and the phone number is clearly dialed and waiting to be sent, a sudden wave of clarity washes over resulting in quickly hanging up. The blog is my old friend. for some reason, there was anxiety attached to updating. It felt wrong somehow that things are going okay for me right now. As though I would have nothing to write about. The problem with that – there is always something to write about, no matter how mundane.

I haven’t really updated anything since I received my clean(ish) bill of health. I didn’t want to jinx anything. This has been such a difficult year for me and since things are going in the right direction, my heart is waiting for the other shoe to drop. I have calmed considerably over the past few weeks but the aching feeling is not far in the dark corner of my mind.

I am going to leave it at this and I will not make any promises but I hope to update soon within the next day or so.

Shun idleness.  It is a rust that attaches itself to the most brilliant metals.  ~Voltaire

It feels good to be lost in the right direction!

Forgive me readers. It has been a month since my last submission. 

Apart of me has not updated on purpose and another part of me just doesn’t really know what to say. My mind is a latte swirl of ideas and passions and anxieties but they never blend well. Good things are happening to me, which is more than I could ever ask for but I still and always will struggle with who I am inside. It’s one of my main focuses right now. If you’ve read this blog for a while then you know that I am impulsive, indecisive and lack willpower or focus to stick with one thing. I will find something that excites me and I will put all of my energy and self into this project until it teeters out after a month or so. It is my biggest flaw. 

I’m attempting to alleviate some of this anxiety from my constant “failures” by approaching my life in a different way. My creativity is a spark that constantly needs to be cared for and ignited. Otherwise, I am restless and find myself on a path of destruction. I started another blog as an outlet to feed my art, all art. Photography, painting, writing, etc. It will serve as a way to find inspiration and peace. I can use it to document my journey into this way of life and the key component is that I am not producing a timeline. I can’t pressure myself to feel peace. I have also found that meditation and practicing mindfulness is helping me with my anxiety. The blog will help me explore yoga and Buddhism as well. Everything I’ve always been interested in and felt drawn to but never fully embraced as an option for me. I’m excited and I feel liberated.

The liberation is definitely a result of a few recent events that occurred. First off, I am very happy to announce that I am now HENRY FREE! That’s right… no more tumor in the back of my head taunting my every headache, every fear and every step. The latest treatment worked better than they ever expected and I couldn’t be happier. The phone call came as a shock which resulted in happy sobs from almost everyone that I know. It was so beautiful to see the level of support and thrill in the eyes of those I love. 

I have really good news that is still brewing so I can’t really release the entirety of the information yet until the pot is ready. Stay tuned. haha. 

I am trying to see things with more of an open mind and live more fully. If you are interested in following my new blog – You can here. I have named it Nefelibata because it is defined as: “cloud-walker”; one who lives in the clouds of their own imagination or dreams, or one who does not obey the conventions of society, literature, or art. How perfect is that? I finished the title with Zen because that is what I’m looking for. I started a facebook page for it as well. 

Wish me luck. 🙂

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.

 

Something strange happened. No, nothing nearly as strange or as cool as this picture. Have you ever had one of those dreams that leave you in awe. It wakes you in your slumber and leaves you breathless; yearning to go back to it for more or desperate to stay away?

The dream that I had last night was so bizarre that I woke up and remembered the dream so vividly that I could smell the dust settling and feel the stale air. I don’t remember how it started although it seems that dreams always begin in the middle. I was back in college with my friend and roommate Chien-Mei (a former co-worker). We were late to get to class and we both hurried to get seats in the busy lecture hall. The professor didn’t even begin talking and her phone starting to ring. She pulled out a 2002 Nokia phone and announced to the class that there was a murder in JC Penney and everyone should go there immediately to check it out! Everyone in the hall started to rush out, Chien-Mei and I were carried through the crowd and was left outside of the doorway as the stampede rolled through. We looked at each other and the empty classroom and decided to go to IHOP instead which was apparently on campus. (Everyone needs pancakes!) We approached the IHOP and was told there was going to be a wait. As we were trying to find somewhere to stand, there were people exercising on rowing machines and in the main waiting area, major construction. Massive cranes and chain link fences covered the waiting area, it looked more like an abandoned junk yard. There were construction men dropping large chunks of wood and metal, almost hitting someone with no concern. I stood against the fence when one of the cranes lifted a dumpster that was overflowing with metal discards. The crane toggled the dumpster and I moved out of the way as it fell all over the the fence, nearly crushing me. No one seemed to notice. Luckily, it was our turn to be seated and we sat in the corner where Chien-Mei looked out the window and said “Wow, the clouds look ominous.” (Yes, she really said ominous in my dream). As I looked outside, it looked more grim. They were black clouds. I looked closer outside to see a mushroom forming. “I think there’s been an explosion.” The radio next to our table started to static and began an announcement regarding a major explosion.

Then nothing. I woke up. I had to wait a few minutes to catch my breath again before checking my phone to see the time. I was completely stumped and flabbergasted. I really didn’t know what to think. On the ride to work, I was so shaken that I told my friend who I carpool with who looked at me with effortless ease and said “I bet it means you don’t feel safe anywhere you go. It makes sense considering you don’t feel safe in your own body.”

Oh I’m sorry, please lift my jaw from the floor. I couldn’t believe the insight and pure brilliance of that statement. It was alarmingly true and really resonated within my soul. I don’t feel safe. I went in for testing on Friday and my anxiety is through the metaphorical roof. I’ve decided to try a different approach to my health and begin researching holistic treatment. Obviously the recent things that I’ve tried has not helped so maybe my parents were right with the hippie lifestyle?

 

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. ~Edgar Allen Poe

 

And other failed pep talks I give myself…

I have moments of clarity. Just moments, rare and fleeting crammed in between thoughts of chores and work. These little ideal nuggets of time is like a spiritual connection between my mind and the universe. Everything fits and I am exactly where I am supposed to be. The problem with this is that when I linger on them or try to focus and seize the moment to hold on for it longer, it flies away. I never know when it will come back and the depression of uncertainty washes over me once again.

It’s because of these little experiences that I have where I am pain free and worry free that I want to look into spiritual healing more than physical healing. I want to research a holistic approach to my life and allow that process through my system. Have you ever met an angry Buddhist? No! I’m not necessarily saying I will adopt the religion but the philosophy and spiritual energy relationship is worth looking into.

I’ve been off of the medication for nearly two weeks and I am considerably better. I feel at war with my body and mind though. There is a constant battle of pain and guilt along with shame and disappointment. It’s too much to process without going crazy and it is difficult to say whether my pills are working properly. I find that I protest myself and try to seize control over my body by refusing to take my pills for a week. It never works out well and I end up more sick than I could possibly describe but I do it anyway. It’s my way of knowing what is going to happen, even though it’s bad. Please don’t give me a lecture about how I need to take them every day because I am fully aware of this. Self mutilation is sometimes the only satisfying control a person has left. It’s not healthy but it’s what I got.

On one hand, my therapist keeps reminding me to be kind to myself. I’ve been focusing on my writing more. I know that’s not evident by this blog but I’ll try to update more frequently. I’m a part of a few websites that will pay per article and I’m trying to get published with a short story that I wrote. The process is much more emotionally taxing than I realized. I enjoy the writing and I am going to focus more on the fun of it for right now versus the “getting published” part of it because I need to improve. I’m doing a challenge to write every day for 20 minutes so I am doing that to get more in the habit.

I keep attempting to build myself up. That’s what you are supposed to do. Remember that “This too shall pass” and “everything happens for a reason.” I am trying to figure out who I am, I’m struggling. I’m depressed and I’m stuck. The pep talks only work intermittently in between those moments when everything makes sense and I have the sudden peace that I am on the right path. Those are rare and my failed pep talks only get me so far.

The Unfed Mind Devours Itself

I’ve been pretty quiet lately. Not just in the blogging sense but in my life as a whole. I’ve been in a position of absorption, just leaning back in the hypothetical grass and letting the wind flow over me. I’ve also had the worst writer’s block that I have ever experienced. It was even difficult editing other writing. I can’t blame events going on in my life because everything is fairly calm, especially right now in this moment. I have such a need for creativity and balance that when I am not able to express myself in some way artistically, I feel less than human. My capacity for emotion diminishes and the depression creeps back. It’s been about two months since my last spurt of genius and I miss it; I keep clawing at my brain to get some of it back. I blame Henry, he grew since the last scans so I’m on round two to nip him in the bud. Doctors are hopeful so I suppose I should be too. I just want to feel normal again.

Today is day four of round two radiation pills. I feel so helpless and at the mercy of my body’s bipolar reaction. The only way that I can describe it is through the image of a pendulum moving back and forth; one extreme to the other constantly swinging from one side to the other. In one moment, I am nauseous or vomiting to the point of extinction and I am praying for death. Half an hour later, I am famished and cannot seem to satiate my hunger regardless of what I eat and my mood is oddly chipper but with a veil of melancholy remaining. The one constant, other than Michael, has been Ice Cream. I seem to be able to keep that down somehow. Plus, it makes me super fucking happy. Michael has been amazing in the regards of going out to buy me ice cream when we run out and making sure that I have a bowl in front of me when I need one. He knows that sometimes that is the only thing that will remain in my stomach for a while.

I see the worry in his eyes and I can feel the hesitation every time he touches me. The fear trembles at the surface as I know he doesn’t want to lose me. I tell him he’s being over dramatic but I know it’s justified. His feelings are completely normal for someone who has never seen anyone go through anything like this. It is really difficult to comfort the one person who is a comfort to you. It feels like a perpetuating cycle of madness.

I consistently try to distract myself with anything that can occupy my mind with thoughts other than failure. I say failure in the sense of my depression and my personality. Project life didn’t last nearly as long as I wanted. My therapist thinks that I tried to change too many aspects in my life at once and the combination was too overwhelming. That makes me feel like a failure. Project life had so much more meaning than just losing weight and keeping a clean house. It was a better future, a better me and I couldn’t keep up with it. My inspiration board still hangs in the bedroom, mocking me. I am trying to convince myself that it is still there, it is just hiding within me somewhere. After a few weeks of not keeping up with the house and falling back into our habits, complete with not counting calories again, I secretly knew that a baby was not going to be an option any time soon. The upkeep of the house directly correlated with the plan for the baby. When one started to fall through, so did the other. Personally, I am not upset because I realize that Henry probably won’t let me have any at this point anyway.

I’m sitting here, listening to Ingrid Michaelson’s new CD and trying to think of a story line to write my short story. I posted my troubles on Facebook and was told to try to write about a writer with writer’s block. It seems like Inception but I’m 2,000 words into it and I still have nothing to introduce. I need to find a muse. Something to motivate and spark my creative nerve. Pinterest will only take me so far. It can also be difficult writing in between vomit sessions.

On that note, I feel another one coming on soon.

 

The Unfed Mind Devours Itself – Gore Vidal

Shaving Your Legs Is Not Feminist (But You Can Still Be A Feminist And Shave)

The Belle Jar

I posted this picture (by Natalya Lobanova) on my Facebook page yesterday and received a bunch of varying responses to it. Some people loved it. A bunch of people shared it. But some also found it insulting and judgmental, and took it as a criticism of women who shave their body hair. A few took exception to the word “mutilating,” which, though modified by “slightly,” they thought was going too far. As with anything that sparks a discussion, I was interested in how people were reacting and why. The truth is that I really liked this image, and was surprised that people took offence to it. I think that talking about the fucked up things we do in order to be beautiful is super important, even if it’s sometimes uncomfortable.

Full disclosure, you guys: I shave my legs. I also shave my underarms, my bikini line, and this weird trail of…

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This is Amazing

I just came across this and it is amazing.

Staying Positive from Mary Lambert