Inspirational anorexic

Inspiration has become so fleeting as I get older and more weary of life… 

Sometimes it washes over me at the most inopportune moments, like a magical mist of glittery fairy muses.  I can wallow in it and it gains momentum.  One inspiration to another…and on to another…  It feels so juicy and vibrant….beautifully prolific.  Carried away, I want to float on the glittery mist and drench my mind.  Interesting arguments.  Delightful thoughts. Beautiful emotions.  Engaging images.  All drifting around me in slow motion like delicate snowflakes.  I can reach out my hand and touch any of them!  They don’t melt or scatter away.  When my mind grasps one it sparkles more brilliantly and creates a sensory explosion! 

It’s exciting! I feel so alive in these moments… I want to hold onto the thoughts and the moment itself as if grasping this will re-fill the loving juices in my heart with new vigor and energy….enough to baptise my bitterness clean and start again fresh and innocent of all the clutter and confusion.

And then it passes…  I want to bottle it up and sprinkle my heart “as needed”.

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Wearing my “Big Girl Pants”!

Another interesting and funny line I read in JLH’s I shot Cupid, is when she says (and I summarize here), “Yeah, it hurts really bad, but after a while you gotta put on your “big girl pants” and get over it!”

So, today, I forced myself into my Big Girl Pants!  My pants of choice were not all that attractive really.  If you picture 15-year-old VS navy sweat pants with bleach stains, full of tiny nubbies from over-washing and PINK written across the hiney in pink letters, then you’d be close to an accurate picture.  And I’m not so sure it’s totally honest to say I’m wearing them…it’s really more like they’re dragging me around today…

However, I’m very proud of them because they shoved me to the gym for a nice (brief, yes, but c’mon!!??!) workout, and even dragged me to the grocery for some healthy, but tasty goodies with which to nourish my poor beaten up and deprived body.  Then, after I returned home, they just wouldn’t shut up till I made a nice healthy smoothie, chock full of lots of nutrients and fresh fruit!

As I’m drinking my delicious Big Girl beverage, they pushed me to my computer and adamantly suggested I write about these positive steps and whispered, “Go ahead and brag about wearing us today…quit your whining and write something positive and hopeful for a change for crying out loud!” 

And so I have.  They’re certainly not the prettiest pants and they’re actually a little pushy, but I’m hoping I can find another pair to fit into tomorrow and maybe with minimal kicking and screaming on my part, someday I might get to wear Big Girl Pants most of the time…

Fahgeddaboutit

…feel like this needs to be my motto for sanity for a million reasons.  I must learn to forget about it….pretty much everything really…

I spent the entire day yesterday longing to write.  I had beautiful thoughts and well put-together words that ached to be typed.  Every spare moment of thought in my head which  I had was spent making little attempts to organize and collect these wonderful thoughts so that once I could sit at my computer, I could best manage to get them out in an efficient way.

Seems to me that by the time I get to be alone with my thoughts and at my computer, I’m so full of a million other things, that I no longer recall what I wanted to say or feel I have anything at all to say anyway.  Is this typical of people who enjoy writing…people who feel compelled to write?

I’ve so much that I  hope to say someday…so much that I pray I’ll get to write efficiently about before my life is over…  and I chronically feel frustrated and interrupted so that by the time I get to attempt this, I’ve nothing going through my head except frustration and believe it or not, I don’t ever intend or actually want to write only about frustrating or painful things.

So maybe if I can’t ever “get it said” for whatever reason….perhaps that’s an indication that none of it needs written or said anyway?  It feels empty to think that my one passion in this world has resorted to nothing but a venting of negative feelings and challenges because I can’t organize my thoughts or time well enough to ever accomplish anything but…

Ahhhhh….yet another venting…!

Hindsight…..arghhhh

Bit broken down and whatnot, but was encouraged by a dear soul to write anyway…. (thank you, my friend!)

Reflecting lately on hindsight…wondering why foresight can’t be 20/20??  And contemplating second chances..who gets them?  Under what circumstances should a 2nd chance not be granted?  Pit party mode:  Why can’t I be in the good graces of 2nd chances, anyway?  Some get so very many “2nd” chances, while rarely get one…..

Obviously, I fall into the “no 2nd chances” category for whatever reason…the higher powers that be have deemed me unworthy of such grace…  and within that frame, I swallow the bitter lesson that perhaps it is not better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?  I mean, who said that anyway?  Whoever it was certainly had more grace and gratitude than I! 

Losing a love is excruciatingly painful…and after all, before you’ve loved, you can’t even know what you’re missing, so…hmmm……??

No, I have decided I would rather not have loved at all….  Would I miss all the beautiful memories of being loved, feeling loved, figuring out what love is?    Oh yeah…but I’d not know that I missed it at all, so better off, I believe I’d be!

On the other hand, were I more gratefully graceful, I could confess that I have once been loved deeply and far beyond my expectations.  Perhaps I just wasn’t ready for something so huge?  I sure didn’t know how to appreciate it fully or accept it as reality until it was long gone from my life.  So, instead, I spent 2 years in bliss I never fathomed prior and three years desperately trying to make up for losing it…beating myself up every inch of the way, as though that might make me worthy of a second chance….

No such luck.  No second chances.  Just vivid, painful hindsight and sweet memories that sting with the heartache of that hindsight.  Memories which haunt my every waking (and sleeping!) hour.  Memories that tear at my soul, rip at my self worth and shred  my ability to forgive myself my erroneous errors.

I’d like to think that perhaps it wouldn’t have lasted even if I hadn’t erred………….but that’s not something I can convince myself of because the evidence proves it would have…  Evidence shows it was the greatest, purest chance at love that I may ever have…and I couldn’t see that until it was too late….  And hard as Humpty tried to put it together again, alas, it could not be done…. Too little…too late..ahhh cliche’…

Maybe there’s only one chance at such depths of love, in order to learn that second chances aren’t a given in any situation, so I’d better get it right the first time from now on…if there’s ever another chance to demonstrate what I’ve learned from this experience….  Haha… I suppose it’s called once in a lifetime love because the opportunity comes only once…..

Yes, I would most definitely erase every beautiful memory, so I could live blissfully in ignorance of what love can be…and pooh-pah in hindight’s hateful mean face!

However, as that is not an option, instead, I get to trudge on, hoping it all makes sense someday….and hanging onto everyv possible shred of hope that nothing is ever final…until it’s final…

The frustration of documentation

Don’t know why, but I’m craving a documentation of my experience.  Do I want this in hopes of validation?  Who would I even share it with?

On some level, I do think it would be validating and healthy to have it documented in writing.  I can’t imagine anyone would ever be interested, but I might feel a satisfaction knowing that in the rare event anyone might be curious, interested, or perhaps even helped by my experience, then such information would be available.    And if no one ever was, no harm done, right?  Writing has always been my primary outlet of purging my thoughts and releasing them to better organize and understand.  Writing is my perpetual therapist.  She/he is compassionate, patient, forgiving, and cleansing…and so far has never once given up on me…no  matter the extent of my insanity or problem.  I realize that this is no easy task, as I’m a perpetually frustrating hard and enduring case of a myriad of issues, experiences, and a constant insatiable craving for knowledge and understanding.

So writing a documentation of this would be nothing harmful and only positive.  Yet, I can’t get my thoughts in order enough to write it.  Perhaps because I’ve only minutely documented bits and pieces in extreme moments.  Yes, I am not a totally reliable client to my therapist.  I selfishly come and go only as needed…

I feel so strongly that documentation is necessary for myself and/or perhaps to help others.  It repeats in my mind that it must be done.  It is so frustrating to feel pushed and compelled to do something that seems just beyond one’s capabilities…  Simultaneously and to add to my frustration, I have the chronic paranoia that time is running out to do this.  I am merely in my 30’s….and it feels that time is running out…literally??

Um, I am apparently quite mad.  And in that madness, I only wish that I could cross the boundary into the comfort of complete and utter madness.  Standing on the fence for so long has become exhausting:-) AHHHHHAAAHHHHHHHHAAAAHHHHAAAAAAA (that was my attempt at an evil laugh!)

Ummm…..gosh, or have I?