20/20

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21) I am grateful for my sense of sight because…

I didn’t always have it like I do now. I had poor vision, could barely see clearly a foot in front of my face. I lived in glasses and contacts, got used to dry eye and headaches, all the usual run around for those of us genetically blessed. But when I hit my mid 20s I was eligible for Lasik. Your eyes stop changing around 24-25 so professionals are willing to do corrective surgery when you reach that age. I can’t remember what the specific year is. It’s been a while. So instead of Lasik I opted for something called PRK. The difference is with Lasik they make an incision and lift a flap of tissue to get the laser in to the deeper level of the eye. With PRK it’s more like they use the laser as a sandblaster, no incision, and they wear down the outside of the eye through to the lower levels. Continue reading “20/20”

Grief and Borderline and Bears, oh my

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An imposter

18) “At home find a keepsake or rummage through a ‘junk’ drawer and find something that has a sentimental meaning to you, write about it. What or who does it represent? Alternatively find some old photographs and tell me about one of them.”

I have a lot of keepsakes. I connect emotion with object very easily. I think that part of it is the Borderline tendency to be attracted to transitional objects (like a kid’s teddy bear or blanket that they can’t live without and represents constancy). I think the possession I would be most heartbroken to lose would be my childhood bear Huggie. My mother says I grabbed him from a shelf in Continent, a French department store like Walmart but you know, French, and would not let go of him. I was about a year and some old. I don’t know what Huggie used to look like but he has always been flat with two simple black eyes and a little black plastic nose. He has a ribbon around his neck that was, at one point, wide and wrapped into a bow. Now it is tattered and hangs sadly from his neck. Because he was attached to me, his fur is now matted and flat, but will still fluff up when you rub it. He has one silk tag that is so worn that nothing written on it is intelligible. He is blue and I think his original French name was something along the lines of “blue bear.” Continue reading “Grief and Borderline and Bears, oh my”

Heroes, Fears, ECT

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Gwen in Bubble Pop Electric

17) “Write about meeting someone you admire (real or fictional) in an empty elevator; you have 3 minutes to make conversation. What will you say? What do you want the outcome of the conversation to be? You could even write out the conversation in a script format.”

Gwen Stefani looks at me out of the corner of her eye, trying to assess if I’m going to be a crazy fan-girl. I probably will be. First I tell her that Tragic Kingdom was the first album that I learned from start to finish, that I traveled all over France with my discman listening to it. I’d explain that I decorated my walls with all the No Doubt magazine cutouts I could find. I’ve been to so many of their concerts and then her solo ones. I love collecting her memorabilia. I think she is a genius and has been such a powerful voice for women everywhere. I think the way she handled her latest obstacles is inspirational and a great example for women everywhere. She is iconic. I’d like to tell her that her music got me through some of the most difficult times, and that her music is the true soundtrack to my life. She made such a difference by demonstrating what a woman can do just by putting her mind to it (with talent to back it up). Her greatest songs are all about overcoming pain, putting difficult relationships behind. I would gush, I would want her to understand how much she meant to me, and then I would ask for an autograph, selfie, and a hug because I’m greedy. Continue reading “Heroes, Fears, ECT”

Not in Kansas

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16) “If you could click your fingers and be anywhere else right now, where would you be and why? What would you be doing? What would you see, hear, smell and taste?”

I would be on the beach in a tropical location, lying on a beach chair, in a bathing suit, in the sun because it’s December, I hate the cold, the dark, and this season. Beaches make me happy, and I’d like to be happy. I would have a Pina Colada, a good book, a floppy hat, huge sunglasses, a sarong, a soft towel, and access to water sports. The sand would be white and clean, there would be palm trees at the edge of the beach lending a protective feeling. I could hear the soft rustling of the leaves complementing the gentle crash of the ocean waves. There’s a light, warm breeze, carrying the chatter of people up the beach and some music from a hotel or bar nearby. A few white clouds dot the sky but there are no rain clouds in sight. There are people in the water, splashing, diving, screaming with glee every once in a while. A jogger and her dog run by at the water’s edge. The air is soft and clean, it smells like ocean: seaweed, foam, salt. I sip my drink so coconut and pineapple are added to the beach flavor in the air. I’d probably get up eventually and go in the water, which would be the perfect temperature to just walk in and stay in. I’d bring my snorkel so I could watch for tropical fish and turtles and stingrays, etc. Maybe I’d see a lobster in the coral.

 

Pain has a way of making you think it’s part of you

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Lost emotional baggage

I don’t get out much these days, so even though it’s literally freezing outside, I’m sitting here on the couch in leggings and a tank top (and a beanie for comfort). Agoraphobia is a weird issue to deal with. Not a lot of people understand. It’s like the world outside is so oppressive that most of the time I can’t even think about going out there. It’s terrifying. Xanax has been the only thing to jumpstart me to get out the door. I hate having to rely on something like that but at the same time, it works so I might as well accept that and just use it until my skills get better. Continue reading “Pain has a way of making you think it’s part of you”

Life, After

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One of the weirdest things about a serious suicide attempt is waking up. I wasn’t one of those people who jumped off of a bridge and regretted it on my way down. I was a person who woke up on the floor with a broken neck, agonizing pain, and instant disappointment more severe than anything I’ve ever experienced. I did not want to have survived and was beyond miserable. First there was the physical experience, which resulted in surgery and extensive therapy to recover. Then there were¬†interpersonal issues. How do you interact with your loved ones after an event like this? There is an inherent concern in everything they do and say because, maybe, I come across as fragile. It’s like in the old cartoons when you’re hungry and everything looks like food. I feel like when people talk to me now the suicide attempt is all that they see. Continue reading “Life, After”