Happy Birthday, me

Progress Report (as posted on Facebook just now):

Progress Report: Today is my 56th birthday.
1. I am alive.
2. I have a roof over my head. I paid my rent this month.
3. I am able to speak English fluently. My speech is no longer slurred because I no longer take antipsychotic drugs.
4. I have amazingly healthy skin and hair. I don’t have to worry anymore about pimples or excessive sunburn, both side effects from medication I once took.
5. I still get my periods. Just about every month. Guess that means I’m not pregnant, eh?
6. I no longer suffer from any hand tremors nor do I have trouble keeping my balance the way I used to when I took psychiatric medications.
7. I recognized over the past year that after all these decades, I never had a mental illness. I believe that most that end up in mental health care aren’t as sick as they are led to believe. I myself was completely convinced I had a terrible, limiting illness for a long time. I am free of this false belief.
8. There’s enough food in the house for me and Puzzle. I cook some for us every day. I am no longer forced to follow a meal plan and no one babysits how much I eat or what I weigh. I have gotten rid of the excessive monitoring and am finally free to live my life as a responsible adult, and as a result, I am doing fine with eating.
8. I own a bathroom scale. I love that it’s my choice to own one or not. Now and then I dust it off and step on it. After 56 years, my own weight bores me, but I do have to keep an eye on Puzzle’s.
9. I am no longer enslaved to the Mental Health System in any way. I am liberated from the grind of weekly therapy sessions and forced weigh-ins, nor do I ever see a psychiatrist. I am free of all programs and support groups as well. I do not receive any visits from state workers or any type of “services,” only financial assistance.
10. I would like to get a job if I can find one. I would like to get more involved with other writers over the next year and work on a new long-term project.

So many people have reacted negatively to this new way I have chosen. So this shift, this change wasn’t easy. I cried a lot. I hear having a baby is rather tough, too, and you hear a bunch of screams, but I’ve never done that.

Happy birthday, me.

In celebration of my upcoming birthday…56 and free

56 and free.

Yep, my new slogan.  Last year, it was 55 and alive, this year, 56 and free.

This year I am more than just surviving.  More than just barely hanging on. I am more than a thread, a small flickering flame, more than a candle in the wind, that tiny bit of oil left in the lamp, that miracle.  I am a giant ball of unstoppable fire. 

Rest assured, I don’t plan to shut up anytime soon.

Having been 55 years old for a few days now

Yesterday while I was running I was thinking that inner strength and belief in yourself can get you far in this world.  If you think you don’t need other people’s support and love and kindness and advice to get by, you are going to be waiting for a while.  People are unreliable.  People don’t stick around.  Believe in yourself instead.

Waiting for other humans is like texting someone, and then sitting around waiting for a response that never comes.  Just don’t bother.  Think of the minutes of your time that you are wasting, staring at the phone that never vibrates.  Weren’t you doing that same damn thing with a landline decades ago?  You felt like strangling the person, or yourself, with the cord.  Shut down your cell phone, and get on with your life.   People are not worth it and this person obviously isn’t bothering with you anyway.

Do you seek the approval of others before doing everything you do?  Like do you go to your therapist and ask for advice and approval of each and every decision?  It’s your life, not his or hers, and you have control.  You’re a grown-up now.  Part of being a grown-up is making decisions on your own without these other grown-ups.  Oh, these people eat it up that they get to control your life.  Shock the pants off of them and do something on your own for a change.  Get a dog.  Get married.  Or cancel the next appointment.  You can do it.

Yes, you can make decisions about when and what to eat.  Yes, you can make decisions about your body.  Yes, you can cook for yourself.  Yes, you can choose to exercise and move your body in all kinds of ways, and that means more than just stretching or looking out the window or sitting in group and raising your legs or “coping skills.”  Your body has a future beyond just “gentle yoga” for the rest of your life.  Yes, you can run, and if some idiot therapist tells you not to, tell them you are taking care of your body and maybe you need a new therapist.

So, thinking all these things, I upped my speed on the treadmill some.  I was nearing what would be my third lap at Victory Field.  Only I was  grateful that I was not out in the cold and my fingers weren’t so cold that they were snapping off.  I thought: Gee, I could roast a finger or toe for dinner and satisfy those fuckers that I’d eaten protein.

I’m turning 55, and I thought of all the people in the world that did not help me get to this place.  I thought of all the people that did not believe in me.  I thought of the ex-friends that badmouthed me.   I thought of all the mental health professionals that did not believe in me and did not help me and tried, again and again, to have me put away.  When I left the hospital that last time, they shook their heads and said, “She’ll never make it.”  Those fuckers.

I thought of the various people who had called the police on me over the past year or two.  I think the police found it rather annoying to say the least, and didn’t particularly want to deal with these hysterical-sounding do-gooders calling from out of town.  They did not believe these callers.  When the police arrived, they had smirks on their faces.  Just doing their duty.  Oh, the looks I get.

I thought of the time I was looking for a therapist, how many calls I had to make.  Literally hundreds.  I received hundreds of “No” calls back.  I went on wild goose chases, too, going to therapists and then having them tell me they could not or would not help me.  I went to one therapist who did not even have qualifications to be a therapist, no degree in anything relevant, and did had not training in proper confidentiality or professional ethics.  No business card, either, hmm. ( Gee, I’m just as qualified, I have a master’s degree in something, why don’t I set up a therapy business, too, and start charging?)  Wow, now I have a therapist, finally.  Not sure it’s doing me any good, but I have one.  She’s okay.  I show up.  Nothing’s happening in therapy but I am not going to stop, because at least she isn’t abusive.  I’m just bored of it.


The eating disordered part of me would love it if I could find a place where I could be anorexic, get skinny, wither away and die.  You know something?  Life is deceptive.   There is no such place, much as we anorexics would love to make such a paradise for ourselves, and try darned hard to do so.  It is the Anorexic Hell Hospice, and it takes on various forms.  For many, this Anorexic Hell Hospice is our own homes, or the homes of our families of origin.  So for a lot of people with anorexia, the answer is to get away from this family of origin and break free, not only physically, but in the spiritual sense as well.  Many are locked into the control of the family for life, and I’m not saying this is what caused the ED, but I’m saying if you’re trapped, you’re trapped.  Get out.

The  hospital is a huge trap.  Get out.  Hospitals are for sick people and hospitals perpetuate illness.  They are run by insurance, money, and red tape and are poorly managed.

But don’t go to a hospice, either.  Think about it.  Do you want to live or die?

Is “home” a place to live or die?

If you’re like me, you haven’t answered that question, and you’ve been straddling between life and death for years, playing the game.  Just quit the game and live.  It ain’t worth playing.  You know why?  You don’t even get to choose the moment of death.  No one does.  You get gypped out of that.  It gets chosen for you, at random, and that I know of, most folks die alone in some dark, dark place.

I will be 55 shortly

I will be 55 in less than 36 hours, in fact, so if God, or you, or anyone else wants to ensure that I do not have this birthday, be sure to pick me off during this time window.  I dare ya.

After all, we Jews killed Jesus, didn’t we?  That’s what I was told when I was a child.  In my 55 years, I have handled a hammer a bunch of times, not a lot.  I guess average “for a girl.”  That I know of, I have not had the experience of nailing a 2,000-year-old guy’s wrists to a board.

If I had done this, it would have kinda been overkill, don’t you think?  Wouldn’t he be old and decrepit enough?  And under law, doing something like that would qualify as elder abuse.

Just think: I could go to jail for a nail.

Anyway, I am a Sinner in the Eyes of  God according to one person.  July 2011 I nearly died of starvation and was on a medical floor.  This prestigious hospital had “sitters” watching me from an independent agency.  Well, that’s what one of the sitters told her patient, a lady who almost starved herself to death, me.  That I was a Sinner in the Eyes of God.

Wow, lovely thing to hear.  Makes ya want to live, it does.

So this “sitter” has less than 36 hours to lodge a complaint against me, saying I am a Sinner in the Eyes of God and should be picked off.  Removed.

Hey lady, you too.  I dare ya.

Post-flu, I couldn’t be better.  I went running today on the treadmill and kinda surprised myself.  I looked on the “target heart rate” chart and made comparisons to what the treadmill heart sensors are saying, assuming they are accurate.

My conclusion:  I seem to have a heart after all.  Guess I’m human like the rest of you.  My heart beats like everyone else’s.  That sure beats not having a heart.

In fact, it ain’t such a bad idea to follow your heart to where it leads you.  Ignore what others say about you or think about you if in your heart you know you are doing the right thing.

Sometimes, your heart may lead you to a lonely place.  You have to travel a journey all by yourself and no one will accompany you to protect and advise you.  Yet you know you are right, and you journey onward.

Now consider those who have advised you to turn back and go instead to a safer place.  Are these people who have always loved and supported you?  Are these people to whom you can turn when in need?

I revealed to my brother my new plans, and he told me how stupid and crazy I am.  I asked myself if his advice was coming from true caring, or if it was coming from wisdom.  How much time has he spent with me in the past two years, anyway?  This man does not even know who I am.  He doesn’t want to spend time with me or get to know me.  Why should he even care?

Because he’s afraid that if my plans flop, I’ll go running to him, and oh dear, he’ll have to shell out his precious money.  I think that’s what he fears.  In our phone conversation, I guess he was protecting his wallet as usual.

Pretty sad.

Don’t listen to shits who don’t love you.  Who cares what the world thinks of you, or me.  Just give ’em a few whacks, hit ’em over the head with a hammer.  Or nail their wrists to a board, be a Sinner in the Eyes of God, and wait 36 hours, see if I care.