all of this time the story of the Devil and Hell got twisted around. What if Lucifer were not the evil one but the WARDEN of prison in which evil is contained? A favourite angel of the big G, so honest and good that he was chosen to protect the flock from all the nasty women, liberals and immigrants. Wouldn’t the good christians want to buy him a cup of coffee and a doughnut? Instead, they blame Mr Morningstar for our evil liberal ways.
March is Caffeine Awareness Month. While the month is supposed to be dissecting the travesty that is CAFFEINE.
I get that you don’t want toddlers jacked up on energy drank! However, according to 23andme.com, I am likely to consume more caffeine than the majority of the population. I didn’t need genetic testing to know that, but hey: science is cool.
When I was a girl, my Aunt Mary taught me how to drink proper Irish tea – a potent brew with milk and sugar, these days I use erythritol or monk fruit to sweeten and heavy cream – because yanno FAT IS GOOD.
My goto morning cuppa is Republic of Tea’s HiCAF Breakfast blend. I don’t get jitters, and it is a lovely tasting tea with a whopping 110mg of caffeine.
I am sure some people consume too much for their system and needs. When I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia in 2005 after suffering most of life, I tried everything. I cut caffeine out – stepped down to as close to zero as I could get. It did not help. In fact, it made things worse. The lesson is – do what works for you.
Anyhow – enjoy the month and have a cuppa or four. =)
My Intrusive Thoughts.
Yesterday was a stressful fuck. First a dental cleaning – not a big deal in the scheme of things but I hate it none the less. After the cleaning, I was told that I needed a crown.
Three hours later I am having my right tit smushed in between two plates. Apparently, the mammogram I had the week prior has a spot they wanted to revisit.
So 3 more squishes then I am sent off to the ultrasound tech – 10 minutes of imaging the ill offending tit – then 20 minutes to see if the doc approves or needs more – another 10 minutes of goopy awkward massage – another 15 min wait then I am released.
Cancer, not cancer – nothing – something. Don’t know yet. But the intrusive thoughts are all over me today.
Yep, 45 is a nice age to die at. I can still say the majority of my life was fun and interesting. I am not 99 lying in a bug-infested urine caked bed – alone – waiting to die.
He is miserable – he would be better off. He doesn’t need me. He has a better time when I am away.
I would be doing him a favor – he could go be with someone or someones that make him happy. I don’t.
Life is unfair and you didn’t win the lotto but you know a good thing and you know when that good thing is over.
This is the kind of fucked up shit that ebbs and flows in my brain. All day every day. Sometimes I am able to shush them. I am able to count to 4 all day and drown out the noise. The thoughts. There are some that have clever names for their thoughts. You’ve seen the movies — the one who is only there for the anti-hero to see.
Mr. Brooks had Marshall
Elwood had Harvey
Dexter has his Dark Passenger
and of course, Dr. Jekyl had Mr. Hyde
*for another post – HOLLYWOOD: why do men with these problems get made into quaint men that you can have a drink or a laugh with – where are the women??
I have no cutesy name for my thoughts. I don’t see a person in a rearview mirror talking me into a bad decision or out of a good one. I am not sure if I should make an effort to see these thoughts as someone else. A bully, a fucking bully with the key to my brain.
Moments when I embrace the thoughts – then discard them because they are shitty ideas I feel powerful.
Moments when the best I can do is to continually count to 4 to talk OVER that shit well – those moments are just my life.
Moments when I sit and nod and think yeah it is time. I’ve caused enough pain to people I love and myself. I need to go … that is when I should write.
speak up – speak out
I can certainly understand the fear that comes with traumatic events at the hands of people who seem to have some “control” in your life. We all have things that have happened to us, to our loved ones and we continue to sit on these secrets.
We spend so much energy trying to be safe and quiet, and the trouble with that is it leaves others vulnerable to harm.
We are taught very early one in our young lives that someone that tattles was not worthy of listening to, they exaggerate and over-react.
As an army brat, I can tell you a lot of children and spouses tried to wear their parents rank as if it were there own. In the 3rd grade, a little boy tormented me on the bus. I told my mom after three days. I told Mamma what was going on. Her advice was simple – “the next time that little shit raises his hand you – knock him onto his ass,” – so I did.
We ended up in a meeting with the boy in his father’s office – with the boy and his parents – the base commander, and his mother. My dad was out on maneuvers otherwise he would have been there too. Mamma and I sat patiently listening to the bold accusations and threats. They were going to take my dad’s rank; they were going to ship us back stateside, they were going to file formal charges and have me remanded to a “HOME” for problem children. It went on like this for a while. “What you have to say for yourself?”
My mother was a bit of an enigma to most people. She would go out of her way to help a person in need even if it meant going without herself. However, bring harm to those in her care, and she would become a terrifying force of nature that you did not want to see again.
After the collection of ass-clowns picked their jaws off the floor, we headed out and down the stairs. Mamma stopped me and said “Never be afraid to tell someone when you are hurt, you may not be the only one, and it is up to you to speak out. It gives others strength to hear that it has happened to others like them. There are always going to be people who think they are more significant than others and they abuse their positions. Never just let it go.”
There is so much truth in that 3rd-grade exchange that I never forgot it, and I live by it today still.
I realize it can be scary; you think you may not have a job if you speak out – you may fear violent retributions. But I promise you, the pain you suffer now will only increase as you hear stories just like yours – and you will wonder WHAT IF? for the rest of your list.
Pain is a part of life – it just is. Suffering is optional. Take that hate, that anger, and that fear and do something with it. Create a movement, purge it out of your system with art and words but never stay silent.