True Habit

I have been dealing with feeling greatly disconnected from the world, life in general. It's great that I can help others, just not myself. As a last resort, I ended up paying for a healing/reading with a claraudient, who works with Angels...uh, I'm not sure I believe all that. It can't hurt though.

Anyway, he told me to meditate daily. I have to focus on this phrase each day,"I live in the heart of god and god lives within my heart." I do do this. It helps keep me focused. I usually do it while at work. When I'm running around the warehouse, I have a lot of free mental time. I'm not solving problems or dealing with co-workers. I meditate daily, at work....when I'm packing porn.

Jamiroquai Ghost Girl

Woke up feeling suicidal. I think I was whimpering in my sleep from pain. My shoulders are horribly achy. My sacrum feels twisted. My spirits are low. An all time low. I feel incredibly unloved, lost and a huge,huge burden to my family. I've been thinking about leaving again. Thinking of England or a cruise ship. Somewhere else to die alone, without bothering anyone.
Science has said that couples live longer. I hope I have a pretty good chance of dying young. I've been single for years now, but I need to be held. I need a good cry. When I go to bed and the lights are out, it's just my stuffed animal, my glow-in-the-dark ceiling and myself. I think of dying in my bed and being buried in it like Frida Kahlo. She and I must have some mirrored moments. She, at least, got married. For a little while, Diego thought she was the moon. Just once, even if it's for a breif moment, I'd love the thought of being someone's moon.

I drag myself to the kitchen to eat toast. I can barely taste it. Work is awaiting me. I wonder if I'll have access to music once I'm dead. I always wanted to follow Jamiroquai on the European leg of their tour. After death would be easier and must economical. I could be the Jamiroquai ghost girl. I'd wear cute shoes all the time. Stilletos!

My Dad comes into the kitchen to eat. I don't have the energy to be at the table with him. I grab my tea and toast and go hide in my room. It's bareky 6:53AM. I try to call one of my best friends to vent, but there's no answer. Probably sleeping. Good for him. I sit on my bed, eat my toast and cry silently. I think of ENgland and mountains. How I want to run away and be somewhere else, be somebody else.

I think of the boy I am dating, about how I could fall madly in love with him...if I allowed myself to feel. We had our first fight. It's not his responsibilty to fix me or make me happy or even quench my lonliness. I just want hugs from him. Some affection that would give me hope, maybe a little strength to face the day. Proof that being human isn't all that bad....even in this body. I unconsciously, out of selfishness, disrespected him, according to him. He took it pretty hard. I didn't get the hugs I longed for either. He just flew off the handle. There was no logic to it. Other than, he doesn't want to really be with me and is making an excuse.

Even in the dimness of my room, I find it hard to cry. Harder to reach out to people. I wish myself away. Today I don't really want to exist. I wear all dark colours, pass on the lipstick, but my shoes are red. And I daydream of making bread....maybe because cooking is one thing I can get right.

The Space Between Us.

When I flew back from the East Coast, I was freezing. I'd really grow accustom to the warmer weather. I hate flying. I hate sitting in cramped seats, being cold, and fidgity. This is not an ideal situation for my legs. My Dad picked me up from the airport. I always hate these moments between my family and I. Especially so with my Dad. Both my parents are real good people. Now as they age, with more health problems mounting; I feel useless. I've always felt like a burden to my parents. They've never done anything to suggest I was unwanted. Believe me, I find out everything!

With my Dad, I always felt like I was disappointing him again and again. Here we were at again.If I'd saved all the money I have used to travel, I'd have a pretty hefty savings. Yet, I never would have gone anywhere. I'm richer for my experiences. Broke, too. I have this great desire to do so much for my parents. Taking care of myself is a huge task. I don't think I do that great of a job at it. I wish I could pay off their bills, give them a paid in full vacation. Something huge. Yet, I'm the child who doesn't move out of the house for long. I have moved out a few times. I keep coming back. I do get along with my parents. They're great about respecting my privacy. My working hasn't been consistent. Hence, part of the reason I live with them. I've had PT jobs or no job at all. Recently, I've gotten back into the swing of working FT. Just barely though. My Dad keeps hoping I'll get some direction, a real career. It's not so easy. I've made it a point to never let anyone see me in pain. Not even a single member of my family. So no one knows what goes on inside my head.

What Level of Fishdom Are We at Today, Sir?

I recall ending up in ER one night. What i don't recall are how many days I'd collectively been bed-ridden. All I could do was stare at the ceiling, search for sunlight escaping through the blinds. Silent and alone.

I got to the ER via my bf, at the time. He half dragged me, half carried me in. He could have carried me in, but I didn't want to draw too much attention to myself. I'm sure I failed. We waited for an hour. Maybe closer to two hours for them to call my name. I followed someone to the back area. I know I was laid down on a bed. I explained my symptoms.

The problem was that my symptoms made no sense at all. I had numbness. My back felt weak. I couldn't lift myself. Maybe nerves were wrapped around something?? They laughed at me. How nice of them. There are no nerves around your spine....like I'm the one with a mediacl degree. Thanx, Asshole! I felt like my back was pinched up. I had a lot of constriction around my sacrum (tailbone). No one had a clue. In not so many words, I seemed to be making stuff up.

I wait for another short eternity. By that time I am angry. Fueled by my fire, I was ready to rip off the wrist tag and leave. Or yell at somebody and then, leave. I waited. I was given some pills. More than likely Motrin - which does nothing for me. I've been prescibed it since I was around 11. If anyone had read my chart, they'd know that it doesn't work for me. I can down 40 of these pills with no effect. It wouldn't subside the pain, but it'd help kill my kidneys and liver.
Pills are useless on me. Unless they happen to be strong muscle relaxers. The downside to those is that they knock me out for about 2 days. I become useless. I spend the first day or two sleeping, non-stop. On the day after, I can't form a thought and I still want to sleep. I don't bounce back quickly at all. So I just grit my teeth through the pain. Or I drink like a fish.

What level of fishdom am I at today? Seems I inherited my Grandpa's "drinking gene". He could drink bottles of brandy and still be standing. I can do the same and wake up the next without a hangover, without sickness. Now that I'm older, I will wake up feeling more dehydrated. It's not the best thing I can do to myself. I also end up gaining weight quickly. My inability to exercise, with a body that won't function, a body that wants to sleep all the time, paired with alcohol, makes me a chunky and unhappy girl. I can't win. It's a sickening cycle.

Snake Skin

I used to loathe being touched. I loathed having skin that could be touched. I spent a lot of time - hours into days - in the hospital. Not to be "fixed" or helped in anyway. I was there to be studied by med students and other doctors. To this day, I won't go to a hospital unless forced. I'd rather die in the street.

I can recall being about 11 and be paraded in a room full of doctors. Another girl was there,too. I think her mom had to carry her. there were about a dozen people in the room. All of them were writing feverishly. I was never formally introduced. I wasn't a person here. They didn't even direct their questions at me. I was poked, made to walk, stand,sit, poke,poke,poke. Then, I was escorted out of the room. The door closed behind me. Nothing ever came of that.

My medical file is as thick as the bible. I've seen every specialist my folks could afford (or not) to take me to. i even went to Stanford. There they told me not to gain weight. I roll my eyes. I'm not huge, but I could lose about 15 pounds. I need to be as thin as possible for the wellness of my joints. A little hard to do when I am bedridden at times. You figure it out then, let me in on the secret.It's a wonder I've never fully developed an eating disorder. I might have if vomiting didn't horrify me. Small mercys.


When I was 23, my back gave out. It seemed the older I was getting, the more difficult it was becoming to walk or even grocery shop. When I'd walk, after a few blocks or if I was trying to walk fast, my left leg would go numb. The pain was always there. The numbness was new. It was increasing. One day the alarm went off and I couldn't get out of bed. Literally, my legs did not move. I could move my arms, barely wiggle my toes and move my head. That's all. My body finally gave out on me. Crap.

My bf at the time suggested I needed to rest. That I'd been over-doing it and this was my body's way of saying,"stay in bed". He was reassuring. I was scared. I slept all day and all night. I really didn't have much choice. The 2nd day I was able to move better,more motion. Pain is always the lurking companion. I attempted to go back to work and that landed me back in bed. The details are fuzzy. That was over nine years ago.

Ground Control to Major Tom

I never felt I belonged anywhere. I have two scars which run from the inside of my ankle up the back of my leg. They stop underneath my calves. Hiding my scars was always a chore. I'd wear dark tights with shorts, skirts, or ankle-length skirts. I never learned to swim. It's laughable now, but I never learned to live in my own body. I say it is so because it really is true;Life gives you gifts - good or bad - whether you're ready for them or not.

I lay in bed paralized by my fear. Fearful of living like this and fearful of living a life I've always dreamed of. Certain options were never availbale to me. Now what? I'm not completely healed,but i will be soon. what do I want to do first? can I even allow myself to think these thoughts?

I am in pain every moment/minute of my life. Even in my sleep, I twitch with pain. I'm so used to this pain that I forget that's what it is. Most of the time I'm just uncomfortable. Right now it's different. Right now the muscles are pulling away from my bones and my bones are shifting. Months of work have brought me to this. My body is reinventing itself.

My healing journey began nearly 4 years ago - in Florida.

I had always heard that the waters of Florida were healing. Something cleansing and spiritual about them. I don't know if I believed,but I wanted to believe. A girlfriend of mine decided she wanted to move to Florida. She invited me along. For months I insisted there was no way I'd go. One day, I woke up and knew I had to leave. I drove across the States with her. I was hoping for a fresh start and a miracle.

Once in Florida,I spent as much time at the beach as I could. I couldn't bring myself to go into the waters yet. I didn't want to be disappointed. The waters were glorious. I've always found water, especially the ocean, very grounding. a part of me thought I'd lost my mind. My mind was on rewind thinking I was dumb enough to believe I could be physically transformed just because I wanted it to be and because I was asking for a change. The other part of me was angry.

I walked into the warm,soothing waters. I was so amazed at how warm and blue-green the water was....and then, I exploded with rage. I can't explain that moment. It was definately therapeutic. I began to yell at the ocean and attack it. I was hitting the waves, yelling, "C'mon, fix me!! Heal my legs. Do whatever it is,but make me better than this....I can't live like this anymore."

I never learned to swim. I've always said if the pain became too much, I'd load up my pockets with rocks and walk into the ocean.I don't believe I'm meant to leave this life anytime soon. I've overdosed on pills twice. It was my feeble attempt to rid myself of this "judas of a body". Once I even took muscle relaxers and I still woke up the next day. I was tired for a few days. It was bewildering that I even woke up.

After many days on the beach, and much meditation, I knew I had to come back to california. I had no idea why or how much my life would change. Ask and the Universe will provide, I guess.

I Have A Shoe Fetish & I'm OK With It

Where do kids learn to be so evil? What do they absorb from their family lives? I still wonder. I was tortured throughout my childhood. Kids would mimic the way I walked. Since my left leg was weaker and slightly more turned in, I developed a limp. It's also because of my legs, that I can not walk very quickly or stand for more than 5 minutes. More importantly, as a teenager, I could never dream of wearing the in fashion shoes all the others were wearing.

Shoes are my nemisis. At last count, I have about 50 pairs, but only where the same 5 pairs. Some of these shoes are my goal shoes. Shoes I am positive I will wear once I am healed, as normal as can be.

I grew up feeling like a Circus Freak. Maybe it's why I love the Katherine Dunn book "Geek Love" so much. I didn't want to look or be exactly like everyone else, but I did want to be respected. That didn't seem possible growing up. Anything "different" is shunned. I'm in my 30's and I have yet to learn to walk in heels. They don't make them to fit the shape of my feet. Nor is it a smart choice. My feet also throw off my balance. I actually don't have any balance. I'll be walking down the street and without warning, stagger in a zig zag motion. I lose my balance, cringe I'll fall, hope no one saw me do it.

I Am Mermaid

Healing is not easy. When it does happen, it's the most amazing Universal gift ever! Except I'm in crisis mode right now. Every cell in my body is screaming with pain. There are no thank yous on the tip of my tongue.

I had never tried to heal myself. I was led to believe that I was a lsot cause. My folks did the best they could, the best they knew how. I don't blame anyone.

I never tell anyone about my health. Why? Because it does one of two things. It either scares people away or it makes them scared of me. They become frightened taht I'll break or unsure how to act around me. Some people get over it. Others fidget too much in front of me. They want to carry my bag for me, make sure I don't lift a pencil.

Only in the safety of my room do I not worry about hiding. I never worry about shoes,clothing, or the things that could go wrong. My legs don't fit this body. I was born with clubbed feet. Yup, both of them. The left is worse than the right one. Yeah, I know people have been known to do very physical activities with club feet. EVERYONE is different. I got the basket of never-ending pain and growing disfigurement. Take that!

The very best visual way I can describe my birth defect is that it's like being born crippled without the spinal cord affected. My feet were dangling when I was born. One of my high school friends suggested that I wasn't properly reincarnated. Maybe I was really supposed to be a fish. I have always found this thought to be of great comfort. (Thank you, Jeff!) I am planning a mermaid tattoo, somewhere on my arm.

I was born 2 months premature. I was tiny. I could be held in one hand, disappear in a throw pillow. I don't know any details of the surgery. I tried to get my records,but the hospital burns them after 7 years. LAME!!!! I wore casts up to my thighs while I healed from surgery. Later, the casts were shortened to just below my knee. I was always kicking them off. A rebel from the very beginning, see.

I had to wear special shoes. Doubt they did any good. I'm sure it was just more money for my folks. Anyway, my earliest memory is at 1 1/2 years. I had to wear these shoes when I slept. It was a weird contraption. The shoes had a bolt at the bottom. There was a metal bar to be placed from one shoe to the other. It was to keep my legs straight. Supposedly so that my bones could heal properly. I have no idea if it did me more harm than good.

My parents would double knot my shoes. I'd still manage to kick off a shoe in the middle of the night. I'd wake up with a leg hanging over the crib, bar and shoe hanging. A serious drunk midget scene.

Around the age of six, I had a different pair of special shoes I was required to wear. I don't know why - again. Now when I say I had to wear them, what I mean is that some doctor developed a god complex and brought it to work the day I was seen. I recall nothing of the shoes other than they were slippery and ugly. I could not play with other kids because these shoes had me falling non-stop. I sat alone and in my head a lot. I was completely traumatized by these shoes. I still panic about the idea of slipping or falling anywhere.