Getting to Know Me

I am an every-day addict.  My recovery has now crested 90 days and I feel pretty good about it, although I now realize I will never fully recover.  My disease of addiction will always be part of my life.  But what about the underlying causes?  What about the Labelmaker – ther-rape-me (therapy)? What about, PTSD and manic highs and depressive lows and mixed episodes of Bi-polar Disorder 2, and BPD, and DID, all the crap in between?  Is it just bullshit bingo or are they a real part of ME?

I am trying to learn to love and accept me; JUST ME…you know…”Me.”

In the same breath of my breathwork and meditation, I am feeling this profound sense of loss –my youth.  I feel gentrified! Terrified! Dignified, and sadness all at the same time.  I noticed that I am now three years older than my late mother was when we first moved to this crazy suburban playground.  And she had five children, two grandchildren, and an ex-mother-in-law in tow as well.  She was always so together -well maybe not always (she suffered bouts of manic depressive disorder that wasn’t really diagnosed ever).  She was most of the time, the picture of classy and intelligent.  She had impeccable taste and was the most generous woman I’ve known.

So why am I stuck in this sadness piece lately?  There’s a quote that I love about tears….It goes “When we lose one we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough.”

Have I loved NOT enough?  What is this preoccupation with senescence?  It feels like my life is waning; like all the good things that happened to me were in my youth and are now over.  Bad things happened in my younger years too though.  I had a total hyserectomy at 29.  I was traumatically widowed at 42.  If I add the rest of the really bad stuff I can trace it to childhood. I have been binge-watching the series Grace and Frankie.

That’s it!  It’s not a mid-life crisis –it’s a NO LIFE crisis.  I am mourning the loss of my adolescence which I thought I would carry cradle to grave.  As I march on toward decrepitude, I have looked at this from every angle.  My same age friends are dying off.  My body shape has changed from Rubinesque or Botticelli-like to Maxine the greeting card lady!  Everything is sagging!  I want to think I am still young and cute.  I have even tried “fun with selfies” to see if I can get a decent looking photo of myself.  But guess what?  In every shot, I can only see wrinkles, sagging cheeks and puffy face and eyes.  BLECCH!  I’ve died my hair strawberry blond and plan to go blonder still —because I want and need a drastic change that will make me feel younger.  Ooh.  That really DOES sound like a mid-life crisis.  Men get younger new girlfriends or wives, buy a phallic extension car, and join a gym, while we women change our hair, redecorate our house or buy a new wardrobe.  If I’m not careful, silent lucidity will be replaced with complacent stupidity.

So now I really need your help.  Please comment on this blog with your advice for how I can stop feeling the infirmity of elderly.  Comment or write a Testimonial on my Testimonials page.

Peace, love, blessings and Oil of Olay to all who read this 🙂

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