The Most Reliable.

I began receiving my unemployment benefits this week.  I still haven’t decided if it makes me feel any better.  I mean it should right, that if all else fails and I am thrifty as hell, I can play the bills and live all by myself if need be.  What that actually means is that I can support others.  That is what is has been for the last 5.5 years.  Me supporting others.  Even when I was broke, living in the trailer, I still found a way to pay the bills.  Why am I such a sucker? Why am I in the shitty relationship that has sucked the life out of me?  I often think of this poem that I used to teach my 6th graders…

by Judith Viorst:

Paula is the prettiest — the whole sixth grade agrees. Jean’s the genius — that is undeniable, Most popular is Amy. Most admired is Louise. But as for me, they say I’m most . . .reliable. Lisa’s the best listener — she always lends an ear. And all the boys say Mel’s the most desirable. Gwen’s the giggliest — but everybody thinks that’s dear. Who thinks it’s dear to be the most reliable? Jody and Rebecca tie for cleverest. Marie Is best at sports (and also most perspirable). Cathy is the richest — she’s been saving since she’s three. But who’ll save me from being most reliable? I’d rather be most mischievous. I’d rather be most deep. I’d rather — and I’ll swear this on a Bible — Be known as most peculiar. Nothing puts the world to sleep Like someone who is known as most reliable.

Honestly, this sits in the back of my head.  I’ve always wanted to be something different from what I am.  I feel like there is a block in my brain and I just can’t figure out how to move past it.  Maybe it’s time I try psychedelics again and see if that helps me open it up.  I live in a constant state of fear.  Will my stomach act up while I’m out and will I have to find a public bathroom on the fly because I’m about to shit my pants?  Will I be able to reach/wipe my ass from said public bathroom?  Yea, that’s a real fucking thing.  Will my knee give out and I fall to the ground and then I can’t walk at all?  Will I be able to find gluten free food?  Will I have enough money for the things I need or heaven forbid things that I want? Will I be able to walk from the car to the store?  Inside the store? or where ever it is I thought about going to?  Will I be able to find parking close enough to where I want to go?  Will there be people there that want things from me?  Will I be able to enjoy my experience even though I am psychotically questioning every detail?  Will I be able to leave quickly if any of the above is an issue or I begin having a panic attack?  This is my fucking life now.  I just keep waiting for the big picture, how am I going to lose the weight, how do I become more active?  I don’t know if anyone understands really how unstable I am, both physically and mentally.  It doesn’t matter because no one actually gives a shit.

I want a liquid IV food bag.  Something.  I want it measured out and programmed.  Is this even a thing?  I don’t want to have to eat food anymore.  Yet as I write this, I am hungry and thinking about what I can make to eat.  Food is my enemy.  I’m not even that bad at it.  I feel like I have given up so much already in this stupid life that I shouldn’t have to give up cheese and rice too.  People want to offer their advice, their “help.” A housemate wants to go walk with me, but I can’t think of anything more humiliating then making it down to the end of the street and having to turn back home because it is too much for me.  To share that experience with a dude I live with would just be so humiliating.  I’m going to buy some damn shoes later today.  Hopefully.  If I can manage to leave the house.  I mean I went to a workshop yesterday morning on resumes which I have to do to retain my unemployment, and I went to the bank to deposit said unemployment, and then I got gas.   I circled the library several times thinking that I would just park somewhere and go in and check it out, but for whatever reason the parking lot was closed and I wasn’t feeling the whole walking from I don’t know where to I don’t know where thing.  Maybe today I will go.  Maybe today, now that there is money, I will go buy some shoes to help me walk better and also some new glasses, and maybe try the library again.

I’ll be going back to the Dr. in a few weeks.  I know she gave me Welbutrin to start after I was finally detoxed from the Effexor.  I only went on the Effexor for the Fibromyalgia.  I don’t want to take another mindfuck pill.  I need to stop the pain and lessen the load.

How did I get here?

I don’t know.  I need help.  I’m miserable and depressed, in constant pain, riddled with anxiety, unemployed, in a loveless, sexless and feelingless relationship and over 400lbs.

Isn’t that a pretty picture?


The Tough Stuff.

This last year has been a real hot mess.  I don’t know what happened.  I could blame it on jobs and the the three that I have lost in the last year, or I could blame it on medical stuff that began, well really, has always been there, but since I fell and broke my everything at the house in the middle of nowhere just before I lost job #2, or that being unemployed causes me great anxiety, or that time I almost dies from the DVT/PE after my last cross country trip.  I don’t even know anymore.  I knew I was miserable in Florida and I was unhappy being a teacher there.  I went out on an adventure that brought me to medical MJ farming in California and when I could no longer stand living in squalor I decided to try teaching again.  And that, brings me here… to the loss of a the 3rd job and a completely different state, not teaching.  I thought I was supposed to make a difference in this world.  I think I must have already done it because nothing is fitting.  I don’t know what I want to do with my life.  I can’t think of a job I would like to have that my body can handle.

Oh yea… my body.  WTF?  My back hurts so bad most days that I can barely walk.  Going to the grocery store even gives me anxiety because I know I don’t have enough stamina to walk around and pick out all the weird things that I want/need.  My stomach just fucking hates me, like no joke.  So already I can’t have the gluten because I have Celiac Disease and that would just cause major havoc, but I am so fat I just can’t stand it anymore and I want to eat all the vegetables and fruits, but that causes a huge uproar in the intestinal department.  I need to be way more active, but everything hurts so bad.  My knees are in a real bad way, my shoulders and other joints aren’t far behind.  This is probably the fattest I’ve ever been, like people pointing and making memes of me fat.  I mean if I saw me, that’s what I would do.  I wouldn’t be able to look me in the eye. I live in constant fear that the DVT/PE is back and I am just gonna die, and then the other half of the time I just want to die because I have no quality of life.  I am afraid of getting jobs because I can barely walk anymore.  I don’t want people to look at me.  I don’t want to leave the house because I feel so gross.  I don’t know how to fix my head, my body or my soul anymore, so how in the hell can I be expected to help anyone else.

Maybe today was a little bit better.  I planted some stuff.  No one watched me do it.  No one was there, no one pointed and I got it done.  It wasn’t a lot, but I was outside in the yard and was slightly active.  I am really hoping this unemployment thing works out for me and they start sending me money because I don’t know what will happen if they don’t.  I am thankful that I was at least approved for the Oregon Health Plan and will still be able to see my doctor that I just started seeing.  It took 3 months for the insurance to kick in and over a month to get my first appointment and then the next month… fired.  Ugh.  And, if was partially for medical crap that I was fired.  I mean really, I feel like I’ve lost the game in a big way.

As I write this Pandora plays this song and so I feel I must share.


Find the me in the Mess.

So many things have happened lately.  Everyone is doing their own cool things, and here I am being a pre-existing condition with invisible illnesses.  I am in this endless loop it seems.  I am fatter than I have ever been; the kind of fat that people stare and point at.  The kind of fat from which memes are made.  I don’t eat poorly, I never eat fast food, hell I’m allergic to gluten… but I can’t do anything.  My back hurts, my knees hurt, my shoulders hurt, neck, feet, skin, you name it.  I was on meds for this, but it was an anti-depressant and I didn’t feel it was doing anything, but I guess it was.   I thought it made my head worse, but maybe I was slightly saner.  I don’t really know.  How am I to really scientifically know if I am crazy.  Seems silly.  I do know I go through bouts of depression that are sometimes so bad that I want to die.  That’s not all the time though.  I have more anxiety than depression it seems and the anxiety is the thing I can’t stop.  It takes me down to a really bad place where I just don’t think I can go any further.

I am in more pain now than ever, and now that I don’t have a job and my insurance is ending, I am kind of freaking out about it.  The more I freak out the worse it gets.  The anxiety over takes me and I feel like I just can’t go on.  Like I don’t want to go on, especially in the form I am in.  I feel like I am a burden on society, on my family, on my housemates, on future employers, on friends, on my dog even.  I often feel like the world would be a much better place without me in it and maybe I should just let the diseases over take me.  I always feel like whatever is bothering me must be some catastrophic thing, because it always has been in the past, and honestly this is a lot of fucking pain.  I need a person.  A person that gives a shit about me, a person that will take me outside and walk down the block with me and come back because that’s all I can handle.  A person that will help me make meals that are appropriate for weight loss, Celiac friendly, sans all the weird things I avoid because they make me feel like I’m going to shit my pants all day, and not laden with butter and oil because I can’t really cook for myself because it hurts too much.  I mean seriously, it’s that bad.  I have to sit down in between cutting fruit for a smoothie.  I literally can’t stand up for more than a minute.  The pain is so bad if makes me weak and I feel like I am going to fall over.  I need a person.  A person to care.  A person to be here.  A person to help me with my life.  A person who doesn’t judge.  I’m just real fucking tired of being me.  I don’t want to go anywhere, I don’t want to work anywhere, I don’t want to go into stores, I can’t travel, I barely fit in my car and I would need to buy two motherfuckin plane tickets because of my fat self.  I just feel shitty all around.  I think about all the people going to Rainbow this summer and how I will be here, being a shut-in because I can’t even walk 20 feet down a trail, or squat to use a shitter and walk to the shitter 6 times a day because that’s what my stupid digestive system does to me, especially in the woods where it knows my body can’t walk that much.  I mean for fucks sake.  I am out here on the west coast which is good, but I am here with all of these people who go to Rainbow and don’t understand why it’s so hard for me and why I can’t go.  I am fucking broken.  That is it.  Just broken.  You know how I fixes it last time?  $65 a week in dr. visits and appetite suppressants, vitamin B shots once a week, 10 oz of lean protein a day and 4 servings of certain veg and fruits totaling about 2 cups worth.  I mean, that was it.  And I was going to a gym when I could. Now… I can barely walk.  Now I would just like to be able to walk.  I just want to live a quasi-normal life.  The self-loathing is really hard for a person that tries to help others as their chosen profession.  I wish I had a person here.  A person that I chose and they chose me too that has nothing to do with Rainbow or my “profession”; a cultivated friendship,  a soulmate, someone who understands that this isn’t me and can help me find the me in all of this mess.

Thought Vomit: True Definition

I have finally made the decisions to start writing once again.  In that decision I didn’t realize stories would be then filling my head preventing me from sleeping…again.  It’s OK; I don’t have a job anymore.  It certainly has been a rough year.  I could have give up any time and let go.  There were many points this last year that I could think of nothing other than ending it all and making sure someone knew I wanted to be cremated because I would be to embarrassed if that many people would have to carry a coffin for me, or a special order coffin would have to be made.  Then the thought of my body uncomfortably shoved in a box and buried underground was too much and I decided that a one time burning with maybe my ashes spread out to those weirdo friends that carry around ash of their dead friends, and family that wants any.  I don’t know man, life is hard.  Life sucks, but it is the only one we have.  I am tired of the, if this happens I will be happy scenario, or if I achieve this goal everything will be ok, if I get a regular job everything will be fine mentality.  The problem is, I just don’t know how to change it.  I don’t know how to fix the problem, or if there really even is a problem.  Why isn’t what I AM doing okay?  Why aren’t I seeing results or changed behaviors?  Life’s fucking mysteries.

There is a man here.  He arrived 2 eveings ago.  He rode his bicycle over 10, 000 miles for love and peace.  He talks to a minimum of 10-30 people a day about the love and the light and how everything is one with the last.  Generally he relys on the kindness of others, and he can go weeks on the bike on a mere $80.  He has a trailer and he keeps his pantry in it and each night he sets ups camp somewhere and cooks a meal over an open fire.  He utilizes food pantries and accepts the love that other want to empart on him.  He has traveled on the bike through something like 13 countries, meeting the locals regardless of knowing the language or not.  He was able to share a meal and some wisdom with more people that anyone else will ever have contact with in their lifetimes.  He talks of the interconnection between people and the energies of the universe and the land.  Mama Baja he called to when traveling through Mexico, down to his last pair of pants, it being so hot and turning the pants into shorts and having no food, and magically a man appeared on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.  He sat with the man and shared some oranges and homemade torrillas, and they spoke to each other in a kind of non-language, a language that involved deep eye contact and heartsongs.  He writes down these stories and a friend has compiled them and purchased a domain for him.  He is from Iowa.  Just an odd tale of 6 degrees of separation on how he got here only not boring to the 6 degrees.  Today I awake and fine him washing the dishes and straightning up the kitchen in my house; the house I share with 4 other adult sized humans, 4 dogs, 1 cat and 6 baby chickens.  I know that later today he has arranged for some volunteer work at the local community recycling center in exchange for use of their tools and parts to fix his bike and rig.  Another really cool thing about living in this area is Bring Recycling.  They have all kinds of parts and bits and scrap from building projects, etc.  I really just can’t say enough about the place.  Our bike rider is helping teach a tile-laying class take and in exchange he is getting the parts he needs to repair and upgrade his bike so that he can carry more on it and be more self-sufficient.  10 years ago, whilst living in LaLa Land, I would have never known about this life and the journey of others and a recycling center that I can go to to buy junk to turn into other stuff.  You know… that’s always been my MO… turning random stuff into other stuff.



Kindness and generosity are not lost of me.  Some have maybe lost site of what is important in the world, but to me it’s all about kindness and taking care of one another.

Kill Your Local Heroin Dealer.

The world is harsh place and not everyone can handle the reality of it.  Some people excuse themselves early.  Today I mourn the lives of two friends that lost their battle with addiction and mental illness.  Both friends suffered from metal illness and never seemed to be at peace.   One friend I knew much better than the other and I’m at some point going to tell his story so it won’t be lost.  Today I just ponder this:  what gives one human the right to judge another human for their addiction when said human has many addictions of his/her own? What makes one substance better or worse than another?  What can we do to help our fellow humans detox from deadly drugs if they want to quit?  How can we better understand what drives them to this killer of a substance?  How can we help our friends get the help they need?  How do we respond to a friend in crisis?  How to deal with the feeling of I know I could have done more? How do we help friends with mental illness when we have our own that we don’t know how to deal with?  Why are people really bad at taking their own advice?

I just don’t even.  I can’t even.  I am tired of losing friends, but I can’t figure out why I’m still here.  Life is harsh.  Fuck it Dude, let’s go bowling.

#fuckyourlocalheroindealer #mourning #lifesbigquestions #addiction #mentalillness

What is Thought Vomit?

Thought vomit is just what it sounds like.  I have lots to say and no one to say it to, so I will save it up and put it here.  I collect stories from people that pass through my life.  One day I will use all of this to write a book.

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