I started this blog as a therapeutic tool. My "yo yo inspector" as I so affectionately called her wanted me to keep a journal. She said she didn't care what I wrote about, but wanted me to end each entry with a gratitude statement. Since I already was a well-seasoned blogger by the time I started therapy, it made sense to me to do my journal in blog form.
I think I need to back up here and go all the way back to the beginning. No, not to my birth, but to when I first started blogging. A few of us were the brave souls who opened MS Spaces back in 2004. At the same time I started a blog there (Abnormally Normal People), I started one here by the same name. The one here was like my vacation home I sadly neglected over the years. Spaces was home to me and I rarely went on vacation. As with most things, Spaces eventually evolved into oblivion forcing most people to either go elsewhere to blog or to call it quits. I moved into my vacation home and changed its name from Abnormally Normal People to Mildred Ratched Memoirs and here I am.
So why was I in therapy? After years of banging my head against the wall in the relationship department because I have zero judgment where love/sex is concerned, I put myself in time out. What was supposed to be a brief period to reflect and to decide what I needed to do differently turned into a 6 year stretch in which I became a hermit or troglodyte (cave-dweller) as I was once called by one of the infamous flamers on Spaces (who will remain nameless for reasons I don't care to revisit). How could a perfectly good saucy tart and once vibrant social butterfly become a hermit? Easily! It's a lot less drama filled and nothing can penetrate the wall of rubber around my heart. You see, I used promiscuity and being sexually uninhibited as weapon before to act as my barrier in relationships and now I have a hermitage that does the same thing without all the freaky entanglements I seemed to always find whenever I went trolling. Now, I've convinced myself that it would be unfair to get involved with anyone due to my physical problems. From where I sit, it appears all I've done is switched excuses to keep me away from the edge from which I constantly teetered. It was an intricate dance I lived and dammit, yes, I miss being on the edge. Now, the edge I'm on involves health concerns and other mundane things and lacks the fun and adventure I miss.
Part of me hates this way of life because like most people, yes, I would like to have a healthy, fulfilling, long-term relationship and since I am smart enough to admit I was/am clueless and needed/need some help I went into therapy. The therapy was actually twofold because not only was I having issues sorting through and making sense of my battered inner child and bruised psyche, I was having a hard time dealing with my mother who is a very healthy 83 year old woman who CHOOSES to do absolutely nothing, but sit in a chair and rock all day 24/7. That's a ongoing struggle and one in which I have finally sought out professional help to see if she can be coaxed back into the land of the living. I have to admit dealing with her sometimes is more than I can bear. I look at her and the transformation she has undergone is truly like aliens abducted my mother and left this hollow pod in her place. Nothing about her now is familiar to me. Okay, I know why I went into time-out, but the big mystery at hand is what sent her into the hermitage. Was she looking for her lost daughter and lost her way? That thought made me smile and for just a second, it made me feel loved, but it's a thought that's sadly a lie. Whatever reason she went there has nothing to do with me.
Recently, I switched medical doctors because I no longer had confidence in the ones who have been treating me. I got tired of having them prescribe drugs to me that people with liver disease shouldn't take. I got tired of their collectively uncoordinated efforts and their passive in and out approach to everything. I'm sorry, but I'm partial to my body parts and would like to keep them if possible. I'm sorry, but I want my doctor to at least fake giving a shit about me. This whole liver disease thing on top of all my other health problems has still got me in a tailspin. I know very little in life is fair, but it really blows my mind that with all the alcoholism that runs rampant in my family, the one who doesn't drink is the one who ends up with liver disease. Each time someone I know passes away from liver failure, it scares the hell out of me. So far, in the past few months that has happened twice. I've always prided myself on being fearless and now that seems to be all I feel. Okay, they say karma is a bitch and maybe all my past "sins" are coming back around to bite me in the ass. Is that really possible? Is that really the way it works? Let's hope not!
Gratitude statement: I'm thankful those those people who know me and love me because of who I am and not who they want me to be or think I should be.