Showing posts from June, 2013

I'm still me.....

I'm tired all the time now. I wake up and don't want to get up.

My jeans don't fit me and I have to keep pulling them up. I used to be able to eat a big meal and then some more. Now I struggle to finish an average-sized meal. I feel sick if I try to eat what I used to eat. It's a struggle to keep weight on.

I'm skinny. Thin. Slender. 'Looking great'. Whatever.

I'm still me. I'm still me.

In the morning I take a pill and wash it down with various vitamins and herbal tinctures. I take some more herbal tincture before bed. Sometimes it's hard to remember that I have to do it. When I do remember, it feels good to do something positive for myself. To help myself.

I can't remember what I did last week. I can't think about what I'll be doing next week unless it's really, really, important or exciting.

I'm so tired.

But I'm still me. I still like doing exciting things. I still like to do good things. Be organised. Be healthy. It's j…

We Need Each Other

Women, we need each other.

I've peered long and hard into the swirling dusty air in the aftermath of my recent breakdown. As things have slowly begun to settle, weak rays of sunlight are filtering through - one by one. The brightest shaft of sunlight beaming down into my weak and frazzled mind this week is that women need other women.

Alan Pease, the author of 'Why Men Don't Listen and Women Can't Read Road Maps' says that women speak 20000 - 24000 words per day, while men speak 7000 - 10000. That to me suggests that perhaps instead of verbally vomiting on our husbands when they get home from work, women need to speak with other women. We need to talk out things. It helps us think and process!

I love talking with my husband. He's very patient with my verbal vomits. He's also a very active and objective listener who gives good advice. But I'll admit that I do prefer talking to my friends about some things, because they understand better.

It's soothing to…

Digging Out Splinters

So....I had more therapy today.

I love it.

An hour talking to someone about my crazy thought patterns and how this mess happened is so therapeutic. Well, of course. It's THERAPY.

It's like digging out a splinter. It hurts to dig, but once it's not digging into you or swelling up because some nice person dug it out for you (or helped you dig it out), the relief is tremendous. You sit there, looking at the tiny spot of wood in your palm, scratching your head and thinking: "That tiny thing caused all that pain?"

It's amazing how tiny things like harsh words, disdainful attitudes and a lack of physical affirmation over a childhood has the real potential to destroy a person. Slowly. From the inside out.

But, thanks to modern psychology, those tiny splinters can be dug out. Then you can apply the soothing cream or bathe it to kill the lingering germs and watch it heal.

I've been blown away lately by the thoughtfulness of so many beautiful people. We have a constantly…