Irony oh ironee

So there I was full of the singular determination that I would change my script. That I didn’t need to carry the duvet of pain around with me. Regardless that I have shed this weight no less than 5 times, the last time honing myself into a runner who could happily run 4 to 6 miles a day. ( I just had to put that in there)

That I would leave it all behind and start afresh with love and energy to go forth and whittle. And then the pain arrived … inside… this searing mind numbing abdominal pain.

I have had it before, put it down to dickieness of the tummy, self-diagnosed IBS person. Sure that is what it is. A touch of. The ould murder guts.

If there was nowt on the telly we’d listen to the boom bang gurgle of my insides. Endless entertainment for the easily amused,

So the short version is I went to the doctor (a kindly neighbour drove my there) and got pills that work for stomach ulcers. And the bag feels a heap better. Still feels like someone has been in there with a hack saw, but better than yesterday.

So my script is, all is well.

So have you come across the concept that microbes in the gut have an effect on one’s mental health. I am randomly researching the idea which is fascinating and compelling.

There is a book called Follow Your Gut by Rob Knight that I want to read.

I leave you with one of my favourite pieces of writing on microbes

by Myles Na gCopaleen

“The Brother can’t look at an egg.”

“Is that so?”

“Can’t stand the sight of an egg at all. Rashers, ham, fish, anything you like to mention – he’ll eat them all and ask for more. But he can’t go the egg. Thanks very much all the same but no eggs. The egg is barred.”

“I see.”

“I do often hear him talking about the danger of eggs. You can get all classes of disease from eggs, so the brother says.”

“That is disturbing news.”

“The trouble is that the egg never dies. It is full of all classes of microbes and once the egg is down below in your bag, they do start moving around and eating things, delighted with themselves. No trouble to them to start some class of an ulcer on the sides of the bag.”

“I see.”

“Just imagine all your men down there walking up and down your stomach and maybe breeding families, chawing and drinking and feeding away there, it’s a wonder we’re not all in our graves man, with all them hens in the country.”

“I must remember to avoid eggs.”

“I chance an odd one meself but one of these days I’ll be a sorry man. Here’s me Drimnagh bus, I’ll have to lave yeh, don’t do anything when your uncle’s with you, as the man said.”

“Good Bye.”

 

The Best of Myles p52

scripts, shmipts

I sometimes think about the scripts people have that I have for myself. Scripts you say? Well, let me explain… A script that a person might have, for instance myself, might run along the lines of, “Life is wonderful” or “Life is hard and full of pain” and a myriad of other statements. These statements put together are a persons script. Then add the elements of a perfectionist and a simple subconscious suggestion and lo, the script starts being real.

I have from time to time, been profoundly depressed. I manage my feelings and script everyday. I have great difficulty saying “I feel awful” because it is almost like an instruction to myself to be the BEST awful I can be. Or the most perfect depressed person I can be. Like my brain says “Lads!! Hop to it and conjure up those sickening empty bones ratty feelings!”

So I try to change my script. By literally going against the grain and announcing to my subconscious that it is ALL good!!

Now this might seem pretty deluded, but look at how folks make themselves feel better when following a script. Drinking (I stopped drinking when I was 28 because it made everything worse) shopping, eating and so on. Getting little hits of dopamine and serotonin to try and weather the script that is in progress.

I carry alot of weight, literally at the moment. I realized I hold on to it because then “everyone would know how much I was hurt, how much hurting I have endured” Seriously!

Why is there a need to advertise that? What is the pay-off?

Now (this is my 10 years plus of therapy kicking in,) I figure it has to do with the bones of my script.

My default setting is guilty. Just walking along the street minding my own business and this micro feeling tags along. I get stressed and it ratchets up the angst and guilt levels. I think folk, friends are annoyed with me, I feel like I am wrong. To the point that when I am in the company of folk in general and I feel like this I want to hide. I usually run away.

I mean come on, why won’t I rewrite my scripts?

I need to and I want to.

I am going to try

… and succeed.

(See what I did there :D)

Colds ain’t what they used to be

I caught a cold, in a roundabout way. Not deliberately. Ah. hah. ha (cough). From my mister man.

these are not the droids you are looking for

A sure fire way for me to appreciate my world, is to have a cold.

It surprises me that my body can feel so awful. It doesn’t compute! Then I remember pre-cold, times. Rollicking around, being busy. Whinging about different things. They all pale, disintegrate as mind and body are consumed by the cold. However over 10 years I used to smoke cigarettes. A 2 pack a day lady. Waking up at 6am to smoke and then go back to sleep. Terrible habit. I was profoundly addicted. When I caught colds during that time, it meant acute to chronic bronchitis, steroids and being really ill for weeks. Now down time is a few days. While I still whine it is nothing like it was.

How did I give up smoking?

1. Made a decision I was only going to stop smoking the once.

2. I chose a day off, that I could spend on my own. I got some good reading material and settled in to make it through day one. I listened to my body and did the drink a glass of water every time I felt a craving surge.

3. I contacted local stop smoking nurse support who would ring every so often and tell me have amazing I was doing. Which, actually helped immensely. Someone saying “you are so cool! Woot Go you. Yay!!” or words to that effect

4. I bought 3 weeks supply of nicotine gum and weaned myself off after 10 days.

The benefits of stopping smoking, are immense. You DO see the extra money. The biggest thing that surprised me was that it was far easier than I thought it would be. I kept my mind open to all suggestions. It didn’t matter how I stopped. I stopped.

The thing that touched me the most was when I hugged a smoker I could smell the smoke on their hair, breath and clothes. That was me. For years. Yet everyone I loved hugged me! For years! Thank you people for hugging smelly smoking me!! I love you for that.

Peek a boo lady embroidered

 This week I began to embroider things!

  

 

Thomas and Twiddles

I know I said Friday… forgive me.

Last week, we said goodbye to Thomas and this week it was Twiddles. Both cats were rescued. A sweeter pair there never was. They enriched our lives, immensely. Upstairs where they used to be is a space minus them. A different empty energy. Like all the atoms that they left behind still vibrate or faff around or do whatever cat atoms do. Managing my own feelings around both losses has been a challenge. But I have coasted each day and let all feelings wash over me. I read a very interesting article about rejection, loss and Rumination. It’s here in a Ted talk.

As it was late I read the transcript.

It felt wonderful to have the feelings I feel described and even more amazing to have a balm described. I understand when I have a big feeling it opens up all the feeling ‘Channels’ so that all feelings are big. Trying to navigate in an choppy emotional sea, when each swell is greater then the last. It used to be something I struggled with.

When I feel something intensely there are a whole other host of unrelated feelings along the sidelines that I experience in tandem. At the same time. All extras to the lead feeling. I used to believe that guilt was my default setting. It’s not. It’s what happens to me, when I get stressed. I feel all wobbly. The key, the magic wand is mediation, mindfulness. Just sitting. I shall try to remember to practice emotional hygiene. To steer clear of ruminations and get on with things.

Here are two songs I wrote about Thomas and Twiddles. Two much loved cats.

Forward!

Newsflash! Two blog posts in one day! Unheard-of I hear you say. Well I am trying out a new method which involves shouting at the computer and getting my word processing program to dictate everything I say. I am notoriously shy/ timid when it comes to sharing about myself. So of course in the throes of self-doubt after my last post. My capacity to fret is outstanding.

I wish I could lighten up. I like to believe I don’t take myself too seriously. This is so strange. Surely gabbing on about myself indicates a taking myself seriously. But I don’t. And have odd blog titles, not for the faint hearted to prove it. (See desperately shy..)

Just before I fell asleep the other night, I I thought about words being currency, how they have to flow. How like water they eddy and twist and shape completely different things.

Language is amazing. The same components combined in different ways to mean completely different things. We are unified by our experiences. And language unifies this experience further by being able to describe.

People aren’t 100% everyday, so why should blogs be 100% everyday. This blog is about my experience. By keeping some sort of record, I hope to eventually lighten up.

To this end I am going to post once a week, on a Friday morning.

Happy today to you

I want to write something specifically for Valentines day. So here goes. Second blog post.

Someone once said, “you can pretty much eliminate grief from your life when you are single. They also said being single you can, forfeit the possibility of great joy.” I cannot remember who this person is, it was in a book that I read.

Single, the pros. In no particular order.
The usual single things.
Having any level of hygiene, from ocd cleanliness to raucous slob.
Any kind of habits.
Sleeping in any position.
Celibacy.

Not having to suit anyone else except yourself.

Lots of time to watch tv, do your own thing.

To visit the botanic gardens 3 months straight to photograph squirrels, which is what I did one summer.

Solo holidays. I traveled to New Zealand, Australia, Hong Kong, Europe. Ranting at total strangers in a minibus on the way out of a jungle. The joy of smiling, shaking hands and walking away. The relief of my own company.  I remember laughing hysterically in the shower at a hotel in Venice. I laughed so hard, I howled at the receptionists line. That he may need to sleep on my couch. In my tiny hotel room, because he was going to miss the water bus home. Oh my.
Not flirting.
Flirting.
Not having to explain anything. To anyone.

Singing loudly. Singing loudly anywhere. Especially alone at night, to scare away the bad guys, that might be lurking in streets.

When I was single I was a bit feral. I was single periodically for most of my life, 8 years being the longest stint. Single and celibate. When I met my current partner there was a lot of ground he had to cover to get me to trust him.

He had to explain. Everything.

The cons of being single.
Hmm, being single, the downside.

Celibacy.

The unearthly feeling of dejection walking past restaurants on Valentines day.
Why was it important to sit with other couples with overpriced, questionable food?
Wishing hell would rain down on all smug people holding hands. What was the point? Was the other going to wander into traffic? fall over? step on a mine?

That was the only con. The low grade anxiety that slopped around, being transferred to any negative situation.

That I was a failure for being single.

Any magazine, any ad for insurance, all of Hollywood agreed. I was a failure.
My life was unresolved.

I could only ever yearn, hanker and hope. Colin Firth. Hugh Grant.These were the kind of men to seek out. Imaginary characters that bared no earthly resemblance to any man I had ever met.

Other peoples idea of how life should be. Weighing heavy on my reality of the way my life was.

However I loved basking in the glow of other peoples relationships. Living vicariously through them. The aura of joviality. The gentle teasing. The smiles, the gazing into the eyes of the other. These genteel situations that shimmered and whispered, what I thought must be love.

Relationships happened to other people. I would read books in case I had one. Like I would be prepared, like some eager girl scout.

My falling in love feelings were not demure. Not pleasing. They were heady unruly oceans of doubt. Storms to be avoided, rarely weathered.

So I resigned myself to the fact that I was to remain single. Relationships happened to other people. Along with all the assorted pros and cons.

Eventually one was to happen to me.

Are we there yet?

I think it’s about time I kept a note of what was and what is. As I have had this blog for 4 years now, even garnering a happy anniversary accolade from word press, urging me to keep up the good blog! Yeah. I had better start.

Who am I? Well I remember there was a film called Zelig by Woody Allen, the word Zelig means “a person who is able to change their appearance, behaviour, or attitudes, so as to be comfortable in any situation.” and I used to think that described me to a T. I liked to believe that I could fit in anywhere. When living in Spain, I was mistaken for being Spanish.

I liked to believe that I would just fit in when truly I was trying to melt away.

I so admire anyone who has a handle on the whole living thing. On being themselves. Those who are shouting from the rooftops “This is me!!” while  I’ve been on many a roof top, I have never been to me.

I remember when I stopped drinking, (I don’t drink, alcohol and me do NOT get on. I spent my formative years proving that in a pronounced way) I felt that stopping drinking allowed me to be a daughter, a sister and a friend. However my life was so fractured that even now i struggle for my bearings.

Now my life is more then pretty good. It is amazing. It is beyond my wildest dreams. I have a fantastic partner, whom I love beyond measure. I have space to regroup, I have kind loving people in my life. On the fringes. They are there. and I am grateful.

So voila. First post. Is this Ho-Hum? Shall I continue? Will I be overtaken yet again by Olympic Standards of Procrastination?

A life that is so markedly different from the one I left behind.

Cue, Mexican wave and whooping.