At the edge of the cloud bank

Maybe there is light at the end of the tunnel.

I’m not feeling 100% better. More like 30% better. I’ve got enough brain juice to fire off some writing, thus this post. My health is teetering on an edge.

Somehow in the middle of brain fog I concluded I needed to go back on the regiment I was on in my early twenties. It took about a week before I could remember to follow though.  I’m now taking a bunch of pills daily, herbals and vitamin. It bothers me that it’s working. It bothers me that it points to some serious hormonal problems. I may be hypothyroid and hypopituitary but it’s just my current suspicion.

I’m not feeling the joint pain right now and my lower back isn’t on fire. My muscles have stopped threating to pull any time I move. My head is still clearing up, at least I’m out of the weeds. I could barely follow a story at it’s worse. I still feel the lingering tendrils of depression around me. I have no reason to be depressed and it feels weird.

And I could be wrong about what’s causing this. I look at my mom’s medical history and I wonder how much of it could be me. Or all that I’ve gone through really is nothing more than severe vitamin deficiency. Could it be the placebo effect healing me too? I don’t know. I just want to be back to functioning, moving around, happy and laughing again.

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Is Forgiveness For You?

Can Forgiveness be Self Improvement?

I cycle in and out of doing self-improvement exercises. I’ll follow something for a few days or even months before dropping it and evaluating the changes. If it’s a benefit to me, I keep it. I’ve found a lot of things that were just self-delusions, things that makes one feel good in the moment but have no long-lasting benefits. And so I drop those things and I look a little harder at folks who continue to push those things. Have they failed to evaluate its effectiveness? Or has so much been invested that for them to drop it, would crush them to admit they were wrong? Those are the thoughts that go through my mind.

From an early age, I committed myself to readily admit when I am wrong. I found it benefits me most of all as it continues to place me back on the path of Truth. There is everything to gain in admitting when one is wrong and so much more to lose when one refuses to admit the truth of it. It is an aspect I cherish in others. Those who never admit wrong doing travel a darker path in their own lives. I tend to call it willful ignorance.

Have you ever forgiven yourself completely?

The trouble with not loving yourself is that you become your own accuser, jury, and judge. In those eyes, you can never find any peace. Everything, every little thing you’ve done wrong is known and used against you constantly. You become your worst nightmare working to extract every wrong doing through punishment. It’s as if punishment; if enough punishment was doled out, we might become clean again. And we never become clean because we are always doing wrong. We always make mistakes. We always slip. Our self-punisher never sees us rise up again, nor does it see us working hard to stay on the right path. All it sees is our wrongdoing.

That is where I was for many many years. I worked on punishing myself for my wrongdoings. I didn’t have an alternative. I didn’t see a way out. And I was not willing to muzzle the truth to myself. I wasn’t going to lie and say I’m a good person. I wasn’t going to lie to myself like that. What other choices did I have?

Why not forgive yourself? How radical of an idea is that? Forgive myself. Sounds simple, really simple, like too easy kind of simple. It was anything but simple. It turned into a lot of hard work, self-examination, listening to the voice of the accuser, jury, and judge, actively listening to my deepest and darkest parts of myself. And accepting that this is who I was and what I’ve done and what I felt I deserved.

I still resisted forgiveness. I’ve got enough arrogance to think I didn’t need it, that I didn’t need to do it. I had to want it. It was repugnant to attempt to fake it. I had to want to forgive myself. But to do so, I had to admit that I had done wrong to myself, that I had actually done harm.

Seeing myself as someone who needed to be forgiven, seeing myself as someone who had hurt themselves, seeing myself as someone who could be forgiven shattered the power the accuser, jury, and judge had over me. All I had to do was ask, earnest, heartfelt ask myself to be forgiven. And I was, and I did.

From somewhere deep love flowed. Love is what forgiveness comes from. And forgiveness is a demanding task master. My work is not done. Saying ‘I forgive you’ is the beginning, not the end.

to be continued.

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Brain Fog

Brain Fog.

There are days I wake up and I have no energy, no motivation to do anything beyond peeing and breathing. Yeah, peeing is far more important than eating on those days.

This stuff, I call brain fog. I have no clue what it really is. I have moments I’m clear headed but exhausted, moments where I get clear headed and energy but mostly I battle various intensity of brain fog. I’ve figured out sometimes I can fix it though diet. I try to keep sardines, potatoes, almonds and bananas around. Most of the time, I don’t have any of it.

Right now, I’m at a 6 with brain fog, on a scale of one to ten and ten being somewhere just vegged out on something, just not here and one is super max energy and I’m blowing through things and making people scared with my activity. I have no idea how tomorrow will be. None of this I’ve ever been able to predict and it sucks big time. I’ve had plans for my life for a long time. Every time I get started, I run into bigger and deeper levels of brain fog. Kinda like I ran out of brain juice and I putter down like a train without steam.

This is a major problem in my life. I need to figure out how to fix it.

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No One is an Island

Gratitude Friday

I’ve been thinking about how much this blog doesn’t cover religious topics often and it occurred to me I’ve actually been sharing one of my spiritual practices with everyone. Before I didn’t consider practicing gratitude to be a spiritual practice. I started doing this more as a self-corrective mechanism. I was drowning in overwhelming negativity in my life, to the point, everything was seen with a negative view even when it wasn’t intended that way.

I had fallen into a bad physiological habit. What’s the phrase; negative sentiment override, and that behavior just about destroyed my marriage. It was clear to me that I needed to make the effort to find things that were positive, daily. Gosh, looking back I recall how hard it was. I had to stretch it out to a week just to list five things. Now I can rattle off five things every day.

Sticking with this, I learned a great deal more about myself and the nature of happiness. It even helped me deal with compliments. Before I would squirm and be embarrassed about it, just about run from any situation that would end with a compliment. Now I can say with heartfelt meaning, thank you.

So at the end of this week, I have some broader based thank you’s that’s been a long time in coming.

Thank You Drs. John and Julie Gottman. Your book The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work, I found just in the nick of time and saved my marriage. Yours explained why things were they way they were. Out of all the self-help relationship books I read, yours was the only one that gave a thread of hope.

Thank you, my husband. When things were at the bleakest, you never quit. We tied our lives together out of sheer stubbornness and when tested, it held tight.

Thank you to my in-laws, in particular ,my father-in-law. The phrase “it’s not over till the fat lady sings” will always bring a chuckle for you saw more than you let on. I appreciate you had my back even then.

Thank you Dreamwalker. You’re quite a pain in my ass. Infuriating, puzzling and down right madding most of the time. And I get the feeling now our paths are diverging. You’ve been a mentor to me for a while now. When I needed my nose forced into the grindstone, you were there to do so and you didn’t do it kid gloves on! I appreciate that.

And Thank You, my readers. I’ve had the pleasure to share with you parts of my life and hear your thoughts as well.

Oh, one last Thank You, I get my girls back from the grandparents tomorrow! I miss my babies. They had a month of hanging out with the grandparents and I am grateful and happy that soon they will be back.

May you find joy and happiness; for life is best lived with joy!

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I’m a baby masochist

I woke up this morning with this thought on my mind, ‘I’m a baby masochist’. Last evening’s fun was still playing in my mind and it still amazed me. I had gotten just about everything I wanted and here I was purring like a kitten, curled up under the blankets bemused.

Writing erotica turns me on. I am so blaming that even if I know full well there is more to it. I was squirming throughout the day Sunday, feeling it build up and oh I was in need. A capital letter N – E – E – D level of NEED. Typically I just wait till I’m alone and attack myself for a few hours but not this time. Mid afternoon found me in the shower, scrubbing up and enjoying the water wash over my skin. I knew that would perk my husband’s interest.

He’s got a thing about me fresh out of water, shower, pool, whatever. Having my hair all wet and water clinging on my skin, I think it sends him back when we were first dating and getting to know each other in high school, got to love swim class. I’m feeling the sass rise up in me thinking as soap suds wash down me. How do I get his attention?

Lucky break! He comes into the bathroom to piss and I open the shower door and just watch him, putting myself on full display under the warm water. And I smile, really smile at him, just chatting a bit before he walks off. Hmm, that should perk things up. Hell, I even winked when he asked what I was up too.

The truth was strangled deep in my throat. How could I tell him I wanted to get laid but laid real fucking good! I’ve got major trust issues with my husband and we both got some fears about each other that makes sex a typical boring routine. Switching out mid stroke isn’t fun nor is getting tossed off the bed. Yeah, I don’t know we’ve survived being married all these years. I do know he loves me, all of me.

So I saunter out into the living room, a towel barely around me. I left the front open as another enticement. Goodness, I never realized how much I had to think about all this! He’s playing away on his game but turns to nuzzle against me and then pulls my pubic hair hard. I didn’t even wince. Oh, yes..gonna get a hair cut. He teases me for a bit and I find out I have to wait. Dinner was on the way. Oh, hell no, I wasn’t settling for a quickie. I’ll wait. Shit, I was crossing my fingers hoping like hell my sex drive wouldn’t vanish on me after eating or I’d change rolling into one of the others. Nope nope nope, not this time. I felt like Kaylee! (a Firefly reference if no one caught that!)

Pizza a and wings is a rather naughty dinner. I’m sucking off bones and licking my fingers. This was perfect! I didn’t over eat and surprisingly he didn’t let me. He boxed up half of it and put it away. Seems he’s got plans on his brain too!

Dinner is over when I in a fit of pique go lay down on the bed. I don’t know how to get this ball rolling, don’t know how to express my needs. So I whimper into my pillow feeling every bit of skin screaming for sensation as I cuddle against my soft fuzzy blanket. If something doesn’t happen soon I’m gonna fall asleep right here waiting for tomorrow.

My ass in up in the air and I wiggle it hearing him come in the room. Smack! His comes down on my ass as he’s asking if I’m asleep. I don’t even respond. I’m ignoring him, knowing full well I’m bratting hard. Smack, smack! Oh, yeah. I’m so not asleep, not a chance. I hid my grin as I roll over an’ face him. I get told to go get towels so he can shave me. Yes! Better than nothing cause the afterwards is often a fucking! The brat in me has taken full hold and as I leave the bedroom I place my hands behind me and give him the double finger. I scoot through the living room in a hurry.

Halt! Oh, shit. My feet stopped all on their own and I’m shaking. I’ve never obeyed my husband before, what the hell is this? His voice was different. This is different, very different. I’m half-way between laughing and crying at the same time as he walks up to behind and spins me around. Oh shit, I’m in trouble. Growling he asks me what did I say. I squeak out “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, you’re going to be sorry.”

I find my feet and run to the bathroom and grab the towels. He’s right on my heals growling in my ear, giving instructions. It’s right on the tip of my tongue to respond with a yes Sir or even a yes Master. I swallow them both back down, double stunned as my lips say a simple yes. What the hell is wrong with me? I grab the towels, slinking back into the bedroom and lay them out per instructions.

Laying on the bed, deep breathing trying to clear my head. What just happened? Everything just changed just like that, in the blink of an eye or in this case in the quickness of two middle fingers.

I’m gonna skip what happened next. I’m keeping that to myself. My treasures. Well, okay a snippet or two.

He wanted safe words. Okay, odd. It’s something we rarely talked about and bloody hell it turns out I have three different safe words. Go figure.

My poor ass is getting spanked, really spanked. It hurts! And that still doesn’t still the chatter in my head. In that moment pride swelled up inside of me as my thoughts went to two different people and I wanted to make both of them proud. I knew I needed to stay still and not wiggle. I knew I needed to take this and push, simply push through it. I knew I could do it. Just let it wash through me and breath. Their words were right there with me as if they were in the room. Hot damn! These men of mine, they really get into my head.

My husband pushes me hard into pain. I’m lost, so lost in it. My nipples are twisted hard, pulled on and I’m a quivering moaning thing of flesh. He slows down, wanting me to respond. I hear him, I do and that’s all I am for a few minutes, feeling and hearing. It takes me a bit to respond, to curl my fingers around his arm. I’m flying high in the stratosphere and he’s calling me back down to earth.

Oh wow. Just wow. I always suspected I’d be like this. Never thought it would ever happen. My Master was very right. I’m a bit of pain slut. But I don’t think anyone but Dreamwalker suspected I was also a brat. And much to my amusement, the welts on my ass that took a great deal to create vanished in a few hours. I don’t even have a mark on my skin I could caress and remember.

Oh, and if you can’t figure it out by now, it was Awesome!

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Back to My Core

Ah shit, where do I want to start this one? I’m going to be very naughty. I’m jumping into my time ship and rolling back the clock. I’m going back to the past to have a chat with a little girl.

I keep getting told to let go of the past, to stop looking back, to stop focusing on it. I think that’s wrong. At least it’s a misunderstanding of why I look back. Or maybe they feel threatened by my searching in the past. Whatever it is, this is what has worked for me.

I look back to find the scars that need healing. I look back for myself, not to find shit to bring back with me and smear all over my future. I look back to bring understanding and love to the child I left behind there. I’m in the business of loving and growing the child I was.

There is a lot I want to tell her. Most of it, she already knew but kept forgetting as she got lost along the way.

There is no doubt that I’m the child of flawed, damaged and hurting human beings. I have no doubts that my father was a narcissist and that my mother shared some traits of narcissism as well. I know my mother was a product of childhood sexual abuse, dysfunctional family and a good chance a daughter of a narcissist as well. Out of my two parents, there was only one who believed in change, my mother. She had hope and it was this single element she passed on to me. I believe this alone has made all the difference in my life; hope for positive change, to always be growing, to stand when one has fallen, to keep going no matter the odds.

I can trot out various clinical terms to address my condition but what’s the point? Labeling it only helps explain it and lets me know I’m not the only one to go through this. I’m more interested it fixing it, not with band-aids but with lasting positive change.

wee wee wee Let’s slide back into time, all the way to when I was six months old. Yes, I have a single memory at six months. It’s only identified as six months because of a long conversation with my father in which he was able to identify the home I was in from my memory.

Kurcha kurcha did the spring clank, turning it’s handle as I rock in the swing. I’m looking up watching the handle and the sound, staring at it for a long time. It’s remarkable. It’s the only sound to be heard. The light coming in is warm, the colors of the room are soft. I’m comfortable and yet not. But it’s often like this, the kurcha kurcha kurcha rocking me, lulling the cries from me. I’m alone.

Just a serious of complex emotions, that now I can put into words. I was utterly Alone. No expectations forth coming, just the awareness of how alone I was. Where was mom?

I’ve wondered this many times. I don’t have many memories of mom before I was four. There are a few but mostly it’s other people, other family. I don’t recall a caregiver. When I look back, I kinda feel like I sprung up like a fully formed adult in a child’s body. How is that possible?

I do wonder how much I was neglected as an infant. Even my mom recorded that I slept through the night and every night thereafter from the first day home from the hospital. I’ve got two kids and they have never slept through the night, at least not till after they were six months old. My kids have been demanding. They want food, a clean hinny, to be held, to be cooed at, to explore, to hear my voice, they want to be a part of it all and then they sleep just to wake and do it all over again. How could I have been so different?

What if I was the same, wanting that interaction and found it not forthcoming? What would happen to that infant? Is that what happened to me?

I need to cuddle up and pull the me that I was out of the swing and cuddle her close and tell her, she’ll never be alone and that she’s loved.

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Autumn’s Twilight has moved to WordPress

I’ve kept a poetry blog up on blogger for ages now. I’m porting it all over to a brand new WordPress blog.  Having a new look makes a huge difference to me. Gone is the troublesome editor, outdated background and difficult to navigate site. It was a wonderful ride with blogger. I appreciated its ease when I really used it. But now, I’m a huge WordPress fan, so here I am.

https://autumnstwilight.wordpress.com

Anyway, I wanted to let everyone know.  I hope it enriches your life as much as it has mine in the writing of it.

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