Tag Archives: postaday

The high shelf

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English: shelf Ελληνικά: ράφι

High shelves are handy for placing things that should not be misplaced, but also need to be out of mind until you can pay them attention.

Yesterday’s heavy post came out of my session with Doc. Though I have not changed the fundamental thoughts I conveyed yesterday, I do feel better today.

I am exhausted though, as I was not able to fall asleep last night until well after 2 a.m. After I wrote that post I started having a quick succession of thoughts of all the reasons God should not care for me. Not a good way to try to go to sleep.

To top things off, I received an email last night from a friend (supposedly a friend … ) suggesting that I should not be a writer because it’s a lonely life, I am too sensitive, etc. I don’t remember the specifics of the rest, just that he gave a litany of reasons as why I should not write.

Today I’ve set all of that aside, my thoughts about God’s view of me, and my friend’s opinion of me continuing to write. It’s all on a high shelf, and I’ll deal with it later. Today I need to rest, and get ready for more therapy tomorrow. Oh, yeah, and I have a stupid day job for which I have a deadline on a big project project on Friday. So all the emotional crap gets shelved until the weekend.

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Seven Things Award

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Sorry, gang. I’ve been remiss about getting around to the awards for which I’ve been nominated. I’m playing catch up this week.

Last week, Maxi at Me and Anxiety nominated me for the Seven Things award. Thanks Maxi!

The rules of the Seven things about me award are:

  1. Thank the blogger who nominated you.
  2. Share seven things about yourself.
  3. Nominate other bloggers you think deserve the award, and post on their blog to let them know they’ve been nominated.

Here are seven things about me:

  1. I have a thick-headed sense of justice, so much so that I’ve quit jobs over it. It’s a gift and curse rolled into one.
  2. Since my PTSD diagnosis 4 years ago I’ve gained 45 pounds. I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror.
  3. Nearly every day I fight suicidal ideation. It’s been that way for most of the past 4 years.
  4. I am not a big candy eater, but I do like peanut M&Ms.
  5. My hair has been long all my life except for a horrid Easter season ca. 1986 and one regrettable hair cut in college.
  6. I have way too many degrees, 2 bachelors and almost a third masters. What can I say? I like learning.
  7. I am not a fan of hot weather. I belong in London, Dublin, Seattle, or Reykjavik. Every day I longingly check out the weather in these cities.

Here are 7 blogs I’ve recently started following that contribute greatly to the blogosphere. Please check them out.

  1. Soberistas
  2. The Undateable Virgin
  3. Staying Afloat
  4. Shoegaze and cats
  5. defying ptsd
  6. Not your victim
  7. Discovering Serenity

I have one more award to formally accept this week. So stay tuned! As always, thank you for being such a great supportive group here at wordpress.

Love,

Beatriz

Death brings choices

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When you’ve run away from home you can never truly run away.

You ran away at 18, and aside from a short period of time in your twenties, you’ve not looked back.

The news of your grandmother’s death wafts its way to you eventually. You’ve learned that your grandmother died on Friday, the mother of your father. Your father left your life when you were a little girl. You didn’t have a lot of involvement with this grandmother, but you did have contact with your aunt, your father’s sister.

The family expects you to attend. You can’t even bring yourself to call them “your family.” The concept is an abomination to your brain.

There is no way that you are going. For a moment of insanity you considered it, and looked up flights on Kayak. The cheapest flight was $890! But you know in the back of your mind that if the flight had been free you would have declined. The search was just a formality for your brain.

Though you are not going, you have that shaky, twitchy feeling. You know that thousands of miles away that they’re shaking their heads when they speak of you. And though you ran away 20 years ago, they still have a hold on you.