"Life is a banquet....

....and some poor sons-of-bitches are starving to death!"

This is a quote from "Mame" that my mother often quotes when I'm not doing well, or turning in on myself, becoming more depressed. 

Lately, I've been feeling FANTASTIC, as the combination of shock therapy, medication, and vitamin supplements has really been working for me. 

I have been praying to the Blessed Mother and St. Dymphna (the patron saint of mental illness) to keep this streak going. While there's been a "bump" here or there I can say with much confidence that I've been doing well for awhile.  And thank you to the "many-faced god" for that. ;) (I'm only kidding, Paulie!!!!)

This blog post isn't so much about "profound discoveries" or the like.  This is really just a place to say "THANK YOU" for all the good I've been feeling in the last bit of time.  Thank you to Paulie, and my family, and my friends, and the strangers who say "hi" when I greet them in the grocery store.  Thank you to the store clerks who share pleasant small talk with me while I buy a few items.  Thank you to the priests who have told me how happy they are that I'm feeling better.  Thank you to the St. Michael Parish Choir, who treat me with dignity and respect and fill me with laughter each week.  And thank you Biggy, for your constant prayers to the Little Flower.  (She's pretty sure that's the real reason I'm feeling so much better. ;) )

I thank you all for following this journey of mine, and don't mind any good thoughts, vibes, or prayers you send my way as I try and continue this journey of "feeling good."

I'm determined to belly up to the banquet of Life, and refuse to be one of those starving sons-of-bitches!!!

Thanks, Momma.  I love you.

The Ugly Kid

When my brother got married, I was so excited for the day.  We all looked like a million bucks, and we were going to have a great party!  We took loads of pictures, sang at the top of our lungs, and saw loads of family and friends.  My 90 year old great aunt danced everyone else right off the floor.  It was amazing.  Then we got the pictures back a month or so later.  I started to click through the photo album online, and my heart nearly stopped.

"Who is that ugly girl?" I thought.

My family is full of "the beautiful people".  My sisters look like Italian models, and my brother is the handsomest guy at most parties.  I never thought so much about how I "fit in".  I was just the oldest sister of this crew.  Now here was the evidence staring me in the face.  Without even thinking about it, my brain starting singing "One of these things is not like the other...". My odd face and bloated body were the sore thumbs in every picture of the family.  I actually started to feel badly that I was wrecking my brother and sister-in-law's wedding pictures.

Gentle reader, please hear me.  This is not pity time.  This is not the time for "Oh, no, you're pretty too!" Please... I do not say these things because I'm looking for a handout of compliments.  I am telling the TRUTH.  That is the point of this blog, and all that I write here.  It's honest.  I'm not a pretty lady.  I have a face (and body) for radio.

This has stuck in my head for a long time as one of many separating factors in my family.  I am a rough, blunt woman, in appearance and nature.  My family is one of poise, grace, and intelligence.  People constantly remark on my wonderful father and mother, or my amazing siblings.  They are beautiful on the inside and out. I am so proud of them because they are everything that people say about them. Their beauty is more than their outer appearances.  They have a beauty and truth to their insides, in the way that they treat people and live their own lives.  They are so good at saying the right thing, to me and to others.

I don't always say the right thing.  I don't know how to dress.  I don't do my hair and makeup often. I sing too loudly, laugh even louder, make jokes that no one gets, and love all those nerdy things that make the attractive & popular crowd shake their heads in a bewildered way.  (Example: My sweet 16 was a sleepover at my house where we renamed all the Chinese food to the names of Star Trek: The Next Generation foods.  We food-colored Sprite to rename it "Romulan Ale".  The next morning, everyone had Earl Grey tea and croissants, just like Jean-Luc Picard.  This is still possibly my favorite party EVER, rivaling my own wedding.) My whole life, I have wished that I could match up to my family a little bit better.  I have wished that I could be a little more graceful.  I often hope that I will wake up one day and I won't have to check my loud laugh and big personality at the door; I wish that they would just go away, and I could be smart-talking and all-knowing like Gina, clever and cutting like Katie, or witty and to-the-point like Christopher. I wish that I was prettier and wittier so that I could make them as proud of me as I am of them.

I am currently seeing a naturopathic nurse practitioner to treat ailments, and have been for about two months.  My body is adjusting to a diet of no sugar, gluten, dairy, or artificial sweeteners of any kind.  I'm taking in a lot of new information about my body, the vitamins and minerals that run (or do NOT run) through it, and what I have to do to make things better.  It's frustrating and interesting and confusing.  But through it all, I find myself ravenous for the healing words that this NP has to say.  Yesterday, she said to me: "You do not have to expect anything, Laura.  Don't expect yourself to lose a certain amount of weight in a certain amount of time.  Don't expect to have a certain mineral or vitamin completely replenished in your system right away.  You must RELAX into healing.  The body self-corrects.  You must let your body do that without any yelling, screaming, or expecting from yourself." She has somehow found a way to cut through all the bullshit in my brain and give me permission to not be more than I already am.

Today, I am trying.  I am trying to stay relaxed.  I am letting my body tell me what it needs, and responding accordingly.  I will not expect anything of myself, not hold myself to too high a standard.  I still hope that these diet and vitamin changes will bring me closer to health.  There is still a small corner of my brain that wishes I were prettier, but I will change where I want the pretty.  I want the pretty on the inside of me.  I want the pretty to be shown in how I talk to people and how I love them.  I want the pretty to be seen in how I handle my life and what I am given.

I may still be the Ugly Kid, but I'll strive for that beauty on the inside, just like Gina and Katie and Christopher have.

Words, words, words!

Random thoughts in a blog post are sometimes the most telling....Or they're just super-annoying and I don't know any better.  Either way, I am going to complete a blog post today.  There may be rhyme and reason to it, or you may all shake your heads and click away.  Let's see, shall we?

I joined a writing group.  I decided it was time to get off my blogging ass and do some writing in another forum.  I sometimes have delusions of grandeur in which I see myself writing a memoir of sorts.  People like memoirs.  Especially when people swear and tell secrets and make them laugh and cry.  I've done all those things in the last 20 minutes, so who knows? Perhaps a memoir is something I could manage.... someday. 

So, yes!  The writing group.  It is filled with interesting people living their interesting lives.  Some of them enjoy writing dialogue. Some enjoy descriptive paragraphs.  Some enjoy screenplay.  I have no idea what the hell I enjoy.  I felt like such a jerk walking into that first meeting, copies of my work in hand, a couple of pens in my pocket, and a big notebook to light my way.  EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN THE ROOM pulled out a laptop, and my head fell into my hands. When we had a 20 minute "free writing" session, I got through approximately 5 pages of writing.  Everyone else had a piece to rival "Les Miserables".  So it may be time for me to buy a laptop, or it may be time for me to recognize that writing comes to everyone in different ways.  For most, it's via high-speed internet.  For me, it's the pony express. 

I love to write.  Words make me happy.  I love the way they feel coming out of my mouth.  I love the way they caress or assault my ears.  I love to hear them in different accents.  I love to spell them, and I love to see them on the page.  (Why thank you, Dr. Seuss, would you also eat them in a tree? Ugh. As I said before, this is random thought time.) As a child, I used to sit in my room and read books until my eyes crossed, and then I'd pull out a ratty notebook with hearts all over the front.  Those hearts had my name joined to every crush I had; Laura Riker and Laura Picard were particularly popular. That notebook held all my most precious prose and poetry.  I wrote biblical epics and World War II short stories.  I wrote poetry that would make even Emily Dickinson weep. No, really, it was that bad. The poor woman would have sobbed herself right into an epileptic seizure. 

As I read and then wrote lovely words, my real world fell away, and I was the beautiful, intelligent, and graceful girl I always wanted to be. I was the princess the Prisoner of Zenda came to rescue.  I was Jo March, writing and running and having great adventures with her sisters.  There were no bullies in my writing world.  The mean girls couldn't get me there.  The kids that picked me last could not come near me.  The practical jokers, the nicknamers, and the shamers all stayed away. I was the creator of worlds.  

As I continue to fight this well-known bully called Bipolar I Disorder, I find myself longing for those days.  I remember the comfort of the weight of a book or notebook in my hand.  I remember asking my illustrator uncle to create a cover for one of my short stories.  It was GORGEOUS, and something I treasure to this day.  I remember taking my notebook and pen wherever I went, like a sword and scabbard.  Books and writing were trusty companions, and ones that I continue to cling to now.  I read whenever I have the concentration and focus.  Some days it's only a page or two, but sometimes it's whole books.  I am starting a new adventure in nutrition and supplements as Western medicine continues to fail me, and so my pile of "to read" has turned into a mix of vitamin education, diet theory, and Chinese medicine. I journal and take notes and make lists, words flowing forth in as many forms as I can stand. 

I am going to continue to go to my writing group, armed with a crappy notebook.  With a head full of stories both real and pretend, I will conquer my fears and shortcomings and make them all into a suit of armor. I love to write. And there are no bullies there.