Little Paula Deen

No, the title actually has nothing to do with the content of this post, but the kick-ass Clarkson beat has been stuck in my head since 10this morning on my drive to Goodwill.  Not the most appropriate tune to lull me to sleep, but day-um does that chick have a set of lungs on her.  If I exercised, I think a Kelly Clarkson playlist would be killer, just sayin…

Anyway, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about my last post and my lonely ways.  I’m sorry to say that Im not partaking in any fun Friday night social shenanigans, however, I am doing a pretty stunning job polishing off this bottle of vino that Im featuring at tomorrow’s wine tasting at the shop.  I realize I haven’t mentioned my employment status before, but I am a barista at a Wine and Coffee shop as well as a hostess, server and seller during our wine tastings.  Warning: this girl is what my brother calls a “two sip queer”( please excuse the vulgarity in this comment, as it is for sarcastic emphasis only).  Don’t worry though, I have been nursing this bottle very slowly all afternoon/evening with plenty of eats and juice to avoid too much sloppiness.  Tomorrow’s line up features:

This is pathetic.  Am I really about to write a post fueled by my own immature self-pity?  Am I really that ego-centric; that selfish?  Apparently I am as this has become a broken record in my thoughts as of late:

Actually, this might be te most therapeutic mantra to recite to myself, as it incorporates a touch of humor into my self-loathing and loneliness. 

(WARNING (tangent to follow)

It’s interesting that I hesitate every day to write a new post.  I have major comparison/perfectionist tendencies that really get in the way of the cathartic process that I hoped this blog would be for me.  The backspace key is likely to be the first thing to bust on this new little netbook I got.  Blogging intimidates me because I just can’t live up to y’all and your eloquence, humor and style.  One day…

(tangent hopefully over)

But back to my self pity and lonliness, because, well, that is the intended theme of this post as the title hinted.  As of now, no one that I know personally is aware of this blog, and Im into keeping it that way for a lil’ while, anyway.  So basically, I’m too lame to reach out to those who are closest to me (and I use that term very loosely as Im not all that close to anyone), so Im choosing to seek help from the world wide web-something I NEVER EVER imagined I would partake in.  So ignore my jibberish if you need to, but if you do care to listen to my nonsensical ramblings, I would be so grateful to get some feedback/support.  Asking for support is also a challenge I never thought I’d be able to face, but, here I am, on my knees (okay,I lie.  im in bed and the wood floors kind of hurt the joints) but you get the gist.

So here’s my deal.  There’s a lot of s#@* going on in the world today, and I am so aware of this.  Which makes me feel even guiltier for asking for support for my lame shenanigans.   Sure I’ve got the credit bureau calling me every day for money regarding last years hospital stay and IP… sure my family is in complete shambles and my parents still despise one another after 18 years of divorce and 12 years of marriage… sure my health still kind of sucks and celiac is kicking my arse… sure im living 4052km from my crazy best friend of a bro…the aforementioned facts don’t mean a whole lot to me in the big scheme of things.  But what I can’t help but admit to, is that there are two very lame issues that seem to overwhelm my every breath.  The culprits: my ED and agorophobia.    They are two bloody f-ing debhilitating problems and despite years and years of therapy and treatment, they wont leave me alone.  Truthfully, they’ve been bigger pains in the arses before, however, their presence remain in my every thought, panic and worry.  Where have they left me?  Straight up lonely. 

Whats most ironic/frustrating aboutthis situation Im in, is that despite not letting myself go out (essentially getting what Im asking for) it’s exactly OPPOSITE of what I want.  I want to feel loved, accepted, appreciated.  I want to be kissed, hugged, held.  I want to be Kerry Bradshaw and Aiden… and Id even be happy with Big.  But the very thing I wantmost, is that which I am most afraid of.  I want to drink fine wine with a boy or giggle over a chick flick with some girlfriends.  I want to be Kerry Bradshaw and kiss Aiden on a NYC stoop, heck id even dig a peck from Mr. Big.  I want to doll myself up and hit up a club/show or two and get my groove on in some heels, a mini and a heavily salted, non-blended petron mexican margharita in hand with an umbrella should it rain on one strand of hair for aesthetic purposes and bevy bling.  I wanto chow glorious eats from new restos and say FU to ED and his pal Agorophobia.  Help?

rant over… nighty night

MA

It occurred to me this morning while reading the lovely musings of Snackface and Lo, that it would be essential to, at some point in this blog, pay homage to my hombres at home (hows THAT for an alliteration).  At such an immature stage of my blog, I realized that there would be no better time to take on this task than now: a point at which you’re just getting to know me.  The truth is, I really don’t think you can really understand the core of who I am without knowing the two most significant figures in my life: my brothers.  I have two of them, both older (maturity not factored into age, as this would make them more 13ish than their respective 26 and 29).

Lowell is my eldest brother.  He’s a smashing 29 year old, sensitive singer/songwriter that many a UVM college gal drools over all around Burlington.  He’s named after the late Lowell George of Little Feat (if you’re unfamiliar with the band, ask your parents.  Old school rockin band of our parents gen.  Killer tunes.  Nuff said).  There is so much to his story, but for now I’ll just tell you that he fits the oldest brother role to a tee.  Slightly overprotective, often worried, sometimes melancholy, and is notorious for a) taking the entire third row in our old van on long car rides while the other two of us squeeze into the smaller middle row and b) conveniently needing to make a phone call or go to the bathroom after dinner to avoid dish duty.  But aside from the aforementioned nuances of a typical oldest bro… this guy has a heart of gold.  He’s got more love and passion in his soul than most, possibly all men that I know.  Sure, I probably don’t fight with anyone more than him, but that’s only because he cares so much, maybe too much-if thats possible.  Want to swoon a little, girls?  check out his music/site at www.lowellthompson.com.

Then there was Colin.  What. a. guy. I’ve been told that I was the female version of this downright goofy, surfboarding, sarcastic film writer since I was little.  I wish.  Ladies (and gentlemen) there is no sillier, more generous stud muff out there.  He is my best friend.  Well, truth is they’re both my best friends but in different ways.  If I want sympathy tears and a shoulder to cry on when I’m feeling lonely-I’d go to Lowell.  Sure I could go to Col on such occasions… but instead of sharing tears he’d prolly bust out some wise-ass movie quote telling me to suck it up and go drink a frosty brew instead.  Don’t get me wrong… this kid is really sensitive and insecure at heart.  He’s just more into solving problems with humor and sarcasm versus tears and back rubs.  There are few things more frustrating than wanting to spill your guts, cry and complain about your dumb problems, only to find them swept back in your face with jest and humor-leaving you with tears of laughter rather than the tears of sorrow you were anticipating.  Not that there’s anything wrong with this… it’s just how Col “does.”   Colin Lewis Thompson doesn’t “do” serious.  Thats what I have Lowell for.  Lowell was the one who got upset about my drinking underage in high school… Colin was the one who got me drunk in the first place, haha.  I have the best of both worlds, and, perhaps I’m biased… but I have the best damn brothers in the world!  You heard me, I’d be willing to bet my life on this fact.

Lonliness has consumed my existence for a good chunk of my life.  I often find myself lacking any true friendships or relationships for a substantial period of time.  I (and my therapist) have many a theory on why this is, but those are posts for another time, another day.  “A person can’t live without relationships” Ive been reminded by several significant people in my life.  I agree.  I seem to have gotten by on the very bare minimum.  2 people, Colin Lewis Thompson and Lowell Nathan Thompson are the relationships which give me life.  They are my constants.  Our relationships arent perfect, but they are solid.  They keep me grounded, and when I’ve reached that place of darkness that seems to eat me up like a black hole, the shear reminder of my beautiful and dependable brothers brings me light and life again. 

I could have died.  A little part of me maybe wanted to leave this scary earth.  But despite my illness and the creepiness of the hospital walls that surrounded me, I fought.  I fought because of these two “wild and craaaaaaazy guys” (great flic, fyi).  I realize I haven’t exactly written a detailed account of my aforementioned “illness.”  In time, my loves… in due time.

What a sporatic, chaotic, tangenty post.  My apologies.  I guess the blessing that is the two best brothers evahh, makes me foolish and emotional (aka nonsensical).  I love them dearly, if you didn’t gather that already.

lowell, me, col

whole Thompson clan

Love this crew.  Neons and 80s short shorts on the old man and all.

Peace and love

MA

Question: Are you blessed with brothers?  Sisters?  Siblings?  If so, how do they feed your soul?  If not, who are the most inspirational people in your life?

No, the title isn’t a reference to myself (although I am only five feet tall and only sometimes sweet): just a description of the nature of this post (said the long-winded, tangent-writing, nonsense-making blogger).  I came to the library to check my e-mail and could not believe that I received comments from some of my blog idols.  It’s obviously not such a huge deal to most bloggers (being that they receive 100X the amount of traffic that I do within the first five minutes of publishing) but to me, it means the absolute world!  I embarked on this “blog mission” with the hope of tackling some of my most challenging eating disorder behaviors.  Throughout my recovery (all eight years of it and counting) my peers, therapists, family, mentors, etc. have encouraged me to journal.  I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said that my bookshelves contain roughly 20+ mostly blank journals (with the one or two doodles/telephone messages scattered throughout).  I blame it on my commitment issues.  While I thoroughly how journaling would be a liberating and cathartic tool for recovery purposes, I just can’t seem to make a habit of it.  I expected this blog to travel a similar path to my dusty tangible versions of a Blog.  But something about getting a few bits of feedback in my inbox this morning was really the inspiration I needed to keep at this writing thing and hope that this motivation expands to the rest of my recovery. 

In essence, this post is a thank you letter.  A thank you to commenters, readers, dare-I-say God(?) for giving me the little glimmer of faith that I needed to face the day and shun my deamons.  So… thanks.

Namaste,

Mary Ann