I wish I could see the world through eyes that don't leave a trace, through uncontaminated pupils.
I want to age like cheese, like wine. I know very little about cheese and wine. I buy what's cheap. Maybe I won't know my older self; maybe I'll be rich.
Make your art your words, let your words destroy and heal, give art away to plains, to hills, to shores. The only thing we know for sure is destruction.
I disappoint a lot of people. I am sorry.
I feel like I've become a burden on those that I love. I am having such a hard time concentrating and keeping afloat. I can barely make it through the morning without feeling absolutely exhausted. Even walking up the stairs leaves me physically spent. I feel like my entire body and mind is shutting down. I really don't know what to do.
Again, I'm sorry for who I've become. I could have been a better friend/sister/daughter/person.
Ahhhh... Light bulb. I believe I feel safe in my gloom. There is familiarity with my depression; curling up with my neuroses feels like going home. Time to find a new home, Meg! The walls are caving in and the roof is so low that I can no longer stand up straight. I am searching for shelter with a reliable structure and a non-existent ceiling (I like looking at the stars) (and if it rains I can wash my face). How I go about finding said house is the tricky part... Is there a section on craigslist for those seeking psychological sanctuary?
Today I will try spanakopita for the first time.
Today I will escape the heat by spying on interesting folk at the library. I will observe their movements and watch what they do with their eyes and write love letters to them that will never be sent, but instead tucked away in foreign language books about hidden treasure. There must be a book in Greek about pirates, right? Or at least about spanakopita.
Today I will give away.
Today I will search the shelves for a home.
"Sometimes I need only to stand wherever I am to be blessed." ― Mary Oliver
I am on a mental slip-n-slide lately; I am regressing into old habits and feeling almost entirely unmotivated to do anything about it. An actual slip-n-slide would be ideal, since it is a hot ass mothereffer outside, but this whole psychological slide ain't quite welcomed... Yet, I DO welcome it because I nurture it (or I at least passively let it consume me). You've heard that Cherokee legend, right? I'm sure it has circulated the Interweb. Well, it has to do with a sacred slip-n-slide. Kidding. In brief, it is about two wolves inside of us, one greedy/vicious/pitiful and the other selfless/loving/brave. WHICH ONE WILL WIN?! you ask. Well, the one you feed. Light bulb goes off! Okay! So, Meghan, just don't feed your neuroses anymore. Stop watering the seeds of self-hatred. Plant seeds of... uh... awesomeness instead! Yeah. Awesomeness. Also, help protect the gray wolves because wolves are amazing creatures and not always dressing up like your grandmother. You know what I mean? Thought so.
Buuuut... I feel permanently frozen. I am standing between the wolves, food in both hands, unable to let either of them taste the meat. Why is this? Do I shrink away from power? Am I unable to trust myself with such a responsibility? Both wolves are ravenous and in need of sustenance; it's time for me to make a decision. And that slip-n-slide? Well, maybe I should run through sprinklers instead.
PS: This is mostly a serious post, but here are some pictures that will lighten the mood. Mood lightener 2.0.
I don't really like this phrase for many reasons, but I'm going to use it right now for one reason (laziness): I need to grow a pair of balls. Okay, first of all, no I don't because balls are ugly and highly sensitive; ovaries kick ass and SURPRISE I already have ovaries -- no need to grow a thing! Just a baby. But can I even have babies? Not with the way my body is right now! Those iron levels are quite the bitch. Bitches are great! Bitches have ovaries, which are so much cooler looking than the shriveled li'l brain-like balls. Huh. This is not where I intended to go in this post. What was I even saying? Something about growing a pair of balls? Oh right. I am a highly sensitive person (duuuuuuh) and it is beginning to interfere with all of my social interactions, even with my best friend. I feel like I am constantly annoying those closest to me, which terrifies me, so I shut down and stop asking for help. Uh oh! Can't do that, especially when I feel like I am physically dying right now. It's probably not a good thing that I am more terrified of being obnoxious than dying. And this is why I need to metaphorically grow a pair of balls! I need to reclaim my health. I need to own my words and actions. I need to eat a fucking burger.
That last sentence with the expletive was not the wisest choice. I fell into the trap of saying "just eat a damn sandwich," which is lazy and misses the point entirely. But seriously, I need to eat a fudging burger. A burger made from fudge? No way.
Maybe today I can do one teeny tiny little HUGE significant thing: Stop the critical self-talk. And order something meaty off of a menu.
No energy anymore. I feel highly discouraged. I am worried about myself, but I also don't feel motivated enough to change my "bad habits" or to talk back to my eating disorder or to, you know, be social in any way shape form etc etc blah blah blah I should probably just go to bed early and read. That sounds nice, but so does drowning out my gloominess with some hearty TV watching.
Where do I go from here? I'm stuck.
I am finding difficulty in forming coherent paragraphs right now, so instead I will charm/annoy/bore/confuse all of you with quick mind flashes. I will title it...
Meghan's Tuesday Morning Mind Flashes 2.0 Y2K NAACP
The transition from being out in the middle of the desert under a super moon and surrounded by good vibes to being in the middle of a city under a hazy sky and surrounded by construction is a tough one. I feel uncertain of my next move. My brain is buzzing with static once again. I am tempted to take off and leave the (literal and metaphorical) baggage behind. I am tempted to reside in Torrey. Another part of me is determined to stick it out and stay here in the city of salt while I pursue a degree that will lead me, eventually and with more security, to places like Torrey. Currently it might be easiest to just stay here in the bustle while I hustle to map out a life worth living. Easy, sure, but more expensive. It will come down to me taking out loans to pay for loans. Oh well. The price we pay for our idea(s) of happiness, contentment, and a salary. Goofy us.
I wonder if I am in love with you. Is it fascination? Could it be a mix of repulsion and projection? Are those two unlikely key ingredients for love? Love is just a chemical, something to mix up in a laboratory while wearing a white jacket and glasses that give you some sort of authority and identity. Is love an identity? Do we assume a role and place markers on a map while feeling displaced and disoriented? Maybe the markers will lead to a treasure or an adventure, but they could also lead to dead ends and deep waters with pirates and no life jacket.
I'm probably not in love with you. Yet. Perhaps I never will be. Perhaps there's a way to love you completely from a distance. Chemicals must mix to create a reaction, though. Maybe it's better for us to remain a cause without a reaction. Reactions can cause fires, which are not easily extinguished unless one is surrounded by water (no life jacket needed).
You will always be my gravity.
I usually fall in love with the tall, silent type. The tall, married type tend to fall in love with me (or how they perceive me).
Maybe I'll find a short person to love one of these days. I mean, I WAS in love with Paul Simon (5'6" of talent, people!) in high school, so it could happen again.
My new "trick" is to do something really really really kind (or at least really kind) for someone else whenever I begin to feel trapped/anxious/angry/gloomy/horny. The last one is a joke. When I feel horny I do other things.
Here's the thing: I make a lot of parenthetical statements (and that's just fine).
Today at the Arts Fest when I am surrounded by a bunch of people that frustrated me and make me feel trapped/anxious/angry/gloomy/horny, I will try to counteract that by pretending that they at one time saved my life. I will wish for them to have all the treasures in the world. I will try not to think "fuck 'em" in my head. I will sneak off and write them a love letter.
I ate one of those new "healthy" Egg McMuffins today that was all egg whites, no yolk. What a joke with no yolk! Yolks are goddang delicious and should always be included in a breakfast sandwich. I plan on opening up a Portland food truck called "Goddammit Yolk" or maybe "YOLO YOLK." Parenthetical statement: (My therapist told me to have TWO eggs at breakfast, with the yolks. She is going to be so royally pissed off that I had an egg white McMuffin! She is going to have me arrested and taken into jail and then put into solitary confinement where I am force-fed yolks and also waterboarded.)
This morning a smarmy lawyer hit on me. He's, like, "I'm almost divorced." And I'm, like, "You're not Rachel Maddow, so I'm not interested." And then he was, like, "Oh cool, so you want to study Environmental Science to make money?" And I was, like, "No, I actually like the planet. Cool Ray Bans, man." And then he went home to his almost ex-wife and took a shower before heading off to the booooooring law firm where he works. Hey, maybe in the past he saved my life. I should write him a love letter.
Time to brave the crowds. Who wants to meet me at the Arts Fest and buy me a hot dog and beer? I'll give you three love letters if you do. Three love letters and a yolk.
Meghan, pump yourself full of caffeine that you will regret after about three minutes when the caffeine high starts spiraling down into a caffeine-induced anxiety attack (that was fast!) just so you can write a blog post that would probably be a million (two million!) times less frantic had you not had such a high dosage of caffeine well WHATEVER you only live once PSYCH you live until you reach enlightenment, which may be once, but most likely you will live over and over and over again until you get it right or until you REALIZE that there is no right and there is no wrong and OH NO my three minutes are up. Time for the caffeine crash.
NOW I CAN'T THINK OF WHAT TO WRITE. There's an audience! And I know that! And it prevents me from writing "freely." Okay. I really love you readers, but I'm going to pretend you don't exist right now. What would I write about if you weren't around? I'd write about how I'm surprisingly not as scared as I thought I'd be about gaining weight. I'd write about how I'm scared that I'm not that scared about gaining weight. I'd write about how frustrating dating can be -- and always will be -- and how I don't really try that hard when it comes to dating because I don't really care. I'd write about how I actually DO care about companionship and how nice it would be to find a fellow artist to love me and live with me on a ranch out in New Mexico. I'd write about food and flavor and finally allowing myself to feast on whatever the fuck I want. I'd write about alliteration! I wouldn't really write about alliteration, but I would use it perhaps a little too frequently. I'd write about grief. I'd write about repression. I'd write about the delicate balance between compassion and obsession. I'd write about how I no longer desire to write, but I desire to bring back that desire. I'd write about desire leading to suffering and suffering leading to art and art leading to a life worth living and living in the moment and the moment never existing because once you try to capture the moment it's gone. I'd write about absences and empty spaces. I'd write about your arms and the way you sit down on the grass. I'd write about how you are a moment.
And now to drink some water.
I am determined to adopt a cat this summer. I am determined to name said cat Japhy Mann Pauline-Yossarian. I think (KNOW) that this name is nearly perfect. I may change things up a bit, though. Japhy Pearl is perhaps a little too adorable. Japhy Mew Mew might work. Japhy will be my own personal zen master and I will be Japhy's slave (but a willing slave; a slave without chains!).
Meghan's Happiness List: good food, good books, the desert, lying on the grass, being outside as much as possible, interacting with other humans, interacting with other species, solo walks, vegetables.
I have decided to go back to school to study Environmental and Sustainability Studies. Really. I know I change my cute li'l (HUGE) mind often, but this fits. This fits better than anything else I've looked into. Into which I've looked! Grammar. Gramma. Gamma Rays. Japhy Gamma Ray Snyder. From my gooby goofy lovely journal a few days ago: "Nothing heals me more than the earth. I want to be better informed. I desire to take responsibility. I want to influence and educate others. I need to give back because I have been given so much. Time to do my part." CHEESY. Cheese also sounds really good right now, mostly because I had a tasteless and overpriced vegan dish last night that really pissed me off. Okay, it didn't really piss me off, but I'm tired of spending lots of monies on blandness. Anyway, time to take my head out of the sand and start addressing environmental concerns, such as tar sands. To school I go!
Eating. Is. Healing. (My mantra for today/all days.)
People are beautiful. Even when people are awful, they are still beautiful because their awfulness shows their humanness and vulnerability and nothing is more attractive to me than those two things. Humanness and vulnerability = BOING! "Boing" is the sound of a boner. But anyway, I guess not all awful people are beautiful. I don't want you to think that I think mass murderers and rapists and terrorists and evil dictators are beautiful, because they aren't. Right? I am not sure where I'm going with this, except to say that I feel so so so happy lately. WHY?! WHY MUST I FEEL JOY?! Because joy = BOING!
My family makes me happy. Megan makes me happy. Naps make me happy and nappy. Food makes me happy and alive. Grass (both actual grass and hippie grass, man) makes me happy. Walks and hikes and anything to do with being outside makes me happy. Iron supplements make me happy. Salt Lake City makes me happy. The desert is my lifeline. Lifelines make me happy. I have a lot of boners these days, you guys and girls and gender neutral readers.
What has gotten into me aside from food and iron? Why am I so lovey dovey wooey gooey? Could it be the sun? The sleep? The lack of a highly stressful job? Sure, sure, and sure. I think it mostly has to do with letting go of the tight grip I have on every aspect of my life. Giving in is blissful. And we all know that blissful = BOING! Boing on, creatures of the earth. Boing on.
So what has been going on with me lately? Let's find out together!
I went to the emergency room on Monday after my therapist freaked me out by basically telling me I could drop dead at any moment. Well, all of us could drop dead (and drop alive, I suppose) at any moment, but mine had to do with what she thought was liver failure. And my eating disorder. What will it be? A stroke or a heart attack? She wanted me to check into an inpatient facility as soon as possible; I, on the other hand, decided to let myself rest with this exhilarating news. I also promptly ate bowl after bowl after bowl of cereal that night. And the next night. I felt out of control and terrified and stuffed. Kind of happy because cereal is awesome? Yeah. But mostly scared shitless.
So the hospital. My mama and sister and a few others sort of "forced" me into going, which turned me into Bitchy Meg for a good portion of the morning. I was left alone in a sterile room with an Oprah magazine and an IV sticking out of my right arm. After a solid two hours, I found out that my liver was okay, but my iron levels were, as the doctor put it, "low as fuck." The doctor didn't really put it that way, but he definitely should have. I am anemic to the point where I may need a blood transfusion in a month if things don't change. I left the hospital lightheaded, but determined. Determined as fuck! In fact, I was so determined that I promptly ate a lamb burger at Lamb's Grill. And I liked it. A lot. Yeah, it scared me shitless; however, it made my cells metaphorically shit their metaphorical pants (and skirts) (and skorts). My whole body absorbed those nutrients and my brain was like, "Well, helllllooooo!" Anyway, my point is that the wolf (me) also shall dwell with the lamb (the burger), and the leopard (god? buddha? santa?) shall lie down with the kid (ugh, kids are the worst); and the calf (veal?) and the young lion (Snoop Lion) and the fatling (trigger!) together; and a little child (Suri Cruise) shall lead them.
Oh wait. My point is that I really need to eat and I really need to eat food that is high in iron and that the Bible is super into animals and dear god please multiply my red blood cells.
I am already feeling better, for the most part. The iron supplements I take sure hate my stomach, but I'd rather have black stool (it's the truth!) than a blood transfusion. A stupid name for a metal band would be "Black Transfusion" or "Stool Blood." Anyone interested in starting a metal band? More importantly, anyone interested in grabbing some burgers?
It has been over a month since I have posted something? Really? I blame my absence on my lack of red blood cells. And crippling depression. And alcoholism. And the fact that I have been on a voyage on the high seas with a crew of peg legs and parrots. The last sentence is as false as they come, but the rest of those sentences are, sadly, all truth. Truth or truth! Okay, truth. I am terrified and exhilarated by the changes that I am making. Eating actual food and not purging and letting my body reap the nutrients and gaining weight is wacky weird and not at all comfortable, but it is necessary. I am motivated today to make these changes. Will I be tomorrow? It's hard to say. I don't want to be a pessimist, but... But I know how things have gone in the past -- not well. I relapse and I relapse hard. How will this time be different? I need to make a conscious effort, a plan, and a support group. I already have a kickass support group. One day at a time, right? In the meantime, can anyone tell me what I should do with the oysters I hesitantly purchased today? Hey, they are damn high in iron, okay? And apparently they are an aphrodisiac. So should I eat the oysters naked or something?
It feels good to be back.
