The Journey, not the Destination

Seeking Bettie Page

Muahahaha... I'm BAAAAAACK!
The alterate title for this entry is: Three Days with the Goddess

Oh yeah... I'm in Scotland. Edinburgh. Been here since 17th of August and at this point I don't know how I will ever leave.

This story begins... where does it begin? With Danny? Well, it sort of does, but he did not play a part in the magic, for the most part.

But it really begins Saturday. Now, I've said I will always be honest here, and so I think I must come clean. I have been dabbling in the "legal weed" of Scotland - not weed at all, and, as a well indocrinated American should, I cannot believe it is completely legal. I shit you not. That goes back to Danny, too, but this isn't his story - except for mainly tangentily - like the great Gary Oldman classic "Rossencratz and Guildenstern are Dead" - he came in and out of some interesting moments, but nothing too important. Well, again, not entirely true.

As an interesting side note - I gave my 3 year virginity to a mental case - but, somehow, it worked. Barely. But enough to get me over that hump. I made it no big deal and it wasn't. It was a physical hurdle I had to get over rather than an emotional one. Which is odd... must come back to that later. I mean, I WAS raped. 4 times in the Navy. But thanks to that damn phenom of 50 Shades of Whatnot, my libido has been making a helluva push for freedom. Uphill battle, and I'm only maybe 30% I'll be me again soon. I cannot WAIT to make love.

Right. So. Where was I? Oh yes - the Goddess. She came to Saturday around noon in a huge rush, in my favorite place in the park. And I glowed with her the rest of the day. (I think I have a wee crush on the femaile bartender at the dog friendly gay pub that I LOVE!) I wrote a wee poem:

Winter is the death, spring is the rebirth and youth, summer is the mother and woman, autumn is the crone and so own. I hope the Goddess will some wisdom for me this autumn.

I felt like I'd summoned her. She was there.

When I got to Danny's later in the day - the walls of his stories came crashing down. And I found I didn't care. I'd already known. But he served his purpose well.

And then he finished his debt to me last night. He took me to Tamara's. In Montrose. I almost didn't go. But, in the hope that I would actually meet this fabled woman, I went, hoping against hope that she wasn't another lie he had told me.

But to her castle in the middle of town where I walked in the door and just felt RIGHT. And these people... they were all in their 50's. And had known each other so long, you could see the ghosts of their youth in their smiles. And through all that was discussed last night and the bond between Rhiannon, Tamara's 13 year old daughter, and Whisky is odd enough to explore. It was like she was reading his mind.

But I found a new Mother last night. And I hoping she is my Mother Summer and be the Goddess I need right now.

I'm no woman. I'm a 13 year old girl stuck in the broken and chemically wrong body of a 33 - def not Jennifer Garner's experience, but I know so little about some important things. And at Tamara's I will learn at the hands of the Mother, and Woman, and find myself all over again.

I have so much to learn from her. Her magic was powerful enough to tickly my numbed soul.

Getting to bed was much ado. But it got done.

And for many, many reasons, Danny was my least favorite person last night. He wallows in being sick. In not taking care of himself. He thinks it makes me extraordinary. He is very, VERY sick. And as much as he says he's virtually in love with me (sorta creepy but entirely believable because I've been that wallower, too) after our four outings, I was quite probably the woman who completes him (he really was heading RIGHT down that road). So, I cut ties as best I could and ditched him at the train station. Didn't even care. I may see him again, under very specific circumstances. And hopefully NEVER again at Tamara's.

By this morning, I broke my ice and started speaking completely straight with him. He followed me to the bus stop, the train stop, the train and Edinburgh. I spent most of the morning asking him pointed questions to try to break through his head (and all its chemicals) and through the madness and word vomit. I didtched him at the train station. No regreats.

I have the choice right now - try to help him get better (oooooh, the long hours, the yelling, the hiding. But I can't bear the weight of his so-called-love. I refuse to go back there.

Or be the part time friend who calls him on his shit. That is, if he deigns to forgive me.

So I finally got home and relaxed. Got some things done. And now I'm sitting in the dark of 7 candles. Four in each cardinal direction. Three on the table next to me.

This afternoon I took Whisky on a forever walk in the park, went to the place - I must find the name of it. It feels so close to the magic, in fact it shaped like a cirlce. And I prayed.
And I realized I need to start doing yoga again tomorrow. And quit smoking. And use my "herb" to help me commune. A rare and powerful treat. I still get beer and cider, though. Clean living wins with letting you cheat with beer and bacon and the occasional puff. Fucking legal. You coulda pushed me over with a feather. Paleo... can I do it? I haven't been eating much bread. I could swap my milk out for rice milk (ew). I'll think about it.

Yeah. I mean, aye. I really need to start practicing that. Aye. But the glorious rain that feel this night and was nearly FREEZING and she was there. She was there to tell me that tomorrow I live clean. Yes. I like that idea. I'll leave this open to read tomorrow and remind myself first thing.

And I MUST find a way to get back to that Garden in Montrose. I must.

Tomorrow I plan to write about the 25 ways you know you're a grad student. That'll be fun. I've been thinking about good ones all day. Oh yeah. Priority. JOURNAL.

And post my darned car on USAA.

After I'm at the Registry tomorrow at 0900, I have the day get some stuff sorted.

Ohhhhh, I have so MUCH HOPE!!!
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Warm up
100ft bear walk
30 lunges
15 pushups
10 toes to bar
5 long jump burpees
100ft farmers carry (35)

Skill: 1 min on, 1 min off, 45 sec on/off, 30 sec on/off, 15 sec on/off of Pull Ups (I did 57)

Seven rounds of:
35 Double-unders (100 singles)
1 (Squat) Snatch (I managed 3 at 65#)

I am the proud mama of Whisky (nee Paul). He is a lovable, excitable, chicken shit. He's super shy of everyone, follows me around EVERYWHERE, snuggles with me constantly, loves to give me kisses, is innately curious about everything and is altogether JUST what I needed. I hate being away from him. He hates being away from me. We need to work on that, but we have a few weeks to get used to each other - and get him used to being in his crate when I'm away. I even let him sleep with me - and he seems to find a way to end up sleeping on my legs every night. But I don't mind. I love having him there.

I also found a new therapist. She seems awesome. She is in to alternative treatments for depression and anxiety - rather than just throwing more drugs at it. And I can see her every week. She has me feeling hopeful that I can beat this anxiety and get back to school.

Then there's Kassidy. Bitch won't let Rowen come to Colorado for Thanksgiving or Christmas - and due to how busy my schedule is going to be next year, who knows when I'll get to see him. I'm trying not to let her selfish ways ruin my holidays, but it is hard. At least I'll get to see Matt next week. That's a relief.

And last week I was in Georgia for a few days hanging with my Georgia family. I miss them desperately already. Rory and Ella make my soul smile, and Ilana came down to surprise me. I was hoping Clint and Jess would be able to come, too, but oh well.

I could go on and on in this entry, but I don't want to. I have a ton to process internally. But I wanted to get the big stuff down.

Here's a picture of my baby.


Woman, Interupted.
I've been away for a few weeks, I know. My depression and anxiety has really taken over. After being offered a medical leave of absence from school for the rest of the semester, and much consideration, I accepted the offer. Last Monday I took my RESP exam - and pulled an 87%! - and that was the last thing I have to do until January. Last Tuesday, I had my dreaded appointment with Dr. P (and Ellie there to support me). It went okay - we talked about why I was uncomfortable with our relationship - and she seemed to have done a 180 on the meds issue. I was feeling okay about it. Then I went to the lab to get my TSH drawn, just to make sure it was okay, and when I went up to meet with Ellie, she immediately brought the idea of voluntary commitment to the hospital for a few days. She said they would be able to change my meds faster that way. It seemed like an excellent idea. Although, as I was soon to learn, I was under the impression I'd be in the medical ward. But no, I ended up in the psych ward. And very quickly had another panic attack.

That was very hard. Despite the uncomfortable beds, the crappy food, the lukewarm showers, the ridiculous number of restrictions and frustrations such as: nothing with strings, no pens, no belts, I had to check out my hair brush to use it, I couldn't have my teddy bear, visiting hours were 5-7 in the evening - during rush hour!!!, no caffeine, no smoking, being on suicide watch for the first 24 hours, being checked on every 15 minutes, no cell phones, no computers, a two hour wait for Advil and benedryl when I got a migraine, having to go to med nurse to get ben gay for my elbow, having to go to the med nurse 5 times a day for my various meds, being bored out of mind, sleeping too much, hiding in my room, watching some of the other patients mumble to themselves, drool, have PTSD attacks, cuss and scream at everyone, overreact to everything, complain about everything, and on and on and on. My doctor was very nice. A first year resident, which, of course, I couldn't hold against him, since that WILL be me one day. I went to bed each night doped up on ativan and benedryl, just so I could (unsuccessfully) get through the night in peace. Four or five panic attacks. And it was always fucking freezing in the day room. I went around in layers - long underwear under sweats and toting my blanket. And no shoes. So I had on two pairs of socks, usually. The sinks and showers were run by these little push buttons that gave you a certain amount of water, and thus you had to keep pushing them. The chairs all weighed 50 lbs so people couldn't pick them up and throw them. The toiletries they gave us consisted of a shampoo/body wash that sucked, a tiny tube of toothpaste, a roll on anti-antiperspirant and a bottle of mouth wash. All the big furniture was bolted to the walls or floors, and the cupboards were all locked. Everything was designed so that people couldn't hurt themselves with it.

Most of the other patients were very nice. All of them were considerably older than me (which gave me a frightening vision of my future should I not be able to kick this disease). I was probably the most sane person there. And by far the highest-functioning. And one of the quietest (can't beat the mute guy).

I felt cut off from my support network. Granted, there were phones, in the freezing day room, that were ancient and had crappy connections. And my mom, bless her heart, visited me almost every day. And several friends from school came, too. That meant a lot to me. And my aunt called regularly - usually during dinner.

That whole place made me want to fade away. To stop thinking and dealing. I don't know yet if the time there has helped me, but I hope so. Regardless, it was a helluva learning experience. It made me feel weak and vulnerable and helpless and frustrated.

It scares me that my doctor thought that was necessary. And that, had they their druthers, I'd still be there, and stay for another week or two. But since it was a voluntary commitment, I told them I was going to Georgia on Wednesday and would be leaving no later than Tuesday.

I feel weird now. I took a nap on the couch earlier and when I woke up, I didn't know where I was.

There are several issues that came up that I realize that I need to deal with - things I have squashed down and ignored for years - that just maybe might be adding to my current condition. I need to find a new therapist.

And Dr. P came upstairs to confront me about me wanting to change from her service. She partially listened to my issues, and then, in true shrink fashion, turned them all around so that they were all my fault - my fault she couldn't breach my defenses and really get inside me, my fault for taking things (like the mysterious drug test) too personally. None of the the issues I had with her were her fault at all. She couldn't even bring herself to apologize for making me feel like shit. Honestly, if these problems of mine were so long standing, why did she never mention them? I've been seeing her for two and half bleeping years!?!? And NOW she tells me that it is my fault? Sure, I'll take the blame for being closed off - I probably am - but if she had called me on it two years ago, we could have worked on it.

I learned a lot about how I want to practice medicine. And how I don't want to practice medicine.

I'm hopeful that the week was not a waste, that my new meds will work for me, and that I find myself stronger after being so miserable for seven days straight. I hope.

The best thing that came out of this experience was my decision to get a dog. Mom brought it up - after seeing how much getting Barclay helped my brother with his loneliness, she is in full support of it now - which was all I needed to hear. So, when I get back from Georgia next week and go through all my appointments on Tuesday and Wednesday (and hopefully have one with my new therapist), I'm going up to my folks' and my mom and are are going to the humane society to find me a dog. I'm really looking forward to that. And I think having a dog in my life will be incredibly therapeutic.

So, that's all for now.

Back in the saddle
Warm up
800m run (prolly the last day we'll get to do THAT for a while)
15 squats
15 pushups
10 pullups (did these, but moved up to blue band for a couple of weeks)
10 ring dips
10 ring rows
20 lunges
10 med ball cleans

Weight training
Dead lifts - I bowed out here

5 rounds
7 squat cleans (I did front squats at 60# - rx was 105#)
14 KB swings (26#)

After taking a week off to let my elbow heal a bit, today was my first day lifting in nearly 3 weeks. I took it slow and light, with the pullups, ring dips, front squats and KB swings. My elbow hurts a bit, but not too bad. I wonder how it will feel tomorrow. My lungs were burning, my legs were shaking. My wrists didn't like holding that bar in the rack position at ALL. But I finished really quickly.

I have so much crap to write about. Tomorrow. Big, BIG decision to make about school. I think I know what I will do, but so much depends on what the doctor says tomorrow. I'll write about it all tomorrow. Ug.

Suck it up, buttercup.

Hope abides
So, I am taking this week off of working out. I'm just feeling so worn out from the stress of my illness and my injuries that I think a few days off will do me good. Especially my elbow. It still hurts. It hurt so bad Sunday night that it kept me up. It doesn't hurt too bad today, but the pain has moved from the tendon itself to the muscles. So now my forearm is tweaked. Grip strength is ridiculously poor. Even just typing this hurts.

I met with Ellie today and talked to her about my issues with Dr. P. She took my side, which meant a lot to me. And she's gonna sit with me on the 1st when I have my next appointment - to be my ally. That is a huge relief. And when I got back to my car, I had a message from the Colorado Physicians Health Program, they got me an earlier (than the 2nd) appointment for next week. I'm looking forward to getting my second opinion. Especially after chatting with Dr. Ramey for a bit about exercise, depression and meds. He is a firm believer that exercise should cure me. So why am I feeling so poor? I think my doses were TOO HIGH. I've been on the half dose now for two-plus weeks, and I am actually feeling better. I am getting school work done.

I have my re-test tomorrow for OPP. Went over all the techniques and diagnoses again. But I am terrified that I am going to freeze up tomorrow morning. Obviously, I'll be taking a pill before. Maybe then I won't cry and freeze up.

I'm on a detox cleanse today and tomorrow. Went to weigh in this afternoon - after a whole day, two meals and a snack (and no poo all day long) and I was at my lowest ever. Broke (finally) into a new decade. It is official 19 lbs to go. 67 down.

More box jumps
Warm up
4 - 150m row sprints (kept it about about 1:51 for each)
10 squats
10 pushups
wow, I really can't remember what else there was
but we ended with
5 atlas ball squat cleans (40#)

Back squats
5@ 35
5 @ 65
5 @ 95

12 min AMRAP
4 Deadlifts (255/185) - did prowler pushes for 50m instead
8 HSPU - did regular pushups
12 Box Jumps (30/24) - did 20in jumps

Completed 5 rounds and one prowler push. And I jumped on that box 60 times. No step ups for me. Small steps, right? Whatever - the workout made me feel great - I think getting to do back squats helped, too. I really miss lifting.

I heard from the lady at the CPHP today. Told her my tale of woe. She told me that they couldn't get me in to see a doctor until Nov 2nd. I don't think that it is soon enough, but she is going to try to get me in sooner.

I didn't get much studying done today. Spent as much time looking up words as I did wading through the reading.

I really need something good and wonderful to happen in my life. So much shit, so little relief.

Barbara and whotnot
Warm up
I don't even remember

5 Rounds
20 Pull Ups - MOD 10 ring rows to spare my effin' elbow
30 Push Ups
40 Sit Ups
50 Squats
3 min rest between each round

I made it through four rounds. Took me 37 minutes.

Warm up
500m row (I've been taking these slow, too, since they hurt)
10 burpees
35 du (140 singles)
20 lunges
10 weighted dips
10 ring dips
10 toes to rings (didn't do these)

Strength: Shoulder Press - 5 reps at 40%, 50%, 60% (didn't do)


Tabata Double Unders - Did lateral jumps over a six inch high PVC through two KB - 140 reps
*8 Rounds, 20 seconds of work, 10 seconds of rest


Hang Snatch - Didn't do.
Ran a mile instead.

I don't have a test tomorrow. That's really the best thing I can say about this week. Or even the last 3 weeks. We had 7 exams in the last 3 weeks and I'm flipping burnt out Toast. Failed that cardio test, but that was the only one I actually failed. Came pretty close on a few others. Did really, really well on two. Whatever.

My diet has gone to pot in the last few days, even though I was trying to be good for these last six weeks to reach my damn goal. I don't want to eat And when I DO want to eat, I want sugar, fat and salt.

Had my mud run on Saturday. It was freeeeeeeeezing. But fun. Glad I did it.

I have quite a drama surrounding my mental health care right now. I'm trying to find a doctor to give me second opinion on all my diagnoses and meds so I can make a more educated decision to stay with Dr. Pokracki or not. I have a ton of people supporting me, which is nice, but none of them can bear this weight or make this decision for me.

Cried a bunch. Laughed some. Burdened more than a few. And having bad, bad thoughts floating around my head. Got to get through this.

Puppy snuggles and terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
Warm up
350m row
10 squats
10 lunges
100m farmers carry (35) prolly shouldn't have done this
10 pushups
10 burpees (didn't do these since the pushups hurt my elbow so much)
250m run

Wall balls (10#)
KB swings (25#)
Box jumps (20inch - had to go to step ups middle of second round)

Went light on the weight in hopes of not tweaking my elbow more. It was still a tough workout. For a tough day. Made better by snuggles from Copper - Chris and Shara's puppy - who has always shied away from me, but today he snuggled with me. Just what I needed.After failing my cardio exam. And getting a stupid ticket. From an asshole cop. Boo today. I need to record my version of today's events. But not right now.

I have, apparently, lost my gauge for how I do on exams. After finishing my test this morning, honestly thought I got high 70s, low 80's on it. Which would have made me happy, since the average was 77. But, nooooooooooooooo, not even close. 60 freaking percent. I cannot figure how I missed 40% of those questions. I really, really can't. This is test review I will certainly be attending. And, after my OPP practical fiasco, where I was certain I passed, and failed miserably there, too... is this the depression? It is making me second guess every decision I make at school. I'm starting to worry about my SP, too, and I thought I rocked that exam. Shit.

It is funny cuz right now, I feel better. Not great. But better. I've been off the zoloft for two weeks now and on the lexapro for the interim. Half dose, mostly. But I feel clearer. I know I didn't handle this ticket-thing today very well, but I am not so dreadfully low MOST of the time. Some of the time... yeah... really, really low. Low enough that I may be calling the hotline. Especially after trying to talk to my mom, who is obviously fed up with me and my shit, and tries really hard to get me off the phone, when I really just need someone to listen. I hate that I am a burden to those who care about me. And I don't feel like I am getting what I need out of therapy. Something is missing from all this. My emptiness is aching to be filled. But with what?!

The best I feel is with Jonathan's family. Hanging out with little Anna and Jonah, running with Jen, talking smack about our professors with Jonathan... they make me feel relaxed. And of course, CrossFit. Even though it is getting harder and harder to motivate myself to go because of this depression. I love it while I'm there, it is just getting me there that is so hard.

And I'm binging and purging. Maybe once a week. For the last three or four weeks. Stupid fucking bitch. Obviously, I am NOT better. Obviously, I still need the meds and therapy. The really fucked up part, is that after I purge, I then make myself eat a healthy meal. So I get all my calories. The binging is just the pleasure of eating crap I am not allowed to eat. And control over something. And the familiar pleasure/guilt of it all. I made it almost a full year without that monkey on my back. And it has come back now. When everything is collapsing.

Looking forward to the mud run on Saturday. Should be fun. And going shopping with Mom on Sunday.

Atlas stones
Warm up
20 squats
20 pushups
400m run
15 back extensions
15 Toes to bar
350m row
20 GHD situps
20 ring dips
100m crab walk

I admit, I half-assed most of that warm up. I blame the meds.

3 rounds
10 Ground to Shoulder with Atlas Stones (115/70)
50 Double Unders (150 singles)

I did the 70 lb stones. Those started getting pretty tough that last round, but it was all mental. And once again, I am left wishing for double unders. I could have cut so much time off if I could do them.

I was supposed to do the one rep max power clean too, but I decided I'd rather give my arms so more rest.

I'm gonna fail this cardio test. Fortunately, I only need 52 points to pass the course. Out of 100. Maybe I can pull that off. I have to remember to send Dr. Kruse an email about the quiz that they gave 0/5 on because I wasn't there - I was excused.

I have nothing profound to say tonight. So I guess I'll call it.

Well, first off, I had some amazing fucked up dreams last night. That I was pregnant and had to pee all the time - then I woke up and realized I actually DID have to pee. I've had dreams about having to pee before, but never have I been pregnant. Funny thing was, I have no idea who the father was supposed to be. I know you have to have sperm to become pregnant, but I am living my life so solo right now, that the idea of bringing someone else in... overwhelming. Then I dreamt that I was in Alamosa and people there were turning sporadically crazy and killing other people. But the insanity only lasted a few minutes to a few hours, and people wouldn't remember what they had done while they were crazy. And I was trying to escape with this group of 9 Iranian wives who were themselves trying to escape from their abusive husbands. But I fell asleep and when I woke up, they were all dead and I was being accused of their murders. Yeah. Crazy dreams.

I need to be studying.

But I found myself perusing this facebook profile of this German lady who lives in Spain and travels all through Europe. All her posts are in German, so I'm not really sure what she does, but it is something with symbols - maybe tarot cards? - and body sprays.... strange combo, I know, but that was what I gathered from her photos. In any case, I am super jealous of her life. Her photos are of her beautiful trips to all these beautiful places - pictures of wonderful meals with interesting people and gorgeous outfits. She gets to go to all these places I really want to see - like Renne le Chateau. She is also very interested in Mary Magdalene - this was how I found her profile to begin with.

I want to live a life where I actually do things I WANT to do. And I'm freaked out that that isn't medicine. School sucks so badly that it is - once again - making me question this as my life choice. I want to travel and eat and drink and workout and be creative - not do something that makes me feel stupid and inadequate. Oh, but the bills I have to pay off from all these loans. I am sick to my stomach over it (on that note - time for a pill!). I am trapped. How can I practice medicine and lead that life? HOW?!?! I deserve to be happy. And that's what would make me happy. Men are obviously not interested in me. So fuck them. If I am destined to be alone, I want to be HAPPY alone.


Time to study.
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