Frozen moments...

When my grandfather died, I inherited many old photographs and negatives...some from as far back as the early 1900's. The negatives, having not been cared for over the years while in his basement are falling apart, dissolving with every molecule of air that touches them. Others are stuck together or so faded that it seems nearly impossible to visualize what might be there. Mom and I decided it was time to do something about it so she bought a special scanner so that we can restore, copy and save not only the negatives but the slides and photos so they will not be lost. When I think about it, I reminded of the scripture saying, "ashes to ashes and dust to dust." These are moments in time, frozen...with people and places that have long since passed or are hardly hanging on. It is my mission to save as many of these priceless moments as I possibly can...to get them to the people that can pass the pictures and the memories on.

Mom and I talked with my aunt Ora...who is and has been more of a grandmother to me than my grandmother ever was. Aunt Ora has known my soul far longer than I have even been alive. We knew each other in the pre existence, for this I am sure. She knew I was gay before I even knew there was such a thing. She was the first person in my family I came "out" to, only to have her say, "well honey, I knew that. I've always known you were gay." To this I replied, "it would have been nice if you would have told me earlier to save me all this heartache and soul searching." She said it was my journey to experience and I knew she was right. She and I have much in common...and as she is now in her 90's I already mourn the eventual loss of her in my life. She and I are like two pea's in a pod...best friends separated by time and space and she was and is ahead of her time. I hope to find photos of her in the enormous archive of slides, negatives and pictures that lay before me...to share her with the rest of you, to make sure people remember her and speak highly of the first person (except my mother) to embrace me not because I was gay, not despite me being gay...but for who I was...and who I now am. Period.

I love her more than mere words could express and when it is her time to return home, the world will be a lesser place for not having her.

And I believe the same of my mother whose light outshines all the darkness in my world. She worked hard taking care of me as a child, she still cares for me as an adult and my every day is spent trying to repay all the sacrifices she made so that I would be a good person and a loved soul. I can only hope to leave this world a better place then I found it...as for my mother, again, the world will be a lesser place for not having her in it. Death may be our final moment on this earth, but as long as my mother and my father are remembered (and their memories passed on to future generations)...I don't need to be.

My dad who is now a Father...

During this time of season I always wish that we could change our headlights green so that as you are driving down the freeway the road before you and behind you would flow green and red. Seems appropriate to me, but not at all useful when driving since green doesn't show up so well. I guess it's just a dream of mine. I guess that's the random thought for the month...as if I only have one random thought a month. I am total randomness and I embrace it. For better or worse, it is what it is.

I wanted to talk a little today about my father, for whom I am very happy to have a relationship with in my adult years. My father had a tough life early on, his dad wasn't so nice to him and not the best of influences regarding parental characteristics. I never knew my fathers dad, he had a heart attack before I was born but I've seen his pictures and my father looks just like him and for awhile they were a lot alike. But my father has overcome those aspects of behavior and is a very different man now. And to be honest, I'm sure my changed behavior as an adult plays a role as well. My memories of my father are varied, some good and some bad...some that fall in between. I won't be discussing the bad memories, because I have forgiven him of those and they no longer have any meaning in my life. While they have played a part in the creation of Debra they hold no significance now, and I believe they have made me a better person...and if I could go back and do it again...I wouldn't do anything differently.

I was a pretty sickly kid growing up, in and out of doctors office's, visits to the hospital and the fact that I am alive now is a miracle, between jumping out of trees, playing almost daily in a junk yard pit and my varied illness. It was hard to spend time with my father because he worked the graveyard shift at the mine, he was an amazing mechanic and worked hard to pay the bills, mother worked hard as well and as a child I wanted for nothing. I had an amazing childhood, yes there were bad times but like I said, I wouldn't change it now. Whenever I get a really bad stomach ache at night, I think of my father...because he would be awake when the rest of the world was asleep and when home he would let me climb onto his lap and lay against his chest. Hearing his heart beat soothed me and I would either fall asleep or my stomach would stop hurting and I would go back to bed.

A friend of mine once asked me what was the first thing I thought of when asked about my father, I simply said "fish." I then elaborated and explained that my earliest memories usually are of dad teaching me how to fish. Memories are also strong regarding camping, being taught how to change a tire or the oil in a car. We went camping and canoeing often, would cook the fish with in minutes of catching them...simply amazing food. He taught me a lot about so many things...and they all pretty much amount to self efficiency. Whether it be planting the families garden, building a fort in the back yard, taking care of the cars/ATV's, catching our own food, chopping our own firewood, learning how to canoe or riding a motorcycle, in fact, as a child I spent a lot of time driving (or so I thought). I was either riding in front of him on the motorcycle with my little hands on the handle bars or sitting on his lap with my hands on the wheel driving down the road. He took care of the gas and brake, all I had to do was steer. I have always and continue to feel very safe riding with my father on his motorcycle and I can't wait until I can own one myself. To this day, whenever I am able to see him, I make sure he takes me on a ride.

When I was 5ish, I was learning how to ride my bicycle...still had the training wheels on and heading home from hanging out with friends down the block and a doberman pincher came out and was walking along side me as I rode down the street. He was getting so close to my leg and I was so scared that I put my left leg on the right side of the bike but that only slowed me down. I switched my left leg back to hurry my progress and he took a bite out of leg. I was on the ground screaming for my father and he came running out to rescue me. He picked me up and I knew I was safe. But I hated the hospital visit. That was in Boise, once we moved to Tenino there was another time that my dad saved me. We were in the back of our yard getting the fence ready for my cow to have a pen and my shovel dug into a hornets nest in the ground but I didn't know it until I had been stung in the leg and again started screaming. The hornet kept stinging me so dad, used the shovel to get him off my leg but the stinger was still there. The memory has less to do with the hornet and more to do with how quickly my father was in rescuing me from harm. He picked me up and ran me into the house where I would be safe. As for my cow, Pinky, I raised him and then it was time for him to go to a vacation type place where he would be happy and get to play with other cows...or so I thought. Turns out we ate him...but I didn't know it at the time and I am very grateful that he let me believe Pinky was playing and happy elsewhere.

Now as an adult our relationship has changed significantly, I don't so much need him to rescue me anymore, though there are times when people treat me badly that I wish I could ask my daddy to handle it. I am now the only one of his children who is remotely in his life, the others have abandon him because of the man he once was, and it is horribly unfortunate that they can't learn to forgive. My father is not that man anymore and it would be great if they could love and embrace him, but I don't even know them anymore. The only one we were close to, Jim, was killed in a car accident when I was a senior in high school. I regret not being more gentle with father when he called to tell me, I was too selfish in my grief to even realize or understand the amount of pain he must have gone through losing his only son he was closest to. And for that I am sorry.

Speaking of being sorry, when my parents were going through their divorce I was given the choice of either keeping his last name, Morris or changing it to Carlsen, my mothers last name. My choice was to make the change to Carlsen and I did it with out any consideration of how it would make him feel. I was only 11 or 12 then but now, I realize how horrible a feeling that must have given him to have his child abandon his last name. And each time I write him now I try to not sign my last name out of respect for his feelings.

I could go on and on, but I won't. I wanted to make sure that those who know me or read this blog have a clear understanding of my father, of our relationship now, mostly to know that I love my father and he is an amazing man who has overcome a lot in his life. I am grateful for his protection and his love...and of course his friendship. My life would be horribly incomplete if he weren't in it even though he now lives in Montana. I take what I can get.

Thank you dad for becoming a father, for loving me, for rescuing me, for all that you do. I love you very much.

My bucket list...

As I was going to sleep last night, I started thinking about all the things I've wanted to do or places I've wanted to go and so I thought I would share them. Since I'm such a homie (person who wants to stay home and chill) it is hard to think that I could even remotely complete this list let alone do half of it, but no harm in sharing. Heck, if anyone can help me accomplish anything on my list, please do...Lord knows I need it.

So they are not in any particular order, just as I think of them. I anticipate this taking several days of thought to accomplish. But then again, as I get older, my desires will likely change to some degree.

-Climb Mt. Pilchuck.

-Photograph Ireland, France, Egypt, Italy, New Zealand, Australia, Hawaii, Alaska, Arizona, Utah and several other states on both the West and East coasts...for sure Maine and New Hampshire.

-See Peyton Manning play a football game in real life.

-Write an autobiography...one book on my personal battles with being a gay Mormon and one book focused on my experiences in the mental health field with Schizophrenic clients.

-Be more adventurous...climb more, hike more, ride more, camp more, and exercise more.

-Own a motorcycle and riiidddeee.

-Make a documentary about living life as a gay Mormon.

-Return to the temple.

-Create a scholarship for gay/lesbian teens.

-Learn to play the guitar.

-Have a conversation with the Dalai Lama.

-See Paramore in concert.

-Create a soundtrack to my life...that people would like to listen to.

-Sell one of my paintings. (instead of giving them away, actually have someone buy my work)

-Become debt free.

-Fall in love...real love, the kind that lasts your entire life time and beyond.

-Lose around 100lbs.

Sigh. I think there are actually 3 of these I could do...the rest I think are pipe dreams, but dreamt just the same.

When a thud means more...

While watching tv last night, I heard this thud, actually because my living room is mostly underground, I felt the thud...I had hoped that it was just a car running over garbage or some sort of other debris but after I kept hearing vehicles making the same thud noise, I realized it was likely an animal. So with flashlight in hand I headed outside and around the corner of the house and partially up the hill...shinning the light in several directions I settled on a motionless form lying on the side of the road not quite off the main drive. I stopped in my tracks, sighed heavily and approached the figure...it was a young raccoon, clearly dead but not yet frozen to the road. I turned back around, headed to the garage, grabbed the snow shovel since it was the closest and easiest to find and headed back up the road.

Cars passed by in both directions, none really slowing or even making notice that I was standing roadside. When it was clear, I scooped up the little raccoon and walked it over to the field behind my house. Since I didn't have a shovel I could actually dig with, I placed its motionless body in a small dip in the ground and gathered many leaves to cover it with. I then said a few kind words, prayed for its family, its soul and asked that it didn't suffer. Prayed that its journey to heaven was peaceful and that it was happy running around with all the other animals I have picked up off the road and done the very same thing for.

I realize death is part of the natural order of things, but it never becomes easier. I have often told mom that when God was handing out empathy, and compassion I must have stood in those lines far too many times than the regular person. It seems to be more often than not, a hindrance rather than a positive. I have no way to control my love for those around me, animal or human...I am what I am, I am what God made me.

Maybe at some point, I can fully accept all the flaws that are innate within me and actually embrace them and leave the world a better place than when I found it.

For these, I give thanks...

It is once again Thanksgiving, my what a difference a year can make in ones life. I'm still learning the in's and out's of forgiveness, when to hold my tongue, to whom I should be loyal, and when enough is enough and being okay with saying no more. Mom had Thanksgiving dinner with family while I had to work and by the time I had finished, I was just too tired to engage in any festivities. I know mom wants me to be more active with the family, but sometimes I feel too distant. It is hard to suddenly have family around when growing up it was just mom and I. In any event, she had a great time and I got to watch football, which is always a wonderful thing. I will admit to feeling sadness knowing that people all over the world were enjoying friends and family, and I was not. I figured it was good practice for what my life would be like without my mom. So of course, my greatest amount of thanks goes to my mother, who is my best friend and greatest source of strength and inspiration. I am thankful for my job, despite its ability to suck the life from me at times. In these troubling times, I am thankful that I have a job and a super supportive supervisor who actually likes and cares about my clinical opinions. I am thankful for family that is close enough to spend time with, like I mentioned earlier, that has not always been the case...while the family I feel closest to (Parsons) are in Utah and I miss them dearly, I find the Barlow's and Ingebretsons' to be very accepting of me and I love them for that.

I am thankful for a happy, loving and spiritual home. I am thankful for the gospel of Jesus Christ, my brother and for Heavenly Father. I am thankful that I have my health (not great health but good) and that my mother is in my life daily. I am thankful for Roxy and Jozie and the love and happiness then add to the family. My thanks extends to my father as well, I am thankful for the man he has grown into and for the relationship we have now as adults. I am thankful that I survived my exgirlfriend...though it does off and on continue to grasp at my soul. I am thankful for a psychiatrist that listens to me and helps the best he can, and for the meds that help keep me alive despite the times that I feel like I would rather be dead. I am thankful that God has given me the chance to live this life, be who I am and find my way through this life with free agency even when I make the wrong choices.

I am thankful for my physical therapist who listens to my body when I don't even know what is going on with my body. She is amazing and my life is better for knowing her, even though many days I still have pain with each step I take. I am thankful that I was able to get season tickets to the Rat City Rollergirls and that my friend Jen will be going with me. I am thankful for my family both near and far, for the love and support I get from those who love me without judgement for being gay. I am thankful for a faith that reminds me that I am a child of God, when the voices of man try to tell me I am worthless or a mistake.

I know there are many more things I am thankful for, but I wanted to make sure to make note of what I could. I would be remiss if I let this Thanksgiving go by without expressing thanks for all that I have. I am very thankful for the blessings I get daily, especially the blessings I don't even know about. I am thankful for so much, and I continue to pray for those with less, that they find happiness and warmth in a world that is becoming more and more cold and unforgiving.

I pray for my clients who teach me new things each and every day, and pray for the continued patience to deal with their chronic symptoms...and give thanks that I can provide care for them.

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone I love, and to those I have yet to love. If you have a little extra left over...please give some to those without.

Camel Toe and Mr. Sanchez...

Picture this, mom and I are driving to pick up the pup from the groomers and while sitting at a light we began discussing the latest "Walmart Pics" that occasionally greet us in our inbox's. There was one that we found highly entertaining where this obese/older woman was wearing these stretch pants that she pulled all the way up to barely cover her breasts since they were hanging low anyway. Since the photo was taken from behind, I commented to mom that she must really have a serious "camel toe" going on in front...nothing but silence in the car, I turned to look at mom and said, "you don't know what a camel toe is do you?" She basically said no, so I started laughing so hard I thought I might pee myself right there at the light. I never in my life imagined that I would be sitting in a car telling my mom about what a camel toe is and what creates it. And for those that are reading this and don't know either...you are going to have to ask someone else.

Having not yet reached the groomers, I started laughing in the silence and of course mom wanted to know what I found so funny...I told her that I had to explain to my friend Elizabeth on Facebook what a "dirty Sanchez" was. Laughing yet again to myself, the only sound in the car I hear is me..."mom you've got to be kidding me, how can you live this long and not know what a dirty Sanchez is?" She sarcastically shot back at me that she didn't actually know everything despite being a mother. So within a 10 minute span I found myself AGAIN explaining a very delicate poo extraction and deposit that guys really find funny and most women find quite disgusting. Her response was "ugh that is the most disgusting thing ever, why on earth would I want to know what that is? Sick." And there I was still laughing at the fact that never in my life did I expect to have either of the above conversations with my mother...I think I would have rather sat down and had "the talk" instead of the perilous nature of the wild camel toe and the elusive dirty Sanchez. Even now, I sit here shaking my head at the funny factor that was our car ride to the groomers. I suppose I shouldn't really be surprised, even as a youngster she and I always had great communication while traveling...but perhaps singing Ann Murray may have been a better topic. Note to self.

Today I start my two day holiday...not a darn thing do I have planned. Well, sleep is very high on my priority list, but I would love to get out in some good weather and take a couple hundred photos to play with in Lightroom. I'm reading books and how to better my skills in the photography department, but am starting to feel the pull to paint. Painting is a hobby of mine that takes a great amount of "mood." I don't paint things, I paint feelings...emotions. I want to do a painting for my physical therapist and my roller derby girl...but fear rejection and the actual realization that I am no good. You wouldn't believe how many of my paintings I have thrown away...I am clearly not impressed with my work. Blah, blah, blah...my eyes are getting heavy so perhaps it is time to sleep. I love being awake at this time of the night/early morning...it is quiet and peaceful. Now if only the rain would start pouring, my night would be super fantastical.

Two I did and gave away...

Making some changes...

Over the last few days I have been, for lack of better words, purging my friends list on facebook...not because of anything specific per se, I guess I have come to the decision that I want to surround myself with positive and encouraging people. I've "flushed" about 10 friends, some I've known for months, others I've known since I was in middle school. In any event, it was my decision to make, and I did. I have reasons for why each one was "unfriended" but it all really does come down to wanting people to know me who accept me, love me, and are there for me when I am in need. I realize I am a Mental Health Professional and Social Worker and it's my job or calling to be there for others...but dammit, sometimes I need someone to care for me, sometimes I need people to be there for me, support me, encourage me to be the best me I can, faults and all.

I encourage others on an almost daily basis, those I see at work (coworkers and clients) and the kiddos I keep in contact with in Ferndale, that if you don't take care of yourself...that if you don't surround yourself with people who are good for you and support you, there will come a time when...after you have given everything you have to give...you will find yourself empty with nothing more to share. The lesson in that is to always nourish yourself before giving anything to anyone else...you give of yourself what is left over after you have filled your bucket and can sustain yourself. It benefits no one to give all of you to everyone else...at some point it will no longer be enough for those around you, and you in essence will be internally bankrupt.

I have recently found myself not heeding my own advice, much like we all do since the rules for each of us do not apply to ourselves, only others whom we interact with. I am, I think internally bankrupt...I am tired, weak from the fighting, the working, the trying to make others see that there is another way to solve a given problem, tired of pulling more weight than I can handle. It is hard for me to say no, hard to admit that I have a limit, that I cannot save everyone, that I cannot provide answers to all the questions. Lately I have been getting less than 4 hours of sleep each night for about the last week and a half...I am exhausted in every way possible. I don't know how my supervisor does it...being on call all the time as a back up, answering everyone's questions, being accountable to so many different factions in the company, county and community. I should have been more in tune with myself, when my rules and boundaries regarding clients or staff behavior become increasingly rigid, it sets me up to be frustrated and after so many times of ramming my head into the brick wall, I just end up having to wipe away the blood that flows into my eyes. Metaphorically of course.

I am feeling incompetent in my job right now, clients don't seem to be making better choices, they seem to be decompensating at an alarming rate, the medications don't seem to be as effective as they should and with the budget nightmare, emergency beds are closing left and right and we can't get help to those that need it. I don't even know if my job will be secure with the next round of cuts from Olympia and their budget slashing. Here is a novel idea, how about those politicians stop giving themselves pay raises and allocate those funds to where they are needed...wouldn't that be a shocker?

Anyway, I am hoping that my friends and family will continue to love and support me and remind me why we are all here...losing my way isn't something I enjoy. But it happens when I get burnt out...and my candle has been burning from both ends. Despite how it kills and humbles me...I need those that love me, to remind me and help me back to normal. Thank you to all who have and continue to be there for me. You are all amazing people whom I adore.

PS...if you have noticed that you are no longer listed as a friend of mine on facebook...please take note that you were one of those changes that needed to be made.

I think it's time...

For those of you who have read this blog (journal) from the start, you may remember a letter that I had written for one of my master's courses about what was like to be a gay/lesbian Mormon of the church. Several of you had suggested that I actually send it to the prophet instead of keeping my feelings/thoughts hidden. My response at that time was that I would likely be outed in the church and as a result excommunicated...which if you remember completely and utterly scares me to the core. Over the last few months, with all the bullying, suicides and attention being paid to what Elder Packer said about homosexuals...I began to think that now may be the time to share my letter with the prophet. But as I write this...I'm starting to get worried again, that sending that letter will be the end of my soul in its eternal state. Am I prepared for the aftermath that my letter could create? No. Should I send it anonymously? I don't think so...I should own my words if not for me, than the millions of gay/lesbian/trans/questioning members who have yet to find their voice. I wonder what the actual odds are that the prophet would read my letter anyway...just writing the letter makes me feel like a sinner, not worthy of being his audience. Sigh. To save any of you the search, I am re-posting the letter and asking for any support or concerns you may have regarding its content or grammar. Or let me know if I should not go through with sending it...all input is welcome, good or bad. I try to live my life with the understanding that there is likely always good and bad in something...but you need to be aware of both sides in order to make an informed decision...so I guess that's what I'm asking for...

Dear Prophet,

As Heavenly Father has appointed you to be the leader of our church, I do my best to uphold and pay great reverence to your name. Because God has chosen you to spread His gospel, I speak to you in the most respectful manner possible. I have struggled mightily all my life with some of the tenets of this religion, done all I am able to do while remembering that I am a child of God and as such have a great sense of responsibility that those outside our religion would never understand. There are those that find this responsibility of returning home with honor an easy load to bear, however, those like me or who struggle like me, find the weight almost impossible to carry. It is our cross to bear, as Latter-day Saints fulfilling God’s plan I understand.

But do you not ever fall to the floor, crying out to the Lord that the weight breaks you? Do you never feel the sorrow of your fellow brothers and sisters who have been shunned, tormented, or isolated because of their sexual orientation? Do you ever miss the ones that have taken their lives because there is no place on the face of the earth for them to seek solace once our religion has rejected them for something they had no control over…for something God Himself had created? Do you ever in silent prayer feel our pain? Do you not realize that the tears we and our loved ones shed could flood the earth?

As you are well aware, our religion regards homosexuals as sinners of the highest kind, assigning us to the same level as murderers, adulterers, and those that reject the Holy Spirit. All sins that are never to be forgiven, all reasons to be excommunicated, and completely removed from the records of the church…in effect, erasing our very existence. In fact, just writing this letter is an outright betrayal of my membership, frowned upon and never encouraged. But I feel such an overwhelming need to express my feelings to you that I must use my free agency, which is God given, to share with you the cross that I carry.

I have been a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints since I was baptized at the age of 8. I attended all the classes, seminary, and church all the while carrying a silent sense of self-hatred and disgust. Can you imagine an 8 year old hating her very existence, hating her every breath and knowing somehow that she was unfit to walk this earth? That 8-year-old girl is now 32, and those feelings have only continued to grow, become more heavy, and burdensome. During my adolescent years I just felt different though I didn’t understand why, but I kept my thoughts and feelings secret. Only God really knew what was going on with me.

When I was 24 things started making sense. I met people who described feeling just like me. But to my horror, they were homosexuals, and I had always been taught that they were sinners. Suddenly, I found myself in a very hard place because as we (gay saints) all know, being a Mormon and being gay just doesn’t mix. I tried hard to ignore my feelings and thoughts. I had boyfriends and planned to live a very heterosexual life. But I hated myself even more because I wasn’t being who I felt God made me to be. What was worse was that the religion that I based my entire existence on, that I had trusted all my life, that had made me into the woman I was…hated me. I lost my friends, my family, my religion, and my God. Instead of being the soul with a grand plan and design that God Himself had set in motion, I was now a wasted shell, a body just taking up space. A tormented soul with nowhere to turn and no one to trust. Before becoming aware of who and what I was, I at least had God to turn to believing that He loved me. But after being told that I was unnatural and that God hated me, I was suddenly alone. The people and religion that I clung to for support and guidance took my Heavenly Father from me, stripped me of my salvation and eternal life.

I mention all this because I’m angry that even my childhood wasn’t sacred. It is true that I may not be living the life that God had created for me. But it’s not because I’m gay. It’s because my soul was never cherished, fed, valued, or encouraged to grow. My religion’s rejection created a lost, tortured, and despised soul that will never be what it could have been. I may never be the glorious woman that God created me to be, and my soul is just one of the thousands of souls that have been laid to waste because someone deems themselves more worthy of His love then mine. As God’s messenger, I hold you responsible for those of us who have been murdered by our own hands or the hands of others because of our homosexuality. God is a God of love, acceptance, and mercy. He could never hate us just because of who we are and who He created us to be. Instead of teaching His love, you have taught us to hate, discriminate, and judge. All things God and Christ wanted us not to do. Why can I not be loved, cared for, respected, freed from torment, and cherished because I’m gay? Why does that make it impossible for me to return home with honor? Why does that make my heterosexual peers better and more worthy than me? Why must my soul be laid to waste?

I realize it is impossible for you to understand the pain I carry. I also understand that you are just a man that is doing what you feel God wants you to do. We are all just doing the best we can, and that’s really all God has ever asked of us. But at some point even you, high atop your perch as Prophet, must be made aware of the tortured, and suffering souls that need your acceptance in order to feel God’s love. We need to hear it from you because you are God’s voice. There are so many of us that to ignore our plight would be a great tragedy. I am your sister through Christ and as such I pray you hear my voice and the beat of my heart that cries out for the love of my religion. I pray that I find my way through this life, learn to embrace my strengths, and help others like me do the same. Just maybe that is my calling, to share the light that I know is somewhere inside me with others who can’t see through their pain and suffering. I realize through your eyes I will always be a sinner and will never hope to attain God’s full glory, but if I can help save just one soul from the pain of losing God’s love and acceptance, then maybe I wasn’t such a waste of space. I also hope that when you reach heaven you will be surprised to find who is and who isn’t there. God’s love and mercy are far more reaching than I believe even you have the ability to understand.

With Love,

Sister Debra Carlsen

I'm Just Sayin'...

Whether gay, straight, bi, questioning, or lesbian...man or woman...christian, wiccan, mormon, jew or atheist...we all have the same basic desires and goals. Yes, there are minor alterations on the details and specifics...but overall we are all the same in many ways:

-We all want to be loved.

-We all want to be accepted for who and what we are.

-We all want to be happy.

-We all want to belong.

-We all want to be remembered.

-We all bleed.

-We all cry.

-We all feel pain and joy.

We are all blessed when any of the above are attained and actively seek to make those goals become a reality...

Likewise, there are those of us that fear any and all of the above because it means that who we are...is okay. Acceptance in the face of a society or religion that tells you no...tells you that because of who or what you are, you are not worthy of any of those things.

There are times that blessings and love bring confusion and emotional torture because others see something that you cannot. Others have accepted you for you, when the very thought leaves you confounded and searching for more reasons to prove them all wrong...

Make you act as if you know what that "higher power" believes in...what that "higher power" deems lovable and precious...which in turn then begs the question...who died and made you God? Sometimes the negative and rejection ends up being easier to hang on to because it is something you can wrap your head around. Something I can wrap my head around.

As a pessimist by nature, I fully acknowledge that my view point is, at best damaged. Yet it is all I can hold tight to all the while being the very thing I want to get rid of in the hopes of achieving the commonalities I listed earlier. We are indeed our own worst critic and enemy...we all hold ourselves to a higher expectation than others do which makes it incredibly easy to falter. However logical our thoughts may be at any given time, there will always be an extra "spin" on what we believe in...what we show the world...what we expect from ourselves. We forgive others more easily than we do ourselves. This is concerning to me yet I am just as guilty as the woman sitting next to me on the bus, the neighbor down the street or my bishop standing at the pulpit on any given Sunday.

So for all the differences that we all cling to in the hopes of proving our individuality from those around us...we are much the same. In fact, we have more in common with each other than we can even understand. Perhaps one day we/I will forgive myself just as I forgive others and love myself like I love others...and focus more on what binds us together as a species instead of what makes us different. Maybe someday, we can all do that. Just think how far society could go and the great achievements we could attain if we were to just accept each other for all our strengths AND all our weaknesses. Instead of spending so much time telling each other we don't belong, we are wrong, we are an illness or addiction, we are hated by God, we are abnormal...we could all be so much more than we are now.

I'm just sayin'.

Charter for Compassion

I just want to share this with those who read my blog...to try and give some perspective, not necessarily to change any minds...but just to maybe open some minds. Some hearts. Some souls. Think about it. That's all I ask.

My cousin Keith...

When did you first know that you were heterosexual?

Can you stop being a Mormon? Can you stop being a heterosexual?

No, you can't. It is who you are...you are a Mormon and a heterosexual. You were born that way. It is all you know.

Asking me about being able to let go of one or the other...Mormon or being gay...it is all I know. My soul and blood are both gay and Mormon...to give up one would leave me half a person left to continue suffering without the other half of me.

Imagine yourself having to give up being a heterosexual?

Imagine yourself having to give up being a Mormon?

Can you? Would you be happy and content without half of who you are?

Just food for thought...

When you're a mistake...

Growing up, from my earliest memories I remember feeling different, like there was something wrong with me. I was 4 years old in 1978, and I can look back at that time and realize that I knew I wasn't normal like everyone else. I didn't know what it was, but I knew that I was different. I grew up pretty normal, aside from being molested, verbally abused by my dad, having my parents get divorced and being a sickly kid...I was to everyone, even myself...normal. But somewhere inside me, I knew that I must not be normal since the thoughts and feelings I had, I somehow knew instinctively not to share with anyone. But I still had no idea, what exactly it was that made me feel so uncomfortable in my own skin. I lost my mind right after 8th grade with lots of my early memories flooding into my life drowning me as if a flood gate had busted wide open and I had no way of stopping the deluge. My high school years were what I refer to as my "dark period," a time that I spent much of my time reading up on how to commit suicide, I spent a lot of time hurting myself by cutting, crushing, bruising or burning myself. I used to think that I did it because my dad wasn't there to abuse me so I had to do it myself, but I know now, he had little to do with my behaviors. Yes, the tapes of him calling me names played in my head, but to assign all that was going on to my father was incorrect on my part. But it was all I knew...all I could make sense of.

At my churches girl camp, I tried to kill myself...and I kept trying...it got so bad that they had to call my mom to come and get me because they couldn't keep me safe. For the next 5 years I spent almost each day hurting myself, punishing myself, feeling so out of place in my world and never understanding what the problem was. I sat through church, went to seminary in the mornings before school...did all the stuff I was supposed to do as a young Mormon woman. I didn't date until I was allowed, wasn't sexually active, didn't swear or drink coffee. I was for all the world, a good little Mormon...and I hated myself more than mere words could ever describe. I hated my existence, I knew God had made a mistake by making me. I knew that I was an after thought...a body created from spare parts, a soul not meant to be living, destined for torment because I was taking up a body and the space of a better, more worthy person. I used to cry at night, begging God to tell me why he created me, why he let me be born? I was clearly a mistake.

In 1997 I met the first gay/lesbian person I had ever known...and I used to think that being gay was a bad thing...I was taught that they were sinners. Being a Mormon isn't just a fade or lifestyle...it is in my blood. It is all I have ever known...but suddenly my world blew apart yet again. A year later, I started to question who I was...at first I claimed that I was bisexual, unwilling to give up that last connection to any sense of normalcy...but it didn't last long. It took a few years for me to realize that I was a lesbian, I fought hard to be a heterosexual, I had boyfriends...but it never felt right. And I still struggled almost daily trying not to hurt myself, yet still felt like I was a walking lie...a mistake. I started looking back on periods of time in my life and the pieces started to fit together...my feelings and thoughts started to make sense, I would compare crushes that I had on guys vs. girls...girls far out numbered the boys by more than 8 to 1. Slowly I realized that I was indeed a lesbian and I started feeling a little more comfortable in my own skin...but still working on trying to believe that God doesn't make mistakes. My soul is so tortured that I have to take 3 different medications just to keep from killing myself, just to keep myself remotely normal.

I have worked daily trying to understand myself, my role in this world, my place in this life...trying to figure out why God made me gay. It's not like it's fun, easy or some kind of amusement ride. I would never choose to be gay...to be mocked at, bullied, told that I am a sinner, that I will burn in hell, that my life means less than yours, that my being gay is worse than murdering someone...that being gay means I can't get married, can't visit my significant other in the hospital because I don't count as "family"...that I can't adopt a child or raise a family because somehow my being gay would scar a child for life. Well guess what, I was raised by an incredibly loving and caring mother, who worked over 40 hours a week to put food our table and clothes on my back...and I'm still gay. I have worked so hard to be normal, to try and be straight...but it is not who I am. I can't help it. I don't want to be a lesbian...if I could change I would in a heart beat. If I could, I would gladly be straight with a husband and kids...but I would hate myself to the core. Being Mormon and gay is like oil and water...they don't mix and every day I work to try and learn to love myself...only to have my religion continue to spurn me, my prophet tell me that I have an illness, my family to believe that something is wrong with me...to hear my aunts words about gays and lesbians be "I have trouble feeling like God could make that many mistakes."

I continue to feel lost and alone...separate from my family and my religion...somehow a lesser soul for what I am and cannot change. I hate feeling like a mistake...I hate even more that my church and family think I am.

Last hours of clarity...

I start on call tomorrow...sleep will be hard to come by for the next 7 days. While there are many things I love about my job, there are many things I dislike...being on call is one of them. Working with the chronically mental ill population, the ones who have failed out of traditional outpatient programs, takes a special kind of person to do the job. I have yet to figure out if "special" is a good or bad trait. These are people who have been dealing with the most severe symptoms of Schizophrenia or Schizoaffective (mix of schizophrenia and bipolar) disorders since they were young adults...most are in their late 40's and 50's now. They have spent most of their time in correctional institutions or state psychiatric hospitals and have as a result lost the ability to socialize properly or perform the daily tasks that you and I take for granted. When I first started with this program one of the drug companies came by with a virtual "game" of what it would be like to have schizophrenia...to hear the voices, to feel stalked, paranoid, anxious, see things or people who aren't really there. I thought I had a pretty good handle on what it must feel like, I had after all majored in psychology and social work...I thought I knew. I didn't have a clue. I was only in the simulator for 15 minutes and I left crying my eyes out. I was crying for two reasons...it was shocking to me that I thought I knew, and I was so far off the mark and the other was thinking of all the clients I come in contact on a daily basis and to gain some insight into the torture that they are under every single minute of the day and night...and I couldn't handle 15 minutes.

I wish everyone could experience this simulation, get a really good perspective on what it's like to have your brain tell you everyone is after you, everyone lies, and presents people and things before you that are not there. The worst part is that the voices...while sometimes can be nice, the vast majority are evil, mean, and straight out of hell. It would be great if law enforcement could experience it, instead of beating up or killing someone who doesn't respond the way they want because they have a mental illness. Several clients that I know have been beaten, thrown in jail, tazed and arrested simply because they don't understand. I know for a fact, that if everyone had to experience 15 minutes of being schizophrenic...they would never judge another human being the same. In fact the other day while doing medication deliveries, I crossed paths with a homeless man in an alley...this was one of the coldest nights we have had this year thus far and he was huddled up in a ball so tight...not at all dressed for the weather...I felt compelled to take the blanket out of the trunk of my car and cover him with it. He never woke up, but I hope he got some warmth from it. It was the least I could do. The sad thing...aside from him being homeless and on the street...I watched several people pass him by and give him dirty looks and cross to the other side of the alley so they didn't have to walk by him. As if he was somehow contagious.

Funding keeps getting cut, because for whatever reasons the state and government don't think that social services need money...but as soon as someone is murdered or attacked by someone with a mental illness, everyone gets all pissed off and yells "why did no one stop this before it happened?" Well, budgets got cut, clinicians and therapists lost their jobs, housing resources were taken away and facilities meant to treat those in need were shut down. That's why. And it will always be why...until it directly affects those in power, the population I work with and those I work along side will be overlooked, underpaid, have resources pulled while expectations continue to increase. We can't do our job when you cut our "arms" and "legs" off. It is too bad that our society is reactive and not proactive...it would actually save money, lives and society. It's the basic quandary...short term vs. long term objectives. Our society and those in power are short sighted and the rest of us can't see beyond our noses.

I want people to understand that mental illness isn't funny...the jokes are in poor taste and the media do not portray mental illness as it really is. If you learn anything from this post, please learn to be kind to those who act differently than you...try not to judge them, you don't know anything about them even if you think you do. We all have a history, we all have our faults, we all have our stories...show some kindness. Please.

Physical therapy update...

I am entering week 5 of my physical therapy experience and finding it actually working. I have, for a variety of reasons had to deal with physical therapy many times through out my life and didn't really get much out of it. But I was desperate this go around as every step I took was painful and when my feet weren't touching anything they hurt even more. During the night, when I would get up to use the bathroom, I would be hunched over and walking so horribly that I literally thought I looked like an ape bumbling from one tree to another on the ground instead of swinging effortlessly on a vine from point A to point B. Other nights I would hurt so bad that I had to crawl on my hands and knees to get where I needed to go and after awhile with the pain spreading to my calves and knees, I could no longer crawl anywhere. Even lying in bed was painful...I began to realize that no place were my feet safe. After getting shots, orthodics and taking medications to decrease the inflammation...I relented and finally started going to physical therapy.

I go twice a week to Olympic Physical Therapy where I have found the most amazing physical therapist...Erin. She really knows her shit. Er, she is extremely knowledgeable and fluent in various ways to treat my problems as well as ways to alter exercises and treatments to my individual needs. She is able to manipulate my body in ways I thought impossible, granted it does hurt but I have noticed a change in my pain. I used to hurt all the time, hovering between a 6 and 9 on a Likert Scale...now it's mostly 4 and 7. I don't walk with such a huge limp, I spend less time hurting, and am able to walk with limited pain for the most part. She is AMAZING. In fact the entire crew there does a great job, and one of them, Lacy, is a roller derby girl called Carmen Getsome...she skates for the Rat City Rollergirls. I can't wait to go to a game or two and watch her take some people down.

Anyway, Erin is patient and gentle with my body and yet each time adds a little twist to my exercises and treatment to make my feet and legs get better. She is by far the best therapist I have ever had the pleasure of working with. I actually have input into my goals, she listens to my concerns and treats me like a person and not just an object. Which makes me think about my job...do I treat my clients like they are human beings or do I treat them as problems that must be solved? I am stunned by the amount of small things that create major pondering on my part and how applicable those thoughts and quandaries are to so many aspects of my life both personally and professionally. Do I treat people with respect? Do I listen...I mean really listen to my clients? Other staff? Do I let the clients direct their treatment or do I tell them how it is going to go because I'm the therapist?

It appears that while my hips, legs and feet are getting therapy of their own...my life is also getting their own kind of therapy. While difficult things come up and often pose deeper quandaries, I find it an experience that is worthwhile, necessary and good for me. I wonder if Erin has any idea of what having physical therapy with her has created? And would she even understand the psychological perspective with which I view my world?

L x 4 =?

The other day when I was lying out in the lawn with Roxy...well, I was lying and she was running the fence line barking at anything that dare come near her property...I found myself gazing up at the sky and watching the clouds make funny little shapes and designs. It was hypnotizing in a way that time goes by and you don't really feel it. Out of my revere I was suddenly pulled as a little wet nose and tongue licked at my face and at the other end a little tail wagging to the point I thought she may take flight. We wrestled a bit and then she saw something out of the corner of her eye and off she ran to bark at the boys next door. I have yet to figure out if she is annoyed with them and their running around or if barking at them is her way of playing along.

Anyway, I began looking at the grass, I need to mow the lawn I thought running my fingers through the lengthy blades of deep green patches. I started picking at some of the moss in front of me, thinking that I wish I could get rid of it but this is Washington after all and moss comes with the territory...and slugs. Something caught my eye and I noticed an oddity in the clovers that intermingled with the grass and moss...a four leaf clover. I picked it, thinking about how luck is such a fickle thing and wondering whether or not 4 leaf clovers really are lucky. As I studied the fragile clover I noticed a beautiful change in color throughout all the petals...the outside and inside were a dark green with a light zig-zagging of white separating the two ends. As I began to drift into my thoughts, I noticed not one, not two but three more 4 leaf clovers. A rather large one, about the size of a silver dollar and others matching sizes comparable to a nickle or penny. I picked the largest and the smallest of the four, and left two behind to feel the warmth of the sun and the dew from early morning.

So I got to thinking more about luck, does finding one give you luck and does two cancel out the one? What kind of luck do you get when you find four? Is luck really luck, or just a good mistake or coincidence? I've heard that there are no coincidences in life...that things happen as they should, as if destiny was pre-planned. Which then begs the question of if luck could possibly exist...if our path is already laid before us, is a four leaf clover going to add anything or change the course in any way? Are we active participants in our own life or do we just enjoy the ride and let it go however it is to go? Do any of our actions alter that pre-destined path?

So I wonder, what does luck times four equal...

My best friend...

I wanted to take time out to talk about my very best friend...my mom. She is the most amazing and wonderful woman I have ever known. She is a single mother who met my every need as a child, worked hard to put food on the table and a roof over our heads. I lacked nothing, especially love. Every day she told me she loved me, and I her. She worked long hours for little pay, went to school part time...often I would go with her to the night classes she was in to either do my home work or sleep on the cafeteria table until she was done. I credit (in part) Ann Murray because when mom and I lived in Tenino, there was a thirty minute commute to get into school and work in Olympia. On the ride in, we would sing to Ann's songs and on the way home, we had plenty of time to talk about our day and bond. Growing up our home was always the one my friends wanted to hang out at, it was safe and mom never turned anyone away for any reason. She was, as my friends put it, the "cool mom." I never disagreed. In high school we went through our tough times and there were plenty of chances for us to fall apart and go separate ways, but she hung with me through all my moods, my changes, my ins and outs with the church and always accepted me for me. She defended me when others were hell bent on tearing me down. I in turn defended her against the snobs at church that looked down on her for being a single mother. She is without a doubt the most caring, compassionate, intelligent, fun loving, loyal woman I have ever known...a beautiful white tulip in a sea of red ones.

There were times we argued, didn't see eye to eye, but we respected each other and compromise was the one of the biggest lessons she has ever taught me. To this day, I can easily recite the two rules/lessons that she taught me 1. Don't touch what doesn't belong to you. 2. A mother's love is forever. Two things that have kept me sane...the first has kept me from having a criminal record and the second is always there to remind me that when no one else may love me, she does. When I grow up, if I am half the woman she is...I will have made something of my life. She has worked hard to get where she is now, and I will always speak about her with great respect and reverence. Every time I would leave to go to a party or hang out with friends, her parting words were always the same, "I love you, have fun and remember who you are." She has always been there for me, given me the benefit of the doubt, taught me high morals and ethical standards...and still does with every day she is in my life. I feel bad that I am the end of her genetic line, it is a shame to have it wasted on me...if I could, I would want the world to know what a great and wonderful woman she is, and those that know her have no idea how lucky they are that she is in their life. I would gladly give my life for my mom, her love and acceptance has kept me alive in some of my most horrible times. I don't know how I managed to be so lucky as to have her as my mother AND my best friend...but what I do know is that I live each day of my life to make her proud. And I hope that someday I can. Like a rare flower, she is beautiful, fragile yet strong and purposeful.

I love you mom, more than words could ever describe. You are my best friend, an incredible mother who has worked hard for what you have and succeeded when so many others would have failed. I'm sorry for my mistakes and the growth pains that I put you through...please know that I live my life to make you proud of me and I hope that someday I can "do right by you." You are amazing and I thank God every day that you are my best friend and that you are in my life. Oh, I thought I should change your rule up a little...a daughter's love is forever. Remember I have loved you all my life...I win!

When goodbye finally feels good...

Dear Anji,

There are few people that have hurt me as deeply and painfully as you. I wish I had never known you, wished I had never kissed you, and wished to never have become girlfriends with you. Regardless of my wishes, I fell in love with who I thought you were. I was wrong, and that is on me. I cannot go back and change things, I cannot wish this all away...so I have survived what I thought would be the death of me (you lying, breaking promises and cheating) and found myself better for it. I have gone through a range of feelings and emotions when thinking of you, us and the life I thought we were going to lead. I have never felt so much rage at someone like I have with you...for taking away my future, my best friend and your son. But I have realized that you are no longer the you that I fell in love with. I also realize that your son was never mine to have or share. While I miss him every day, I know that after all is said and done...I must let him go as well...for my own sanity. You let me down, you treated me like I never mattered to you at all. The pain you inflicted...mere words could never describe. While I have not reached the point that I can forgive you, I have reached the point where I can let go. I can see that I am happier without you and your endless issues. I can feel myself slowly coming back to life and I'm ready to live again. The Anji I once loved, is gone...and I wouldn't change that even if I could. I am stronger now, and finding my way through the darkness and haze that has engulfed my life for the last 5 months. It feels good to open my eyes and not see you or the damage you left behind. So I say goodbye to you, who ever you are now. I have no wishes for you, and I look forward to the time that your memory only brings about indifference on my part. With time perhaps my feelings will change, but I feel no urgency regarding the matter...I'm okay now, I'm happy. So, I guess that's it. Bye.

Evolution of me...

After the dust settles and the wounds start to scab over, I can make out a faint noise in the background...something I haven't heard since May. It took a while to figure out what it was, low and behold it is the beating of my heart coming back to life. Beat, beat. It gets louder, and I can feel it under my skin...beat, beat. When I look in the mirror the haze has parted and I can see myself again, I can see pulsing in my veins as my heart beats...beat, beat. For so long I wanted that very heart to stop, to just ebb into silence and end. But it did not, and it's beating stronger than before...with a purpose, no longer drowning in the wounds that I have been dealt. I can listen to songs now that earlier would have driven my mind nearly insane, I can drive near her house while working and not have an aching to drive by, I can walk the halls of work now without remembering her steps beside me, I can go to places where memories of us were made and not hurt...I have back virtually all of what had been taken from me aside from our relationship and her son. And I have finally realized that her son, no matter how much I love him...was never mine to share. That has been the most hard of lessons for me to learn, along with understanding how a love that started so intense can burn itself out just a quick...leaving open wounds, lies and betrayal in its wake. But I'm okay with it now...more than okay actually. I'm doing dang well, family have come out of the wood work to support me, I have a great boss that offers his support, a great room mate at work that reminds me every day that God has a plan for me and just because the plan that I wanted didn't work out, doesn't mean that God has abandoned me or not heard my prayers. To you my lil grasshopper, I love in the purest sense even though you may never read this, I thank you. It is true that we never know the effect we have on other people...ones we know are watching but mostly the ones we never see.

I by no means am at 100%...but the bleeding has stopped, the wounds have scabbed over and aren't so sensitive anymore. I have reached a new level, while not completely forgiving her, I am finding solace in knowing that I am better for surviving this. I am stronger. I am happier. I value...me, for good or bad. I don't expect to not struggle, I don't even expect to live my life as if none of this ever happened, because I can't. I'm learning to embrace my journey and the experience and chalk it up as another stepping stone in the evolution of Debra Dawn Carlsen...

Getting a little bit stronger...

I've been having trouble trying to put my thoughts an feelings into words, but then the other day I heard this new song and it was like "bam" that's exactly what I'm feeling. So instead of me rambling on about this and that...I decided to post the lyrics to the song. They are so true as to where I am mentally and emotionally. I'm getting stronger, feeling better, and actually thinking that I'm gunna make it. And I want to thank all of you who have sent prayers my way, offered support and guidance or who have just plain not abandoned me. I couldn't do it without you and your prayers. Anyway, here are the lyrics...

Sara Evans - A Little Bit Stronger

Woke up late today, and I still feel the sting of the pain.
But I brushed my teeth anyway, got dressed through the mess and put a smile on my face.
I got a little bit stronger.

Riding in the car to work, and I’m trying to ignore the hurt.
So I turned on the radio, stupid song made me think of you,
I listened to it for minute, but I changed it.
I’m getting a little bit stronger, just a little bit stronger.

And I’m done hoping that we can work it out,
I’m done with how it feels, spinning my wheels
Letting you drag my heart around.
And ohhh
I’m done thinking, that you could ever change.
I know my heart will never be the same,
but I’m telling myself I’ll be okay.
Even on my weakest days, I get a little bit stronger.

Doesn’t happen over night, but you turn around and a months gone by,
And you realize you haven’t cried.
I’m not giving you an hour or a second or another minute longer.
I’m busy getting stronger.

And I’m done hoping that we can work it out,
I’m done with how it feels, spinning my wheels
Letting you drag my heart around.
And ohhh
I’m done thinking, that you could ever change.
I know my heart will never be the same,
but I’m telling myself I’ll be okay.
Even on my weakest days, I get a little bit stronger.
I get a little bit stronger.

Getting along without you baby,
I’m better off without you baby,
How does it feel with out me baby?
I’m getting stronger without you baby.

I’m just a little bit stronger.

With a clear head...

I find myself slightly ashamed of my tirade that made up my last entry. I clearly was in a bad space, dealing with some feelings that I didn't know what to do with and drama from work. Not to say that I will never launch into another tirade again, just wanted to make note that I realize how harsh I was...but I think we all have that part inside of us that we keep hidden that could easily turn to the proverbial dark side. It will and has always been easier to take the dark path than to put in the work it takes to rise above the fray and gruel in this life. Much like water, it will always take the easiest path to the ocean. It would be easy to continue to be angry, in fact, I do it out of habit lately because right now it's easiest for me. But I realize that taking that path, is in the long run, an awful way to go...it will just leave me bitter and angry and alone. So after a brief time away from praying to forgive, I will again start over and give this burden to God and pray for the ability to forgive. I am after all, only human. With all it's weaknesses, frailties, and misgivings...I just try to do my best each day and sometimes my best isn't very good. In fact, sometimes by best is really, really bad. I own in, I own my feelings and mistakes. I really am just wandering in this life, trying to figure it out as I go and hope that at the end I can make some sense of it all.

I'm tired of praying for what may never come...

I have every night for the last month or so prayed to forgive Anji and I have made little progress. In fact, sometimes I want to pray for bad things to happen to her. I try hard to see my way through those times, but it is really hard. I hate her and I don't know how to get around it. I don't miss her anymore...I've come to realize the Anji I fell in love with was a fake and she really was the mean person that treated me like crap for a year before she finally let me in. I understand now why her ex wife is as crazy as she is. There's just something about getting mind screwed and emotionally torn apart that leaves one disoriented, dazed and filled with hate.

Sometimes I just want to be able to allow myself to be angry and bitter. Sometimes I just want to think about all the evil and mean things I could do to her. After all I gave and all she promised. Yeah I want to get over this, and I've been praying. But God doesn't hear me, either that or he wants me to suffer and be filled with anger and regret. Was I that bad in my previous life? Who did I screw over so bad? This year has totally sucked for me...and I'm pretty pissy about it. I want to leave, leave it all behind...forget my life, forget work, forget it all. (except my loving mother who is my best friend) I want to be able to be bad and not have a conscience about my actions. I want to be able to inflict pain on someone and not feel bad about it or worry about freaking Karma. I want to act with reckless abandon, take no prisoners and those that manage to survive the first assault wave will be shot again. I want to let loose my inner redneck and kick some ass. I'm tired of being people's little bitch, tired of being the target of their rage and issues, tired of having any memory of Anji. She is a selfish, fake, lying coward. Yeah, I said it. It's out for all to know. I wish that we had never hooked up. Not like life would be much different anyway. My supposed friends hardly ever talk to me, work is super stressful and people are plain mean to me there, Zachary was ripped away from me despite her promises not to ever do that to me, I think I actually hate the world right now. Yep, I do.

So as you can tell, the praying thing is not working. Maybe I should pray for a soul transplant. Turn into someone who just doesn't care about anything anymore...someone who just says fuck off everyone, you all suck and be able to not have any remorse for it. Maybe it would be better to not believe in Karma and God...that way I could do and say and feel any way I wanted and have no responsibility in any of it. There has got to be something freeing in being able to do that. Maybe I just want...maybe I just need to be free. Just free...

Purell in the Eye...

Sometimes I have the most unfortunate things happen to me...random and weird. Today while getting some Purell out of one of our giant containers of it, I pushed down on the top and it spurted out in like 8 different directions, hitting my coworker who was walking by...my shirt, the wall, my hair and my directly into my eye. It stung so bad I was screaming down the hallway to the nurses station. Unfortunately, we didn't have any eye wash, so I used water but even when the stinging stopped...even now the pain remains. It feels like I got punched in the eye. Who would have thought alcohol based cleaner would hurt so much? Clearly not I. Though I must admit I never put much thought into it. I'm hoping no major damage was done and that my eye will feel better tomorrow. If not, I have to start a stupid L&I thing for the stupidest of reasons. Purell. I tell you, I just can't win even when I'm losing.

I'm pretty frustrated at work right now, everyone is stressed out with all the admits, the clients decompensating, verbal fights among staff and people taking pot shots and being passive aggressive with each other instead of just being adults and dealing with feelings straight away. In stead, people back stab...staff split and harbor resentment because of the work they do for other clinicians. But never do they complain when I do things for their clients. Double standards annoy me to no end. Especially when those standards hold me higher than others I work with. My reward for good work is more work and more responsibility yet, some coworkers maintain that I don't do anything at work. One coworker verbally attacked me in a meeting today...of course there wasn't anyone of authority there to witness it, but I am so very tired of having my work ethic questioned when I've been in this job for 3 years and seen over 20 different staff come and go, while I stayed and stuck it out. Why is it that people can't just be nice and have common respect for each other. You don't have to like me, but you do owe me professional respect so we can best serve our clients and help them. And if you have a problem with me, come to me...don't gossip. This isn't middle school...we are all adults. Act like one.

It's not that hard. Days like this leave me feeling very bitter about life, about my role in this world...that no matter what I do, I can't win. I'm tired of being challenged at every corner over one thing or another...I know how to do my job...and I do it very well whether or not a coworker feels that I am. But keep the attitude to yourself and freaking grow up. We are supposed to be in this together for the sake of helping clients succeed...not to pour lighter fluid on each other and light a match just for the sake of wanting something to do. We are all on the same team...or so we should be. Maybe I have unrealistic expectations...it wouldn't surprise me. What is right and what is done, are two separate things that somehow can't seem to meet in the middle. I don't know why, but the losers win and winners lose in my field...it just doesn't pay to be a good, ethical and moral person where I am...cheaters win and liars prosper. I think I'm in the wrong field. I think maybe I need a change. I'm tired of sitting at the kiddie table, it's time to sit with the adults...

Olympic Coast Vacation...day one.

I think it's time to talk about my vacation from June, where I hit the beaches on the Olympic Coast. I hiked around a lot, sat on the beach a lot and enjoyed just spending time with myself. I noticed myself slowly losing the mental layers of filth that had covered me for the last few months the minute I got onto the ferry. I am blessed to live where I do, ferries to and from almost everywhere and I love the water, there's just something so calming about the waves and the movement of the boats.

Just random pictures from the ferry ride.

As each mile passed by, I felt better and better, like I was slowly rising to the surface of the sea after being trapped in its depths feeling the ever increasing pressure trying to crush the life from me. Throughout the entire drive I could either see rivers, lakes, waterfalls or various bays with sailboats, fishing boats or even the occasional ORCA tour boats. Each and every mile brought me closer and closer to freedom and I could feel myself becoming less anxious, less tense and more peaceful. I stopped for a quick pic or two at Crescent Lake and then found my way to the little town of Forks...and noticed that pretty much every corner had some kind of Twilight sale going on. I overheard one store owner say that the town was quickly dying and people were leaving in droves but ever since the Twilight Series hit, the town has once again boomed instead of busted. And even with all the "twihards" the beaches weren't packed, there wasn't a lot of traffic and everyone I ran into was so pleasant. It was nice going someplace that I was an unknown and didn't have to be any certain way.

Crescent Lake

I checked into the Dew Drop Inn about a mile from the city limits where Bella's truck sits for all those kids to take pictures in front of and about 15 minutes from La Push, Realto Beach and it was about 30 minutes from Ruby beach.

Forks welcome sign and Bella's truck.

Day one was driving there, check in, drop off my stuff at the inn and head to Ruby Beach to watch the sunset. It was amazingly beautiful. I collected some rocks and a few splinters from climbing over the drift wood.

Ruby Beach.

When I finished there I went to the "Butts" tree forest...where you will find the oddest trees you've ever seen. The name of the forest is pretty obvious as you walk along this trail and it basically looks like the trees have butts. The kiosk said that no one really knows why these trees have them, they think it's some sort of disease or bug that settles in and basically creates a cancer in that part of the tree and then the tree grows out of control in that one area forming the "butts." I was really glad that there weren't any "genital" trees.

The "Butts" Forest.

I was so exhausted after all the driving, fresh sea air, hiking and laughing so hard I almost peed myself when I saw the actual name of the forest was "Butts" that all I could do was order pizza from across the street, eat, shower and pass out. All in all, it was a great day. It was odd being so "unplugged" from everyone else, no cell service, no computer access...yet it was amazingly freeing. I would do it again in a heart beat...so that was day one.