Thursday, October 30, 2014

Blurry Bliss


Ever since I had corrective Eye Surgery, I have been afraid to be seen naked.

Confused? I understand. What does me having clear vision have to do with my fear of being seen naked?
Before I explain, let me clarify something. I don’t require a lot of naked time. Truthfully, I have never sauntered out to get the mail in the buff. All household chores, vacuuming, window washing are clothed sports.  No naked yoga.  My only semi-public naked experiences have been topless sun bathing.  No biggie right?
My topless debuts were when I was in my 20’s and 30's. I would search out a seemingly private area and pop off my bathing suit top. It felt so liberating. Like I was living on the edge of my otherwise law abiding, reliable, ordinary life.
For the record, my exposure was not linked to vanity. I never had a rocking hot body. My nakedness was motivated by the delight of feeling the sun on a forbidden area. That and an utter disconnect from of my own body’s imperfections. Unfortunately, this happy ignorance was not to last forever.
What I was about to discover was that the key to my naked confidence was my pitiful eyesight.
Since the first grade I have worn glasses. Not cutes ones, they were the clunky cheap plastic type with thick lenses. Which also explains why I have no wallet size photos from first grade. For the next couple of decades, I wore my glasses everywhere. Everywhere, that is, except for 2 places, the beach and showering.
What I didn’t realize was that I had spent my entire life not actually seeing myself naked.
Furthermore, when I was at the beach, I would snap my glasses in their case and slide on a pair of drugstore sunglasses. Through my myopic eyes, the parade of semi-clad beach bodies all looked like moving impressionist paintings. Wonderfully blurring fleshy forms.
Here’s the horrid confession. I thought people saw me, as I saw them, blurry and beautiful.
So, how bad could my eyes have been to be that deluded?
To get an idea of the extent of my blurriness, you will need to refer to that classic eye test. You know the one where there is a pyramid of letters with a huge E at the top.  The letters get smaller with each descending line. If you have perfect eyesight you can pick off letters from the infinitesimal row at the bottom.
The morning that I had my eye test, the ophthalmologist shut off the lights and popped up the slide containing the pyramid of letters. He asked me to read the smallest line I could make out clearly. I blankly swivel my head about the room and said, “ OK, just let me know when you put the test up.”  The giant E was looming straight in front of me. It’s not a good sign when you hear your doctor say “Yikes.”
Lasik eye surgery was fairly new at the time I was seriously considering it.  Canada had mastered laser correct vision before the States. I cashed in some frequent flyer miles and headed to Toronto for the surgery.
The day after my surgery, I stepped out of the shower, and caught the very first crystal clear glimpse of my naked self and gasped  “Holy Mother.”  As I stared into the mirror I scanned my naked reflection and took note of all its imperfections in searing crisp detail.
My naked illusion was gone.
That’s how corrective eye surgery robbed my confidence to be naked.
Now, if someone would ask me today if I would recommend Lasik Eye Surgery? I would say absolutely, go for it.  It is amazing to be able to read the alarm clock as you first crack your eyes open. You can swim in a lake, and actually see the dock your heading for. It’s truly a remarkable thing, to have your eyes tuned-up and ready to perform 24/7.
However, I would also pose a small warning. In particular, I would caution those who, like me, are near-sighted folk. These are my people. To those sorry misguided souls who have only been able to see up-close, whose vision blurs as you view things that are more than a couple feet away…this is my advice for you: Be gentle with yourself after the surgery. Clear vision may rob you of your naiveté. Wrinkles appear, cellulite is far more lumpy than you ever knew, and damn those varicose veins, they are like a Google map to despair.
You know how drug companies have to list all possible side affects that a medication may cause? Well, I think that the fine people at the Lasik Eye Clinics should have to give you a little heads up too.
Here is the warning that I would have liked for them to post:
Lasik eye surgery will enable you to see clearly. 
While that may sound like the goal you signed up for, 
please be aware that it also may bring some startling truth to light. 
You may be far less attractive than you previously realized.
The known side affects are, a strong desire to avert your eyes when disrobing. 
In fact, this may lead you to dress entirely behind the shower curtain, 
in an attempt to avoid the bathroom mirror.
A solution worth considering is wearing someone elses glasses when you get out of the shower,  you will find yourself back in an instant blurry bliss.




Amy Archer
This past winter I squatted in our family cottage In Rockport Massachusetts. It was a particularly harsh season to be alone in a cabin with no insulation. There were countless days that I opened the front door to grab the mail from the worn wicker mailbox outside. I had this romantic notion of obtaining a spiritual epiphany during this self-inflicted isolation. In truth I spend most of those arctic days tightly wrapped in a big bathrobe feeling squirrelly, insecure & occasionally writing about memorable moments.
Visit Amy's blog, Bathrobe Writings

Monday, October 27, 2014

So I Wait . . .

The winds in my sails now seem to be gone...
So here I float in uncharted waters, and WAIT.

The sunrise that use to greet me won't break the horizon...
So I sit here in the shadows longing for its warmth, and WAIT.

The drops of rain that would wash everything anew can't seem to reach the ground...
So I stand here with my arms wide open, reaching for its baptism, and WAIT. 

The dreams I used to chase have been interrupted by nightmares...
So with eyes wide open I do my best to keep the monsters at bay, and WAIT. 

The path that I used to follow now leads me in circles...
So with blisters on my heels I shall stand firm, and WAIT. 

The inferno in my belly has all but been extinguished...
So I hold firm to my last match hoping for the winds to die down, and WAIT. 

The beats of my heart now show signs of a murmur...
So I accept the fact there is no cure, but refuse to accept defeat, and WAIT. 

I wait because of hope...I wait because of love....I wait because I know what is waiting for me…

I wait because it is what he would want. 

So I wait...




Heidi Donovan

An old soul who speaks the truth, personifies loyalty and can induce the kind of laughter that heals you.

In addition to all that (and unbeknownst to many), Heidi is also an incredibly talented wordsmith and photographer.  
Allowing only the luckiest and most trusted into her world of woven words and captured moments.

For years she's been steadfast in her "thank you but no thank you" response to requests to share her work.  
Until….The day she said "Yes" to being a storyteller here.

I don't have words to express how happy, excited and overwhelmed with pride I am 
to introduce you to one of my favorite writers (and one of my best friends) of all time.

(Bio written by the President of her fan club, Tara Mazzeo Jackson)

Friday, October 24, 2014

Coping Superstar

This is the story of a coping superstar that most of us know and love.

I guess I should begin with the definition of what a coping superstar is. A coping superstar is a person who has come to terms with the fact that time does not heal all wounds. It does not ease grief and does not ease pain. The suffering never truly goes away but learning how to live, despite the weight you carry, is what makes you shine. 

Our superstar has experienced loss on a level that no one should ever have to feel. Yet, I need to sneak this post in and publish it right away because there's a good chance she will hop on. She is the one who keeps up with our submissions, entering them, editing them, everything, So, I'm worried she may find this first thing tomorrow at a time in life when the rest of us would be in bed, unable to move, unable to deal. 

When she's not entering other people's pieces, she's either editing my piece of shit submissions or she's pouring her heart out. We all read her posts. We take in the strings of words she ties together that make you want to cry or make your heart drop or both. It's because she writes to cope, not to pass time.

The concept of a coping superstar came about when I posted something about my cousin who passed away and about how time had not helped but you learn to live with the loss. When she commented, she called us both coping superstars. That one comment, from the person who embodied what it meant to be a coping superstar, gave me a whole new and higher understanding of how life works. 

So, while I haven't been able to come up with a solid piece for this blog in months (due to my very often trips into fiction land) a story that needed to be told was sitting there, right under my nose. The story of a girl from what was once a pretty gross city who now resides in a beautiful paradise with the love of her husband, friends and pets surrounding her. 

She is an artist who creates kickass coasters, bungalow wilde jewelry and countless other creative projects. She is an incredible yogini who will be the best instructor ever some day. She breathed creative life back into me that has now given me the confidence to write a new book after my first was turned down. I had thrown that dream out of the proverbial window and she threw it back in. She has changed my life and I know I'm not the only one who can say that.

She is unlike anyone I have ever met. She is living to tell her own tales of both loss and love, grief and survival, wounds and healing. The story of a girl who, through her art of all mediums and never-ending kindness is teaching us all what real strength is.

We are all so lucky to have a modern day princess. The type of princess that when she sings animals flock to her side. (I'm not kidding, I pretty sure that does actually happen.) One that possess all things good and believes in unicorns. She is stunning, gracious and loved by all. Despite her hardships, she perseveres. She is the kind of princess who will have her happily ever after because she is a coping superstar. 











Melissa wears many hats. Some are super colorful and some are dark just like her stories. She is a mother, a friend, a writer, a survivor, a warrior, a yogi, a listener, a talker and a lover of all things art. 




Chronicles from the Edge . . .

Being acutely aware of how depressed you are is an interesting life experience.

Before, through other Loss Chaos, I was depressed.  I just didn't realize I was depressed.  There's a special kind of freedom in that.  The unknowing allows you to fade, resistance free, into the gray underworld of being numb.  

Now, let's flip that coin.  Here, in the Land of Awareness, things are different.  I am fully awake to the fact that many of my interests have quieted to a whisper.  Let's take food, for example. Why bother going through the hassle of preparing some fantastic meal when I can't TASTE anything?  You can ask me if I'm hungry but my mind goes blank.  Quietly searching.  I have no idea if I'm hungry.  So I just sit, with my head tilted to the side, wondering if I am hungry.  I keep waiting for my brain to light up with some spark of inspired thought, but nothing happens.  So, in the end my response seems to keep coming in the form of a shoulder shrug, followed by me saying I'm certain I should eat and finally stating "whatever" sounds good.

At this point in time, you can apply the same thing to activities, movies, anything really.

Now with that said, what has managed to pique my interest is the difference between these two states (The Unaware versus The Aware).  And how am I sure I fit in one category versus the other this time?

Well, that's where Tea & Tiramisu enter, stage right.  

So far, these are the only two things I have any interest in consuming.  Chai tea and a dessert that Whole Foods makes, which I am 100% certain is sprinkled with pixie dust and topped with Heaven flakes.  That's it. Nothing else sounds good.  

Now, trust me, I am well aware that my body MUST be hungry.  It's just my nerves aren't firing the way they usually do.  I usually light up when you say "pizza".  Not right now.  Salsa & chips would usually have me singing.  Nope, not today.  Things are misfiring, or not firing at all.  

Please allow me to clarify one thing...so I don't have my family on the horn worried that I'm not eating….that's not the case at all.  I eat but only because I know I should eat not because anything sounds good, tastes good or turns me on.  And certainly not because my body is telling me I'm hungry.  My body and my spirit are doing one thing and one thing only.....they are grieving.

What I find most alarming about all of this is that I am wide awake to it...and it's kind of nutty knowing your tastebuds (for example) are on hiatus while Grief has depressed your system.

Now, let's move on to another mind-bender, music.  I am a self confessed music lover with a very wide spectrum of genres that get me moving.  Normally I can count on velvety singers and soul stirring lyrics to make me swoon.  However, there are only a few songs that currently have the power to dive deeper than Depression's thick layer of mud and actually touch my soul.  I know all of this because I've been listening to A LOT of music waiting for my normal go-to's to move me....and they don't.  They just fall flat.   Each time I press "play" nothing sets a spark, and I wonder....What the fuck is going on?

The truth is, KNOWING that you can't FEEL what normally sets your soul on fire is, well, it's a bummer on top of the bummer you are already depressed about.

However, I've decided to lean toward the intrigue rather than away from, well, everything.  I've chosen to consider all this awareness the positive side effect to my current state while I continue to experiment with anything that will set a spark.

So with my chai tea and Whole Foods happy cake in hand, I'll keep leaning toward the light and away from the gray nothingness that sits on the other side while I play this song on a constant loop because it's one (of only a few) that pick me up and take me along with each and every beautiful note.







Tara Mazzeo Jackson

Curator for Bohemian LivingOwner/Artist of Bungalow Wilde 
and Blogger at Bits & Pieces.

Tara is a lover of yoga, bleeder of words and a bohemian city-kid who has a knack for rescuing stray animals.  
She has a mean case of wanderlust and you’d be hard pressed to find her without these things:
a journal in her bag, a camera in-hand and sun kissed shoulders.

Tara writes from experience, pain, truth, triumph and that place, 
deep down, where the words simmer in emotion.



Friday, October 17, 2014

Truth Is . . .

Most of my Facebook friends don't know the truth about me.  They know what I post or what they remember.  

Truth is, I'm a drug addict. I'm a womanizer. I'm an alcoholic. I'm a thief. I'm a convict. I'm an asshole. I'm not a good person. I've dealt with death, child abuse, fires, homelessness, & much more. 

Don't you dare feel bad for me. I'm a man that has lived life! 

Truth is, I'm a dad. I'm giving. I'm loving. I'm honest. I'm loyal. I'm trustworthy. I show up on time. 

See we are judged by the things we have done yet those actions don't always define us. Just because you knew me then doesn't mean you know me now. 

Once an addict always an addict.  True. But that doesn't mean I'm not a good person. I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of, yet more that I am. 

I thought there was no way out. Now I can't imagine going back. 

Every door seems closed, until you open it. I can't believe how things can be. I never thought there was another way. 

Just because you struggle today doesn't mean tomorrow is just another day!



Written & Shared by the courageous Bobby White.

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Simple

Irony is the amount of work involved in simplifying.

This can apply to the physical (like removing clutter from a house), mental (like reducing media intake), emotional (like letting go of anxiety and guilt and everything that stems from it), and more.

There are many ways in which I am currently working towards simplification in my own life. All of the above included. There are so many things that I want to change, to simplify, so that I can better and more often enjoy the things and people and activities that I feel suffer because life. is. just. too. complicated. and busy.

The problem is that this is, and will be, a long process. There is a lot to sort through.  Some of it has to be done in a certain order – step three can’t happen until steps one and two are complete.  And some of it will require bravery or leaps of faith.

Is this writing vague? Yes.

Am I going to tell you the details of all the things I am working to accomplish, and the sequence of events that are required to do so? No.

All I know and all I can say is that I am, and this is, a work in progress.

Will it ever be finished? Will there ever come a time when I can say that everything is perfect and it’s as good as it’s going to get? I sure hope so. In fact -- actually -- I do think so.

Right now? I am glad that I can say I recognize what needs to change, what I want to change, and that I see a mostly clear path to it all.

I am on the path; that path is called simplicity; and I’m going to take a couple more steps now…






Robin Donoghue

The sly and trusty Robinator is a square peg – 
not fitting easily into any single category, living not just inside and outside of the box, 
but all mixed up in a pile of them. She’s a walking contradiction  (in the good way) – 
having a wide, diverse range of interests, not being defined by any one thing, 
and willing to try pretty much anything at least once. 

Born and raised in Somerville, this lifelong athlete, foodie who almost always ends up with 
pasta sauce on her (especially when it’s white) shirt, mother of two cats, free-spirited hippie at heart whose socks never match, is socially awkward, yet a flirt, too.  She enjoys photography, traveling, generally being creative, and practically requires having pockets.  When she grows up, she wants to get an RV and be a nomad with her dear husband, or live on a self-sustaining 

intentional community with all the best people she knows and loves.

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Ladybugs: Part V "The Fight"

When you find yourself so broken that death seems like a viable option; it changes you. 

I wish I could pinpoint how it changes you but I can't. I can only tell you it simply does. 


I was broken and damaged, the only thing keeping me among the living was a thread. Even though there had to have been a part of me that wanted to live, I continued to test my thread's strength:


...by swallowing too many sleeping pills which ended with me intubated.

...by overdosing and being hit with narcan more times than I can count.
...by shooting heroin and cocaine for almost two weeks until ending up in Somerville Hospital.  To this day I am still unsure of how I got there.

As selfish as this may sound I was like a cockroach: I just couldn't die. 

The last and final time I “actively” tried to take my own life was in the back of my busted up car that I was living in. I drank half a bottle of windshield washer fluid. 

You might be asking yourself “what's up with the windshield fluid?”.  And I can honestly say that I have no idea. I'm sure I could've attempted to harm myself in another way, however, it was just there at that moment, an option at that time. 

Of course, there were multiple detoxes, halfway homes and psych wards. All with no success. My final count of detox units is between 15-20. I completed approximately half of those; ending up in a long-term setting (like a halfway house).  However, no matter the setting or the facility I just could NOT keep myself clean. 

Out of everything that I have been through it is this part of my story that I find the scariest. But not for the reason you might be thinking. This part frightens me the most because once you look at death in a positive light (ie: to end your pain and to stop from hurting) you seem to never let that go. It just gets buried deep down where no one can ever see it. Almost like a dormant gene or something. 

So, even years later, when you think you have life figured out and your shit is all together: BAM! The demons in your head begin to taunt you and you must remind yourself over and over again… 

“I must fight. I must keep fighting."



Anonymous

Please read the complete Ladybug series by clicking on the following:






Monday, October 6, 2014

Ladybug: The Lottery of Life

As odd as it may sound, some days I want to quit.  I want to throw up my white flag and just surrender…go be a drifter or even a hobo; taking train to train, beach to beach.

See, the older I get the more things hit me. They hit me like a ton of bricks to the stomach. I feel everything deeper as time goes by and that feeling of uncertainty becomes a more frequent affair. 

When you come from where I have come from and been where I have been - simple things like scrolling my Facebook feed can mean the difference of a tragic day or not. 


It's almost daily I see things like “RIP” or "I can't believe it; I just saw them yesterday…”. Because that's just how it is when you come from a city like Somerville where overdoses happen all too often. 


Amidst the death and sadness, though, is a sense of camaraderie. Where everyone knows everyone and, regardless of what park you spent your summers at, in the end we all came from the same exact places…homes with secrets and struggles. 

Most of us with our reduced and free lunches, free after school programs and even free field trips.  We all had the same set of values: we stuck by each other through it all. 

We come from a certain type of community that if you didn't grow up in it - you wouldn't understand it. That's why when a fellow kid from "The Ville" passes it's not that everyone "comes out of the woodwork”, I think it's more than that. I think it's something deep inside of us thinking exactly what I'm thinking at this moment…"Why them and not me forcing us to come together as one?".

I'm sure you're thinking "what the f*ck is this girl babbling about?". And frankly, I am not even sure I know. However, what I do know is that sometimes I feel better when I write. Writing helps me cope with the tragedy and sadness I see so often. It helps me cope with the guilt. Because, in all honesty, I do feel guilty.  

I feel guilty that somehow I have had the winning numbers in the lottery of life. While others, who were no different than myself, succumbed to their illness. What made them different than me? How did I manage to do the impossible (to get and STAY sober)? I know it was not for lack of effort. Because I know my fallen brothers and sisters suffered just as I had. And God did they suffer; longer, harder, and truer. 

Which is why, for me, I have to wonder who really wins the lottery of life?


Submitted Anonymously by the widely celebrated author of the Ladybug series.

Friday, October 3, 2014

Lasers

To all my fellow children of the late 80's/early 90's, I'm sure most of you remember the totally rad laser backgrounds for school pictures. Everyone wanted them and the kids whose parents said no not only felt bad for themselves, were pitied by others or were made fun of. My mom wouldn't let my brother and I order the laser background one year and we were devastated.

She recognized the complete and utter tackiness but she couldn't ignore our absolute sadness (mostly from my brother) about getting the damned laser background. I'm pretty sure we have no idea where those pictures went (my mom probably buried them somewhere.) The fad quickly faded and so I began to cry over a lavender background. My brother no longer cared.

Now that my baby is growing up so quickly I can't even take it, she suddenly cares about the background of her school pictures. I instantly said no when she asked for a color background. I love candid shots. While her school ones will definitely go into her keepsake box, that's most likely where they will stay. There's a good chance I won't frame it. We order the lowest possible package. We simply do not care about the shots from picture day but now that she's older, she does. The look on her face when I said no was simply pathetic. I still didn't give in.  

Then I reminded her dad about picture day and he said he's going to buy the background for her and at first I thought, "Here he goes again, getting her whatever she wants." But then he went on to remind me of how important it was to all of us when we were kids. His reasoning didn't have as much to go with giving our daughter whatever she wants (definitely was part of it though) It was about her feelings and how important it must be to her, just like it was us.

So I was reminded of two things. One is that my ex-husband can occasionally be right. (Don't tell him I wrote that.) Second is that while our old school photos are hilarious and often embarrassing with those lasers, the upset over them back then was real. Just because my daughter is almost ten (holy crap) doesn't mean she doesn't have what we would consider valid stress. I laugh about the subject now but at the time those ugly laser backgrounds meant a lot. 

Just because these things seem so petty to us now, those childhood crushes, silly fights with friends or school picture backgrounds could create the type of reactions so similar to our own negative emotions but we adults don't see it that way. I'm not saying you must say yes to everything they want, but if it's something that won't break the bank and is super, super important to them, I say do it. When she gets older she will almost never remember these things but when she does she's going to say, "My dad let me get the teal background even though my bitch mom said no at first." And it will make for a better memory. 



Melissa Sue Vieira



Melissa wears many hats.  
Some are super colorful and some are dark, just like her stories.  

She is a mother, friend, writer, survivor, warrior, yogi, listener, talker 
and a lover of all things art.

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Let Me Scream

I want to write

But, I require perfection. It has to be just right.
I can put something down on paper that seems exactly what I want.
Walk away from it only to return loathing it.

What gives?

I get trapped. Stuck in my own thoughts.
It's not writer's block because I have plenty of material.
Which is a curse in and of itself.

I try to write for myself. "It's healthy," they say.
Well, it's not.
How will my mental diarrhea be interpreted?

Why do I care?

I am the only reader.
I was a born exhibitionist.
I flourish from praise but sink with criticism.
Maybe it's my O.C.D.
Maybe it's narcissism.

I want to create.

Draw things the way I perceive them.
Paint as abstract as it gets.
But my brain doesn't allow for it's imperfections.

I try to just "let it go."

No, that's not happening. 
I hate disappointing myself.
I don't like people telling me something I have done.
"Came out so good."

Bull shit! That's a lie. 

You have to say that.
You are too human to say anything to the contrary.

I want to compose.

Every note is too flat or too sharp.
I can't allow it to make sense.
The rhythm is too slow. The beat is too fast.

Fuck, I need another cigarette.
Now I can't remember that last harmony.
Fuck it!

I don't want to write.
I don't want to create.
I don't want to compose.

LET ME SCREAM!



Russell Reich

Russell survived the battle of the demons inflicted by the streets of Somerville, Massachusetts. 
He skipped town with his girlfriend, landed in the Midwest and became a father of two boys.

He has always had a knack for things that inspire. 
Mainly music, but anything that took him away from the bad memories or the hustle & bustle 
of work/home life could evoke him to create just about anything he had the time for.