Amanda Narrates Episode One of Outlander

This conversation (of which I have only included Amanda’s commentarty) via Facebook made my evening, and I’d like to share it. Here is why Amanda is my favorite person:

i’m watching outlander

to see what it’s all about

so far the credits have featured dancing pagan girls in white, deer, and hands grabbing onto sheets

so i think i’m gonna be into it

i’ll let you know what i think

also. so far outlander has featured cunnilingus in a ruined castle, cute 1940s coats and tea leaf reading. and i’m just 20 minutes in!

also, palm reading

i’m just gonna keep you posted

also, samhain is happening

her husband just said that if she cheated on him during the war, no judgement he loves her no matter what

then they do it and they’re cuddling afterwards and he’s all “let’s go to the rock circle on the hill, i hear people still practice stuff there!”

who knew my life goals were all in this silly romance novel the whole time!

pagan ladies in white having a dance party with paper lanterns at the rock circle!

to an enya-styles dance track

“my husband’s new hobby is geneology, and my new hobby is herbology!”

let me get out of this old fashioned car in my ivory silk dress with a keyhole neck and oversized green tartan shawl thrown across my shoulders just so

oh our infinitely relatable heroine has been thrust back into oldentymes

everyone’s gonna rape her!

she is rescued by a scottish dude speaking jibberish at her and he knocks her out and takes her back to his village

she is introduced to a room full of burly scottish men

WHICH ONE WILL BE HER LOVER

oh

oh, it’s the only one that’s less than 50 years old

and the only one who looks like he’s taken a bath ever

and who doesn’t make jokes about raping her

quelle suprise

their introduction is her asserting herself with her knowledge of being a nurse during wwii and relocating his arm correctly while all the aforementioned burly dirty old men cringe like little girls at the task

“if you won’t walk, i shall pick you up and thrrrowgh you over muy shouldahrghhh. do you want me to do thah?” ”

………………..

………………………………………………

………………………………………………………..

……………no!

i want a man who will wrap me in a tartan shawl as i ride with him on his horse in the middle of the night in the rain to an unknown destination, thrown me off of that horse violently, and then threaten me

in a sexy manner

with a brogue

WHAT’S GERMS say the old timey scottish people

now she’s sassing the guy because he has a bullet wound and didn’t tell nobody

looks like they have no clean cloth so she’ll just have to tear off the skiirt of her dress

to dress his wound!

oh also she grew up with her uncle who was a badass roving archaeologist

and lit his cigarettes for him and ran around in kakhi suits

this show is awesome

banta

serious question here

should i grow out my bangs

Don Quixote

16″x24″ Bottle caps on plywood

Panic Disorder, The Courthouse, Halloween and BRAIN ZOMBIES

Okay.  Picture this.  Most of us watch Walking Dead, right?  If you don’t, here’s a quick, non-spoiler synopsis:

THE WORLD IS BROKEN.  THERE IS SOME KIND OF TERRIFYING VIRUS THAT RUINS EVERYTHING.   PRETTY MUCH EVERYBODY DIES.  EXCEPT THEY DON’T JUST DIE.  THEY DIE AND COME BACK TO LIFE AND THEN THEY’RE REALLY SCARY. THEY’RE ALL BLOODY AND LIMBLESS AND MANGLED AND DECOMPOSED. THEY WANT TO EAT YOU.  THAT’S ALL THEY WANT TO DO. AND WHEN THEY DO YOU WILL DIE AND COME BACK SCARY AND MINDLESS AND GORY JUST LIKE THEM AND THEN YOU’LL EAT OTHER PEOPLE TOO.  THE CYCLE CONTINUES, AND THE WORLD ONLY GETS SCARIER.

So imagine that you’ve managed to still be one of the non-zombie people.  You and a bunch of your cinematically sexy buddies with carefully sexy end-of-the-world-chic outfits have pieced together a stronghold of an old prison, and it’s kind of safe there, except for when it’s not.  But mostly it is.  We totally love fences and security towers and guns and stuff.  And then suddenly you have to go outside or you’ll starve or the worst things will happen or something.

So the world is broken and you have to go to the nearest Costco to or you’ll die and so will your friends.  You have to leave your prison now.  Except that this isn’t even just like Walking Dead.  These aren’t slow zombies.  These are FAST zombies, a la 28 Days Later or something.  They can run and talk and hack you with machetes or whatever it is they do.  I haven’t seen that movie in years and I can’t really call myself a reliable source here.  But the point is: they’re really scary.  All of the things are scary.  THE WORLD IS REALLY SCARY.  And you’re out of milk and bread and pizza pockets or whatever.  Shit.

THIS IS WHAT PANIC DISORDER FEELS LIKE.  Now, you may know in your rational brain that there are not zombies running around, and you’re not going to be mauled or machete’d or turned into a mindless flesh eating robot.  But your brain is still very busy making brain- zombies, and no matter what you tell yourself, you’re still seeing them everywhere.  And the only thing that this very powerful part of your brain knows is that zombies mostly can’t get into the dismal safeguarded prison you’ve decided to inhabit.  But it gets worse.

Here’s where the real mind-fuck comes.  NO ONE ELSE CAN SEE THE ZOMBIES.  You are alone, and there is no help coming.  You’re with all of your friends and family, and they’re all, “I don’t see any mindless flesh eating undead around here.  Just a Mexican restaurant.  That’s some weird stuff that your brain makes!  Why can’t you come to the park today?”

My prison is my house.  Specifically, my bedroom.  The kitchen and living room aren’t really scary, but the bedroom is the best spot for safety.  The front porch is a little fringe-y and the mailbox is kind of an adventure.  Once we start getting into the car (which isn’t safe, either) our only pseudo-zombie-free locales are my favorite dive bar and my best friend’s house that’s only five minutes away.  Everywhere else is totally infested with fast scary zombies.

Including, as mentioned in the last post, the courthouse, which I had to go to for dealing with something totally benign today.  That is, except for the brain zombies.  I actually made it through without incident.  There was still the time when I drove on the highway to get there (zombies are all over highways) and had to go over TWO overpasses (also chock-full of zombies).  Then I had to park (in a lot infested with zombies) and walk into the office (full of zombies) and wonder whether they would accept (read: not sic zombies on me about this) the paperwork I had with me.  Everything worked out fine.  But my brain is still telling me that the world is full of flesh-eating zombies.

The best thing that I can take away from this imaginary zombie filled courthouse encounter is that I made it through.  Nobody likes government facilities, but this was waaaaay scarier for me than it is for most.  And I didn’t die, again.  I didn’t even have to fend off real zombies, just brain zombies.  I guess the fact that I got into the car and went, zombies or no, is a sign of progress.  There’s no quick cure for Panic Disorder.  The zombies are still wandering freely, though I have better coping skills than I may have a few months ago.  I wish that I had something more positive to close this post with, but I don’t.  I did it.  I survived.  Congrats, Liz!

Panic Disorder: How It Began

So, how did my Panic Disorder begin?

I’ve been having panic attacks for years now, but until recently they only occurred sporadically and didn’t really affect my life. I’d have to leave the movie theater early, or pull off of the highway to calm down. That was about it. Annoying and scary, but you move on.

My first almost-taste of panic disorder began about two years ago. Driving through a remote part of Texas, I was caught in a really, really serious rain storm. The kind where you can’t even THINK about driving, and only hope to pull off to the side safely. And then I was nearly hit by a careening semi truck. Nobody got hurt, but it was really scary. And after that, for about six months I simply could NOT drive in the rain. I’d try, but I’d never make it more than half a mile before I got dizzy, nauseated, short of breath, faint, and my heart would go absolutely NUTS. I had to cancel appointments and call in sick to work several times. Fortunately, though, this issue went away pretty much on its own. I did have to force myself to drive even when I was afraid a few times. But then one day I was driving, and it was raining, and I realized that it was just fine. Problem… solved?  Who knows how that worked?

And then I was pretty okay for a while. Until this spring.

Recently, I had begun rock climbing. I thought it was super cool. It was great exercise and I was proud of myself for doing a thing that was kind of scary. On this particular day I went climbing with a friend. I didn’t feel too great, but I put myself on the wall anyway. And about halfway up the wall, I realized that things weren’t going to go well. I felt really, really faint. Like, not just panic attack faint, but blackness creeping in faint. I called down to my partner that I needed to come down, but I don’t think he heard me because I couldn’t speak loudly. And then I lost control of my body and just fell.  I blacked out for a short time.  Thank goodness we were belaying!

I ended up being really, really sick after that, for a while. I don’t think I’ve ever been that sick. Doctors weren’t really sure what had happened. They suspected that it had to do with my hypertension and maybe supraventricular tachycardia (that means sometimes your heart gets weird and it sucks but it’s not dangerous). And that’s it. Sorry that was horrible and traumatic and embarrassing, but you’re fine! Here are some pills for that. Go on, live your life some more!

That’s where things got really hairy. I felt pretty crappy for the next couple of weeks, and this didn’t seem all that weird to anyone. I took some time off of work and rested. The few times I did leave the house during that period were difficult, but hey, I was sick or something.

But then life encroached, and I had to make money or be homeless and hungry or move in with my grandma or something. I scheduled some work. I was a professional house cleaner at the time. I knew it would be hard since after two weeks, I’d become lazy, but hey, I used to do this twice a day, every day and did just fine. I can do just this one, right?

Truth is, I could. And I did. The whole time I felt extremely, faint, dizzy, and short of breath and frequently had to sit down to try to calm heart palpitations. My hands and feet went numb and tingly.  I felt so horrible and was so afraid of fainting again, or having some kind of health crisis, that I cried through most of it. And at this early stage, neither I nor my doctors were sure that there wasn’t something actually wrong with me. The thing that’s so hard to understand about panic attacks is that your symptoms are so real and severe that it can seem almost impossible that it’s all in your head.  But it was, I think.  It would take months to be pretty sure that it was just panic attacks.

Things didn’t get any better from there. I tried to keep going to work, but it wasn’t working. And my brain decided that anywhere I ever had a panic attack was too scary to revisit. So, one by one, I dropped clients.  Within six weeks I had gone from running a business with moderate success and maintaining a full cleaning schedule to maybe one or two cleans a month and an overflowing inbox.  It wasn’t just clients, either. A couple of panic attacks, and the grocery store became off limits. The bank. The hardware store. Anywhere outside of a certain zone on the city map. Even fun places, like music venues, bars, or friends’ houses. And you can FORGET going out of town to see family.

In the early stages, I was seeing a therapist. My symptoms were so severe that even the he was convinced that I had a legitimate health issue. I don’t know…maybe I do. I didn’t really stick around to hash that out with him, though, because it wasn’t long before my therapist became way too scary.  I do regularly see a doctor, but at my economic status, my care is usually rushed and often a bit sub-par. But I have come to believe more and more that somewhere along the line my brain got cross-wired, and it needs some help to get back on track. I’m still irrationally terrified of my body, but rationally I know it’s probably in my head.  I’m on a waiting list to see a psychiatrist, but I’ll be lucky to get in by Christmas. So I’d better start doing something, anything about it.

Coming next: Adventures with having to go to the county courthouse for a totally benign, non-criminally related matter!

Panic Disorder: A New Thing!

Hey, all three of my readers!  Long time no see!

I’ve decided to use this blog for a new purpose, for the moment.  I might undecide that tomorrow, delete this post, and never do it again.  I’m a follow-through lady like that.  But now it seems like a good idea to share with my friends and the internet about some trouble I’ve been experiencing lately: Panic Disorder!  Gross!

Here’s a short definition:

People with panic disorder have sudden and repeated attacks of fear that last for several minutes. Sometimes symptoms may last longer. These are called panic attacks. Panic attacks are characterized by a fear of disaster or of losing control even when there is no real danger. A person may also have a strong physical reaction during a panic attack. It may feel like having a heart attack. Panic attacks can occur at any time, and many people with panic disorder worry about and dread the possibility of having another attack.

You can find more in depth information at the National Institute of Mental Health website.  But basically Panic Disorder is all about being scared of almost everything almost all the time even though for the most part you know that it’s ridiculous.  And, as a common adjunct to Panic Disorder, people often develop Agoraphobia.  I have this in spades!

Agoraphobia, contrary to popular belief, is not a fear of open spaces.  It’s really more of a fear of new or unsafe places.  Open spaces can definitely contribute, though.  Agoraphobia means a lot more to me, though.  It’s the fear of being unable to escape or reach a safe place.  It’s a fear of having a panic attack in public.  It’s a fear of being stuck in an uncomfortable position, anywhere.  Agoraphobia-induced situations can range from large things like professional sports games or concerts, all the way down to teeny tiny things, like taking a shower.  

So, why blog about it, do you ask?  Well, it’s not for pity or consolation or out of hope for help or special treatment from my readers.  I’m really blogging about this for ME.  Putting this issue out into the public forum seems to me to have the potential to help me therapeutically by creating a sense of accountability for what I’m DOING to solve this problem, and by forcing me to be honest with myself and in the eyes of others.  Hopefully this will help me to maintain my sense of perspective while coping with a disorder that distorts reality so pervasively.  And hey, if there are any other panicky folks out there reading, maybe I can help you not feel so alone.  Because god knows it’s a lonely road.

The Simple Life: Health Does Not Come in a Can

Guys, we live in a processed, artificial world.  We eat processed foods, listen to processed music, receive processed news and information, pursue processed educations, use artificial lighting, live with processed self-images, and are fed processed ideals.  It’s a processed life.

First and foremost, I should state that I am NOT a woman of science.  I don’t know much about science at all – in fact, I don’t even have a college education.  I am, instead, a firm believer in the power of common sense and, above all, intuition.  Intuition is one of the most wonderful and powerful remaining vestiges of human instinct, and one which, I feel, is under-valued and even under attack.  Our culture is a science-based culture.  We want studies, we want facts, we want doctors and specialists.  We are also a consumer-based culture.  We want products with flashy, expensive advertising, we want a product to give us a quick fix, we want celebrity and expert endorsements to lend them credibility.  After all, a stellar advertising campaign costs money, and where there is money, there must real, proven value…right?

I’m not qualified to offer any of those things.

One thing I can assert, though, with the full support of the scientific community, is that we’re not all that healthy these days.  Obesity, cancer, diabetes, depression, and a whole host of other bad things are affecting a huge quantity of the population.  As a science- and consumer-based culture, we naturally turn to science and the latest new products for answers.  But what about intuition and common sense?

Let’s take food, for instance.  Due to the incredible array of affordable, tasty food products available and the ever-present barrage of advertisements, we look at eating in a completely different way than we did, say, a hundred years ago.  For many of us, eating is no longer something we do with the satiation of hunger and nourishment of our bodies in mind.  Eating is now an activity charged with emotion.  We see eating as a form of entertainment and of comfort.  Does it look good?  Does it taste good?  Does it feel good?  Are the cool people eating it?

Common sense, however, tells me that eating is an activity intended to fuel my body.  That’s not to say that it shouldn’t be a pleasurable activity, but enjoyment is not the primary objective here.  Health and functionality are the priorities.  And my intuition tells me that if I mean to pursue good health and full functionality, I need to eat real food.

What I mean when I say “real” food is food that would have been recognizable to people a hundred years ago.  Food that grows in the ground or on trees or meats that come from animals, and are still recognizable as such by the time we consume them.  Food that is made up of ingredients – familiar, recognizable ingredients.  And my intuition tells me that the closer to the natural source those foods are, the better they will be.

The majority of the things we eat were once alive.  And here’s where I get a little hippie-dippy, folks, but bear with me.  Food, as an energy source, uses the energy and nutrients from those living things to, in turn, provide our bodies with energy.  That energy from those sources, in my completely non-expert and uneducated opinion, dissipates over time and with processing.  Science may disagree, but my intuition is adamant.  So, if I have to choose between a food that has been canned, preserved, dried, frozen, or tampered with and a food that is fresh from the source, my instincts tell me to go with the fresh food.  And while the processed product still may have the vitamins and the fiber and all that other good stuff, fresh just feels better to me.  So next time you’re about to buy the thing in the can, the cardboard box, or any other kind of fancy packaging, consider whether you might not be able to get it fresh instead.

I’m not saying that we should all buy a pair of Chacos, go vegan and start drinking wheatgrass kombucha.  Just think fresher.

And, by the way, if you happen to believe that buying fresh food is more expensive than otherwise, you’re doing it wrong.

And yet the world cries out: “But then I’ll have to rinse it and chop it and cook it and stuff!”  “I don’t know how to cook!”  “I don’t have the time!” and “I just don’t have the energy to cook!”

Yes, there is more preparation and work involved in using fresh foods, but it’s not as hard as you may think it is.  Like any new skill, it just takes practice and persistence.  Keep doing it and trying new things until cooking becomes easy – because eventually it will.  At the age of twenty, I didn’t even know how to fry an egg, but I looked up recipes and learned, and at 26 I’m a damn good cook.  It’s not that hard, especially when you have the entirety of the internet at your disposal to answer your questions.  As for the time issue, trust me: it’s worth turning off the TV twenty minutes earlier or staying up a little later to make the time.  And if you don’t have the energy, try eating real food for a while and see how long that lasts.

Another facet of the “real” food issue involves the thousands of “health conscious” products on the market today.  It’s “diet” or “fat free” or “sugar free” or “only 100 calories.”  While there are some notable exceptions, most of the time when a product makes a claim like that it also means that the product contains more artificial, processed ingredients.  And most of those ingredients are NOT REAL FOOD. We focus so much on what isn’t in our food that we don’t bother to see what we’re actually consuming.  Science and advertising assure me that they’re safe, but my intuition tells me that if it’s not recognizable as real food, then God, and perhaps more importantly, my own biology does not intend me to eat it.  So when I’ve got that craving for a soda, I’d rather take the one with the sugar.  At least I know what the sugar is doing to me.

And hey guys, DRINK LOTS OF WATER.  SERIOUSLY.  It’s easy and it makes a huge difference.

Common sense also tells me to be careful about supplements.  Taking a multivitamin is great, I’m sure.  Maybe your highly artificial and processed protein shake or that diet pill is helping you, too.  Perhaps that wacky cleanse product or energy booster really does it for you.  After all, science/advertising says it will!  There is, however, a tendency to see supplements and products like these not for what they are – a supplement – but as a replacement.  There is no replacement for good nutrition, guys.  Do your research and use your supplement, but if you’re not eating real food, your supplement – if it’s actually doing anything – is probably only doing damage control instead of effecting lasting change.

And then there are the weight loss diets.  Atkins, South Beach, Weight Watchers…they can all produce really fantastic results. I’ve seen them.  Diet programs can do wonderful things, even if it’s only to make us more aware and educated about our eating habits.  The thing is that once you’re done with the program, if you don’t follow with a healthy lifestyle, you’re probably going to end up right where you were before.  And any weight loss program that doesn’t provide for balanced nutrition will only produce the appearance of health – not the real thing.  So try the weight loss program, but keep in mind that it’s only a jump start and probably not a long term solution.

We also have some pretty huge cultural misconceptions about exercise.  There’s a common assumption that exercise is going to be really really hard, or that it will require a whole lot of time, or that you’ll have to buy a gym membership or expensive equipment, or hire a personal trainer, or pay for classes, or order P90-X or something.

I don’t go to a gym.  I usually find exercise enjoyable.  I don’t often break a sweat while I do it, and it doesn’t really hurt or leave me terribly out of breath.  A lot of times, I exercise at home.  Sometimes I do it while I watch TV.  Sometimes I only do it for ten minutes a day, or not at all. I don’t own anything fancier than a yoga mat and a set of hand weights, and I don’t use those often anyway.  I don’t follow an exercise regime.  I just MOVE EVER, do it even if I don’t want to sometimes, and try new things, and I’m in pretty great shape.

I’m not trying to say that taking the class or buying the thing isn’t a really awesome thing to do, if you can.  But you don’t have to.  And you don’t even have to know that much about exercise.

I use what’s readily available and cheap.  Check out the Health and Fitness page on Pinterest.  The work-out videos you can find on YouTube and Netflix are just fine.  The 10-Minute Solution pilates and yoga programs on Netflix, for example, are way cool and convenient, and the only equipment you need for those is a space on the floor, and maybe a couple of light weights, or cans of beans.  I’ve even been known to do arms and shoulder routines with votary candles.  I’m sure that Saint Michael and the Virgin Mary were glad to help.

But beware of the processed exercise program!  They’re good to start with, but like a diet program, it’s only a jump start.  Now that I’m more comfortable with different exercises and how they work, I don’t use the videos much anymore, unless it’s to try something new.  I don’t have a static routine – my intuition tells me that a routine that doesn’t change with my body and adapt to my varied energy levels is a really good way to establish only partial fitness and also to really piss me off. I need change, novelty, and variety to create a balanced, whole body routine. The idea that every time I work out I do this many of this thing and that many of that seems counter-intuitive to me.  When I’m working with a new skill or muscle group it’s important that I do it enough to get my body used to it, but once I become confident that I’m doing an exercise safely and correctly, I don’t count “reps.”  Instead, I do it until it’s hard and then I do a few more.  This fosters progress and takes into account the changes that occur in my body on a day-to-day basis.

And getting exercise doesn’t have to be done solely for the sake of getting exercise.  Go for a walk.  Clean your house.  Rearrange your furniture.  Play with a dog.  Park far away from the entrance to the store.  Mow the lawn.  Ride a bike instead of driving.  Go dancing.  GO OUTSIDE.  The important thing is to MOVE EVER.

I ran across an issue of “Prevention” magazine the other day at a client’s home.  I’ve never read it, but judging by the articles advertised on the cover, I feel pretty comfortable assuming that the name of the publication refers to the prevention of health problems.  I’ve just googled them and the first thing they claim to offer are “healthy living tips.”  Well, on the cover of the issue in question, the headlining article was something to the effect of “Lose Three Pounds A Week Without Ever Exercising.”

What?

I mean, I’m sure it can be done, and easily at that, but for a publication that claims to offer healthy living tips and to give information about preventing negative health consequences, that’s pretty unhealthy.  Sure, you might get skinnier, but health isn’t in it.

Articles like this are perfect examples of our culture’s distorted views about health.  We are always looking for the quick fix, and that magazine will continue selling as long as it claims to offer them.  The trouble is, there isn’t a quick fix.  Whatever method you use, if it’s going to lead to lasting health, then it’s going to take time and effort.

Another thing that my intuition tells me is that dieting and exercising shouldn’t be about losing weight or getting skinny.  We live in a society that feeds us a processed image of how we should be – which is mostly an image of how we should look.  And while we’ve made admirable progress when it comes to dispelling the “skinny” ideal, we’ve still got a long way to go.  I no longer exercise to change the way I look.  I’m pleased with the way my body looks, but now I exercise and eat well because of the things those habits help my body to DO.

It is not sensible to say that anyone who appears skinny is necessarily unhealthy.  The public concern about anorexia and bulimia and stuff like that has led to an unwarranted hostility toward skinny-ness in general.  Some people are just thin and that’s fine.  But my goal is not to be skinny.  My goal is to be strong and healthy, whether I’m skinny or not.  And my intuition tells me that, in most cases, eating well and exercising regularly will eventually lead to a healthy body, whether it’s a size 0 or a size 16.

Intuition naturally makes me skeptical of any “quick fix” method, because common sense tells me that there isn’t one.  There is no gimmick or program or product that can replace plain old healthy living.  A lot of them are just a bunch of processed crap.  Save your money, guys.  The money you spend on producing an artificial appearance of health will probably lead to trouble in the end.

Common sense also makes one more very important point: moderation is key.  Sometimes I eat crappy food.  Sometimes I just NEED some Whataburger.  I drink too much beer.  I can probably eat about a pound of M&Ms at once, if the feeling is right.  Sometimes I’ll go a week or more without getting much exercise.  One of the essential qualities of healthy living is learning not to expect perfection.  Dogma is scary and fosters rigidity.  Just find moderation, and remember that falling off the wagon doesn’t mean you can’t get right back on it.

The point that common sense is trying to make is simple.  Eat real food.  Exercise ever.  Science and consumerism aren’t always on board with common sense.  If it seems really complicated, it’s probably not healthy.  Keep it simple, folks, and trust your intuition.

In Defense of the Tarot and other Pseudoscientific Nonsense

The Tarot deck today carries a powerful stigma.  Fear, superstition, and skeptical thinking have dismissed and disparaged it along with astrology, palmistry, psychics, and all sorts of other cool stuff.  I would like to argue in its favor.

It is my conviction that one will find exactly what one believes and expects from the Tarot deck.  If you think it’s a load of crap, then you will find nothing of value.  If you fear the Tarot, then using it will most definitely scare you.  If you believe that the Tarot will bring through negative energy, then look out, because you’ll find it.  If you use it as a tool to analyze and organize the things you already know about yourself, then you’ll be able to draw up and crystallize a lot of self-knowledge.  And if you believe that the Tarot can be a tool to get in touch with a higher, benevolent power, then you will find yourself richly, richly rewarded.  The point is that the Tarot deck in itself is completely neutral.  It’s just a deck of cards with pictures on it.  It is an entirely subjective experience.  You decide what it means.

For those who harbor religious concerns about the use of the Tarot, I would argue this: if God shares our primitive superstitions about a colorful deck of cards and is too fastidious to dirty his hands by speaking to us through them, then I’m not sure that a god who is so limited and bigoted is the god I want to pray to.  Every means of communication is capable of conveying negativity.  The spoken word can do incredible damage, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t have an equal capacity to heal.  The same goes for literature, music, theater, our dreams…any communicative device at all.  All of these conduits are neutral.  It’s the meaning that we give to words, art, and the like that determines its effect.  To shun any of these tools simply because they can do harm would be disastrously backwards.  The Tarot deck has some pictures and words that look pretty scary, but so does every language.  It’s what you make of those scary ideas and what you learn from them that matters.  Some of the most foreboding cards in the deck have become my old friends through my experience with the Tarot.

The Bible is very much like the Tarot in the way it communicates to us.  The Bible speaks in symbols, metaphors and parables.  Like the Tarot, its meanings are not always clear, and misunderstandings can often lead to anxiety, pain and anger.  History undoubtedly proves that many have used the words of the Bible as a justification for fear, hatred and violence.  But others have found love, new life and wisdom in the very same source.  Both the Bible and the Tarot convey the bulk of their value in subjective interpretations.  It’s up to you.  And, when looked at with an exclusively objective perspective, they both lose value in both credibility and interest.

Now, I would never advise anyone to trust exclusively in what one reads in the Tarot.  Just like language, the Tarot can convey powerful negativity if misused.  And I would even go so far as to acknowledge the possibility that a foreign negative entity, if such things exist, could certainly come through the Tarot to do harm.  Personally, I find this rather unlikely, though, unless that negativity has been specifically invited in. Anyone who experiences anything like this will do well to have faith that such invitations can be revoked.  I encourage those who have fears like these to consider the more probable idea that those things we fear most in the Tarot are in actuality the things we fear in ourselves.  Those negative things are what Carl Jung calls the “Shadow,” unwanted portions of our own psyches that are projected onto – or, in other words, unconsciously attributed to – an object outside of ourselves as a means of self-defense.  It’s no good to pretend that this shadowy side doesn’t exist: without shadows, we’d all appear flat!  Once one has recognized one’s own capacity for evil, falsehood, and doing wrong, though, and faced and come to terms with those unpleasant things, then these fears will diminish significantly.

When it comes to the Tarot, use your intuition.  If you are unsure of your ability to distinguish between good and bad, right and wrong, or truth and falsehood, then stay away from the Tarot.  Wait until you learn to trust yourself and your own intuitive capacities.  The truth is that you can trust those gut impulses about good and bad.  If you aren’t sure, listen harder to your own heart.

The Tarot is a wonderful tool.  In a world that is often hostile to the idea of self-discovery, and in a culture trying desperately to find itself in a religious system that is a product of a people thousands of miles away and two thousand years gone, any window that we can find into our own souls is of inestimable value.  And if you’re not comfortable with spiritualism or metaphysics or religion or whatever, don’t dismiss the Tarot.  Its message isn’t necessarily mystical.  My first year working with the Tarot was exclusively analytical, a way of comparing and clarifying my own ideas about my life and the world around me.  And I used the things I learned from the Tarot in a completely non-spiritual way to become a happier and more functional human being.

So, if you’re curious, give the Tarot a chance.  Do some research, and maybe buy yourself a deck.  There are a hundreds and hundreds of Tarot decks out there.  For beginners I’d recommend the Rider-Waite deck.  But if it’s not to your taste, find one that is.  It doesn’t matter how many Tarot adepts recommend the deck or how long it’s been around.  Choose one that has meaning to you.  And, hey, if you ever see me around, ask to have a look at my deck, or to get a reading from me.  I usually have my deck on me, and while I can’t promise that you’ll like or understand my reading, I’d be happy to do it.

So, today on Thanksgiving, I am thankful for the Tarot deck, astrology, palmistry, and all that pseudoscience crap.  If it’s nonsense, that’s fine by me.  It’s really valuable nonsense.

This Blog Is about Feelings

That’s right.  This blog is about feelings, and how they just might be pretty important after all.  For those of you who have known me for a while, you may be aware that this is a bit of a change in attitude.

This blog is also about crappy things that happened when I was a kid, but it’s not a plea for pity.  It’s a story about how things can get better and turn out just fine.

Everything seemed really complicated when I was a kid.  Lots of people used big medical words at me and seemed to think that the simple things that were going wrong were actually big scary diseases and disorders that required doctors and psychiatrists with years and years of schooling and lots of letters after their names to understand them.  I’m not a doctor and I don’t have any letters after my name, but I’m pretty smart and I think that I may have a better explanation.  So, in the interest of clarity, I have chosen the simplest language I could think of to tell this story, because that’s all it really needs.

When I was a kid, I was sad.  I was sad because my mom was mean to me.  My mom didn’t know that she was mean, though.

You see, when my mom was a kid, she was sad, too.  I didn’t know her then, but I think that she was sad because her dad went away.  And where she grew up, being sad wasn’t okay, because people might see and realize that her life wasn’t perfect.  In the small town Texas gentry of the 1950s and ’60s, everyone’s life was supposed to be perfect.

So my mom kept being sad and tried to pretend that she wasn’t.  She pretended so hard and for so long that she came to believe that she really wasn’t sad, at least not because her dad went away.

After being sad for long enough, my mom went to a doctor who said he could help her stop being sad.  It had been a long time since she had remembered that she was sad about her dad.  In all that time her sadness had been kept inside, it had grown and had got all twisted and scary. It started to come out in strange ways that didn’t make sense to anyone.  And the doctor with his clipboard and a plaque on his wall told her that she was sad and acting strange because there was an imbalance in the chemicals in her brain.  She was sick.  So he gave her some pills that he said would help.

My mom took the pills for a while and sometimes she felt better.  But deep down she was still sad, and now she was just sad with pills.  The pills took the sadness away sometimes, but sometimes it still came out in strange, scary ways.  She would get mad or tired or scared for no reason at all, and when she was mad or tired or scared, she made everyone around her miserable.  And after she got mad or tired or scared too many times, she would go and see her doctor again, and he would give her new pills to make it go away.

She went to lots of doctors and she took lots of pills.  But she was still sad because her dad went away.  She just didn’t know it anymore.  And a lot of times she was still mad or tired or scared for no reason.

And then she had me.

When I was a kid, I was sad.  I was sad because my mom was mean to me.  I didn’t know that my mom was mean, though, because kids just don’t know that kind of stuff.  And my mom didn’t know that she was mean, either.  She was too sad and confused to know that she was being mean.

And when I had been sad for long enough, my mom took me to a doctor.  And the doctor with the clipboard and a plaque on his wall told me that I was sad because there was an imbalance in the chemicals in my brain.  I was sick.  So he gave me some pills that he said would help.

The doctor told me that I wasn’t supposed to be sad.  My mom told me that I wasn’t supposed to be sad.  They said I was sad because I was sick.  If I was sad, it was because there was something wrong with me.  Me and my faulty brain chemistry were the ones to blame.

I was eleven or twelve when I took my first pill that was supposed to make me stop being sad.  I don’t remember very much about being a kid, but I do remember taking that first pill.  I didn’t know that I was supposed to swallow it whole.  I tried to chew it and I had to spit it out.  It tasted gross.  It was green and white.  I think it was Prozac.

But soon I learned to swallow the pills, and over the years I swallowed a whole lot of them.  I swallowed Zoloft and Celexa. I swallowed Zyprexa, Paxil, and Wellbutrin. I swallowed Lamictal, Carbamazepine, and Depakote. I swallowed lots and lots and lots of Lithium, and probably a lot of other colorful, helpful pills that I can’t remember.  I believed that if my doctor could just help me find the right pills, I’d stop being sad.

Sometimes I felt better, but most of the time I was still sad.  And sometimes I got mad, or tired, or scared for no reason.  But my mom and my doctor had told me that when I was sad it was because I was sick.  It was because there was something wrong with me, and I shouldn’t feel that way.  It was my fault.

Over the years, I stayed sad, and a lot of times I was mad, tired, or scared for no reason.  My mom was still mean to me, but neither of us knew it because nobody told us so.  And when I kept being sad and the doctor’s pills didn’t work, I tried lots of other drugs that my doctor didn’t give me, because my mom and my doctor taught me that when you’re sad, drugs should help you.  But even with all the new drugs I was taking, I was still sad.  I was pretty upset with my faulty brain.  I was pretty upset with myself for being sick and sad.

And then, when I got too sad, my mom and my doctor locked me up in a hospital for sad people.  People were really really sad there, and they were really mad and scared, too.  They were so sad, mad and scared that they did crazy things like throw up everything they ate or hurt themselves or hurt each other.  They lied and stole and kicked and screamed and peed on the floor and did all sorts of bad things because they were sad.  I had done some of those things, too, but most of the people there were way more sad than I was.  Since my doctor and my mom told me I was sad because I was sick, and they were sick, too, I figured I wasn’t any different from them.  And because they were like me, I made friends with them and learned to do all of the other things that they did.

I don’t know how long I was in those hospitals, but I didn’t get any less sad and I really missed my friends from school.  And when they let me out of the hospital, I tried really really hard to stop being sad, because I was scared to go back to the hospital.  I did okay for a while, but I couldn’t stop being sad.

And after a while I got tired of my mom being mean to me even though I thought it was my fault, so I went somewhere else.  And the longer I was away from her, the less sad I got and the more I wondered whether something wasn’t wrong with my story.

I spent the first twenty-odd years of my life being sad and thinking that it was all my fault.  It was my fault that I was sad.  It was my fault that I had to take the pills.  It was my fault that I was mad and tired and scared.  It was my fault that I had to go stay at a hospital, because there was something wrong with me.

It wasn’t until I was all grown up and had a child of my own that anyone ever told me that it wasn’t my fault.  That was nice to hear, but I’d believed that it was my fault for so long that it took a whole lot of time and thinking for me to decide that he might be right.

But the fact is that I was sad because my mom was mean to me.  It wasn’t my fault.  I wasn’t sick.  My mom was sad when she was a kid, too, and that wasn’t her fault, either.  Her life is a big mess because she’s still sad about her dad going away, but she thinks that there’s something wrong with her and that she needs pills to fix it.  And when I got to be grown up, my life was a big mess and a lot of that wasn’t my fault, either.  It wasn’t my fault, but I was the only one who could clean up the mess.

It’s pretty hard to clean up a messy life when you think that the mess is your fault because there’s something wrong with you.  And it took me a long, long time to see that there really wasn’t anything wrong with me at all.  I’m okay.  My brain works just fine.  And if my brain chemicals are imbalanced at all, it’s probably because of all of those wacky pills those doctors gave me.  I’m not sick.  I was just sad because my mom was mean to me.  And now that I know that there’s nothing wrong with me, I can clean up my messy life.

I’m pretty mad and pretty sad that it took so long for anyone to tell me that it wasn’t my fault.  I was a kid and I didn’t know any better, and since nobody told me, I turned out to be a grown-up who didn’t know any better.  But this time I know why I’m mad, and this time I know why I’m sad, so those feelings won’t have to come out in strange, scary ways.  There’s nothing wrong with being mad or sad, and there’s nothing wrong with me.  It’s okay to be mad and it’s okay to be sad. I don’t need drugs to make my feelings go away.  I’m mad and I’m sad that no one told me it wasn’t my fault.  And since I know that that’s why I’m mad and sad, I know that someday I won’t be mad or sad anymore about that.

If you’re ever sad or mad or anxious or tired or scared and you don’t know why, there might be a real reason for it somewhere down there.  Just because you don’t know what that reason is right away doesn’t mean that it’s faulty brain chemistry.  Sometimes the reasons we’re sad or mad or tired or scared are hard to figure out.  Maybe you’re sad about something that happened a long, long time ago, and you’ve just forgotten.  Maybe you haven’t forgotten, but you think you’re over it when you really aren’t.  Or maybe you’re sad that you aren’t what the TV or your family or your friends tell you you should be.  Or maybe your parents weren’t mean at all but expected a little too much of you, or didn’t understand you, or didn’t give you enough structure.  Next time you feel something that doesn’t make sense, think about what happened when you started feeling that way.  Pay attention to your dreams.  Start a journal.  Talk to a therapist.  Give your feelings a chance to speak – it’s not fair to try to shut them up with pills before you’ve heard them out.  And if you are lucky enough to find real reasons for your feelings, then let yourself feel them until they get out of you.  And if that doesn’t make the sad or mad or anxious or tired or scared feelings go away, then look for another reason.

I was sad for a real reason.  It wasn’t my fault, but I’m the only one who can clean up the mess.

And that’s what I’d like to tell everyone, kids and grown-ups, who had a yucky childhood.

It isn’t your fault, but you’re the only one who can clean up the mess.

A Blog About My Other Blog!

Hey, guys!  Check out my business blog at http://healthyhousekeeping.com/blog !

It’s way new and improved – with illustrations straight from the hand of your Healthy Housekeeper!

Confessions of a BiblioFAILURE

This little bibliophile has a confession to make: for months, now, I have been a complete biblioFAILURE.

That’s right.  I said it.  And it hurt.

I’ve hardly been reading at all.  And it gets worse: instead of reading, I’ve been sucked into the gaping black hole that is NETFLIX.  God help us all.  It’s bad.  So, as an act of penance, I’d like to tell the whole internet in gruesome detail all about the trash I’ve been ingesting.  Here’s what I’ve been watching:

Camelot:  This Starz maladaptation of the classic King Arthur tales kept me engrossed for all ten episodes.  A mewling, petulant, and unlikable Arthur (Jamie Campbell Bower) along with his sexy wizard (Joseph Fiennes) and friends bungle their way through the legends without scrimping on the nudity or profanity, swording and screwing each other all over 6th century Britain.

Hoarders:  This popular A&E program shamelessly exploits the victims of a particularly colorful and shocking type of obsessive compulsive disorder.  Accompanied by ominous music and therapists of varying degrees of likability, these unfortunates kick and scream through the grueling and humiliating task of clean-up with a camera crew breathing down their necks.

Obsessed:  When I ran out of episodes of Hoarders, I followed up with this similar series.  It exposes a wide variety of OCD manifestations in all of its twitching, counting, hair-pulling, obsessive glory.

Psychic Kids:  Fabulous, argyle- and scarf- bedecked medium Chip Coffey mentors psychic kids from age eight to 18 through the process of managing their otherworldly powers.  He drags these squealing tweens through haunted locations with hand-held cameras pointed directly up their acne-speckled noses, confronting ghostly entities with an attitude that would fit right in on an MTV reality show.  Oh, no you didn’t, ghostfriend!  And if you’re in the market for heavily applied eyeliner, face-obscuring haircuts, accessories from Claire’s and unbridled pubescent angst, you’re sure not to be disappointed!

Star Trek (1966): Enough said.  But really, guys, how many push-ups do you think Leonard Nimoy could do?  I bet he could do a hundred…no, two hundred.  While doing advanced mathematics.  How dreamy!