Today was very good for me as far as therapy goes. it has helped me to reshape my memoir in a way that seems to fit better than what I had originally planned. It took me half an hour to write one paragraph, but I think it has the potentional to turn into a good jumping off point for my story.

To write memoir:

Start with a bit of musing, present the problem, report what you found out, and then tell the entire story of how you got there, followed by the internal shift that occurred as a result.

My rough forward or first paragraph:

           I’ve always looked for someone or something to show me the way. I never believed in God, but I’ve had no problem making a person my higher power. When I first decided to write this memoir, I had planned to write about abusive relationships and my final escape from a man that almost certainly would’ve killed me had I stayed. I thought men were my problem. My relationships with men over the years have been enmeshed, volatile, isolating, and abusive, so it would’ve been easy for me to say. However, unhealthy relationships have abounded throughout my life. From parents to teachers to bosses to girlfriends to substances to groups, I made each of them my God. I believed that if I followed them and did exactly as they said that they would provide me with all the love and happiness I couldn’t give myself. I depended on them to tell me how to live, who to be, and what I’m worth. Typical of someone who depends on others to act as director of her life, I also blamed them when I could no longer rely on them. I ran from one to another, always believing that the next one would finally make me whole. After writing out two thorough outlines for a memoir and finding that neither one seemed right, after recounting all of the painful experiences and false hopes I held about others, I realize there is one definite, undeniable common thread weaving through the fabric of my life; me.

After about five months of experimentation with controlled drinking, I have decided I am indeed still an alcoholic. It started as just a half a glass of wine, then one glass, then two, occasionally a whole bottle and a few benzos, stealing my Dad's fentanyl patches and perks, smoking weed, and having a general desire to get more, drink more, check out of reality. But then I always wake up the next morning feeling guilty and hungover, even if nothing bad happened, which it hasn't. There have been a few negative consequences, affecting mainly me. I called in sick to work one day when I really just had a hangover. I got drunk and ate so much food that I made myself vomit. Those are the main things, but I think it's just creating a sense of general sadness in me. I am more depressed, less interested or able to do things. I get hangovers so easily that even one glass of wine will leave me feeling like shit the next day. Not to mention all the extra calories. And I'm down to 113 lbs now, so I don't want to sabotage that. I told HAM the other day that I am drinking alcoholically and stealing pills and drinking alone, because I don't want it to be a secret. I need someone who loves me to know that I am headed down that same ugly path. I haven't taken anything or had a drink in two days now, but I don't want to go back to AA. I was hurt too much by those people and I don't ever want to see any of them again. So I have to do it on my own, and honestly, I don't know if it's too late or if I'm OK to just stop and not care. I have a feeling the compulsion will return, although it hasn't yet. I still feel happy that I'm not drinking right now, even though it's almost nine at night, a time where I would like to have a glass of wine. I want to be a healthy, happy person, and using substances will not help me achieve those goals. I am desperate to get out of this life as a happy, successful person, not a fucked up loser. I just have to make a commitment to love myself enough to stop drinking and taking pills. I am going to be taking "The Art of Living" part 1 course on breathing this December. I was reluctant at first, but I decided, with a little discussion with HAM that I should just try it. It was created by Ravi Shankar. Mabye I can finally reconnect with some type of spirituality, maybe try yoga again. I need to fucking relax. Pills and booze are only temporary fixes and they will not help me grow or change, and in the long run, they perpetuate greater chaos in my life and hinder relaxation. I want to have the energy to work out five of six days a week, and this week (I do have a cold) I have only been once. I have continued to eat pretty healthy (minus the binges) and I think my diet has actually improved quite a bit over the last few months, so that's one bright spot, as well as my memoir writing class. I wish that class was every day. God, I just want to get into grad school. Getting fucked up certainly won't help with that, I already found out in 2006. I want my life to get better. I don't wanna die, spiritually, emotionally, or physically. I want to get better.

"My life is going to change. I can feel it." - Raymond Carver, Fat

Well, of course, I overreacted about the wood. After going to Home Depot and Lowe's and not having any luck, I decided to just email my dad a confession. He assured me it was not that big a deal, that he had plenty more wood and stain for the wood, and that it could probably just be sanded out anyway. And I could breath again. Ahhhh.

Today I got my hair bleached lighter. I am seriously blonde now. I have this thing online called Mint that uploads all of my financial accounts and separated my spending, etc. into categories. It turns out I spend more money on my hair than I spend on food. Jesus! I guess my hair is to me like shoes are to most girls. Even when you're feeling fat and there aren't any clothes that fit, buy a new pair of shoes and all is well. For me, I really don't care for shoe shopping. I would go barefoot if I could. But my hair - I would go to the salon every week if I could afford it. I love how it looks when I leave the salon, so smooth and healthy, no dark roots, every strand in place, shiny, pretty, perfect. I do a pretty decent job with my hair, but nothing beats the work of a professional. In the past, before I could afford the salon, I dyed my hair every possible color. Every time something terrible happened, I would dye my hair. Every time I broke up with a guy, or if I had really awful PMS, I would dye my hair. After I left E and was living in the domestic violence shelter, I cut off my dreadlocks. Then I went on a platinum blonde crusade, stealing bleach and developer from beauty supply stores once a week in an attempt to get my hair to look like Marilyn Monroe's. It probably started when my Mom bleached my hair for the first time when I was 12. I don't remember if any tragic incident occurred before she did it, but I wouldn't be surprised, as the year 12 was a rather hellish year for me. We were living in these disgusting condos, Bellevue Manor, on 148th. It was the ghetto of Bellevue. Still is, in fact. My mom was in a relationship with TM, the biggest, fattest, loudest, most disgusting Italian jerk-off on the planet. His teenager daughter moved in with us, too. She was a crackwhore...no seriously...she was a 15 year old whore. I'm not positive if it was crack that she was after, or just the love and attention that her father never gave her, but whatever her reasons, she was selling her body. TM was horrible to me. He wouldn't let me talk on the phone. We had one phone line in the condo and in the living room, a little red light would turn on on the phone console whenever someone picked up the phone in any room. So if I picked up the phone in my bedroom, TM would see the light, storm in, and make me hang up. He wouldn't let me open the refridgerator. I would walk into the kitchen, reach out for the fridge door, and he would yell from his throne on the couch in front of the TV to back away from the door. When I would get home from school, I liked to watch TV for a while, but when he got home from work, he would tear into the living room, sit down on the couch practically on top of me, grab the remote out of my hand, and change the channel as if I did not exist. One time I came out of the shower with a towel wrapped around me (my bedroom was right next to the bathroom) and he came after me, screaming about something (I don't remember what), grabbed me the neck, and pushed me up against the wall in my bedroom. He was actually holding me up by my neck so my feet her dangling. My towel started to fall off, but he didn't care. He was up in face, screaming at me and I was terrified of this asshole. He was the most controlling jerk I'd ever known up to that point in my life. He was fat and he let his bodily functions fly whenever he felt like it. He yelled and swore all the time. He had road rage before there was a name for road rage. But my mom loved him for some reason, no matter how fucked up his kids were (his son was no better- in and out of jail and rehab and only 19 years old), and no matter how abusive he was towards me. So, I don't know, maybe in my mind, dying my hair is a way to escape pain? Maybe that's taking something superficial a bit too far, but I think there is some truth to it. She would also do things like take me shopping at Ross (Ross was third in my highest spending categories on Mint), and she would buy sweets and we would indulge together. She would buy 2 lb bags of peanut butter M&M's, or an entire cake, or a box of cookies and some ice cream. There were always sweets around, but especially if I was going through a hard time. Sweets were one the ways she helped me to feel better. And today, my three biggest spending categories are hair, food, and Ross. If I include all stores, not just Ross, shopping is the highest category I have. Five times that of hair. So I am addicted to dying my hair, shopping, and sweets. Big surprise. Mystery solved. But even if I am aware of the root of my compulsions, it doesn't stop them. I still want chocolate. I still want to be blonde. I still want a new pair of jeans. I wure would love a way to stop feeling like I need these things. I know I'm a shopping addict. I shop like I'm made of money, even though I only work part time and I am in major debt. It's actually really out of control. But I just want to spend. Sometimes it's not even the spending, just the shopping. The hours spent wandering around a store, picking things out, trying them on, making a decision. Half the time I don't even buy anything, even after spending hours in a store. There's something trance-like, meditative, about shopping. It's soothing and mind-numbing. Everything else just fades away, like how it would for a gambling addict when they're shoving quarter after quarter into a slot machine. The only time I come back to reality when I'm shopping is when I'm in the dressing room and i have to face how fat I actually am. Like today, for instance. I was wandering through Ross and I found some cuter jeans. I went to try them on and I could barely pull them up over my fat legs. They were glued to me, and they were a size 5! It's repulsive. It wouldn't be so bad if my stomach wasn't a bowl of Jello. I wouldn't mind being a size 5 if I had a nice, tight stomach but just had a big fat ass. A fat ass is fine if the rest of you is tight. Look at Kim Kardashian. She's made millions off that fat ass. But she has a small waist. That's key. My waist is soft and it has no definition. It has become grotesque. It makes me so sad because my waist used to be rock hard. You could see the muscles rippling through my skin. I looked HOT in a bikini. And this was only last summer. Now, it's Jello. Even though my stomach is still extremely strong, possibly more so than a year ago, you can't tell because of the fucking layer of fat covering it. I just wish I could get a handle on what I put inside my body. It's like, ridiculous because I can cut out meat no problem, eggs no problem, dairy no problem, soy only a slight problem, but for some reason sugar just has a hold on me. And sugar is the number one thing that makes people fat. Why can't I just let it go and stick to it? Why does it always creep back in, practically hours after I commit to giving it up. I just can't stop. I feel totally powerless over my cravings for sugar. Will I ever be normal? Will I ever be non-addicted? I feel like, even if I'm not drinking, drugging, or smoking cigarettes, my brain always attaches itself to something, clings to it and will not let go. How do people free themselves from addictions? I am tired of being ruled by outside sources, things that can never make me happy long-term, only fill a void temporarily, because the void always reappears. It opens back up almost instantly after the damage is done. All that money spent, all those calories ingested, and for what? I don't feel any better. I'm fatter and I have less money. That wouldn't make anyone feel good. I want to treat myself, my body, my money, my future, with respect and love. I want to save money and eat healthily. I want to stop this insanity because that's exactly what is is: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. It will never happen. Blonde hair won't make me happy, chocolate won't make me happy, a cheap shirt that I won't even like in two weeks won't make me happy. It's no wonder I have piles and piles of clothes but nothing to wear. What would make me happy is a flat stomach and a savings account full of money. I don't mean that in the superficial way, either, I mean it in the sense that if I have a flat stomach, it's because I'm taking care of my body, and if I have a full savings account, it's because I'm taking care of my financial future. I want to be someone who treats themselves with that kind of love and respect. That's what would make me happy - being congruent with my beliefs. Being vegan is a fantastic start, but I still have a long way to go. I mean, let's be real, here: bleach is NOT vegan.